Ironman Lake Placid 2015 Race Report

My race at Ironman Lake Placid really on started July 19, 2002. Midway through the run in my first IM, Panama City ’00, I experienced the inevitable feeling of “Gee, I don’t think I should be running anymore.” Since that was my first ever attempt at running longer than 20 miles, much less doing an Ironman, I didn’t know any better, and gave in to the sensation that my hip flexors would be permanently damaged if I tried to keep running every step. All that day’s smiles, from a 67 minute swim, thru a 5:45 bike, and a 2:05 half marathon, gave way to determined walking and a 5:20 run.

I wasn’t used to failure, and luckily had already signed up for the second, and last, Ironman California at Camp Pendleton the next May. My only goal for that race was : “Don’t walk on the run.” Going twenty minutes slower on the bike led to an hour faster run. Success! That July, I snagged a spot at Lake Placid for the following year. Another year’s training had me fitter than I’d ever been in my 53 years, and I was ready. But my 85 year-old mother apparently wasn’t. She fell, breaking her second hip, so I went and did the first week of my taper at my sister’s home in Encinitas, North County San Diego (then the throbbing heart of triathlon world). Her recovery from the joint replacement went about as well as I’d expected (meaning: poorly) for someone of her age with her multiple medical problems. I decided I shouldn’t leave her while she was still on a respirator, and so pulled the plug the day before I was due to fly out East.

Ever since, I’ve had a nagging pull back towards Lake Placid. I really thought I would get back within the next year or two. But they kept putting on that race in Coeur d’Alene, and a trip all the way to the East Coast faded more and more from my life list. Finally,  EN and WTC conspired a year ago with our Tri Club win, and the lottery for a stress-free entry. A chance to race in the iconic longest-running US triathlon (outside of Hawaii), staying in a house right downtown with a group of EN racing buddies and friends (Tim Cronk, Stephanie Stevens, Teri Cashmore, Scott Dinhofer, sherpa Cary Blanco) brought me full circle back to the start of my IM career.

Needless to say, I’ve been on a lot of race courses; Lake Placid ranks with Boston and Kona as a place filled with its own mythos. “The Downhill into Keene”, “The Three Bears”, & “Lisa G Hill” certainly rank with The Queen K, Palani, and Ali’i Drive, or the Framingham start, the Wellesley Hills (and girls), and the Citgo sign. In our sport, two decades is enough time to build a history. A race to aspire to.

First, though, the weather scare…it was cool, showery, and looked like a storm front would pass through right during the first Keene descent.

“Don’t pay any attention to any weather forecast further than 36 hours out,” Scott cautioned.

Tim snickered, “Yeah, after the race we’ll all probably be complaining about how hot it was on the run.

And I used to be called The Oracle.

Pre-race, the well-attended EN dinner gave me a chance to spend real time face to face with a few of the folks I’ve been talking with online. Gordon, from Saskatoon – Mr. Old Reliable, as friendly in person as he is in script. Derrick from DC – rested and ready, calm and eager (probably nervous inside, though).

Back at the house, we’d all been very supportive of each other, trying not to step on each others pre-race routines. So Saturday afternoon I asked, “Anybody mind if I get up at 4 o’clock tomorrow morning?” I didn’t get any smiles, much less laughs, so I shut up.

It felt good to walk down the hill as a group to transition, where we all parted and each entered his/her own personal race space. I followed my routine, and left right at 6:00 for the beach. Along the way, naturally I ran into Tim, Heather, and a few others, giving me an opportunity to get a friendly zip-up and one last “Good Luck”.

My plan was to walk to the edge of the 1:10-1:20 group – at the side of the line-up, middle of the group, so I wouldn’t have to spend the 15 minute wait surrounded by steaming, anxious rubber clad bodies. But as I moved towards my spot, Rob Ladewig caught my eye. He’s a year older, and used to beat me, but since we turned 60, I’ve had his number on the run. He’s always nice to me, we get along great when we see each other, but I’ve noticed we don’t really seek each other out. I didn’t want to spend my time before the race trying to think of what to say to him, so after a few pleasantries, I said, “Well, I’ve got to go find my spot,” and headed like a salmon in the broiling mass of athletes.

I’ve swum with a cable before, in an HIM, and was 1-2 minutes faster, so I knew the advantage of just putting my head down and hauling forward in a straight line. I started out on the left had side of the cable, but eventually became a bull dog for the thing. Small buoy bobbing around in my way? Bop it aside like a skier in a slalom course without losing rhythm. Large buoy in the way? Just go under the thing. Slow feet churning up ahead? Give ‘em a tickle, and if they don’t pull over, just swim around (I do have some scruples.)

For the past five years, I have been slowly rebuilding my swim stroke, and my swim times, since they got devastated by a small spinal cord injury suffered in a bike accident in 2010. In Lake Placid, thanks in part to increased volume in the 3.5 months before the race, and maybe in part to the cable, I knocked another minute off my “best time since I turned 62”. 1:12.XX, pretty much an even split. I felt great coming out of the water, energized, not tired, ready to face my fears for the day. I think I was 2nd in my AG coming out of the water – I guess I can still swim!

My big fear on the bike was the Keene downhill. Another thing which aging has apparently brought me is caution on downhills. Part of it is not wanting to get injured in any way – I know how much tougher it is to recover now than it was 20 years ago. And part of it is similar to my swim problems – my arms, especially my forearms, were weakened to the point where it’s just not as easy as it should be to get a solid, confident grip on a bike’s front end. Aerobars? No problem; but once I grip the bull horns, things start to get a little shaky.

Scott took us down the descent twice on Thursday, and I covered the 6.5 miles in 14:39 and 13:50, gaining a fair amount of confidence from that. Race day, the same section took me 13:30 – another success! All told, on the first loop, I had an IF of 0.681, with a VI of 1.06 – both spot on target. Exclude the downhill and the admin miles out of town, I was at 1.035. I drank and ate all I’d planned, and pee’d once, coming into Wilmington. So far, everything was going according to plan.

There was a lot of energy coming through town, but when I hit the climb a few miles out, I started to have my doubts about the day. It’s simply too long a time to stay in a good place the whole way, I’ve learned. But I kept pushing to my limits, right up to Wilmington. I noticed my power dropping a bit – from the bottom of the downhill to the top of the Jay climbs, I was at 0.65, VI of 1.045. That’s about mile 96, 5:30 for me. From there on in, I lost focus, dropping both my effort level and my nutrition focus. I hate to say it, but the final 16+ miles took me 1:15, at an IF of 0.55. That part of the bike leg used to be my time to motor, but as my speed gets slower, I guess I’m going to have to take a different approach to training. I’m going to need to focus more training on the increased time it’s taking me to complete the bike (to say nothing of the run.) I may have to run up some more volume during the last 4 months of this season.

I got out on the run feeling pretty low, but knowing that as long as I kept going, I would probably have a successful day. I knew coming in this would probably not be another win for me, as (a) I already had a Kona slot, and (b) at least 3 others were recent Kona guys, including a former world champion. So I just wanted to focus on my pace and my fluid intake. I kept clicking over 10-11 minute miles. By mile 4 +, I saw Rob Ladewig coming the other way (ahead of me) on the first out and back. At least 20 minutes ahead. Just keep going, I said, listen to my breathing, run to the last water or gatorade stand, take a cup or two, add ice, walk while drinking, and pick it up again. Mile after mile.

Ski Jump hill and Lisa G hill were the other spots I dreaded on this course. I’d been specifically doing a steep (8-12%) long (0.6 mi) hill near the end of my long runs, finishing with a mile “as hard as you can” on the middle school track a half mile from my house. So I felt I was ready.

And I did run those hills, at least the first time around, and Ski Jump the second. Mirror Lake out and back, I saw Rob again, this time about a mile, or 10-12 minutes ahead. Maybe I’ll catch him, maybe I won’t, but going faster or slower wouldn’t help. Faster, and I’d just blow up, slower and I wouldn’t make it. Run at my pace, whatever that turns out to be, and I’ll get what I deserve.

Into the river-side out and back, I missed seeing Rob. But about mile 19-20, I came up on him, walking. For some reason, this made me mad – he trains at altitude, he’s won his AG several times, he’s been to Kona a few more, he’s better than that.

So, with an edge in my voice, I growled, “C’mon, Rob, move your butt. You’re faster than that!” He smiled, said , “Hi, Al,” and I swept on past.

I had switched from Gatorade to Coke at mile 18, but after the mile 21 aid station, where I took some water, I got nauseated, and had to stop and throw up a bit. (It’s easy to see on my Garmin file.) I walked a touch, but picked it up after less than a minute, and ran (trot-shuffled) up Ski Jump hill. passing most everyone, including a few other “runners”.

But I was hesitant to put anything in my system from there on out, taking in only 14 oz the last 5 miles. By the time a got to Lisa G’s, I could only run hundred yards up, and my race was over. I gave Cheryl (my wife) a hug outside High Point Cyclery, and walked more than I ran those last 1.8 miles. Folks who saw me said I was listing to the right. I must have been in pretty bad shape, as more than a few people (and there was a HUGE crowd from there on in) asked me with real concern in their voices, “Are you all right?” I half ran/half walked to the oval, but the run couldn’t have been more than a 12 min/mile pace.

Mike Reilly gave me a big shout out as I came in, noting not only my age, but my multiple AG wins and my trips to Kona. FINALLY, some respect from the Voice of the Ironman. But I hardly heard, as I was just focused on finding the finish, and collapsing into Cheryl’s arms.

I thought I could recover while getting dressed in the change tent, but I just kept feeling worse, so I shuffled to medical triage, where my cramps, dizziness, tachypnea, and general pallor got me a cot in the tent. Stepping on the scales, I found I’d lost 9 pounds. A little chicken soup did the trick, and I got home by 10 PM.