Lake Stevens 70.3
The week leading up to this year’s Lake Stevens Half Ironman brought an unusual level of stress with it. I’m thankful for having a successful season this summer, filled with great race experiences and personal records. But this would be my first 70.3 and there was a LOT of uncharted territory ahead. Would I be able to finish? Would my bike function properly? What does it feel like to be at race pace for 6 hours (or more?) To subdue my anxiety I began a detailed race plan covering my racing strategy and preparation during the days leading up to the event. This helped channel my energy into something constructive and allowed me to begin organizing my gear and preparing myself mentally and physically for the challenge ahead. Every time I would begin to stress out about a missed detail or about something unexpected popping up I would revert to my written race plan, reminding myself of the things I’d already planned for and adding any items that I had previously missed.
Saturday, August 14th was check-in day. The race venue is split between two cities, with the host hotel located in Everett, Washington and the race course start, transition and finish located about 10 miles away in Lake Stevens. Competitors are required to attend a mandatory racer’s meeting, held hourly at the hotel, before checking in, completing a few release forms, picking up their race packets and shuttling their bikes over to the race course for staging in the transition area. During the days following this event, online forums would ‘buzz’ with comments of frustration regarding strict mandatory meeting cutoffs (arrive 5 minutes late for the meeting and you have to wait outside the ballroom until the next meeting begins,) long check-in lines and insufficient volunteer staff to handle the large number of registrants attending this event. Although some patience was required during check-in for this event (or any event with over 1300 racers in attendance,) proper organization beforehand teamed with on-my-toes punctuality made the entire process run more smoothly. One quick tip for next year… Stay toward the entrance door of the ballroom during the racer’s meeting. At the end, the presenter will bring a stamp pad to the entrance and stamp each attendee before they leave to get in line for check-in. Be the first out of the ballroom and you will be the first in line to check in. You can spend the time you saved (NOT standing in line) at the race Expo, which is located just after you’ve picked up your race packet, shirt and commemorative shoulder bag.
Upon check-in, we drove to Lake Stevens for bike drop off. The parking pass I had purchased from the Lake Stevens Chamber of Commerce website came in handy as we were able to park in a reserved lot just 2 blocks from the transition area. I applied my race number to my bike frame, made a quick adjustment to my rear derailleur, made sure my wristband (applied during check-in and required to enter and exit the transition area) was attached, and headed over for bike setup. I was thrilled by my assigned end-position at the rack, even more so when I realized how tightly packed the bikes would be. Scarcely 12 inches of width were allowed between bikes, making the space I would enjoy in the end-aisle seem like a football field. I hung my bike from the crossbar by its seat, and began to let some air out of the tires (so they wouldn’t expand and explode in the hot afternoon sun) when I realized that the release pin on one of my brand new Specialized tubes wouldn’t budge. A little panicked, I recalled overhearing one of the volunteers mention that there was a bike shop located just up the street. I detached my front wheel quickly and headed out on foot. Within minutes, the mechanic had snipped off the tube stem, pulled the tube from the tire and replaced it with a new one. I was back on track in no time, remounting my front wheel and heading for the car.
We had dinner that night at Lombardi’s on the Everett waterfront. Good food and live music in the plaza right outside. I was feeling good, not nervous but excited after months of anticipation, training and preparation. During dinner, I’d recalled that I hadn’t brought my number belt, which, given the assortment of number sheets provided by the race organizers, would have come in handy on both the bike and the run. I began pondering solutions while we finished dinner and then headed back to the hotel.
Temperatures had risen into the low 90′s during the day and the air conditioner in our room didn’t work very well. Sleep was hard to come by, as I spent most of the night tossing and turning on sweaty sheets in the red glow of my alarm clock.
At the sound of my 4AM alarm, I rose, downed 3 bottles of Ensure and headed for the shuttle bus. The first bus to leave for Lake Stevens only had 3 racers on it. I was glad to be early though as I was still feeling uncertain about the day. We arrived at the transition area about 40 minutes prior to it’s opening at 5am and had to wait at the curb after getting our arms and calves marked. Upon entering transition, there was plenty of time to lay out my gear and to mentally rehearse my transitions. Before long though, the announcer requested that racers make their way over to the starting area where the pro triathletes were preparing for the start of the first wave.
Starting waves were staged in 4 minute intervals on the park lawn. From there, each group moved to the pier, then to the dock and then into to water for their respective wave starts. I had been told that there would be a visible underwater guide rope connecting all of the marker bouys but was surprised, even in the shallow water of Lake Stevens, that it was not immediately visible from the dock. I dove into the water about mid-pack and swam left toward the line of bouys marking the course. As I moved closer to where I would eventually find the guide line, the swimmers surrounding me appeared much more focused and intense. I continued to the far left of the group, plunged my face below the surface and there it was, not the thick guide ‘rope’ that had been described to me, but a thin line, just a ‘string,’ vanishing off into the murky water. Racers behind me were nervously querying each other for anticipated swim times. At that point it was apparent to me that I was perfectly positioned, right along the line and smack in front of what had to be the fastest swimmers. At the call of the race official, I started my timer, and within seconds the starting gun had fired and we were off. 11 months had led up to this moment and, with the guide line in sight, tucked right in behind the lead group of swimmers, I was now moving swiftly forward, into one of the longest races I had ever attempted.
Within a quarter mile we had reached the tail end of the wave before us and by the halfway point, as we negotiated the large floating turn bouys, we were in the thick of it, fighting through swarms of flailing bodies and struggling to stay on each others’ wakes. I raised my head occasionally to make sure our group was intact but was disappointed to see that we were separating in the confusion. By the three quarter mile point, our group had disassembled but, by the colors of the swim caps I was still passing, I could tell that I had reached several waves of swimmers ahead and that my swim split would be a personal record. At about that point, while passing a fellow swimmer, I was kicked (or maybe elbowed) solidy in the face and finished the last portion of the swim with my goggles full of water and sucking at my eye sockets. The bouys and guideline were still visible underwater but the sun was now shining directly into my eyes when I’d raise my head to look for the beach. I followed the guideline and the bouys tightly until my hands touched the boat ramp before looking up at the cheering crowd. My eyes were still blurry from the pressure of the goggles on my eye sockets but through the haze I could see two things clearly. The first was that there were still a LOT of bikes in transition and that there were very few people. The second, looking down at my watch, was that I had finished the 1.2 mile swim in under 30 minutes, a stellar way to start a potentially epic day! As I stripped my wetsuit and headed for my bike, I felt GREAT and ready to ride!
My first transition went smoothly. I’d arranged my gear meticulously and was quickly able to load up and move. The pins I’d attached to my jersey in order to quickly attach my race number didn’t work very well as my hands were slippery with sunscreen and jittery with excitement. I folded my race number and stuffed it into my back pocket, detached my bike and ran for the bike start. My shoes were attached to the pedals in advance, a technique that I hadn’t tried before. Without having rehearsed my foot insertion and strap fastening, I was relieved when everything went smoothly. I was off on the bike and feeling great.
A fast swim had put me on the bike course with some very strong cyclists. This was apparent within the first 5 miles and I fought to hold back some, especially on the short hills leading out to the first lap. My mental target for heart rate on the bike creeped up the scale quickly as I resolved to keep my heart rate below my Lactate Threshold at about 155 bpm. Turning onto OK Mill road for the first of two laps, I began the long series of climbs leading to Lake Roesiger. I prerode the course a week before the race and knew that this long climb would be rewarded by long fast downhill segments on the way back to Machais that would allow my muscles to rest some while increasing my average speed and decreasing my overall split for the stage.
The unanswered question of the day was ‘how much?’ How much could I afford to burn on the way up, knowing that I would get some back on the way down? How much could I afford to burn on lap one but assure that I had enough to get through lap 2? How much could I burn on the bike and still have what it takes to get through the half marathon run? During my preride I had reached Lake Roesiger with an average speed of 17.2 mph at a moderate pace (and an average heart rate near 140 bmp.) Today, fueled by a stellar swim, a field of elite cyclists and what felt like an endless flow of endorphins, I had averaged 18.4 by the turn at W Lake Roesiger and Dubuque Road and felt relieved as I turned back toward town, prepared for the long descent into Machias, where I was elated to see my average speed eclipse 20.1 mph! My legs felt full but I felt confident, sailing through Machias and turning back up OK Mill for lap two, that I was delivering an excellent ride.
Back at Lake Roesiger (at the top,) my overall average speed had climbed (from 18.4 on lap 1) to 18.9 mph. I was thrilled and feeling taxed but confident that I would finish the stage within reach of a phenomenal 5:30 finish! I was pushing the downhill, reaching top speeds of just over 55 miles per hour. I had let go completely, consumed by the success I’d felt in the water and was now feeling on the bike.
I was in uncharted territory now and hoping that, though I knew that my legs would be fatigued when I arrived at the second transition, that muscle fibers not engaged on the bike would kick in and take over during the 13.1 mile run that lay ahead. Brick (combined) workouts had been a part of my training and I felt confident that I would be able to run off the bike regardless of accumulated fatigue. The distances in play today, teamed with 3.5 hours of race intensity effort, were about to prove me wrong. My legs felt thick and heavy as I rode the last 6 miles back to town.
My return to the transition area was hindered some by the long string of flag-toting volunteers lining the last 200 yards of the bike course. I kept trying to stop and dismount but each volunteer was telling me to do so further along the course. Finally I arrived at the last volunteer, who was standing over the bright red ‘dismount line’ taped to the asphalt. I dismounted and ran into transition. I’d averaged 19.5 mile per hour for 56 miles over very hilly terrain!
Once in transition, I racked my bike, sat to put on my socks and for a moment was overcome by emotion. I had poured my heart into the ride and was now 2 hours from a finish that a year ago was unimaginable to me. If I were able to run 13.1 miles within two hours I would cross the finish line with a time of 5 minutes 30 seconds! Tears welled in my eyes and I breathed heavily. My heart and head were ready to run. My legs would catch up. I felt certain (though I was about to be proven very wrong.) I laced my shoes, sprung from the asphalt and headed for the run-out.
Two fueling mistakes became apparent quickly into my run. First, I was relying solely on Perpetuem for fuel, a blend of carbs and protein, perfect for events over 2 hours duration, but one with a mildly ‘thick’ consistency and very subtle flavor. After 3 hours of exertion, and in the growing heat, the LAST thing my stomach wanted was’ more of the same.’
Also, I had planned to carry ALL of my fuel and most of my water with me on the course, being unfamiliar with the water stops and uncertain of what the crowds would be like along the run course. In hindsight, this was senseless. Water stations stocked with Powerbars and Gu lined the course at every mile marker, eliminating the need for what now felt like a 75 pound fuel belt.
I’d anticipated that the first mile of the run would be difficult. I was right. Adjusting from a 20 mph cycling pace to a 6 mph running pace is a mental strain. My legs felt heavy as I climbed the short hill out of town. At mile 1, I grabbed two dixie cups full of ice cold water and doused my head, bringing instant relief from the heat. Unfortunately, from the waist down, I was not improving. The first two miles of the run course had appeared, during my preview drive yesterday, to be relatively flat. On foot, and in truth, the first two miles were a gradual climb. Mile 3 brought some relief though as we descended back into town. I was still struggling, but managed to straighten up a bit as I passed through, knowing that my wife and two sons would be waiting there to cheer me on.
The photo below is one of me recieving my lesson in long distance endurance pacing from two fellow competitors, neither of whom I have ever met.
Racer number 376 is Derek Crump of Seattle. Derek’s wave (M35-39) started precisely 16 minutes ahead of mine (M45-49.) By the time I left the water I was 9 minutes ahead of Derek on the clock and within 7 minutes of catching him on the ground. By the end of the bike stage, my average speed of 19.3 miles per hour put me 15 minutes 30 seconds ahead of Derek on the clock and within 30 seconds of catching him during the run. This photo, taken at mile 3 of the run, shows me finally catching Derek, having run the first 3 miles with a 9:25 per mile pace. On the clock, I am 16 minutes ahead of him. But within the next 3 miles I will crash, hard, and Derek will go on, averaging 9:42 per mile for the half marathon, overtaking my 16 minute lead and then beating my overall finish time by an additional 36 minutes and 53 seconds.
Racer number 651 is Ron Matthews, also of Seattle. Ron’s wave (M40-44) started 12 minutes ahead of mine. At the end of the swim, I had gained 4 minutes 58 seconds on Ron. His transition times were quicker than mine so by the time we hit the road on the bike he had gained back a little over half a minute. I passed him though, toward the end of the bike stage, arriving at transition two almost 13 minutes ahead of him by the clock and nearly a minute ahead of him on the ground. His quick transition put him hot on my heels by the time we started the run, where he remained for the 1st three miles, finally catching back up in this photo, where, by the clock, I am still 12 minutes ahead of him. Ron would go on to complete the half marathon in 2 hours, 15 minutes, dissolving my 12 minute lead and beating my finish time by 31 minutes, 38 seconds.
As I was rounding the curve onto Lakeshore Drive for the out and back (and up and over,) I passed a friend who’d come out to watch the race. I reached my hand out for an exhausted ’low-five’ and muttered something like ‘Jeez, I’m dying.’ Little did I know how true that statement was about to become.
I struggled along Lakeshore, feeling my legs bottom out as I reached the top of the long hill and then frantically tried to recover during the slow descent to the turnaround. On the way back in, I was really feeling gassed. My legs just weren’t turning over. My splits were diminishing. 9:20 became 9:30 became 10:10 became 10:30, and my goal of a 5 hour and 30 minute finish was crumbling. Volunteers and spectators had lined the course with squirt guns and garden hoses, dousing competitors as they passed and I welcomed the immersion. The heat had really gotten to me.
At the turnaround I conceded that the water I’d brought with me, now lukewarm and thick with Perpetuem, was not going to be used. I threw two of my 4 bottles into the trash can at the next water stop and continued on, feeling a little lighter.
It was just after mile 5 that I released my 05:30 aspirations and resolved to ‘just not walk,’ knowing that a 05:45 finish was still in reach and that I would still easily clear my original goal of 06:00.
Within a half mile though, with legs that felt like they were full of lead and no gas left in my tank, I was quickly reduced to a slow walk.
Suddenly, without the distraction of my aching, tired legs, I became accutely aware of other factors contributing to my suffering, including the back of my neck, which was thoroughly chaffed from my wetsuit and now sizzling in the hot sun.
Attempts to resume running were unanswered by my legs, though I did manage a slow shuffle through town, where I stopped momentarily to drop off my remaining water bottles with my family. I felt beaten but was determined to finish and hopeful that at some point, I would gain a second wind and would be able to resume running. Leaving town, I attempted a rhythm, running 45 seconds and walking 15. This worked well for about 8 minutes before my tank ran dry again. Walking into the water station at mile 7, I stopped to down 3 cups of ice cold water. I gazed over the power bars and gu packs available there, but my stomach wouldn’t budge. I was hungry, but not for that. In spite of this I grabbed a single gu pack, tore off the top and trudged onward.
At mile 9, walking the shallow descent back into town, a female runner, clad in bright purple, padded along beside me, running ahead about 50 paces and began walking. I knew instantly by her gray, curly hair and small, slim stature, that this was Sister Madonna Buder, Kona qualifier and triathlon celebrity. I had seen her before, at IronMan CoeurDAlene, but missed the opportunity to introduce myself and to recognize her with appreciation for all that she has done to inspire me and others in the sport. This was my chance, and would be a welcome distraction to the suffering of the day. So I picked it up a little, shuffling forward on tired legs. As I approached, she too began her ‘run cycle’ and started moving quickly ahead. I changed my tactic a little, running when she ran and walking when she walked, sure that I’d be able to catch up. I mean, she’s 80… right? She’s been at this sport for a long time but she’s a lot older than me… right? Well… wrong. By the time we reached downtown, that speedy little nun had disappeared up and over the hill on Lakeshore. I would find out later that she was on her first lap of two, but still… that little lady is quick!
The final 3 mile out and back is a blur of Dixie cups, gu packs, hot asphalt, squirt guns and garden hoses. Spectators who cheered during the first lap seemed to be taunting and jeering now as I passed over the last hill and began the final descent back into town and to my family waiting at the finish line.
At mile 12 I ran for about a quarter mile, then walked another quarter, finishing the final half mile at a trot. The pull of the crowd cheering and the anticipation of finally ending the longest, hardest half marathon I had ever run (mentally AND physically) pushed me up the last rise to the finish, where I crossed in 6 hours, 29 minutes and 1 second. I was exhausted and dehydrated but happy to be done.
Kelly, the boys and I found a bit of shade and I sat for a minute, bewildered by my success and feeling motivated by today’s adventure. I quickly guzzled both the bottle of cold water AND the Gatorade that volunteers had given me at the finish line and handed my medal to my youngest son for his collection (ok, MY collection but they all hang on his bedroom wall.) We made our way to the transition area, gathered my things, loaded the truck and headed for home.
In hindsight, months of training had paid off tremendously but in ways that I hadn’t expected. I had pushed my body well beyond its limit and am pleased (even thankful) that it was pure fatigue that overcame me rather than injury. Knees, ankles and hips all felt great throughout this race. At mile 6 of the run, my muscles, spent of fuel and full of lactic acid, just gave up… called it quits.
I rested some the day following the race but was, without injury or any lasting discomfort, able to resume training at my full capacity within two days of the event, logging 14 hours the following week.
Originally, this was to be my last big race of the season. But, eager to put what I ‘ve learned into practice, I am registering for one more ‘long course’ event this season, which will be held on Saturday Sept 25th in Black Diamond WA.
My strategy for that race will be disciplined pacing on the bike combined with a variety of fuel sources throughout, relying more heavily on course provisions for water and food on the run. Provided I can manage it, I will attempt to begin the half-marathon at an intentionally slower (than usual) pace, increasing my speed (slightly) with every mile.
My time goal for a 6 hour finish (or 5:45? or 5:30?) still stands.
