Tough day at the office

So Ironman Arizona has come and gone, and man was it tough! In the days leading up to the race there was clamor of how the winds and temps were expected to be very mild and the race day conditions were seemingly ideal... guess we jinxed ourselves!

Race morning: I woke up at 4:15am feeling surprisingly refreshed and calm. I had my breakfast of champions consisting of oatmeal with soy milk, banana with peanut butter, and coffee (a staple!).

I arrived at transition around 5:20am to take care of business: I got body marked, checked my T1 and T2 bags one last time and took a mental snapshot of where they're located, loaded up my bike with nutrition and inflated my tires. Once all the pre-race prep was completed, I walked down the lake a bit to get away from the commotion and began my mental prep. I warmed up, stretched, and relaxed until about 6:15am.

At 6:30am the age groupers were called to post. I began the process of lubing up and putting on my wetsuit, and about 10 minutes later I was a big ball of neoprene. I wanted to get in the water early to warm up and scout out a good starting position. At 6:45am I jumped in and made my was 200 yd upstream to the line.

The sun had risen and was beaming down on us making it very difficult to spot ahead. The music went from somber to blaring, pump-you-up, you're-gonna-kick-some-booty music. And before I had time to think, the canon blew, and we were off.

The swim: I tend to not lose my cool in the water, even when there are a bunch of swimmers climbing over top of me. It was hard to stay calm with this pack of swimmers; I got elbowed in the head a few times and knocked around a bit, but I was able to eventually find my space and draft off someones toes. I got out of the water at 1:12, not too bad. I had my wetsuit ripped off by some great volunteers, zoomed through transition, and was off for a long ride.

The bike: This is my favorite part of the race! I settled into my rhythm pretty quickly and began passing all the stud swimmers who got out ahead of me. There was a gentle breeze which felt nice because I was already starting to feel the heat. I went a little slowed than expected going out on the first loop, but at the turn around I figured out why. We were taking on a headwind that became my best friend after the turnaround. I averaged about 16mph going out, and about 27-30mph coming back in. I hate headwinds but I just LOVE me some tailwind!

I tried not to push too hard into the headwind, I just sat nice and aero and prayed for that turnaround point to come to me. This is how a flat course becomes hilly. On the last return to town I pushed it a little harder to get my average above 19mph. I maintained about 30 to 31mph for the last 16 miles, it felt really good. However, when I got off me bike in T2 I could tell it may not have been the most strategic move.

The run: I knew a girl ahead of me in transition and I wanted to beat her out. I had a speedy T2, making sure to stop for sunblock on the way out (I learned my lesson in Hawaii when my race numbers were sun burnt into my arms for about a month after the race). Leaving transition in a hurry, I had no time to assess how I felt. About a quarter mile into the run, it hit me like a tin of bricks... I felt like shit. I couldn't breath, my heart rate skyrocketed, and I realized I hadn't peed since the swim (a really bad sign of dehydration). I stopped to fuel, let my HR settled and my GPS to link. I decided to bear down, push through, and think about nothing except staying on pace. It worked... for about a mile. I stopped about every mile to get a good amount of fluid, nutrition, electrolytes, and the ever-important sponges. It is so dry in Arizona that sweat evaporates right off your skin leaving your body with no mechanism for cooling. Each aid station I got into a routine of throwing water over my head, sticking sponges in my top, and carrying ice.

I knew I was still in second (AG) and with each lap my family would let me know I was gaining ground. There was just nothing more left in the tank to turn it up. I maintained a pretty steady 9:30 mile, far from the pace I was shooting for. I knew I had come this far and I wasn't going to quit now, but my body was screaming for a break.

I crossed the line at 11:36 minutes. I came in 2nd in my AG, and missed my goal time by about 36 minutes, but I had never been so happy to cross the line. I may not have qualified for the Big Show, but I overcame the demons in my head and found it within me to push through. This, for me, was the biggest battle of the day. Larger than overcoming any distance in swim, bike, and run, is overcoming the pain that's screaming for us to quit.

So tough day, but sweet victory. And don't think this is the end! I'm moving on to Plan B for Operation Kona. Next stop: St. Croix, US Virgin Islands. Three weeks away, Half IM, official Kona and Clearwater Qualifier, and home of "The Beast" one of the longest, steepest climbs of a North America Ironman race. At 16-21% incline for 7/10th of a mile, this is my kind of race!!

I'll keep you posted! Until then, train on.

Aww Poop!

So the Iornman World Championship Lottery winners were posted tonight and my big bro didn't get the bid. This sucks. Not one of the winners desrves to race on Ali'i Drive as much as Sean does.

This leaves me with only one option. Sean, you're just going to have to qualify for Kona. You know you can do it and you've got a bomb coach who will help. I'll look into the races, you just get to trainin'.

Here we go...

So it's about 11:00 at night. I'm flying out before 6:00am tomorrow morning, but I can't sleep. Hours logged on the trainer, pavement, and crappy 25 yd pool have culminated to this weekend that has finally arrived. Leading up to tonight, when people ask if I'm ready I would respond "Ready or not" as if that somehow got me out of responding truthfully with "I'm completley freaked out". However, after some soul searching, I've come to realize a few key points about racing that not many people figure out until after the fact... so here they are:

• No one really cares about how good I do. Think about it, of course I have family and friends who wish I succeed, but do you think they remeber what place I finished in my last race, or if I met my goal time? We put so much pressure on oursleves as atheletes to the point of illness because we feel we need to perform to others expectations, when in reality nobody cares!
• I know exactly how well I'll perform. I know exactly what my capabilities are for each leg of the race through hours of training, heart rate monitoring, and practice races. It's when I leave reality and begin to wonder what if... what if I finish top ten and qualify to turn pro?! What if I can shave a whole hour off my previous time? Then I come back to reality, look at my training and capabilities and begin to set realistic goals worth grinding it out for, goals that are attainable for ME.
• It ain't worth getting all worked up over. Before each Ironman I go around to my close friends and family and apologize for my month-long crabby attitude and thank them for putting up with it. In the grand scheme of things, we register for these races to accomplish something great, not to poo on everyone around us in the process. If you can't enjoy the experience then don't sign your your life away to a full time job known as Ironman training. Accept that everyone else will toe the line having missed key workouts. It happens. It's called life. Deal with it.

While the tone of this post may sound a little sarcastic, there is depth. I've figured out the very important lesson of how to remove my pressures and anxiety. I'm now looking towards Sunday with tenacity, not fear. I'm going to go out and leave it all on the course because that's all that I can control. I have no idea the quality of competitors who will be out there with me, and I can't control how fast they finish. But the one thing I can control is me, my attitude, my performance. I know exactly how hard to push because I've done it before. And while I can't control the time I'll cross the line, I know I'll be on E when I do so, because on Sunday I'll lay it all out on the line, I'll focus all of my energy on me, and whether I cross in 10 hours or 17 hours I will have pushed myself to my limit because that's all I can do, and that's all I can control. Train on.