2012 IMLP- The Run

I've had a decent Ironman swim. I've had a decent Ironman bike. Just for the record, I have never had a good Ironman run. Ever. Period. End of story.

In the past, I have known going in to the run that it was going to be a challenge. Sort of like a preemptive excuse. The first year was, well, my first year. Or I knew I was under trained. One year I hurt my quad playing softball before the race. I no longer play softball. Then it was a knee problem. Or I pushed too hard on the 2nd loop of the bike. It was always something.

This year, I had no real excuses. I did my training. I had no injuries. When I got done with the ride, my legs felt great. My spirit was high. I am ready for this run. I am a moron.

For those of you who don't know, the run leg is 26.2 miles. The distance alone is a feat. To say that it becomes a challenge after a 112 mile bike ride is an understatement. The ideal way to handle the run is slowly. Like, tortoise slow.

I have gone out too hard in the past. In Lake Placid, running too hard early on is incredibly easy. There are a couple of nice downhills right at the beginning. Running downhill is a cakewalk but it can wreak havoc on your quads. I needed my quads. So, I kept it slow. As I was starting my run, I had a mantra, "Control, control. You must learn control." (I even used my best Yoda voice.)

About 0.25 miles into the run, I got passed by a pro on his 2nd lap. It was Pete Jacobs, who was sitting comfortably in 2nd place. I read about pro triathletes and I see their pics (Pete is on the left). The media coverage doesn't really do them justice. Pete is a big guy. I stand at 5'10 and he towered over me. He was a lean, muscular man and I was envious as to the ease of his gait. Quick, I had to say something. Now, I'm kind of a tool. Perhaps I was low on blood sugar (completely plausible after that bike ride). All I could think of was, and this is a direct quote I promise, "GO GET 'EM, DAWG!"

I assumed that he was in a zone and immune to the nonsensical gibberish being spewed from fans, even if they are in the race. Nope. Pete actually responded to me. And what came out was just as much of a surprise as his stature. "Naw. He's way to far ahead," said Pete with a dismissal smile and a wave of his hand. Holy crap. I just had a mini conversation with a pro. He addressed me personally, after I called him 'Dawg." His thick Aussie accent only deepened the surprise of the moment.

In seconds he was gone and I was left with, "Control, control. You must learn control." I trudged on down the hill at about 1/10th the speed of the mighty Pete. After the gradual decline, we turned right and hit the real downhill. Called Mill Hill, it's rather steep and hurts going both up and down. We rolled through the small villa. Then hit the second big hill, which is unnamed to the best of my knowledge (although I'm sure that some of the athletes have given it plenty of names, most of which aren't PG enough for this blog). In the pic at the right, you can see a bridge at the end of the hill, this marks a left hand turn and the 2 mile mark. This far, my mantra is working. I am still feeling great.

There's something about an Ironman that removes you from the reality in which the rest of the world lives. You are so focused and intent on reaching your goals that you miss out on some of the real wonderful things in life. Lake Placid is a stunning place. Running technique has you focused on the ground roughly 20 feet or so in front of you. Once you make that left hand turn, all you have to do is point your head up and you are graced with this:

On your left is a farm that rescues horses and nurtures them back to health. Out in the distance is some breathtaking views of the Adirondack Mountains. They are dotted with the beautiful blue sky and fluffy white clouds. It really is a shame that many people miss this, including myself.

Shortly after entering this section of the road, I had another pro encounter. This time is was with the 3rd place bloke, named Romain Guillaume. He snuck up behind me just like any competitor. And, just like the tool I am, I ran with him. I was running with a pro. He is the human photo negative of Pete. Romain is small, light, almost elven in his silent way of running. He was clipping nicely at around a 7:15 minute mile pace. This is certainly within my skill set, at least in the short term. I decided to hang out with Romain for about 1/10th of a mile or so. The reason, the Finisher Pix guy was just up ahead. You can spot him easily as he's the dude sitting in the middle of the road with a camera. I was about to get my mug taken with a legit athlete.

I ran with him step by step. I tried to enlist him in conversation. Alas, he no speak English. See, he's from France. Had I done my research ahead of time, I would have known this and spoken to him in French. Even if I had picked the correct language, I doubt I'd have gotten much chatter out of him. He was focused on his race, probably missing the scenery, and definitely annoyed that some doofus refused to back off. Luckily for him, the picture guy was just up ahead and there was another runner on the course. Since pic guy was in the middle of the road, the 3rd guy (left side of the pic on the right) had to move out of the way. He moved right into my running path and forced me to slow. Dammit. He photo bombed my shot with Romain.

That move was a blessing in disguise. I needed to reduce my speed. "Control, control. You must learn control." Yoda was still displeased with my decision. I slowed from a near 7 minute mile to my pre-planned 8:30. Life was good.

At one point during the run, I was trudging along and I was passed by another runner. This is/ was/ will not be anything new. In the spirit of triathlon, running is easily my weakest link and therefore I will get passed. I was diligently running the tangents on the curves of the road and some dude ran by. For the most part, triathletes are the greatest people on Earth (just under the volunteers). This guy was no different. He shouted out words of encouragement as he flashed by. Actually he said, and I quote verbatim as his words are forever emblazoned on my mind, "Wow, it looks like you are out for just another Sunday stroll."

And ya know what, he was right. I was 5 miles into the run, had 21 miles left and repeating the mantra "Control, control. You must learn control" thinking that I had solved the problem. I was just out for a Sunday stroll. My pace was slower than normal. My spirits were high. I was still feeling great. I was enjoying the scenery. We were on a road. Near a river. Hence "River Road". Get it. I did. It really is a good place to run.

The turn around is near mile 6. I got to undo all of the doing I had just done. No problem. I was following my hydration and nutrition plan. I was controlling the pace. Everything was in place until mile 9. Here's where the fun started...

Most muscles in your body do work by contraction. The opposite of work is called relaxation. Should a muscle contract on its own, viola, muscle cramp. Every now and then, my quads would cramp up. Then, I would yell at them. Cramps would go away. We continued this for a mile or 2. I was now at mile 9 on the run.

While the striated muscle that lined either side of my femur was trying to decide how they felt about my continued forward progression, my sphincter muscles were making decisions of their own. The human body has several sphincter muscles, mostly associated with your gastrointestinal (GI) tract. When contracted, a sphincter muscle closes a tube. When relaxed, it opens a tube. The most famous of these sphincters, the anal sphincter, is a really great insult. And, starting at mile 9, it started insulting me.

"Control, control. You must learn control" started to take on completely new meanings for this run. My comfortable pace had slowed to an uncomfortable squeeze. There are aid stations at every mile on the run. I successfully hit the porta potty at mile 9, mile 10, and mile 11. Stopping in the middle of a run for a bathroom break wreaks havoc on your average pace time. My chance for a PR was starting to slip into blue sanitary liquid.

Not to be outdone, my esophageal sphincter joined the fun. This is the muscle that keeps the stomach closed off from the esophagus. Translation: I now wanted to hurl. My body was looking for an excuse to halt my forward progress. When the leg muscles failed, the body sent the army from behind. When that failed, it sent the forces from within. My spirits were down. Way down.

Despite my discomfort, I kept going. However, I needed a new mantra. "Control, control. You must learn control," was not as inspiring as it once was. I changed to, "Running, even slowly, is better than walking." My 8:30-9:00 minute pace had gone to 10:30-11:00 pace. I was happy. Why? Because, "Running, even slowly, is better than walking." (I'm starting to buy into this positive thinking thing.)

I ran- slowly- for most of the way up. Sure, the stomach was rebelling. The bowels completed the GI pressure. The Ironman is more than just a swim, bike, run. It is an obstacle in which many small decisions add up to enormous success. Or enormous failure. I was still hopeful for success. Granted, I was sweating profusely as compared to my effort. But, I was making forward progress, which at this point was all that mattered.

Near the halfway point, there is a special needs bag drop. What seemed like 85 hours earlier (really it was only 8 at this point), I dropped off a medium-sized white bag labeled with my race number and stuffed with 3 gels and a pair of socks. My feet were sloshed in my own perspiring excrement. I was feeling miserable. I wasn't hungry. I thought I would get salvation in some dry footwear.

There are a bunch of volunteers manning the special needs area and 2 of such (maybe I looked desperate) coddled my every need. They reached into my bag and removed my items while I sat down on the ground. Please understand that sitting during an Ironman is a very bad idea. Very bad. I had 127 miles on my legs. You can only imagine how sweet the sit felt, even if it were on rough asphalt. I instantly felt like getting up was not an option. Luckily the volunteers were as motivating as they were helpful.

I removed my left sock. Much to my amazement, the lady volunteer stuck out her hand as if I were going to hand my disgusting remnant of a foot covering to her. I couldn't do it. No matter how much she insisted that it was no bother to her, I refused to allow her to handle this item. Human decency must have its limits. I placed my stinky in the bag myself, donned my left sock and reapplied my shoe. It was time to do the right. As I removed my right shoe, I started crying.

Remember when I told you about involuntary muscle contraction? Well, my right leg decided to prove science correct. The entire gastrocnemius muscle, AKA the calf, decided that super-extra, involuntary contraction was the best route, while I'm sitting on the ground. I stretched my leg. I rubbed my calf. It felt like a solid brick. I still refused to give my dirty sock to the volunteer despite my pain. I pocketed my gels and tried to stand. Nope. Back down for another round of "Rub out my pain". The volunteers, bless their hearts, had no idea what to do with me. I didn't know either. I tried to stand one more time, with the assistance of my 2 newest best friends, this time successful. I tried to put weight on my right leg with much less success. I limped on.

For the third time during the race, I needed a new mantra. "Running, even slowly, is better than walking," didn't seem to apply anymore. I couldn't run if you paid me. I had 13 miles left to go. I couldn't walk. I couldn't eat. I had a constant urge to poop. I had to make a decision whether or not to continue. I was in the most convenient place to stop, roughly 3/4 of a mile away from transition. There I could find medical assistance. There I could find comfort. There I could find an end to my misery. Dropping out was a real consideration at this time.

Then, I looked about 10 feet to the north. Between the place where I limped and Mirror Lake was the incoming bike lane. I had traveled this path on my bike roughly 2 hours ago. There were still people biking in from the course. Not just a couple of people, but many of people. They were smiling as if they were happy to be done with the hills, which is probably really close to reality. They weren't giving up. Neither was I. I made the decision right there that I was going to finish this, no matter what my body told me.

I started walking. I mean hobbling. As a science guy, I know how to conduct an experiment. My goal was to answer this question: How can I orient my legs most efficiently whilst experiencing the least pain? I tested several different hypotheses until I found the one that worked the best. This process took a couple of miles. I didn't mind as I was heading back downhill for round 2 on the run course. My right calf, once every 100th step or so, felt kinda alright.

It was also during this time that I experimented with different food stuffs on the course. The Ironman aid stations are a catered buffet. They have water, gels, ice, fruit, pretzels, cola, cookies and probably more stuff that I can't remember. I was looking for something that didn't make my tummy hurt so that I can get some calories in me. I tried some pretzels. Failed. I tried some oranges. Failed. I tried some Perform. Failed. I tried some grapes. Failed. I tried just plain water. Success- until you realize that h-2-o has no calories. By this time, it was getting later in the race and they were ready to pass out the chicken broth. Success- until you realize that chicken broth has little to no calories.

Now that I had something in my stomach that didn't make me want to puke, I was able to look around and start appreciating the race again. My body had mostly become numb to the discomfort. Running still seemed to be out of the question but walking seemed manageable. I noticed that there were several others with similar race strategies. Meaning, I was surrounded by many other walkers. And almost all of them were faster than me. Even in the world of the walkers I am pokey. I didn't care. I had a new mantra, "I'm going to enjoy myself."

I did happen to slowly pass exactly 1 person- Tony. He was from the New England area and was a slower walker than me. He told me, during our time spent together, that he had a knee problem and didn't want to push it.  We hung out for the next 6 miles. I slowed to his walking pace and couldn't have been happier.

We worked the crowd. Shared some laughs. Thanked the volunteers. We walked slowly. I had completely forgotten how much I hurt. Funny how sharing your misery will do that for you. Only, I wasn't miserable. "I'm going to enjoy myself," held true for me.

Tony had some great ideas which never came to fruition. All of them involved running. For example, he would say, "Let's try running at _____." (Insert sign/ special needs/ turn around cone.) We never did. We kept on walking, joking, and enjoying.

After starting the run in 228th place, I dropped down to 1212th. That means nearly 1000 people passed me on the run. Ouch had a second meaning. My finish time was a Banter slowest 13:38.

I had learned a new appreciation for the people who walk long distances. It is HARD. I would much rather run the marathon than walk it any day. I did walk the mile in someone else's shoes and I didn't like it. But, I did finish the race. I did enjoy myself. I am once again, and always, an Ironman.

2012 IMLP- The Bike

After getting passed by fellow Rochestarian (seriously, that's what they call people from here) turned Pro Jennie Hansen, I ran towards transition. In enter the chute and find my bag.

Here's the bag system: Your "bike bag" has all of the stuff you need on the ride. In my bag, I have a helmet, sunglasses, race belt (complete with race number firmly attached), cycling gloves, and shoes. All gear were placed in my helmet which was placed on top of my shoes. Plastered to the bottom of the bag was my chamois butter, AKA crotch cream. I, of course, needed to know none of this. In the changing tent, they have hired the most wonderful valets to help dress/ undress/ redress you. I refer to these people as "The Most Awesome People on Earth" but officially they are called volunteers. I basically reclined on my plastic, rental fold-up chair and let Mr. Awesome do most of the work. He dumped out my bag, placed the helmet on my head, handed me my glasses and gloves.

Much to my disappointment, he refused to apply the chamois butter. In his defense, he did accept the task of taking all of my swim gear and placing it in the bike bag. Further, he did this as I ran out of the changing tent with my hand down my pants.

Once in a while, a different Awesome Person will have your bike waiting for you as you run by. No such luck for me. I was stuck finding my own bike. Luckily, it was racked near the end cap making it a rather benign experience. By the time I got to my bike I was well lubed, had my helmet chin strap buckled, and had donned my gloves. My bike nutrition was already on the bike. My water was filled up. I was ready to ride.

The initial part of the course it treacherous. It is very downhill with sharp turns giving you a slalom-like feel. The first year I did this (wow, back in 2007), I did this stretch in my aerobars. Either I am smarter or more of a coward, but I just won't do that now. I stayed firmly on the pursuit bars until I made my way into calmer waters.

As you can see, the initial downhill portion doesn't last very long. Some of the roughest climbs are placed early on in the ride. Many people have a habit of feeling fresh and excited during this stretch, which ends around the 8 mile mark. I swallowed my ego and let these people pass me. I decided that a good spin would serve me well in the long run. I stuck to my race plan, which was to attempt a 5:45 in the ride. I had lots of time to kill.

If you look at the map, find the word "Olympic" and follow it down to "Keene". Then, look up at the hill profile to the spot where the hill bottoms out. That's an 8 mile stretch of virtually no pedaling and super high speed. I reached a top speed of 48 mph on this stretch. This includes a headwind attempting to slow me down.

At the town of Keene, we take a left hand turn and get back to reality as compared to the average triathlon course. It is mostly flat with a few rolling hills. On race day, this meant a tailwind. There's nothing greater than a sweet tailwind. In regular triathlons/ training rides, I average around 20-22 mph. Between Keene and Jay, I averaged roughly 23.5 mph. I am not that fast. This was further proved by the fact that I was being passed by many, many people.

What helped me out was athlete number 755, Erica. She passed me during this stage but ever so slightly. Now, I'm a stickler for the rules. Triathlon rules strictly forbid drafting and "you must maintain a 3 bike-length distance between you and the hottie in front of you" (verbatim).
Erica was traveling at a pace in which I could handle and I did not mind, ahem, hanging out at 17 feet behind.

Erica was perfect in many ways, however, the Banter was able to pass and out climb her. See, after the town of Jay, you reach a town called Upper Jay. You pass this town, follow the Au Sable River and come back to the town of Upper Jay. I am a firm believer that this town is poorly named. It is at the bottom of the hill. It marks the "ascent". This picture doesn't do the initial climb justice. What you are supposed to see is a 8-10% grade climb that endures for the about the next 2 miles. Everyone on the course, except for maybe the most skilled of climbers, is in their smallest gears and still pedaling hard. I was no exception. Still, I forced myself not to kill the pace and tried to spin at as comfortable of a pace as I could.

Working in my favor, I believe, was my cycling endurance. We, as a group, had already completed about 35 miles at this point and had done a fair bit of climbing. I maintained my patience and refused to hammer. Yes, people were passing me. Yes, there was an entire peloton of riders that I refused to join. Yes, I maintained my regular nutrition and hydration plain. I was, thus far, having a good ride.

At some point between Jay and Upper Jay, I had this though, "I'm riding on borrowed energy." See, I'm a pseudo-science geek. I know that elementary physics has this thing called the "Law of Conservation of Energy". Basically, it states that what goes up must come down. The problem is that I already went down. The down portion was expressed as Kinetic Energy, AKA all of that speed. The Law requires that I must give it back. The climbs are Mother Nature's way of restoring the balance.

Well, the 2 miler from Upper Jay to the town of Wilmington was just the tip of the ice berg. Remember, I had an 8-mile drop at the beginning of the ride. That vertical distance must be restored and I'm six miles in the red.

At the town of Wilmington, the nice profiles of the Adirondack Mountains, should you care to look around. (Here is one of my favorite landscape pics taken from a small bridge in Wilmington.) Seriously, people miss the beauty of the world when they are caught up in the Ironman. Pitty.

Even worse is the fact that this is where the pain starts. From that pic back to downtown Lake Placid is roughly 11 miles. Almost all of them are uphill. On race day, exactly all of them were against the wind. All of that speed I had gained on the downhill and flats was about to cash in on my legs.

To make matters worse, this is also the worst stretch of road for smooth pavement. Not only are we going uphill, but we are in a section of road that I lovingly refer to as the "CrotchiNator". It's sort of like the Terminator but exclusively focused on your perineum. There are obstacles of all kinds. Potholes? Check. Grooves in the pavement? Check. Expansion cracks every 10 yards? Check. Any stretch of road that is smooth for more than 100 yards? Nope. It's figuratively insult to injury. I repeat my cycling mantra and spin on.

There are some cues that the hills are coming to an end. First, there are these hills called the Cheeries and the Bears. I'm not sure why they have those names but they are obvious. There are 2 Cheeries; Big Cheery and Little Cheery. There are 3 Bears: Mamma Bear, Baby Bear, and Papa Bear. Papa Bear marks the last major hill before you hit town. It looks like this.

As you can see, the road is less than could be desired. The hill just keeps going. Worse, the hill doesn't end at your sight limit. There is a sharp right hand turn and the hill continues to go up. On the positive side, the are people. Like real Homo sapiens. Lots of people line the street giving you a Tour de France feel. All of them are singularly rooting for you to make it up over the incline and to complete your journey. It's easy to get lost in the moment.

Lap 2 is where everything calms down. Except for the wind. Meteorology 101- surface winds can be caused by uneven heating of the Earth's surface. As the sun increases in the sky, uneven heating increases. Therefore, more wind. More wind equals slower speeds.

To make matters worse, the winds were in our faces on the downhills. Free speed just got a little less, um, free. The upside- the wind was pushing us on the flats. The flat section is between Keene and Jay. The Au Sable River- East Bank is on our right. This is now the 3rd quarter of the ride. Life is good.

For all practice purposes, Jay is not a good sight. That town marks the ascent. It sucks the first time around. On round 2, the legs are more tired. They are not dead, but the dagger has been inserted. As the course turns around to head back into Placid, the winds smack you in the face. While going uphill. The dagger twists.

Road conditions still suck

I have bonked at this stage in the past. Not today. I'm, oddly feeling great. Granted, I'm not going very fast. At one point, a dude fly fishing on the West Bank, while wearing full blown hip-waders, may have actually walked past me. I didn't mind. I have studied this course and race extensively and I know that there is a marathon to follow these hills and crappy road. Having made numerous mistakes on this portion of the ride, I sat in. Spin spin spin. At no point during the ride did I feel like I was pushing. I kept everything under control, just like I planned.

As I came back into town, I was greeted by all of the crowds. And, for the first time in the day, I got to see the Wife and dogs. I missed her on the first time around. She yelled as she hung out around Mirror Lake. With all the athletes, spectators, and commotion, the dogs were as excited as I've seen them on race day (see photo to the left).

My goal for the ride was a 5:45. I came in at a comfy 5:55. The winds slowed me down that much. The highlight was that I felt better than ever. I had dropped from 143rd place to 228th place, which I find completely unfathomable. There were at least 100 people that passed me in the peloton on on lap 1. Other than Erica, I can't remember passing another person myself. Yet, the data doesn't lie. I was poised for a great race indeed.

Next comes the real challenge- the run.

2012 IMLP- The Swim

The day starts off pretty early. Nutrition needs for an Ironman are exorbitant. It's not really about how much you can eat as it is about how much you can absorb. For full breakfast absorption, you need about 3-4 hours of lead time for the food to make it through your stomach, into the intestine, and out into the blood. This means a wake up call at 3:00. I actually made it out of bed by 3:15.

With breakfast fermenting in my belly, the hopes of gastric emptying firmly on my shoulders, I did some pre-race couch sitting. I put in a movie and sucked on my water bottle as hydration is also important.

Upon making my way to the swim start, I stopped off at transition. Here I pumped up my tires, dumped some fluid in my bottle, and started up the Garmin. This year for swag, they handed out a transition backpack. I stuffed unpacked my morning clothes bag, consisting of my wetsuit, cap, goggles, and body glide, and stuffed in my transition bag. Standing mostly naked in the morning dew, I racked my bag and headed on down to special needs (a 0.25 mile walk).

On the way down, I found the Wife, who was on the wrong side of the path. Should she have been on the left side of the chute, we would have had the chance to walk together. Alas, the right side was crowded with no real way to make across. I walked alone amongst 2000 of my soon to be competitors.

The pros went off 10 minutes ahead. Their gun fired and I had not entered the water. I waited on the beach. Once you enter the water, you are stuck treading until your race starts. I had no intention of warming up that much. Another couple minutes standing in my wetsuit seemed better than exchanging elbows and heels with my closest neighbors. To remind you, here's what the swim course looks like.

When some undetermined switch flipped in my head, I entered the drink and made my way over to my usual starting position. I tend to hang out about 10 feet back of the start line and 5 feet off the dock. This is a very crowded area and quite aggressive. I don't mind. Plus, I am directly underneath of the IronVoice, Mike Reilly. That's the guy who typically does all of the announcing and talks for about 19 hours on IM day. He is beloved by many, including myself. He didn't even look in my direction.

The gun went off for us age groupers at 7:00 am. And by gun, I mean cannon (literally). There are about 10 people with immediate access to my body with my extended water family reaching into the triple digits. A split second after the boom, we all go from vertical treading to horizontal swimming. This takes up valuable liquid space, which Mirror Lake does not have. We are immediately in peril. The cage match lasts for another few minutes as athletes garner for position and try to find their pace.

Having been through the scrum in the past, I immediately make it past the dock and veer left. Technically, we are encouraged to stay to the right. I would estimate that 2000 out of the ~2800 athletes heed this advice. Others, like me, know that there is calmer water on the inside. The rules do not forbid swimming in this area, only encourage the other area. The rules specifically state that we must swim around the end buoys. I know this and I do this. At the end of the turn around, I merge back to the left hand side again and continue my tour through the waters.

Here's a short video showing what the swim looks like from this year's race. I think it captures the serenity of the morning, with the sun nestled comfortably behind some clouds. You can see the pointy end of the swimming arrow followed by the masses. If I had to guess, I'm somewhere between the pointy end and the main mass of swimmers.

 

I came out of the water for the first lap in just under 29 minutes. From there we have to physically get out of the water, run across the beach, and get back in. Lap 2 is a little bit longer because now we have to swim the length of the dock and make a left hand turn before getting back onto the course. Meanwhile, the clock ticks on.

I expect to have contact on the first lap. I also expect that the contact lessens on the second lap. This is what happened with one exception. There was this woman swimming immediately to my right. Remember that I am swimming on the inside. Also to my right are the guide buoys. There are about 10 of these buoys on each length. Well, Miss Swimmer needed to avoid these buoys. She had 2 options: swim left or swim right. If she choose right, that meant getting involved into the main wrestling match, from which there is little hope of returning. If she choose left, she banged into me. She choose me every single time. I suppose I should be honored.

Once in a while, I would try to lose her. On one such occasion, I surged to try and get in front. She saw this move and surged with me. Another time, I slowed to maybe get behind her. Nope. She also slowed, plus there were other swimmers on my feet who were none too pleased with the new pace. I resigned to my fate of having this mystery woman brush against me every 50 yards.

My second lap was predictably a little bit slower by about two minutes and twenty seconds. Lap 2's official time was 31:04. My total swim time was 59:50, which is about average for a Banter swim time. I was in 143rd place at the time.

I got out of the water and headed over to the strippers. Strippers are volunteers that help you out of your wetsuit. Basically, they work in pairs. You peel yourself out of the suit to your butt. You find a couple of nice people, run up to them, and sit in front of their feet. They grab your suit and synchronously yank the suit off in one full heave. That's the theory anyway. On race day, my suit once again failed to make it over my right heel. I will definitely be cutting that little bugger before my race.

I also happened to notice that I exited the water with a couple of lady pros. This is the first of several professional encounters during the race. The pros look just like everybody else on the course. But, they are clearly distinguishable by the big letter "P" on their calf. In contrast, the rest of the riff raff (like me) have our age plastered in permanent marker. Mine said 38 (even though I am only 37).

Upon a further glance, I saw that the ladies were none other than Jessie Donovan (who would later on actually WIN the race) and Jennie Hansen. Jennie is from Rochester (here's a link to her blog), a link to her IMLP race report (still no mention of me) and she is the Awesome Chick that I have written about in the past. Not surprisingly, she has gone pro and would finish in 2nd place in her first IM attempt. Awesome chick indeed!

Here's a short video of me running from the water exit, down the path, to the transition area. I'm the ugly, simian looking bloke in a white shirt. You can see Jennie passing me about halfway through the video. She's a bit shorter than me and wearing a bluish shirt. She zoomed right by adding unnecessary credence to her professional status.

Up next, I'll show you the bike course and then tell the story.

IMLP Swim

IMLP is a world class event in perhaps the greatest location. There is absolutely everything right with this race and I will attempt, over the next few posts to prove it. Later on, I'll tell you about my 2012 experience, when I've had enough time to digest everything. If you are the kind of person who loathes nature and picturesque views, then these next few posts are probably not for you.

Here is what the Ironman Lake Placid swim venue, Mirror Lake, looks like from a couple of different angles:

This picture is from behind the swim start. Downtown Lake Placid can be seen just past the water with the mountains in the backdrop. You can use the buildings in the town as landmarks to know your position in the water.

Here's what it looks like from the 'triathlete beach'. There is a public beach off to the left but the athletes tend to enter the water from this position during training sessions. If you read reviews on the race and people say that they started from "the beach", they mean here.

This is what the swim course looks like after it is set up. You swim out on the right hand side close to the yellow buoys. You swim back on the left hand side close to the red buoys. There is a nice yellow cord about 6 feet under the water that holds the buoys in place. If you are brave enough during the race, you can get close to the yellow cord and use it as a lane line.

  

 

The swim is 2 laps. Each lap is 1.2 miles long. You must get out of the water after the first lap near this sign (oh, the irony). Run across the public beach and go back in for a second loop.

 

Here's what the swim start looks like with 2000 plus people all starting at the same time. The closer you are to the front, the faster your swim time will be. But, there is A LOT of contact. Elbows. Heels. Hands. Heads. Be prepared for some physicality during the swim start.

Here's a shot from behind after the gun. As you can see, lots of bodies in close proximity for a very long time. In my experience, this bump and grind is at its worst during the 3 minutes after the start and at the first turn-around buoy. It tends to ease up on the way back and lessens even more on the second loop. Please note, it never really goes away. If you want to lesson the contact even more, rumor has it that you can start on the beach or way out to the right. I have also learned that staying on the inside, left side, of the buoys helps as well.

Once you finish your second lap, you are free to get out of the water. But, transition is a good distance away (roughly 0.25 miles). You come out of the water, over the beach, and up this path.

Then, you travel down this road.

At the corner, you turn right and head for those big white tents. That is the transition area.

On race day, the entire path will be covered with green, astroturf-type carpet to help ease the pain of running on hard bricks and concrete. There will be no cars. There will be lines and lines of screaming cheering fans.

WW- Weather Freakout

As with every year, I am starting to freak out about the weather in Lake Placid. As you may or may not know, I suck I have the Ironman coming up this weekend. Since training is pretty much over, I've got this excess energy that I spend towards worrying about stuff that is completely out of my control.

When I first started checking the forecast, the high temperature for Sunday was 74º. This is as close to perfect as you can imagine. I checked the next day. Up to 77º. Then I checked again. 78º.

Yesterday morning, when I checked the forecast, it called for 84º. This is well outside of the realm of perfect. I, perhaps, should stop checking. Every time I look, it gets hotter and hotter. But, I cannot stop. I think that everyone is OCD about something and I have successfully identified mine.

FYI, I just checked again in the middle of writing this post. It went down to 81º. Better but still not great. Maybe if I engage my will hard enough, I bet I can get the prediction back down to 74º.

To complicate the diagnosis, the Banter-in-Law is a certified nutcase meteorologist and provides me with my own personal forecast. He has never been wrong. He vows to continue checking the models as he has access to NOAAs latest and greatest. Even with a pro checking the data, I still have to repeatedly validate the numbers.

Anyway, thank goodness that the race is in Lake Placid. There are some areas that are expecting much worse race conditions. For those of you down south, good luck to you this weekend. I'll just be happy that I'm not living here:

P.S. And I couldn't stop myself from checking again. It is now at 80º (right where the BIL said it would be). Since there is 4 days left until race morning, I'll probably check about 2000 more times just in case.

2011 Ironman Lake Placid- Run

The is the third and final installment in the Tri-Banter Ironman 2011 trilogy. Episode IV can be found here. Episode V can be found here. The prequel to the story can be found here. (Please note that I refuse to fully recognize Episodes I-III as valid sources of motivation, if you catch my meaning).

Transitioning from Bike to Run
On Ironman day, we are all Jedi and with it we have all of the powers and duties that come with the position. Already on this day have I traveled from (what seems like) one galaxy to the next. Instead of Endor or Hoth, we traveled to systems known as Keene, Jay, and Wilmington. Currently, the rebel base is set on the Lake Placid High School's skating oval.

Upon arriving into port, I hop off my bike and use my Jedi mind trick on the nearest volunteer. I wave my hand and speak out loud, "I don't need to rack my bike. You will do it for me." The volunteer laughs because, in this situation, I am the weak minded fool and my powers do not work on him. Still, he obliges my request by smiling, grabbing my bike and sending it off to docking bay 1355. I walk, not run, to the exact same place where I found my bike bag 6 hours earlier. On a hook just below my bike bag (which has miraculously reappeared through no fault of my own) are 2 more plastic bags, each with my number. The bag on the left has all of the stuff I wore in the morning. The bag on the right has everything I packed for the marathon. In this case, I have a pair of socks, pair of shoes, and 3 gels. I tend to pack lightly.

Again, there is a volunteer standing over me like I am a king and his duty is to serve. He does his job well. Since there are only 3 items in my batch, he sets them out in front of me in an orderly fashion. I do like to be doted on. I half expect him to have a few chocolates nestled on a silk pillow for me to sample but I sense a bit of urgency in the moment. It is a race after all and I am not inclined to make idle chit-chat during competition. While he's setting up my run stuff, I remove my bike stuff. Off with the helmet, sunglasses, gloves, and shoes. On with the socks and shoes. Into the rear pouch go the gels. I search my pockets for a tip to hand my waiter, realizing that not only don't I have any cash, I also don't have any pockets. I hate to dine and dash, but that's what I did. Sorry dude, I'll get you next time.

The Run
The run starts off down hill. This is nice. I had a dream of a 4 hour marathon. I did the math. In order to have a 4 hour 26.2 mile jaunt, I needed to average roughly 9 minutes per mile. This means getting to the 6.5 mile mark at 59 minutes and finishing the first lap in just under 2 hours. I also have this calculated out to the quarter mile. I set my Garmin to beep every 0.25 miles. I use this to my advantage in many ways. First, I use it as a reminder to check my heart rate. In racing, I can get caught up in the moment and sometimes my perceived levels of exertion lie to me. My goal was to stay in upper zone 1 or lower zone 2. For running, this equates to between 155-165 bpm. Second, I use the alert to check my pace. For example, if I am running at 8 minutes/ mile the beep hits every 2 minutes. At 10 minutes per mile, the beep is at 2:30. Simple addition is something that I am capable of mid run and it keeps my mind off of more distracting things, such as beautiful people in spandex counting how many people have passed me on the run.

The first beep hit at 1:50, or a 7:20 per mile pace. At this stage of the game, I am unconcerned. I check my HR and it is sitting comfortably at 146, well below target. I know that I am running downhill and I have a strength in this skill. I also know that I have to come back up this hill in another 11 miles or so. Still, it's fun to look back and think about all the different emotions and inner chatter that go through your gray matter. In this instance, my brain is yelling "Banter, you are gonna rock this thing." Who am I to argue with my brain?

At the bottom of the hill, there is a short uphill followed abruptly by yet another big downhill. So virtually the first 2 miles of the marathon involve being pulled in a positive gravitational field. What's weird is that I am holding back on purpose. The theme of the day has been conservation and I planned on seeing it through till the end. Even with doing, what feels like, no work, I am in at the 2 mile mark in under 16 minutes. I am already a full 2 minutes ahead of schedule. Worse, I know it and I start to gloat. Can you believe the nerve of this guy? He's got 24 miles left to run and all he can think about is how awesome his most recent quarter mile split was. Utter moron.

I got my picture taken somewhere between miles 2-3. As you can see, the it's a beautiful day outside. The sun is shining. Flowers are blooming. Birds are singing and bees are trying to have sex with them, as is my understanding of the birds and the bees (a Simpsons reference to all of you fans out there). Somewhere on River Road, the Banter is running his first lap with the Olympic Ski Jumps in the back ground, pointing at the camera without a care in the world. I'm kind of a ham when it comes to getting my picture taken.

I had a race nutrition and hydration plan that went as follows: If you look at the picture closely, you'll notice that I have some gels in my hand. I wanted them in my pouch on the back of my jersey but that proved to be too much bounce. So, I carried them. At the aid stations, which are about 1 mile apart, I would take in a minimum of 4 ounces of water.  Every 2 miles, I would walk the length of the aid station and take in 6-8 ounces of water. Every 30 minutes, or roughly 4 miles, I would walk the length of the aid table. During this time, I would eat one gel and take in some water. Each gel is about 100 calories, giving me about 200 calories per hour. I have done the calorie thing in practice without any problems. Not only would my plan help get fluid and calories into the system, but it would give my legs a breather. After the first 4 miles, the plan seemed to be working famously. Even with the walking, my 4th mile split was a modest 9:30. I am now more than 4 minutes ahead of goal pace and feeling fine.

A bit of background for those of you who are new to the site. In late May/ early June, I developed a knee injury that was run specific. Translation, I couldn't run. I pretty much took off the entire month of June to recover from said injury. At the beginning of July, I was struggling to run a full 6 miles straight without walking. Alas, I did manage to get in 2 long runs before IMLP, one of 16 miles, one of 14 miles. That's all I had time for before the big race. I was hesitant of doing longer distances for fear of re-injury and fear of lack of recovery. Well, the injury started to creep in around mile 6 of the run. Gone was the smugness of an accomplished athlete. Gone was the ego. Gone was vision of a PR. All of this was replaced with a guy who was holding on to the edge of a boat for dear life.

The knee had not gone into full blown pain, just more of a discomfort. Every once in a while, I would land and the knee would sting me like a bee defending it's queen. But, for the most part, the concern was relegated to background noise. My pace slowed from 8:30s to 10:30s. I was still following my nutrition and hydration plan.

It was around this time that I had noticed one particular runner. He was a long haired, beatnik type with a super-funky running style. He was more of a shuffle than a run and his pace was slow and steady. I came to find out later in the day that his name was Pierre and he was from Quebec. The main reason I noticed him was that I passed him roughly 10 times during the race. Remember that I was walking the aid station tables. Pierre would jog (?) past during my stroll. I would start running and retake the lead in our 1-on-1 race. In the mean time, countless other people were passing us both.  They didn't matter as it was Pierre versus me. He wagered a beer on the outcome of the race, loser buys. So we kept battling in the classic his tortoise versus my hare rematch. Only this time, the tortoise won. Crap, that's exactly how the fable predicted. I really need to read more children's stories in preparation for race day.

At mile 10, we started up those glorious downhills. Except, they seemed to have grown since the last time I saw them. Maybe the race organizers gave them some water and food while I was running down by the river. They were definitely taller now. I was tackling the hills with all the fervor that I could muster (read- I was walking) and the amount of time it took me to catch Pierre was longer and longer. My pace had now slowed to the 11:00 per mile range. Despite the slope, I was able to finish the first lap in around 2 hours. I needed under a 2 hour for a goal time. But, if I went under a 4:30, I had a chance for a PR (or so I told myself).

The Wife was perched around mile 12, just before the special needs area. This could not have been a better place for her. It is at the top of the hill and at the apex of my discomfort. Yet, seeing her and having her yell thoughts of encouragement emboldens the soul. Okay, Banter, you've seen the woman. Now, it's time to be a man. Only 14 more miles left. It's not so hard. Plus, the next 2 are downhill. Easy peasy. (Don't you love how your brain repeatedly lies to you?)

I was holding steady at somewhere between 11-12 minute miles. Then, I had an epiphany. Parts of your body speak to each other without you knowing it. How did I come to such realization? I found it in my left knee. See, the knee injury happened in my right, so I was expecting issues to pop up there. But, somewhere around mile 15, my left knee started having sympathy pain. I remember stating in my race preview that your legs might fall off below the knees. I was wrong. My legs stayed attached, only my knees wanted to remove themselves. To make matters worse, my hydration and nutrition plan was falling apart.

My stomach, for some reason, wanted to join in the pain fest. I could not imagine a situation, after mile 15, where I could open up one of those gels and actually eat it. I felt like I was going to hurl. It never happened and I tried to imagine what would make it's way out of the canal should the old heave-ho give it a go (correct- counterproductive line of thinking here). There can't have been much down there. The last thing solid I ate was a Cliff bar at mile 8 on the bike ride. That was over 130 miles ago. The peanut butter goo had to have worked its way out of the system by now. Regardless, something was down there and it wanted out. I had 3 more gels left in my hand that were scheduled to take me through the next 11 miles. I tossed them into the trash at the next aid station and trudged on.

One of the mainstays in any form of sport is flexibility and ability to adapt to new situations. I'm smack dab in the middle of my second lap and in desperate need of a new run strategy, new hydration strategy, and a new nutrition strategy. The new run strategy went as follows: walk for 0.05 miles. Run until you hear the beep, about 0.20 miles later. Repeat. The new hydration and nutrition plan were combined as follows: take one cup of Gatorade and one cup of water at each aid station. Oh, just a tip for all of you would-be Ironmen out there: If a nice volunteer asks you if you want any warm chicken broth during the race- answer with "YES!" Oddly, that's the way it happens too. The other volunteers stand in a line shouting out advertisements for their products. The chicken broth person politely asks if you would want some. Never has there been a tastier, more refreshing beverage.

Shortly after the new plan was in place, I made an addendum to the plan. I would always run down a hill, regardless where it stood in reference to my beep. I also had some spur of the moment plan changes as well. For example, I got my picture take yet again with the Ski Jump backdrop. The ego insists that I look somewhat presentable during a photoshoot. What's not shown in the image is me walking immediately after I passed the camera. Apparently, I'll even lie to the camera.

As I limped through the rest of the run, my average was hovering around the 12 minute range. I did my best to stick with the plan. That was, of course, until I hit the monsters again. At mile 20, more pains began to pop up. My feet started to hurt. Not the bottoms, but the tops. I bet my body was starting to swell and the feet were simply sick of being in shoes. My waist hurt where the band touched my skin. My tri-shorts felt like they were choking my legs.  'But, I have only 6 more miles,' I pleaded. Begging for mercy means nothing to an aching body. If someone would have granted me permission to stop the race, to give up, I might have accepted it.

Right around that time, I saw Bill (not his real name as I don't actually know his real name). I met Bill at check-in on the Thursday before the race. Bill was an Ironman several times over, but this was his first big race since the cancer. His treatment had wiped him out and literally sucked all of the testosterone from his body. His training was down, his muscle mass was down, but his spirits were up. This was the last horrah at this distance and he was determined to make a day of it. So, while I walked/ ran with my pansy on, Bill saw me and shouted a greeting. He was on his first lap to my second and looking great. Thanks, Bill. I needed the motivation to continue and you provided it nicely!

Another 2 miles completed and the hills had returned. Mile 22 encompassed the first big hill and was easily the slowest mile of my life since I was in diapers. When I look at the lap data on the Garmin, mile 22 clocked in at a whopping 21 minutes and 31 seconds. Whose the tortoise now? I trudged on.

Once you make it to the top of the hills, the spirits start to lift. For one, there's no more hills. For two, there are streams of people clapping, singing, dancing, yelling, cheering. For three, you can feel the end. All of this screams, 'Get you @** moving." So, I got moving, as much as my body would let me. My paced was back into the 12 minute range. One more turn around and it's off to the home stretch.

When you come back down Mirror Lake, the course splits into 2 lanes. The left side is for those who have one more lap. There were still plenty of runners in that boat and I was happy to know I paid my dues. The lane on the right brings you to the finish line. Again, there are scores of people lined up on the course. And, from a finisher point of view, most of the people had not finished. So, when an ugly, sweaty, gimp of a man takes the right hand road, they are willing to look past the superficial goo oozing from my body and allow themselves to go a little wild. I have had this experience before and I will have it again. There's something special about entering the oval for the final 0.2 miles of a 140.6 mile day. No pain. No suffering. Just you and all the glory beset upon you and your accomplishment.

My run time was an unimpressive 5:05. Out of all the athletes on the day, the run itself was good enough for 1482nd place. When you combine the swim, bike, and run together, I had an overall official time of 12:16.09 which was good enough for 844th. I missed a personal record by 43 minutes. I am not, in the least bit, unhappy.

I'll see you at Ironman Lake Placid in 2012.

P.S. Pierre- I owe you a beer.

2011 Ironman Lake Placid- Bike

This is Part 2 of my Ironman Lake Placid experience. The race preview can be found here while Part 1 can be found here.

Transitioning from Swim to Bike
When we last left our hero (me), I was running the quarter mile from the beach to the transition area. This can be a little hectic. First, during training, I have not practiced running a good distance on a 24" piece of astroturf. And, since I'm not much of a runner, several people jumped ahead of me during this stretch.  Then, picture a scene where 2900 people have hung a bag on a hook. Now, try to find 1 bag out of the lot that has your stuff in it. It's a little like trying to find a specific shirt in the Wife's closet. Not impossible but just not fast. Luckily, the bags are all numbered and hung in sequential rows. Each row is marked with an identifying number as well (hint to wife). All you have to do is run through the correct row, find your bag in sequence, and head on over to the changing tent.

Inside the tent, it looks like it is set up for an outdoor wedding, minus the bride and groom. Several folding chairs are awaiting along with a score of incredibly helpful volunteers. I found a chair and opened my bike bag. Inside, I find my shirt, helmet, sunglasses, bike gloves, bike shoes, and some nutrition. The volunteer frantically helped me remove these items from the bag (and by helped- he did pretty much all the work). I placed said items on my body parts and started to clean up. "No no," said the volunteer, "I got this. You go now." I love this guy. I headed out the tent's exit while he snatched up my wetsuit, cap, and goggles, placed them in my bike bag, and returned it to the hook. Then, I assume, he repeated this process for hundreds of others.

Upon exiting the tent, I had to find my bike. Glance at the picture on the left and see if you can spot it. It is a black, Giant Trinity triathlon bike with the number 1355 plastered on it several times over. Can't find it? Don't worry, I couldn't find it either. Alas, I didn't need to. As I left the tent, some volunteer with a bullhorn announced my arrival by shouting out my race number. While I race from the white tent (on the left in the pic), I had to make my way towards the blue tent thingies. Then, there is a middle path to run down with bikes racked on both left and right sides. Each row is numbered and labeled. As I approached my row, low and behold, another awesome volunteer is holding my bike. I have found yet another love in this race. I grab my bike, shout a thanks to this lady, and cantor down to the bike mount.

The Bike

Not pictured- Me

The bike mount area starts immediately downhill. In fact, this is one of the steepest downhill starts with several sharp turns on the circuit. It's nice in that you have to do little to no work to get going. It's not-so nice in that it can be a bit dangerous for delirious people with water in their head and delusions of grandeur. There are lots of people vying for similar spaces. One some of the turns, the race organizers had set up bales of hay to serve as a cushion for out of control cyclists. On lap 2, some of those bales were disturbed. <shudder>

After a short descent, the race progresses upwards for about 3 miles until it rolls a bit. I promised myself that I would control this section of the ride, which I did so admirably. One thing I can distinctly remember is a higher-than-normal level of thirst. Strapped to the front of my bike, I have a 20 ounce water bottle which typically lasts for about an hour on even hard rides. During IMLP, it made it only 15 minutes, which was convenient as this was when the first aid station appeared. I replenished my juice but my thirst never subsided. The race kept climbing and people kept passing. I let them go careful not to engage the enemy early in the race on a climb.

You can see the sharp downhill section from mile 8 to mile 14. That is the fly zone. Knowing that this section was approaching, I took advantage of this opportunity to cram a Cliff bar down my gullet and slurp up a larger-than-normal amount of water. Then, I laid down on my aerobars and tucked in for 15 minutes of hair-on-fire speed. Many of the people that passed me on the way up were left in my wake as I whooshed past on the way down. My average speed during this section was over 40 mph while topping out at 45. Don't worry, there's more climbing to be done on the back 9 of this course. These people will have their revenge.

As the hills flattened out, we rode mostly flat, smooth roads for roughly 20 miles.  Imagine yourself, during a race, passing hundreds upon hundreds of people.  Feel the emotion and glory of sailing by a plethora of racers whom you have now put behind you. At one time, these people bested your speed. Ha, no longer. You are now in front. Seems like a great feeling, right? Well, I had the reverse of that. Even though I was averaging 20-22 mph on this stretch, I got passed and passed by some amazing athletes. It seems that the streams of people sailing on past was never ending. I knew that I had beaten thousands of people out of the water. It seems that they were repaying the favor on lap 1 of the bike.  I tried to ignore them and carry on with my race.

After the flats had ended, right around mile 35, we had to go up. See, according to the Law of Gravity, what goes up must come down. IMLP takes that law and twists its words. In a grunt of agony, the law becomes 'what goes down must come up' and I do not have a "biking up" strength. I really need to change that in the future. Regardless of what my future lies, the path lead up and kept at it for roughly the next 20 miles. I grant you that there were some breaks in this venture but they were not nearly long enough to bring a smile.

I had hoped that I could control this section of the ride by monitoring my heart rate. I planned on keeping my HR in Zone 2 for the flats (in the 140s)  and Zone 3 or below for the climbs, which translates to 150-160 beats per minute. For the most part, I was wholly successful. My average HR for the entire 112 miles was 144 bpm and when I look at the hill data, the highest I saw mid-race was 162. This met my race plan.

Before the race had started, the Wife asked me to give her a list of times that I would be riding through downtown Lake Placid. I announced that I would start the ride at about 8:00. I actually started at 8:04.  I postulated that I would be finishing the first lap at 11:00 +/- :10. I made it back to town at 11:01. How's that for superb estimation?!

Lap 2 was more of the same. The same uphill out of town. Only this time, it was a bit harder. The same downhill flying into Keene. Only this time, for some reason, it was a little slower. The same flats on the backside. Only this time, it seemed a little longer. The same climb back into town. Only this time, the legs hurt a little more. Despite what felt like an eternity, one positive I noticed was that the number of people who were passing me dropped steadily. Whereas hundreds (literally) passed me on the first lap, I estimate only 50 or so passed me on the second. Further, I was able to take back a few positions (very few, mind you). From a freshness point-of-view, my legs were tired but not as tired as they had been in the past.

After finally making it, once again, back to downtown Lake Placid, I was met be the scores of screaming fans and volunteers. If you think a Hoot and Holler is motivational, then I highly suggest you experience the IronCrowd as they scream, clap, and chant for your benefit. I bet that the spectators expend as much energy as the competitors. It really didn't matter that none of these people knew me, had seen me before, or will ever see me again. They successfully transferred their spectator energy into me and I was ready to tackle the looming marathon.

I told the Wife that I'd be back on my feet and starting the run at 2:00 pm +/- :20 minutes. This matched my goal time of a 6 hour ride. My official ride time? 6:02. I started the run at 2:06 pm. I love a well executed plan.

In shorter races, I count how many people pass me on the bike versus how many people I pass to gauge my race position. For IMLP, not so much. After analyzing the data, I learned that about 550 people passed me on the bike. That's about 5 people per mile ridden and the number is smaller than I expected. I finished the ride in 642 place with an average speed of 18.6 mph. This is not my fastest Ironman bike split, nor was it the slowest.

With 114.4 miles under my belt, the day was mostly finished. There was only 26.2 miles of a marathon left. Piece of cake. If I manage a 4 hour run, I will be very happy. If I go under a 4:30, I set a personal record. Both of these are withing my mystical capabilities. Did I do it? I know, the suspense in mind-boggling but you'll have to wait until later for the conclusion of this epic tale. Coming soon to a blog post near you, 2011 Ironman Lake Placid- Run.

2011 Ironman Lake Placid- Swim

Race Morning
I awoke at the disgusting hour of 3:15 am. Previously, I didn't know that 3:15 am existed. I had heard rumors of the wee hours of the morning, how they are still referred to as 'morning' with absolutely no one astir. For long distance events, the theory says you should eat many calories roughly 3-4 hours before the gun goes off. This gives your system adequate time to digest the calories, absorb the nutrients, and send them to the proper areas of the body. I choked down about 800 calories of grub and sat on the couch sulking about how it was early.

Around 5:30 (ish) the sun started to rise and I could see that the ground was wet. Maybe Mirror Lake temperature dropped enough to be fully legal. I would have checked the official website save for the fact that I had absolutely no internet connectivity without stalking the neighbor's house. I woke up the Wife and got the dogs moving.  Unwilling to venture out, I packed my wetsuit and the rest of the gear.

Since transition closed at 6:30, my plan was to leave the cottage and drive to the transition area with the Wife in the car at 6:00 am.  I would hop out and mosey my way to the bike while the Wife would take over the driving responsibilities, find a place to park, and do her thing. Well, I'm kind of a procrastinator and didn't actually arrive into transition until 6:24. Six minutes and counting. Plenty of time. (FYI- I was not the last one in.)

I sauntered over to my bike, filled up the fluids, synced the Garmin with my heart rate monitor, and made my way over to the bag drop. Once at the bag drop, I felt a little Shakespearean: To wetsuit or not to wetsuit? That is the question. I opted for the wetsuit full knowing that I had little-to-no chance of qualifying this year. It just wasn't in the training. More on this topic later.

This was just the first bag drop. During the Ironman, they have something called a 'Special Needs' bag. Actually, they have 2 SN bags: one for the bike and one for the run. You are allowed to put whatever you want in your SN bags. They are precariously placed at the halfway point of each discipline. Common items placed in SN bike include: food, spare tires, CO2 cartridges, clothing, nudie magazines, dead bodies, etc. Whatever you think you might need later in the day. This is sort of a race contingency plan in case anything goes wrong. In my SN Bike Bag? One bottle of calories, one Cliff bar, and 2 caffeine pills. In my SN run bag? 3 gels (that's it). Why do I bring this up? Only because you have to walk from transition to the SN area, roughly 1/4 mile away to drop off the bags. Either that, or have a loved one take the walk for you. However, you should remember that the Wife (my one and true loved one) was out parking the car and doing her thing. Add on at least 1/2 more mile on to my day's mileage just so I can have some flavored sugar later in the day.

The Swim

As I mentioned, I opted to go for the wetsuit option, officially negating my chances of any sort of prestige, other than finishing. At this point, finishing seemed like the only option so it was an easy decision. As you can see in the picture at the right (feel free to ogle), the air temperature was not that bad.

As a disclaimer, this portion of the race report may sound a little arrogant. Certainly not my intention. If you are bothered by this, be patient. By the time I finish with the 3rd post, any shred of arrogance will be wiped off the net in a fury of humility.

My goal was to go out comfortably and conserve energy. My slowest Ironman swim time was 1:03. My fastest was 0:57 (times are in hours and minutes). Sub-60 minutes is considered relatively fast.

I'm in the green cap

The swim course is 2 laps. Roughly 2500 people all started at the same time. This is only a half truth. Maybe a 1000 people started at the same time. A few intelligent racers hung back and waited for the fray to take off in an attempt to get out of the open water boxing match. When you pack a large number of people into a small area, there is bound to be contact. This year did not disappoint although I personally experienced much less pounding than IMLP 2010.

For a 1000 yards, about 1/4 of the swim, the pack of swimmers gradually thinned itself into pace lines. I was swimming along with a small group of about 6 swimmers who seemed to know how to swim in a straight line, a rare commodity in a triathlon. I spent a lot more time drafting than pulling and felt like I was barely working. The worst places for water wrestling happens at the turn buoys. As the buoy approached, there comes a bottleneck effect. The packs in front of us slowed to make the turn while we, formerly stretched out, bunched together. The result is roughly 3 or 4 packs of swimmers all trying to swim in the same place. It's a mass swim start all over again. The second turn buoy was only about 25 yards away making this stretch of the swim more physical than the rest. The glory here goes to the strong and confident (both which apply to me in the water). Due to the fact that there were a couple of groups bunched together, I was able to jump into a faster paced group after turn 2. The next 1000 yards was faster, smoother, and less physical.

At the conclusion of the first lap, we had to exit the water. That's right, climb out of the drink and on to the beach, run over the timing mat, and dive back in. As I came across the mat, I glanced up and saw that my swim time was sitting just over 28 minutes. I really wanted to sit back and admire my time, but I had a whole day of racing still ahead. I trudged on. Here's a shot of me (in the wetsuit with a red X on my chest and green conehead) flying into the water for lap 2. As you can see, the other racers in my group are heading into the second loop with the same amount of gusto and it was easy to stay in the same pace line.

Lap 2 tends to be a little slower and calmer than lap 1. There are several reasons for this fact. First, we have to swim from the beach to the pier before heading back on to the course. Lap 2 is a little longer. Second, the adrenaline of the start of the race has long since faded. The attitude has changed from, "Let's do this thing!" to "Wait, we have to go around again?" Third, and most obvious, we're a tad bit tired from brawling and swimming on lap one. Since we wasted our proverbial wad on the first lap, life tames down a bit as we head back on to the 1.2 mile loop. Even the area around the turn buoys was uneventful. I swam with the same group of guys and gals the entire way. If it wasn't for the fact that we had our faces in the water for most of the time, I am sure these people would have become my best friends. Alas, we have drifted into anonymity without even the common courtesy of introducing ourselves. Such a missed opportunity.

As we ended the last lap with 2.4 miles of swimming under our wetsuits, we had to climb onto the exact same beach from a mile ago. Again, I glanced up at my time and spied a time of 59:17. I was in under an hour. Just to tell you how nice this time is (I promise I will be humble soon), there were 24 professional athletes who finished the race (all without a wetsuit), 15 dudes and 9 ladies. My time beat 10 of them. Overall, I was in 95th place out of more than 2300 Ironman who finished the race, all while taking it relatively easy on the swim. This is the reason I don't stress swimming that much in training.

If you are an avid Bantee, you would know from prior race reports that I have struggled getting out of my wetsuit. IMLP solves this problem for me. Lining the swim exit runway is a large contingent of strippers. I absolutely love strippers. These volunteers work happily and do their thing without asking for a even a dollar for their services. My responsibility, peel my arms out of the wetsuit and drop it to my waist. I spy a couple of strippers, point and smile. They smile back and wave me in. I run up and sit down in front. One hottie grabs my wetsuit on the left while the other grabs the suit on my right (Hint: pick your strippers wisely). A quick 1-2-3 and they yank the suit off my body, over my legs, and they help me off the ground. They literally strip me out of my suit and send me on my way.

From strippers row, we have about a 600 meter run to get to transition. This distance is not counted on the day's distance total but the time counts. Hardly seems fair but since all the other athletes experience the same haul, there's really no need in arguing the point. Here's a short clip of me, post stripping, taken by the Wife, 'running' from the beach on my way to the changing tents.

So there you have it. The first part of my Ironman Lake Placid 2011 experience. Stay tuned for parts 2 and 3.