I have experienced pain.
On Sunday Misha and I competed in Ironman Arizona. This sounds like a rather simple plan, but in fact it turns out an ironman presents quite a few extra challenges in addition to the 140.6 miles (226km) of swimming/biking/running. Here is the full story and because I feel sort of talkative, I have split it into chapters so that you can select the sections most interesting (?) to you. If you don't want to suffer through any of my ramblings, you may still enjoy these
pictures and this
video (check back for more soon).
The narrative
We flew into Phoenix on Thursday and after collecting our bike crates and luggage, made our way to the hotel. This is where the first leg of the ironman starts: rebuilding your bike. You need to understand that in order to fit your bicycle into these ridiculously tiny shipment crates, you basically have to gut it down to its bare parts, which you then thoughtfully arrange into the box[ pic]. When I say "you" I am speaking for myself. Misha "I value my time" Zatsman opted for the "simpler" option of paying a bike shop to pack the bike for him. This option turned out to be less attractive than originally planned, as by the time I was tucking myself into bed with my fully assembled iron horse to my side, my fellow aspiring ironperson was still scratching his head over a heap of bike parts spread out over the hotel room floor. Luckily, we found a bike shop the next morning willing to put the thing back together on the same day. If you ever need a bike shop in the phoenix area I strongly recommend
Domenics, they rock (and saved Misha's ass).
The second leg is Registration. Ours was to take place on Friday, and along with 2000 other people we stood in line to get weighted, tagged and stamped (this triathlon thing involves a lot of body markings, as it turns out). The line was so long and slow that we got a good first look at the athletes village through which the queue wound for what seemed like forever in the brutal Arizona sun. We also went for a morning swim in the lake just to get our wetsuits broken in. Water report: warm (68F) and dirty (visibility less than 2 inches), mildly offensive taste. Hanging out at the athletes village, I came to confirm my impression that most athletes were MUCH bigger than me. I made a mental note to expect to get crushed in the water, and to pray for hot, no wind conditions on race day. On Friday night, we ate at the welcome dinner (pasta, por supuesto!) and sat through the rules meeting where we learned the basics about how this whole thing is going to work. Quite a complex operation indeed, involving dropping off and picking up various gear bags at various times in various locations, in between which we were to swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles and run a marathon (26.2 miles). Mightily confused, but psyched by our evening conversation with fellow participants, we left the village around 8h30PM, picked up Maureen who just arrived at the airport and went to bed at the
buttes.
On Saturday, after our now customary morning swim we packed our transition bags and checked them in with race officials, along with our bikes. They were to spend the night in the Tempe Beach park. Had our traditional pre-race pasta marinara at the hotel's restaurant, and went to bed really early to try to get some sleep.
The race
"Wake up" at 4AM (not much sleeping going on up to then anyway), eat something (oatmeal, blueberries & a banana for me), pack our swimming stuff and off we are to athlete's village. It is a strange atmosphere, like a busy marketplace with nervous people running around doing things except it's still dark outside. We make sure our tires are inflated, pack the last few items into our transition bags, make a few trips to the port-a-pottys, and soon it is time to slip into our wetsuits, and jump into the lake.
The swim (2.4miles - 4km)
The mass start is a very impressive sight: 2000 people waiting in the water for the cannon to go off. Few people are talking, the nervousness is amazingly palpable. It finally sinks in: this is Ironman! At 7:00AM the cannon goes off, and it is mayhem. Imagine sharing a swimming lane with a few hundred people, and you probably would get a feel for what this is like. I try to get a few strokes in, but wherever I reach I hit bodyparts. I had spent quite some time carefully adjusting my goggles for the perfect fit before jumping into the water, it turns out that was not necessary since someone took care of re-adjusting them for me with his heel a few minutes into the swim (you might notice a black shadow around my right eye on some of the post swim pictures, that's not eye liner). I learn a few things on the fly, such as keeping your teeth tightly closed at all times (elbow hits to the chin hurt much less that way) and staying close to people's feet (most people do not kick too hard given the extra flotation from the wetsuit, so kicks hurt less than punches). All in all, the first 1.2 miles are somewhat rough. I took a few solid hits, some of which caused me to inhale significant amounts of lake water. On the good side, swimming with the pack clearly pulls you along. I am unsure if this makes up for the horrible form you have in the pack... it's probably a wash. Then comes the buoy. The crowd there is so dense that there is no way to actually swim through the turn but somehow the combination of people pushing in the back and the pull of people leaving the pack keeps things moving. The second turn is a few hundred yards later, and then it is straight back to the finish. Here the pack is less dense which allows me to work on my form a little bit and I start feeling pretty good. I get out of the water after 1h14, a very good time for what was supposed to be my weakest leg and I had barely used my legs. In the transition zone, there is an army of volunteers helping you to get out of your wetsuit, hand you your transition bag and apply sunscreen while you are changing into your bike clothes. This makes for a very quick transition time (~8min)
The bike (112miles - 180km)
Remember how I was hoping for a hot day with no wind? Well, the weathergods were not cooperating that day with cool (for Arizona standards) temperatures along with strong winds (20mph+). Those are pretty much the worst possible conditions for a lightweight like me. Unfortunately, this will not be the last piece of bad news for the day (do I see a pattern of trying to come up with excuses here?). A few miles into the bike ride, my left knee starts hurting (at the patella tendon), a relatively uncommon pain I had only experienced a few days before while riding my bike around the hotel. I know there is no way I could run a marathon on this, which is really a mental hardship since I realize for the first time I probably will not finish. So I start pedalling mostly on my right leg, trying to relieve the pressure on my left knee. The bike leg consists of three identical loops. I finish the first loop surprisingly quickly given the circumstances [2:06], and pass Maureen for the first time after 37 miles. As she is cheering I felt like crying (in a very manly kind of way, of course!) because my knee was not much better, so I was rather certain by now I would not be able to run. I start the second loop out of my arrowbars, figuring I might as well enjoy what's left of my race, eating a clif bar and enjoying the tailwind that was blowing us along during the first part of the loop. I was chilling, but averaging 21mph with the wind, this was great! Even better, my knee was showing signs of recovery and as a result I was really pumped at the 55miles turn around. As you probably figured out, the strong tailwind one way meant we were facing a punishing headwind on the second part. Again my right leg is doing all the work, and although I am going pretty slow at this point (~15mph/24kmh) but I am feeling much happier with the knee loosening up and all. There are aid stations every 10 miles on the ride, but I noticed I can really only drink about 16oz per hour without vomiting so I did not spend a lot of time at the stations, picking up gatorade every 3 stations or so. I also ended up only eating two clif bars and a nut snack for the whole ride. In retrospect I clearly should have tried to get used to eating more on the bike during training. I also got a chance to see how the real hardcore people carry powerbars on their bikes: they wrap them around their frame bars like some kind of sticky tape and just grab chunks of them when needed... disgusting. The second loop went by relatively quickly, my average speed at this point is just shy of 18mph (29kmh). Then comes another hour of tailwind sailing, I spend some time out of my saddle just to get some blood back into my butt, and my knee is steadily improving. Then at 89 miles (143km) something weird happens to my right foot, there is a knuckle-cracking sound followed by sharp pain in the outside of my foot. I am slowing down a lot, trying to put less pressure on the ball of my foot ("pulling" mostly). This sucks. I am approaching the turn-around, the wind had picked up and I feel like things are falling apart. My foot is hurting like hell. This is by far the most humbling moment in any sports event I ever participated in. I get passed by a 66 year old man (a Japanese guy named Shoji), and soon after a 55 year old woman zips by (our age is written on our calves). Ouch! I shut off my brain and focus on forward progress. I keep repeating to myself that as long as I am turning these stupid pedals I am getting closer to getting off this stupid bike (I was more creative with my adjectives in real life). I slow down a lot more. Finally I reach the transition area after 6h45min on the bike (my average speed had dropped to 16.6mph/27kmh through the last loop). I see Maureen and I pray that by taking off my shoes, my foot suddenly will stop hurting. Unfortunately that does not happen. As I am limping barefoot to retrieve my transition bag I tell Maureen I think I broke something in my foot, and things are not too happy. I change into my running gear and head out to get some sunscreen slapped on.
The run
While I was standing there with 3 volunteers applying sunscreen as fast as they can, I am considering quitting. I look at the timing mats hesitant to cross them, thinking "what for?". I do it anyway, and as I am limping my way through the cheering crowd (there are a lot of people around the transition areas) I tell Maureen it is worse than I thought and that I will call her cell phone from the medical tent. I did not want to quit in front of everybody, so I decide to "walk" a little bit before calling first aid. While limping along, I am calculating whether I could make the cutoff at this speed. After reaching the first mile in 30min, I know I would need at least 12 more hours to finish, way past the cutoff. It becomes clear that this is useless, I will not become an ironman today. There is an aid station a 1/4 mile back with medical support, I am thinking of turning around. At that point a guy with an amputated right arm is running past me. Looking at this guy somehow flips a switch and I get mad at myself for being such a whiner and feeling sorry for myself while I enjoy the use of all my limbs. After apologizing to my foot I decide to bite it and just start running. The pain is curiously strong for the first minute or so, but then my foot slowly numbs to the point I can barely feel the pain. This is awesome, I think, and I start gunning it. Probably helped by the adrenaline released from the pain, I am moving really fast, taking home a few sub 6min30 miles. This is the first really good news of the day: I can go much, much faster than most everybody on the run. I get very excited, and find that it helps me to have obnoxious thoughts like: "you're in my house now Shoji" (for the record: he finished first of his age division in a little over 13 hours... amazing... I really hope I could be half (1/4th?) as strong at 66.) and "who is looking strong now?" - referring to the "encouragements" people would give me while zooming past me on the bike: "looking strong buddy!"... yeah right. Anyway, I run the first of the three loops super fast, supercharged by these obnoxious thoughts. Then I finally come to my senses: by some miracle, I had been given a second chance to finish this, I had been a few split seconds away from throwing in the towel and now I was about to screw it all up by running like a madman and cramping up 5 miles before the finish line. So I loosened up, running at a more reasonable pace through the last two loops, feeling extremely grateful for this turn of events. There were hundreds (thousands?) of motivational signs that had been placed along the course by friends and family, some of which were really "out there" (Honey I am pregnant! Love Karen). These and the high spirits of the volunteers staffing the aid stations provided great entertainment at a time when things seemed to drag a bit. After 3h47 of running (30 min of which was spend limping through the first mile) I reached the finish line right when the sun hit the horizon. I heard the sacred mantra through the PA system: "Cedric Dupont from San Francisco CA, you are an Ironman".
This felt good. Real good.
Post race
After meeting up with Maureen in the end zone I tried to force myself to eat some food. They were serving pizza, burritos and french fries. Mmmh! I ate a few salty french fries and changed into warmer clothes. I checked my time [12h04] on the official results table, and again could not believe the luck I just had. We tried to find a good spot from which we could film Misha coming in. I had seen him on the bike, and he seemed to be doing great. Maureen also told me that he was running really fast, so it dawned on us that he might just do it. Mind-boggling... At 8h45PM the PA system announced "Misha Zatsman from Mountain View CA" he had broken 14 hours, a truly incredible feat. Misha had a much better appetite than me (surprisingly enough...) and we had another round of pizza, french fries and pretzels after which we picked up our bikes, gear and headed back to the hotel for the last leg: putting our bikes back into their crates (our plane was leaving first thing in the morning). It took me an hour and a half to pack my bike, and I collapsed into my bed around midnight. Needless to say I fell asleep relatively quickly.
Training
I started the "real" training in October (obviously I did not start from scratch...)I even tried to log my
workouts to track my progress and check for overtraining. I had read crazy stories of people bragging about ridiculously intense training programs in many web-forums, but for what it's worth you can take the numbers on the log at face value. A typical "intense" week towards the end of the program included 2-3 one-hour swimming sessions, two 60-mile bike rides, and several 9-13 miles running workouts. My biggest regret is that I did not spend any time in the weightroom (I hate lifting weights) which is essential to build strength. As you can notice, I did not do much of a taper as I felt that the gain in endurance outweighed the benefit of additional rest up onto the very end. I had my last hard bike ride on Sunday and went on my last pre-race jog on Wednesday night. The result of all this training? Before the race I felt ready for the running leg (the napa marathon test 5 weeks before had felt great), I did not feel very confident about the bike leg although I clearly improved a lot over the last 4 months, so I figured it would be a good day/bad day kind of situation. Finally, I knew I would be slow in the water but that I would somehow manage to finish within a reasonable time.
Gear
I used a blue seventy reaction wetsuit that I selected because it fit my shoulder shape best. The tradeoff was typically between mobility (i.e. enough room to move) and too much material bunching up at the armpits. I tried many suits, including the top-of-the line orca apex, but none fit me as well as the reaction. My bike is a Cervelo Dual, pretty much stock except for a replaced bottom bracket (ultegra). I swapped the excellent (but puncture-prone) vittoria diamante pro light tires for a continental set (GP Attack in front and Force in the rear). As far as trunk space goes, the cervelo frame only fits one cage and I mounted one of these carbon fiber ones. They look really cool, but I am not that convinced about the ergonomics of these cages, as I found that inserting a waterbottle is much harder than in conventional cages. But hey, looks count in this world... I also used a Profile Design bottle that you squeeze between the arrowbars, which works OK, but is somewhat hard to drink out of while riding on rough surfaces. It also spills quite a bit, and I ended up having sticky gatorade all over the bike. I used a small timbuk2 saddle pack for tube repair gear. That's it.
Competitive analysis: about 80% of the people use some type of fancy wheels on the ride (Zipp or similar) and about one third have the full carbon lenticular or three spoke setup. Not sure how to quantify the benefits, but they sure look cool, and make frightening noises while zooming by.
Fashion matters
In terms of clothing I went for full comfort, meaning that I changed completely at every transition. I am puzzled that it is humanly possible to spend 6 hours on a bike wearing a speedo like the pros do. I wore a pair of super-padded (nice-ah) Sugoi reflex shorts for the ride, along with a bike jersey with big pockets to carry all the food I planned to eat. I changed socks for the run (I got these fancy assymetrical socks by nike that worked great i.e. no blisters) and wore running shorts (no compression). I also wore a tri-top for the marathon, thinking I would be using its pockets for gu. This was probably not a good idea, as it was hard to slip on and because aid stations were placed every mile, I really did not need to do much carrying at all. Looking at the other competitors, most everybody was wearing compression shorts so this probably is something to look into for the future.
Nutrition [Disclaimer: I have no idea what I am talking about, and none of this would withstand FDA scrutiny]
Aside from increasing the proportion of carbohydrates (=sugars), I did not pay that much attention to my everyday diet. The focus on carbs probably did decrease my body fat somewhat (measurement in March showed 4.7% body fat, which is dangerously low), but I did not actively monitor my weight. As far as supplements go, I tried a
glucosamine/chondroitin complex for 60 days before the race, and I must say I now am a believer in this stuff. My knees stayed happy throughout the last two month, even after the pounding induced by a 2h50 marathon on a concrete road, and several telemarking trips in the Lake Tahoe backcountry. I also took some
Flax seed oil gel tablets (my belief was that this could help increasing my fat levels). Nothing to report here. I also took some generic multivitamin supplement during the 4 hardest training months. I took
Ibuprofen for a couple of days to speed up recovery from a bike crash during which I injured my hip, but other than that I stayed away from anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDs as they are known in the business). In terms of electrolyte drinks, I am a real fan of
Cytomax for efforts longer than 2 hours or for recovery after any hard workout. This stuff is truly amazing in its ability to prevent cramps and reduce soreness. Unfortunately, they are only serving Gatorade Endurance Formula during the race (which I know nothing about except that it tastes very salty, ew!). Because of the high calorie needs during the Ironman I needed to get used to eating while exercising, something I had never done before (I am a "water only" kind of guy). I started by using energy gels (Powerbar, Gu-shot), and I was surprised how easy they are to digest even while running. I am planning to eat about 5000 calories on the bike leg (I am writing this before the race), so I also got used to eating solid food while biking. I found Clif Bars to be effective and easy to eat, Powerbars work well too but are a pain to eat (sticky, gooey, hard to squeeze out of their wrapping).
Cost
Unfortunately, this thing ain't cheap. A race costs about $2000, split roughly 4-ways between registration, travel, lodging (3-days minimum) and incidentals. Of course this assumes that you own all the necessary gear. It is hard to spend more than $500 on a wetsuit ($200 is easily feasible for dealseekers), but there is no upper limit on how much money one can spend on a bike ($10-15,000 bikes are common). Running is the thriftiest leg, as $200 buys you all the running gear you need.
