2006 Ironman Canada Race Report
A fellow Mad Cow racing IM Canada last year graciously signed me up for this year's race in what has become the final time the race would allow someone to sign up another person. I'd heard from a number of IM veterans that Canada is their favorite race for a number of reasons: the community support; the classic single loop course that is both challenging and beautiful; the meticulous attention to detail by the race organizers...I decided it would be my 2006 IM if I did not qualify for Kona at one of my half IM races.
I did not qualify for Kona at either of the half IM qualifying events I raced this summer so I was Penticton, BC bound. After completing 4 Ironman races in a 13 month period I had taken over a year hiatus, partly by choice and partly by necessity as I spent the winter laid off of running nursing a fractured metatarsal. I had cautiously built running back into my training beginning from zero in March and had yet to get back into marathon running shape. I had also missed quite a few key workouts due to real life getting in the way of my training plan. I would be starting this Ironman less physically prepared than I ever have started an endurance event. There is a saying that it is better to be 10% undertrained than 1% overtrained. How about 30% undertrained?
I felt reasonably ok with my swimming, I only have one speed no matter what I do and 3800m is an average day's workout. I also felt pretty good about my cycling. Even with the missed workouts my cycling strength has improved since last year and I did get several 90+ mile training rides done over the summer. It was the run where I was really coming up short. In fact, as a runner I would not have even considered toeing the line of a marathon on the training I've done this summer. My weekly average mileage did not even reach 25 mpw. I managed to do only 2 runs longer than 13.1 miles -- one 15 miler and one 18 miler. A smattering of uptempo work was starting to pay off in shorter races but I was in no way ready to push the pace for 26.2 miles. I doubted I could even run 26.2 miles. Realistically it wasn't a question of if I would have to walk but rather a question of when.
I arrived in Penticton 4 days before the race after taking a leisurely 3 days to drive there. The Okanagan Valley is a hot, arid climate not unlike Napa Valley. Formerly predominately fruit tree orchards, as fruit prices fall it is developing into primo grape growing country. Now the valley is a patchwork of fruit orchards and vineyards surrounding the crystal blue waters of Skaha Lake, Okanagan Lake and Osoyoos Lake. The terrain rises dramatically from the valley floor. The city of Penticton is nestled between Skaha Lake to the south and Okanagan Lake to the north.
Due to my lack of run preparation I had been contemplating bailing out of the race and I procrastinated making all the arrangements for the trip. I think I found the last room in the area when I finally committed myself to racing and made my 11th hour reservations. A winery/B&B had filled their B&B but decided to rent out a spare bedroom in the main residence for the Ironman. The room was spartan but clean, comfortable and quiet. The house was situated about 10 minutes outside of town on a hill overlooking the vineyards and the lake. It was perfect.
My first full day I went for a 40 minute swim in Okanagan Lake keeping an eye out for the legendary lake creature, Ogopogo. Then I took the bike out onto the first major climb of the course considered a warmup for the more significant climbs that come later. Lastly, I went for a 30 minute run on part of Canada's rail to trail system that just happened to pass a mere 200 meters from my room.
Day 2 was devoted to driving the bike course. The course headed slightly uphill for the first couple of miles as it left town then was mostly flat through about mile 40, save a 5 mile 'detour' to go up and then down a big hill via a scenic side road. These first 40 miles pretty much hugged the waters edge passing orchards and vineyards, passing through the towns of Okanagan Falls, Oliver (the wine capital of Canada), and Osoyoos. Then came the heart and soul of the course. First a 6 mile climb up to Richter Pass followed by a series of 'rollers'. These rollers were fairly big climbs and bomber descents. At mile 80, a fine time for a major climb, the ascent to the second major mountain pass began, past Yellow Lake and topping out at Twin Lakes about 10 miles later. A few miles of screamer down, some more rollers but with net elevation loss, a couple more miles of pure down and the route was back on the shore of Okanagan Lake by mile 106. The last 5 miles were mostly flat with a slight tilt downward the final 2 miles. It took me over 3 hours to drive the course. OK, so I stopped for a little wine tasting along the way, but it still seemed like a really long way in the car. Comparing this course to my other Ironman races only the mountainous bike course in Nice was more challenging.
I was mostly a passive spectator for the prerace festivities. I was really surprised at the number of athletes wearing IM competitor wristbands running in the community 5K on Thurs. night. There were also a huge number of athletes in Friday mornings' Underpants Run. That was a blast to watch. I did walk in the athletes Parade of Nations, figuring a 600 meter stroll down Main St. wouldn't hurt. Carbo dinner on Friday night. Finally, bike and gear check-in on Saturday. I love the day before gear check-in of IM races. It gives you less to fuss over the night before the race. There is a sense of relief, a feeling that this is finally about to happen, passing a point of no return, after I've racked my race ready bike in transition and turned in my gear bags for T1 and T2. Ready or not.
There was nothing left to do the night before the race other than mix my drinks and gather the stuff I'd need to start the race. That left a lot of time for meditative thought. I spent a lot of time sitting quietly trying to visualize the perfect race and rehearsing in my head the transition choreography. For some reason I could not visualize beyond entering T2. I could never picture myself exiting out onto the run course. What did this mean? Was it because I knew I wasn't adequately prepared for the run that I couldn't picture it? I realized as I drifted off to sleep that there was still a small part of me that did not want to start this race even though I knew there was no stopping now.
In the morning that part of me digging in my heels, not wanting to do this, was still there. This is the first time this has happened to me before an IM. It had me worried but I moved forward, going through all the motions of race morning while trying to keep that kernel of dread buried deep inside. I filled my bottles, aired up my tires, checked my special needs bags, struggled into my wetsuit and headed to the beach perfectly timed to be amongst the first age groupers allowed to cross the chip scanning mat to access the swim start. I picked a spot at the front and to the outside to wait while the pros were sent off with the blast of a (very loud) cannon. After the pros were away us age groupers were allowed into the water to warmup. I expected frenzied chaos but was surprised by a relaxed, orderly group politely swimming out a little way then heading back.
As soon as I hit the water the calm anticipation that I usually feel before a long race finally washed through me, flushing away that little seed of doubt and dread. At last, I felt truly glad to be here on the brink of jumping off that cliff into the unknown that is the start of an ironman. There is a quote that always comes to mind at the start of ironman races that goes something like 'when we step beyond the edge of the light into the unknown we must have absolute faith that we will learn to fly'.
Athletes were called back to the start. The Canadian national anthem was sung. Ten seconds of silence. Then the cannon fired. The largest mass swim start in the world was off. The beach the race starts on is very wide and the sandy lake bottom slopes away gradually allowing athletes to run a little ways before diving in. Despite the huge numbers the swim start was very smooth and I was able to find swimming room right away with relatively little hard contact. The lake was a very comfortable 70 degrees and the water clear enough for decent visibility. Buoys were placed 150 meters apart and mounted on houseboats at the turns so navigation of the single loop, triangular course was straightforward. Unique to this race was encountering the most congestion about a third of the way through the swim as the wide start began to funnel down toward the first turn. Things got pretty rough beginning about 1200 meters into the swim and stayed that way until the second turn was negotiated with 1800 meters to go. It was smooth sailing, er, swimming from that point on.
I wasn't wearing a watch and I didn't see a clock when I exited the water but I felt really good about my swim. I have but one swim speed. All of my wetsuited IM swims are within seconds of each other. So a good swim is one in which I stay relaxed and use little energy to get around. Check. T1 went exactly as I had visualized it. Got wetsuit around hips by the time I reached the wetsuit strippers. A brief second on the ground whilst the wetsuit was peeled off. An unerring jog straight to my gear bag and into the change tent. Shades on, bike helmet on and fastened, race number belt on, gel flask into jersey pocket, bike shoes on and I was out of the tent. Brief stop for sunscreen at the table just outside the tent. Another accurate jog straight to my bike, the long jog to the bike exit, a flawless bike mount and I was pedaling up Main Street through throngs of screaming spectators lining both sides of the street all the way out of town. At the town limit the sound of the spectators receded away to the quiet of the rural lakeside, the sound of bike wheels and derailleurs and the sound of my breathing. My mind and body settled into a comfortable rhythm that would last for the entire 112 mile ride.
I had no watch nor functioning bike computer. I rode completely by feel. I've learned that I perform best this way, listening to and trusting my intuition. The bike course was marked every 5 miles so I used this external cue to ensure I drank my nutrition/electrolyte formula regularly. I took a gel and water at each aid station. This strategy worked really well. My stomach absorbed everything and I had plenty of energy the entire ride. I had expected the single loop, mostly rural course to be light in the spectator department. I was wrong. Somehow people got themselves out there and there was a huge crowd at the crest of every climb (and there are quite a few climbs) but especially at the top of Richter Pass, Yellow Lake and Twin Lakes. The only time I longed for a computer was on a couple of the descents where I'm certain I broke a personal speed record. For the first time in my life I was completely unafraid and, staying in my aerobars, I just let 'er rip! Wheeeeeee Hawwwww!!!!
The ride flew by without ever a moment that I wanted it to be over. If possible the crowds were even thicker riding back down Main Street. A perfect flying dismount right on the line leaving shoes on bike, hand off the bike to a volunteer, jog (yup, legs are ok) to gear bag in T2 and into change tent, bike shorts off running shorts on in seconds, roll on socks, slip feet in shoes, tighten laces, bike helmet off, grab hat and new gel flask...this is where my visualizing before the race had gotten stuck now I had to make it up as I went J. Interestingly, this where I made my first mistake. I jogged out toward the run exit but just before I crossed the timing mat I thought I'd left my gel flask behind and decided to go back for it. I fumbled through a pile of bags in the change tent until I found mine then fumbled through it in search of the flask. It wasn't there...it was in the pocket of my jersey. Duh! I hadn't forgotten it after all. Oh well, only a couple of minutes lost.
I felt great heading out onto the run and back into the masses of cheering fans. I had to keep reminding myself to relax and hold back. Even fresh I probably could not run a full marathon having not trained for one. If I go out like a bat out of hell I'll just be walking that much sooner. The run course opened with a little out and back alongside Okanagan Lake (which would be repeated upon returning to town en route to the finish line) before heading south out of town along the shores of Skaha Lake. After that flat opening few kilometers there's a gradual uphill on the way out of town. Then there's a series of rollers at the edge of town before the course flattens out for several miles at the lake's edge. The rollers begin again a little before mile 10, evolving into some serious hills leading into the turnaround in Okanagan Falls. The second half is the same thing in reverse.
I actually ran pretty well for about 11 miles. A wind had been developing out of the south as the day wore on, increasing in intensity in the afternoon. This was a mixed blessing. It had given us a bit of a push home over the final bike miles but by the time I was on the run course it was a fierce headwind on the out portion. Though it was tough to run against it did make the 90 degree temps seem a little less hot. The wind and the lack of toughening run miles on my legs gradually ground me down. My legs were aching and tightening up the way they will in the final miles of a marathon or long run, only problem was I was not yet in the final miles. My feet felt like someone had pounded on them all day with a sledge hammer and it dawned on me that perhaps doing 95% of my training on dirt wasn't helping here. Finally, it happened. On a particularly steep climb early in the 12th mile I (gasp!) walked. This marks the first time in my life I have walked any part of any marathon that was not to get what I need at an aid station. In so doing I lost my momentum and became even more acutely aware of how badly my legs had shutdown. I tried to start running again a couple of times but couldn't keep it going for more than a few seconds. Mentally I began to cave and by the turn around I'd resigned myself to walking all the way back. Lucky thing I had until midnight to finish ;-).
As I walked along I began to notice things outside myself, things bigger than myself...the beauty of the lake as the sun began to get lower in the sky, the waves disappearing on the lake surface as the afternoon wind died down, the sound of the water gently lapping on the shore, flocks of Canada geese flying in V formation across the water...Then without even realizing I had done so, at around mile 14.5, I began a shuffling jog that just kind of kept rolling. By mile 15 it was almost a real jog and by mile 16 I knew I would not be walking again. No, I wasn't flying, but I was running when I thought I couldn't run anymore. My legs were just this side of useless but from the waist up I felt fine, actually, great! So I just kept pumping my arms willing the legs to follow. It was the slowest marathon of my life that probably dropped me out of contention for a spot on the podium, but I had successfully pulled myself back from the jaws of the Death March and that small personal victory is so sweet. I'd had a great race up to mile 11 of the run then I had pulled a run effort out of the hat that I was not trained for.(maybe this is why I couldn't visualize the run). The final kilometer to the finish through the throngs of nearly maniacal spectators was truly a celebration. I had come face to face with my limitations and found the capacity to go beyond them.