Ironman St. George race report

Swim

I screwed up the swim.  Going into this race, I was in the best swim shape of my life.  I was easily racking up 2.4 mile swims in the pool in around 1:03.  Wearing my fast new wetsuit in the race, I thought there was a chance I could best that time, perhaps substantially.  On the other hand, I was well aware that anything can happen in an Ironman, especially with their mass starts where all 2,000 racers start at once (leading to a lot of, let us say, churn, as encapsulated so well in this famous parody video).  I expected that as long as I didn’t have a major mechanical or crash, I would be okay on the bike.  It was more a question of just what it would take out of me; when I do a hilly century ride with my friends, my legs – especially my hill-climbing muscles – are typically pretty trashed by the end, not exactly where I want to be starting off a marathon.  I'm more of a time trialist than a hill climber; I did the pancake-flat Beach to Battleship ironman in 2008 in under 5 ½ hours.  On the other hand, when I did the extremely hilly Savageman half-ironman, it took me about 3:45 to do 56 miles, which would translate to a full-iron bike time of about 7 ½ hours. 

With Will at the swim exit ramp on the day before the race

I knew the St. George Ironman had significant hills - 5,000-8,000' of climbing depending on who you ask - but my biggest worry was the fact that I was rather alarmingly unprepared for the run, having done (according to my workout log) almost exactly 4 miles a week of running on average in the 3 months leading up to this race.  I just didn’t seem to have time for more.  I was also undertrained for the run on my first ironman, and I managed to eke out a 5:08 marathon on a run course that like the bike was totally flat.  In St. George, the run course was, in the words of a pro athlete who pre-ran the course, a “doozy,” said to be definitely the hardest Ironman run course in North America and one of the hardest in the world.  There was not a flat mile on the whole course.  Coming out of T2 it was a 500’ climb in the first 3 miles to the top of a ridge overlooking the town, and then down the other side, and then turn around and back up, and down, and then do the whole out & back again, for around 2,500 feet of climbing.  I didn’t know what would happen to me on this run course, but I figured I’d cross that 26.2 mile bridge when I came to it.

But the swim, I was looking forward to.  I was busying getting ready, and Dave and I walked over toward the swim start (Will having wandered over earlier), and there was a huge bottleneck of people going through the swim gateway where the timing chip was, and then I walked down the water and spit in my goggles as I always do and then rinsed them out and put them on, and then put two swim caps on over them (since the water was 59 degrees) which took a few tries to get right.  Then they were on and then I was startled by a really loud “boom!”  “What was that?”  I looked up and the swimmers were off!  I was standing in knee deep water about 100 yards from the front of the pack out in the reservoir for the in-water start.  I had wanted to start at the front – I figured if I was at the front, I might get passed by some people but at least I wouldn’t have to pass anybody.  I took off in a panic to try to make up for my lost time, swimming through and over people to try to get toward the front.  But it was too late.  I was surrounded by hordes of swimmers. I repeatedly got caught in “V” formations, where people squeezed me from left and right, and I had to swim over them, fight them, or stop and go around . I got one solid uppercut to the jaw from somebody's elbow, plus a lot of bumping and jostling.  Plus, the water was quite cold and that took my breath away, so combined with the panicked/rushed start my pacing was totally out of whack.  I am used to fighting crowds at the start of a triathlon, but what I usually experience in the first minute or two in a swim, lasted until the second buoy– probably about 20 minutes or so.  Plus, I was just kicking myself – how could I be so distracted and inattentive at the start after training so long for this race?  After the second buoy, however, I settled finally into somewhat of a better groove.  Overall, my 1:07:26 swim seemed to go by very quickly – much much faster than when I do 2.4 mile swims in the boring old pool.  How much faster would I have been if I’d started up front? It’s possible I would have been as much as 5 minutes faster.  It’s also possible it wouldn’t have made much difference.  It’s also possible I would have had the same time but not started out swimming too hard which I may have paid for later.  When I swim 2.4 miles in the pool, my time ranges from 1:03 – 1:08, so my swim time here was on the slow end of the spectrum – in the pool I can swim a 1:07 at the heart rate of a brisk walk.  But there are just so many things that are different about an open-water race swim, it’s impossible to know really how much better I could have done.  But I was irked.

From one perspective it's silly to fixate on a few minutes in a 13+ hour day I know - but on the other hand, the whole thing is about bragging rights anyway, right?  And, about setting and trying to meet arbitrary goals for yourself for no really good reason.  Anyway my time was good for 305th place overall out of 1637 finishers and 54th out of 307 finishers in my male 40-44 age group (these don't count the 14% of starters who didn't finish the race).

My transition was smooth except for the fact that the zipper on my new bike jersey, which against all advice, I’d bought the day before at the race expo and never worn before except to try it on, got all screwed up. My awesome volunteer who was there serving as my helper and valet, finally got it all fixed for me.  I had all kinds of warm weather gear but as I always do after cold swims, I ended up up just going with a single-layer short-sleeved shirt.  Although a lot of people wore a lot more layers, I have high cold-tolerance and this was just perfect for me throughout the bike.  My T2 time was 9:13.  If I do more Ironmans I might start striving to cut those a little shorter as I like to do on shorter tri’s, but this day I maximized comfort & preparation. 

Bike

I felt pretty good starting off on the bike.  The first 22 miles of the bike course I have nice memories of, cruised along, not too hard.  There were one or two hills but not much else. I did feel kind of bloated in my stomach, I regretted eating as much breakfast as I did – half of a sugar bun, a Yoplait, and some peanuts, plus a gel at the start, and some carbo-pro mix in transition.  In training I never eat breakfast, but the whole Ironman day-long thing is just a different beast, and I don’t have much experience with it, and it just seems like you should start off your day with a bit of a solid meal.  Next time I'll eat only a little, I think I'm better off erring toward being in deficit (as I was in my first Ironman) rather than overdoing it and not feeling 100% stomach-wise.  On the other hand, there’s no way of knowing whether all this intake helped me later on.  Maybe I should just skip the dairy products (yogurt, plus I had a frozen custard the night before – not recommended, but hey, what could I do, it was too yummy!) 

I guzzled 6-10 oz of carbo-pro mixture after the swim but otherwise left T1 with only a few ounces of plain water in my one bottle.  One thing I did quickly notice after leaving T1 was that in strapping and restrapping my bottle onto my aero bars the afternoon before, to get it right, I had ended up putting the bottle on backwards!  The result was that the straw, instead of facing me, faced outward toward the front of the bike.  Making matters worse, I had removed the straw extension which I had in the past found to be unnecessary.  The result was I had to bend comically far toward the front of the bike, with my butt off the seat and my forehead just about touching my aero bars, in order to drink.  For the whole 112 miles.  Definitely had to be careful – don’t try this at home kids, take my word for it, this position is not the most stable position on a bicycle at 17-25 MPH.  But no mishaps.

At 22 mile point we started the first of our two bike loops.  As we headed west and north, we found ourselves heading into a definite headwind, which made for some hard pedaling, plus there was some rough pavement, and consistent undulations and rollers that, mile after mile, just erodes your leg strength.  There were probably 5-6 hills where I had to go into my granny gear.  I got passed by a steady stream of people on this section and could feel myself drifting backwards in the pack.  Tried to pace myself, not go too hard.  We came to one pretty steep hill and I labored up it.  A little while later I suddenly came upon a u-turn switchback and found myself confronted with the “Veyo Wall” hill, the worst of the day.  I went granny and labored up this one too, muttering things about how I “should have signed up for Florida” as people passed me. (The Florida Ironman being one of the world’s flattest). 

Meanwhile, through all this, the scenery was spec-tac-u-lar.  Just amazing red cliffs and valleys, like from a different planet. At one point the road went right under a rock overhang, and I shuttered to think about a chunk of rock falling on my head as I pedaled along (on the second lap, I was hoping one would).

Not long after the Veyo Wall, we hit the tiny town of Veyo, and soon thereafter I rode by a volunteer who I heard yell my race number (#1703) into a walkie talkie.  Then I was upon the halfway point (mile 56) where a volunteer was standing by ready to hand me my special needs bag.  Nice service!  I took a look but found the thought of eating any of the foods I had put in there revolting; I just took my pre-mixed bottle of carbo-pro/water/gatorade (300+ calories, only a slight gatorade taste) to keep those calories going into my system.   Up until this point I had eaten I think one, maybe two gels, and kept pouring the regular Gatorade from the aid stations into my front aero bar-mounted aero bottle (which was the only bottle I carried with me).  Having the minimum amount of liquid with me at all times helped with the hills, but I never went thirsty.  This Gatorade was my main source of calories during the ride.  I also ate a chocolate chip cookie at some point on the second loop, maybe another gel I don’t remember. 

Soon after the special needs bag I found myself with a nice tailwind for a change, and then hit the extended downhill portion of the route from Veyo back south toward St. George.  This was a really nice stretch, though I tried to keep my effort steady by pedaling when I could.  At times I hit 45 MPH and more. 

Then we turned west and began our second loop and, after a pleasant downhillish mile or two, found myself headed on long flat roads with a headwind that had picked up considerably since the first loop.  This was the longest and hardest part of the ride.  For you DC riders, imagine a bad day out on windy Hains Point – with hills, and stretching for 25 miles.  So from about mile 65 to 90 I didn’t go too fast, but I tried at least to put out a steady and unrelenting effort.  The whole time I was worried I wouldn’t have anything left in my legs for the Veyo Wall & other hills (I couldn't even think about the run).  But when I hit it, it didn’t feel too bad and I think I took the hill in almost the same time as on my first loop (perhaps that's because a granny gear is a granny gear and there’s only so slow you can move if you want to remain upright).

Then it was back down the big hill into St. George, one more climb, and then a nice downhill ride through town and crowds into the Second Transition.  My bike time was 6:28:13, an average speed of 17.3 MPH. I was 82/306 finishers in my age group, and 423/1637 overall.  I used T2 as a bit of a rest, again did a full change of clothes, stuffed a couple kinds of energy food in my jersey side pockets (most of which I never ended up using), walked outside, used the porta-potty, let some volunteers slather me with sunscreen, and, having run out of things to do/excuses to linger, reluctantly crossed the timing mats and, after a T2 of 9:08, set off at a trot toward the red hills looming over the downtown. 

 

Run

My legs felt stiff and tired as they always do at the beginning of a triathlon run, but as the road bent upward, I also felt a weakness that I don’t usually feel and I knew this was going to be a long day.  As always I forced myself to run the first mile.  Then I walked for a while and then tried running but soon came to a sharp hill so I walked again.  And so it went.  After a few miles one’s legs usually wake up and start to feel better on a triathlon, but it just wasn’t happening this day.  Finally around mile 5 and 6, near the turnaround point for the first loop, my legs begin to get a little life in them, and I had a few good miles.  For the first 6 miles or so I averaged about 10:30 miles.  Then things went downhill (actually, uphill) and I fell to 13 minute miles on the way back to the start.  I looked for Dave and Will and saw Dave but missed Will, who I figured was probably not far behind me.  Coming back into town, with the crowds, it gave me a lift to see my friend Jeff Jonas there to cheer me on, and stopped briefly to chat with him.  He was supposed to be in this race – he was actually the one who prompted me to sign up for this one – but had been sick with a stomach bug for the prior week and didn’t feel like he had the strength to do it. Here is a picture Jeff snapped of me at this point: 

I ran back into town, to within a hundred yards of the finish line, which I could see and hear – but had to turn around for my next 13.1 miles of running, even as I could hear the announcer calling out the names of (far superior) athletes who were at that time crossing the finish line.  Once again I dipped into my special needs bag, ignored the variety of foods I had thrown in there just in case my body was craving something, and took another bottle of carbo-pro mix.

On the next (outbound) 6-mile leg, I started getting a lot of cramps, something that had been bothering me intermittently since the second bike loop.  At the aid stations I had mainly been drinking gatorade and water, and eating an occasional orange.  I think I also took one more of my Hammer banana gels from my pocket during the run.  I was eating some potato chips to try to get more salt in me, which supposedly helps cramps, but the fat in the chips was making me feel gross, so at one aid station I did just what you’re not supposed to do and started grabbing every kind of food there was, including pretzels, which I normally hate, oranges, a piece of banana, and some warm chicken broth.  I could barely carry it all.  But I had no ill effects from this smorgasborg.  It also told me what I need to know:  chicken broth.  Good god now I know why they always serve it, it was just right, and within a mile or two, my cramps were gone, never to come back! 

That’s not so say I sped through the rest of the course.  On the way out I did improve my pace a little to an average of 12:28 per mile for miles 13-20.  By this time my feet were hurting (I was not barefoot but was wearing my super-lightweight puma H Street running flats, which I had planned to ditch at some point but I just never did as the pavement looked too rough).  Perhaps because I was pounding my feet too hard on those thin soles since I couldn’t feel them with shoes on, or because most of the running I was doing was downhill, or just because of my lack of training, or because I wasn’t accustomed to these (or any) shoes, my feet were hurting me – not the outer skin, but the bones.  My last six miles were at an execrable pace of 14:36 per mile.  To put that in context, I timed myself once and found that it takes me about 18:30 to walk a mile.  That tells you how much walking I was doing between mile 20 and mile 26.  At some point Dave and I strolled by each other, and I also saw Will who was running at that moment and looking strong (having recovered from some GI issues earlier in his run). I also walked/ran with several different guys at various points of the marathon, and enjoyed chatting with them and getting my mind off the ongoing test.  

As usual on a sunny tri I wore my broad-brimmed Australian/cowboy hat.  Just seems sensible to me, keeps the sun off my face and neck - but it also generated a lot of love and attention from the crowds and volunteers, who for some reason really dug my hat, and added an element of positivity and fun to the run. 

Slowly the mile posts ticked by until it was mile 25 and then 26 and then I ran into the town and the crowd was thick and I got high-fived by a couple of kids as I ran by and it was a blur of people and the announcer called out my name “Jay Stanley, You ARE AN IRONMAN!!!” and I crossed the line and found myself in the shoulder-grip of a volunteer who was there to make sure I could still stand and was coherent and didn’t need to go to the medical tent and some young volunteers took my timing chip off me, hung a finisher’s medal around my neck, gave me a hat and shirt, and snapped my photo:

 

Then my great volunteer Sam, still holding me up in case I wobbled over, guided me to the athlete’s finishing pen, sat me down on a soft pice of grass, asked me what I wanted, and fetched me two slices of pepperoni pizza and a coke.  Heaven.  Soon after Jeff found me, and like a true friend provided above-and-beyond valet assistance to me as I hobbled around on my sore feet wrapping up logistics the rest of the night and finding Will and Dave. Another snapshot by Jeff:

My run time was 5:30:00, 209/306 in my age group and 1077th of 1637 finishers.  My total time for the IMSG was 13 hours and 24 minutes exactly.  I came in 654th place out of 1915 starters and 1637 finishers.  About 14% of those starting did not finish. 

Overall it was a tough, tough race - much harder than the Beach to Battleship, and I'm very proud to have done it. The consensus of experienced athletes seems to be that it is one of, if not the, toughest Ironman course in the world, because of its combination of hilly windy bike and hilly run. But it was a wonderful and rewarding journey, especially thanks to the support of my friends and family at home and at the race.