Yesterday, I finished Ironman Utah, or Ironman St. George. Still not sure what they're calling it yet, depends on who you talk to. This was my first official 'branded' ironman race, though I have previously completed two iron distance races (Beach to Battleship and Vineman).
The short version: it was heinous.
Ironman Utah is a two transition point to point race, starting at Sand Hollow Reservoir in nearby Hurricane, and ending on Main Street in St. George.
I travelled to Utah with my Outlaw team mates and sherpas (I think there were 9 of us doing the race) and my family. Many of us stayed in a rental house in St. George blocks away from the finish line. We'd been freaking out about weather and water temps all week. Water temps rose and fell, some reports as high as the mid-60's. Weather reports were equally squirrelly: three days prior to the race a huge scary sandstorm with 60 to 70 mph wind gusts had blown through town, various forecasts called for winds, rains, frozen mix, frogs, etc. We had a lucky break in the weather on race day: low winds, mild temps (high in the 60's). The lake temp race morning was reportedly 58 degrees
I woke up race morning completely panicked. My stomach had kept me up for a few hours in the night, something I ate did not agree with me and continued to keep me shaky all morning. I struggled to get food down.
We took a bus from the town center to the reservoir - well organized and efficient transport to the race start. Transition area was kinda small and not well supplied with porta-potties. Though we had arrived an hour and a half prior to the start, I stood in line for a toilet for over an hour -- it was absolutely necessary. After that, my stomach settled. My head was another story - I looked like a deer in the headlights, completely panic-stricken.
I hurriedly got my wetsuit on, begged some silicone for my ears off another swimmer (my new favourite trick for cold water -- keeps me from getting nauseated, and also helps retain heat), and put on three swim caps. I used the "sandwich" method -- one silicone cap close to my head, followed by a neoprene cap, followed by the required Ironman race cap on the outside. This was also a great trick for retaining warmth.
Mo and I trotted out of the changing tent as I choked down a super-caffeinated gel. Most of the racers were in the water, but we were among several hundred still making our way down to shore. I think logistics on this race for the morning were kinda buggy due to the porta potty situation. Just as we arrived on the sand, the cannon went off. No turning back now...
My face hit the water and immediately hurt, then went numb after a few seconds, as I fought to stay away from the kicking legs and thrashing arms of other swimmers. I felt, finally, like a professional in the water. I think my experience in Lake Ponchartrain two weeks prior had pretty much knocked every open water fear out of me. I have learned to deal with swell, chop, bad taste, poor visibility, puking, salt water, and now extreme cold, without panic. I don't like any of those things, they're not fun, but they no longer freak me out. I felt confident enough to try and find feet to follow - hey, why not let someone else plow the field, right? But every pair of feet I found I got too close to, and had to move on.
I was never alone in the swim. The buoys were yellow and orange, which made sighting difficult, since the swim caps were yellow for women and orange for men. Luckily the turn buoys were red -- I had to stop a few times to get a good sighting, and then moved on.
Though I'd been struggling with wetsuits for months, my teammate's borrowed Blue Helix turns out to be exactly right for me - it felt like a stretchy, buoyant, warm second skin. I kept thinking to myself "wow, this wetsuit is great. This is my super suit!"
About 2/3 into the swim I realized my fingers felt odd. I couldn't keep them together. I realized that my hands were no longer catching the water. Then I couldn't really feel my hands. I started to try to swim a little harder, to build up some body heat. I knew my fingers were a lost cause, but I could tell I was starting to get cold. I exited the water in 1:42, and couldn't feel my feet as I started to walk - slowly - up the boat ramp. Nothing worked. It's a shame my swim time was so crappy, I felt like I was really doing well.
Like I said - I was never alone. Transition was FULL of people, male and female - getting dressed. I had my bag, but I couldn't take my arms out of my wetsuit sleeves, couldn't take my cap and goggles off. I ambled into the changing tent and some gracious warm person found me and dumped out my bag. We found my towel. My fingers were totally useless, they formed into claw-shapes, and I couldn't will them to straighten out. My changing attendant had to completely dry and dress me - do my hair, help me get my bra and shorts on, socks, gloves, everything. I wasn't quite sure that leaving transition with my hands dysfunctional was a good idea, so I warmed them a little more on her body before I trotted over to my bike. My transition time was a really long 23:17.
I tested my brakes right away - yes, the hands were sort of working - at least that much was good. I pedalled off. I discovered quickly that although I could brake, I could not shift -- my hands could grasp but not in all directions. I had to reach down and shift with my thumbs. My stomach was now awake and ready for food - I had some catching up to do from not having a great breakfast.
We'd scoped out the course the days before - the parts I had worried about, the two main loops, I knew would be physically taxing but do-able. The course from the reservoir to town, I also knew would eat up energy if I wasn't careful. So my job on the bike was to meter the energy out carefully - it would be a long, hilly, horrendous day.
I elected to bring the road bike to this race. Lucky has clip-ons just for Ironman St. George, as well as a big ol' climbing cassette (11/27?) and compact cranks. I had notice the transition area was about a 50/50 split of tri-specific and road-specific bikes.
The course is a lollypop style layout, with about 1 to 2000 feet of climbs in the 21 mile "stick", and then a gradual ascent of about 2000 feet in each 43-ish mile loop. The wind was moderate on the first loop, but picked up in the 2nd loop significantly. Early on in the first loop the first Pro racers passed me. Yes, they were already about 44 miles ahead of me - having started 15 minutes before me, and being THAT fast was pretty awe inspiring. Interestingly, I saw the leaders, and then there was a really long gap before I saw more pros. More pros passed as I went around the first loop, but the were spaced pretty far apart.
I noticed that my lower back started to hurt and it never really let up. This hadn't really been a problem I'd noticed in training, but on race day it was more or less constant. I spent as much time as I could stretching, up, out of the saddle, whatever I could do to relieve it. I figure it was the constant steady climbing and headwind in the 2nd loop that did me in. I finally took 1 ibuprofen and 1 tylenol late in the 2nd loop, when everything hurt and I was in a pain haze. Interestingly, that's the only pain meds I took all day.
When we'd scoped out the course I thought it looked really scenic - lots of gorgeous views. I had remarked on the iffy-ness of the pavement from the car, which turned out to be completely sucky from the bike. The biggest climbs on the course were definitely significant, but not impossible. They had beginnings and they had ends.
On race day it was another story -- the wind started on the first loop, and increased as the day went on. Between the wind, the rough pavement, and the constant climbing, I just felt my will to live being gradually sucked away. The first major hill was much steeper than I was mentally prepared for. The second one, the "Veyo Wall" was long and ended steeply. I saw people walking on both loops on both hills. I managed to get up them both on both loops without stopping, though it was very hard.
My rest stops were minimal, rolling stops. I'd grab a banana or food at the start of the aid station, shove it in the food hole, and dump the skin by the end.
I pretty much stopped enjoying the race somewhere around my first pass through Gunlock, about 40 miles in. I wasn't making satisfying progress, my speed was low, my back was killing me, and felt I was solidly at the back of the pack getting passed by fast age groupers and pros. Although I was conserving my effort I was passing people who were clearly in worse shape than me, so the course carnage was pretty ugly. I went into a dark place mentally and didn't really come back. I talked to someone on the course who mentioned that there would be a cutoff on the first loop. This was news to me (and yes, I did attend the athlete briefing). I thought about missing the cutoff, and decided that not making the cutoff wouldn't be a bad thing. It would mean I could get off the bike and do something else. Anything else.
At the special needs stop I ran into a team-mate who had also stopped having fun, and decided to wait for his fiancee. I'd passed her awhile back and expected her to find me quickly. I told Michael this race had stopped being fun for me too, but I figured I'd keep going until they pulled my chip.
From the special needs stop they confirmed that to make the cutoff I'd have to be at the next rest stop by 2:30. It was 1:40. The next aid station was downhill. So I dropped off some kit I wasn't using (knee warmers, gloves, windbreaker) said goodbye to my friend, and left.
Dammit. I would make this cutoff. My teammates, however, would not. I later found out that we'd been told wrong -- the real cutoff was 2:10, and they didn't make it.
The loop was completed with a long, flying descent back into town at about 35 to 40 mph, and then changed direction into the teeth of the wind. Though I'd tried to be conservative on my first loop, I found I was really digging deep on the second loop. My splits show a pretty consistent time for each loop, averaging a really depressing 13.77 mph on the first loop, and 13.59 mph for the second. What the splits don't show is the increasing windspeed, headwind in all directions, my unrelenting back pain, and my complete frustration with all things climbing on a bike. Even the flying descents were frustrated by a 20mph headwind - I lost about 10 mph of my free speed on the descent back into town.
I talked to several in the 2nd loop who seemed equally depressed about making the cutoff. One rider had come from Puerto Rico, he said 'there are too many hills. Not miles, hills.' Again I passed a number of riders who had clearly spent a lot of their energy on the first loop and had little left. I'm not sure how I had anything left, and I was hating everything. The sharp climbs that I managed in the first loop were an outright battle in the second loop. I worried that I wouldn't be able to ride them, but I'm happy to say that I never had to walk or traverse the climbs, though I saw many who did.
The final cutoff on the bike was 5:30 at transition 2. I realized it would be tight, especially since I lost speed in the descent. Additionally, the course put one last unexpected hill in the final miles before the finish. I made it into T2 at 5:20.
Shit.
I got off the bike and realized that I couldn't stand up straight. I'd done minimal stops and had barely been off the bike in over 8 hrs (total ride time 8:14). I hobbled into T2, where another gracious and patient attendant helped sort and dress me. I put a generous coating of bodyglide on all the sore spots, and trotted away from T2 in 11 minutes.
I'd hated the bike so much that I was in a frame of mind to go home and take a bath, not run a marathon, but there I was -- trotting away from T2.
My spouse had done a personal recon of the course - days before the race, he'd run it with the Garmin and came back with the following report: "that run course is insane." The course consists of two out-and-backs with a terrain profile that looks like an EKG: basically, all hills. You're either going uphill or downhill, there were no flat spots anywhere. He'd told us which were the most run-able parts, and which were the parts we should plan to walk. As I've done in ultra races, that became my run plan here: run the runnable bits, walk the hills. My ITB had quit on me in the last mile of Ironman New Orleans, so I figured it was a matter of time before it would quit on me during this race. I was convinced that my only hope of making the final cutoff (9pm for the 2nd loop of the run) was to run on it as long as it was holding up, and put as much time as I could behind me.
The first half of the out-and-back is net uphill, aid stations every mile stocked with the relentlessly cheerful volunteers from the City of St. George. My stomach had started to feel queasy at the tail end of the bike, so I had to really watch what I was putting in the tank. I regret to say that I was not a happy camper, the bike had beaten the fight out of me, and it was all I could do to focus on my race. Which meant I didn't enjoy the scenery, I didn't make friends on the way, I didn't stop, crack jokes, sing songs, anything. I just ran. I was mad, I couldn't find my happy place, and I wanted to go home. The only way I could see to get out of that race was to finish.
Much of the course was marked with traffic cones, and on the steeper uphills I adopted a run/walk strategy where I would run every other cone and walk in between. I ran the first half of the out-and-back in 1:20.
And uh, that's when the race got weird: the whole rest of my run was like that. My run splits for each 1/4 of the run were 1:20, 1:20, 1:26, and 1:19. In fact, I finished the race with an overall marathon PR of 5:28 - I haven't run that fast in any race of that distance, let alone on that kind of freakish terrain. On the second loop, I really was the only person on the course who was still running - I passed a lot of walking dead, totally shelled people who were done for the day.
Yeah, I don't know what that was about. I suspect the caffeine I was taking in had something to do with it. I was taking in caffeinated gels so often that nothing was hurting anymore. Including my IT Band - which never even whispered to me.
I had an overall stated time goal: do better in this race than I did at Vineman, where I snuck in just minutes shy of 16 hours. I finished Ironman Utah in 16 hours and 3 seconds, thank f*ck, not quite making my time goal but by then I could not have cared less. This was a way harder course.
Am I disappointed in my performance? Yes and no. I knew going in that I was not the climber I wanted to be. I know it will take years of training before I'm a skinny climber f*ck, and I seem to keep improving, so I'll keep working on that. My swim performance has everything to do with swimming in outrageously cold water, and my run time is, well, freakish. I don't know where that came from. Temperature played a significant role - I don't do well when I overheat, and this course had reasonably low temps. Mostly I'm disappointed that I wasn't able to throw it out and just have fun -- I think that had everything to do with personal pressure, and being pressured by cutoff times.
Did I care about a PR while I was on the course? Not at all - I just wanted to go home.
Would I do this race again? Now is a really bad time to ask me.
Would I recommend an Ironman (tm) race over an unbranded race? Not on your life. To me, the un-branded races are as well organized, if not better. I knew going in that IMSG, being the first race at this location, would have bugs and would probably be disorganized. Overall I thought the race was well run, the volunteers were first rate, and I think WTC did a good job. There were niggles - but I know it's a quality organization who will continue to provide quality events. In the end, however, I lost my special needs bag (containing some bike clothes) to the race, as well as glove that was misplaced in T2. This was the first time I've ever lost kit; I talked to a number of other racers who also lost bags. The WTC personnel I talked to about this seemed overwhelmed and generally uninterested.
The poor dissemination of information on the course (muddled cutoff times, etc) is something I've heard other people complain about at other "Ironman" races. It could have happened anywhere. At the end of the day, "Ironman" is a brand name, and the M-dot has some reflection on the quality of a race. The Ironman people own more races than other race organizers, and they have the cache of their corporate name. They put on quality events in interesting locations, but they are not the only event organizers out there.
At the end of the day, I've raced other non m-dot races which were also high quality. I do races because I want to do them, not because I want a tattoo (though there is certainly nothing wrong with having that goal either). To me, one big plus of non m-dot races is the complete generosity of the cutoffs. They really do want you to have fun, and they're not invested in you joining the tattoo club.
I was surprised to hear that the overall winner had an outrageously fast time (less than 9 hrs), and not at all surprised to find out that he was also a champion mountain biker. The spread between the finishers was pretty broad - I think many people found this race to be a huge challenge.
I didn't find my happy place until the finish line, and the few people I spoke to on the course were in a similarly miserable state. Perhaps later I'll see humour in this. It's only been 24 hours, after all.
13 comments:
You rock, woman! Plus you sound incredibly coherent considering what you've been through. I hear of a record number of DNFs. You're a true survivor!
I am so proud of you!!! It was a surival course out there and you did it!! The only thing about M-Dot races that makes it special is the finish...I think there is nothing like that really big crowd and Mike Riley.."YOU are an IRONMAN!"
Considering the difficulty of the race, just finishing is the biggest accomplishment, regardless of time. You should know by now that time is relative to each individual in an IM race. You do what you can do to get from point A to point B. I'm not even sure it depends on training, just you, the course, and the day. One point you made about your run splits. It could have been the caffeine, or it could have been the run/walk method you adopted right from the start. You were able to keep consistent because you conserved energy and paced yourself. At B2B, while my run was considerably slower than what I had hoped or planned, I was totally freaked by the fact that while I ran more on the first loop, tripped on the bridge and almost ended my day on the first loop, practically got knocked out cold on the second, lost my will on the second,and ran my fastest 5k in years on the second loop, my splits for each loop were exactly the same. You just have to wonder about but not question that miracle when it happens. Congratulations on another finish! Now you have me seriously thinking of Vineman next year over IM Lou.
You are one tough cookie Pirate. I have had races that become not fun and it's not easy to will yourself to continue.
I will re read this post before I run Ironman Wisconsin this year. It is a true testament of what can be achieved even when you don't want to.
Great job and GO GET THAT TATTOO. haha
hugs, pirate. it sounds like an incredibly difficult day and yet you perservered. be proud of your accomplishment, girlfriend, it is definitely a well earned one.
xoxo!
Congratulations on what sounds to me like a truly successful (I know it is a perverse description) race on your part. The marathon time speaks incredibly well to your fitness and to your handling of a very challenging course and a day of real mental toughness. Bravo.
wow, chica! that sounded AWFUL!!! i'm sorry we didn't get to see you on the course. we didn't even get to see supa or emily until the run. this was kind of a hard event to spectate, too. plus, the bird was getting tired, so by the time you were on the run, we were home trying to put her down and drinking some much needed wine! still, i was tracking you and was happy to see that you finished! that course is NO JOKE. i was worried about the wind... last time i raced in st. george, they called the swim because of the wind. no bueno on the bike, either! be proud of yourself. you did something that most sane people would have (and did) run away from!! you're amazing!!
I know it didn't feel like it when you wrote it, but what a success story! There were so many times you could have quit and just gone home, but you gutted it out!
WOW! You are so tough!
(I'm with you on the branded vs non-branded. All of my half irons have been non-branded, and the RD's keep the finish line up until everyone has finished. That's spirit of the sport).
If I were unconvinced about doing this race before I am completely convinced now - not to do it - ever.
So glad I didn't sign up.
Congratulations on going long and not going home. It was obviously very hard to do.
Aside from being utterly exhausted after reading this, I'm also deeply impressed and so, so proud of you. Because, as others have pointed out, the real heroics here were that you didn't give up and go take that bath. Talk about guts. You got 'em.
Nope. Marathons interfere with my smoking ;)
It has taken me awhile to go searching for fellow racer's reports of Utah...I'm just now starting to get back into a somewhat happy place.
The hills totally shelled me. The marathon course is unbelievably insane and yet, you PR'd it? Umm Hello? Maybe you should join Misty and Brian and start getting into some of those crazy hilly ultra runs because ---> YOU PR'D AN IRONMAN MARATHON!!!
Well done.
I dislike WTC but I LUV Ironman...but then again I'm a big Douchebag. Ha!
Wow.
Thanks for the report - you're tough as nails!
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