Sender: ekr@kmac.terisa.com Newsgroups: rec.sport.triathlon Subject: Late Wildflower 98 Report [Long] From: EKR Date: 21 May 1998 12:12:12 -0700 Message-ID: <3n2cbmoab.fsf@kmac.terisa.com> X-Newsreader: Gnus v5.5/XEmacs 20.4 - "Emerald" Lines: 528 Xref: kmac.terisa.com posted:155 Well, I botched my own attempt to get my splits during the race, so I've been waiting for TriCalifornia to get the results up on their web site. But they seem to be having trouble, so I'll just post my race report as-is. The final time is from the posted results, so that should be right. -Ekr Wildflower '98 Race Report (Long Course) Prologue Ah, Wildflower, the first triathlon of the season. In my case, the first triathlon of my life. I wasn't sure quite what to expect. But I'd gotten tired of having to explain to people that even though I swam, biked, and ran, I wasn't really a triathlete, because I hadn't done a triathlon yet, so it was time to stop putting it off. I wasn't much worried about my ability to manage the distance, since I regularly do longer distances in training, but I've only raced anything even remotely as long once and that was bike-only. There's only one way to deal with a situation like this: Buy a bunch of new gear and hope for the best. With one week to go, I was as ready as $1000 in gear could make me. I'd replaced my wheels, handlebars, and most of my drivetrain, as well as investing in a new running jersey, hat, and wetsuit. I was as ready as I was going to get. FRIDAY MAY 1: Rain Rain Go Away! I was awakened around 2:00 AM on Friday by the sound of rain on the top of my tent. Despite having gone on record as endorsing rain for Wildflower, I'm not that fond of rain in general and I certainly didn't relish the idea of spending the day in my tent. Still, there was nothing I could do about it, so I went back to sleep. By the time I woke up, things had settled down to overcast with intermittent showers and drizzle. I got up around 6:00 and puttered around till 8. At this point, I certainly didn't want to do any real workouts, but I did want to stretch my legs, so the guy in the next campsite (Bill, who we'll meet later) and I went for an easy 20 minute run. My heart rate seemed a bit high, which didn't make me that comfortable, but I felt fairly strong. Afterwards, I did a few quick 50 yard sprints just to stretch out. I spent the rest of the morning doing some light bike maintenance. I'd just installed a new drivetrain, so not much work was needed, but I wanted to clean my chain and empty most of the useless tools out of my seat bag, etc. This shouldn't have taken too long, but I spent a lot of it chatting with other people (not that I was any hurry.) Registration was at 2, so I headed down to the expo at around 1, figuring on spending a little time shopping and then heading over to registration/bike check and getting them done early. After a half hour or so of checking out the expo, I headed over to reg, only to find that there was already a huge line for bike check and a reasonable line for reg. Also, it was raining again. It didn't seem that the people in charge really had their act together because the bike check line ran right through the registration lines, I spent about 15-20 minutes in the bike check line and another 15-20 minutes in the registration line. About this time, Bill came by to tell me that he was going to drive the course in about an hour, so I should meet him at the camp site. Much as I wanted to go to the r.s.t gathering, I decided that it would be a lot safer to actually have seen the bike course before I raced it, and that I could meet everyone post-race on Saturday. So, I climbed Beach Hill (the first of about 6 times that I was to it this weekend and went back to my camp site.) After driving the course, and thinking "hmm, this hill doesn't look that bad" about Nasty Grade, I headed back down to the expo and pasta feed. (Mainly, I wanted to see the first-timers meeting.) At this point, I have to admit, I was starting to get pretty nervous, in fact, something like scared, mainly about the swim. Every time I get in the water for an open water swim, I have a lot of trouble breathing during the first 100 meters or so, and I hadn't had time to try the water at Wildflower at all. Still, I didn't have time to get in the water then, and so we headed back up the hill (in a car this time) and I started doing final bike prep. I spend quite a while trying to figure out how to attach my bike number in such a way that it won't flap or rub me, and finally settle on zip tying it to the seat tube. This tears the number a bit, but I don't much care. At this point, it started to rain again, so I was forced to go to bed and leave some of the bike prep for morning. I half packed my transition bag and went to bed. SATURDAY MAY 2, 2:00 AM Oh no. It's raining. And it's cold. SATURDAY MAY 2, 3:30 AM It's still raining. SATURDAY MAY 2, 5:00 AM This is looking bad. SATURDAY MAY 2, 6:00 AM It's still raining and now it's time to get up. I was really hoping to prep while it was dry, but I don't have any choice now. Deciding that it might very well be cold and wet on the run, I initiate a frantic search for the long sleeve polyester shirt that I wear in the rain, but realize that I must have left it at home. This isn't good, but I figure that I'll be working hard on the run, so it's probably not that bad either. At least I've got my Pearl Izumi Zephrr hat, so my head should stay dry. I pack all my stuff in plastic bags to keep it dry at the transition. I also pack a whole bunch of stuff: 3 jerseys, a rain jacket, a windbreaker, some running shorts, etc. I'm not sure what conditions will be like and I want to be prepared--and I'm willing to take an extended transition in order to get 10-20 minutes of warmth on the run. Next it's Gu taping time. This is going to be a bit of a problem, since my bike is really wet, but I dry it off and tape a bunch of Gus to my top-tube using J&J waterproof tape. This more or less works, as long as I wrap the loop all the way around. The tape doesn't really stick to the metal that well, but it does stick to itself and the Gu, so I think this will be ok. The only thing left is to stick the bike check sticker on, but it won't stick to the wet frame, so I end up electrical taping it on. (This seems to work ok--and in fact, it's still on there.) Oh wait, I've forgotten to take my Flovent. This isn't a catastrophe since it takes a couple days to wear off, but I do want my asthma to be at it's best so I take some now, and then head off down the hill, my brick like transition bag on my back. I get down to the start at about 7:15, so I start laying out my stuff. Actually, laying out consists of racking my bike (helped by the guy next to me) and putting the two plastic bags containing my bike stuff and my run stuff next to my bike. This would turn out to be a mistake later. I get body marked and start to put on my wetsuit. I got it about half way on and then realized that I'd forgotten to put sunscreen on. Not wanting to take the wetsuit off, and figuring that my legs don't seem to sunburn much, I just put sunscreen on my upper body. I took my second group of inhalers (Proventil and Atrovent) and headed off to the portajohn line with about 20 minutes before race start. I wasn't surprised to discover that my intestines weren't behaving. The combination of the nervousness and my high-carb diet seemed to be getting to them. Not wanting to have to make a pit stop every 6 miles on the bike, some Immodium ("great tasting chewable tablets", hah!) seemed to be in order. 10 minutes to go and the sunscreen has completely rubbed off the magic marker on my arms. Conveniently, my cries for help were answered. Something about having a pair of cute San Luis Obispo college students writing on my arms gave me a little more confidence, at least enough to pick up my running shoes and proceed down to the swim start. THE SWIM The stairs to the swim were pretty much full up with people, mainly people in later waves. I and a couple other 25-29ers pushed our way down the stairs to the start. I dropped off my shoes and made my to the entrance to the water right as the 17-24 wave went off. We were given a few minutes to warm up in the water, which I eagerly took. So far, every time I've jumped into the water for an open water swim, I spend the first couple minutes choking as I try to override my body's basic desire not to stick my head in this murky water, and certainly not to take a chance on actually swallowing any. About 50 yards out this goes away and I head back in. Despite my coach's best efforts, I'm still not much of a swimmer, though the wetsuit helps, so I head for the very back of the wave. I figure I'd rather be the crawler over than the crawled over. The crowd chants 5... 4... 3... 2... 1... and we're off. Starting at the back of the field turns out to be a mistake, since I'm actually faster than about half the people in my field, and I'm quickly swimming over and around people. The good news is that I'm breathing just fine, and I'm not having to work very hard. Moreover the field is really dense, so sighting isn't at all necessary, just follow the guy in front of you. My plan here is to cruise the swim and save my energy for the bike and the run. Like I said, I'm not much of a swimmer, and my experience with the wetsuit has been that killing myself doesn't make me much faster but does tire me out a lot, so I'd rather be fresh --or at least not dizzy--when I get onto the bike. I draft off and then pass a series of people on the first long straight, constantly being surprised at how well I'm doing. I guess there are a lot of other people who have swimming as their worst event as well. By the time we hit the first turn, I'm probably about half way into the field. There are still a lot of people ahead of me, but there's a lot of people behind me now. The short leg of the triangle doesn't seem to take any time at all, and now we're back on the return leg. I'm starting to get some soreness in my left shoulder but I ignore it, since I don't expect it to affect my bike much. My arms are starting to get a bit tired to. Just about now, the first person from the next wave passes me, and I stay with him for a little while before reemerging into a sea of blue caps. About this time, I'm really starting to get the hang of swimming in the wetsuit (it takes me some time to reacquire this every time) and so now I'm really stretched out and taking long strokes. I start passing people again and suddenly I'm just in the zone. I come out of the zone noticing that there's noone in front of me, and I realize that I've veered off the left, so I head back to the main flow of swimmers, just in time for the final approach to the ramp. For a few minutes I can see the ramp and I keep expecting my arms to hit bottom. Looking up I see the swimmers in front of me standing up and I take a few more strokes myself and then stand up. I'm still pretty dizzy, so I more lumber than run up to where my shoes are supposed to be. And they're not here. Well, maybe they are, but I can't see them and some clown has put a box down on top of a bunch of shoes right where my shoes are supposed to be. Not wanting to run on the asphalt, I look around frantically, and finally find them, but I'm too baffled to put them on now, so I just run up the ramp and to the bike with shoes in hand. T1: Hey, wait up. I've calmed down a little when I get to the transition area. About a third of the bikes are gone, and there are people changing and riding out around me. This panics me some more since I suddenly have the urge to run after them, yelling "Hey, wait for me! I wasn't ready". Still, there are enough bikes there that I can't be doing too bad. I strip off my wetsuit, trying to do as little damage as possible, and rummage through plastic bags for my sleeveless yellow jersey and my gloves. I decide to throw on some socks just to be sure, get my gloves half on and head on out, just remembering to tap the start button on my heart rate monitor. THE BIKE I make my way slowly out of the transition area (as the volunteers yell "slow down" at everyone) and head down the micro-hill that leads to Beach Hill. "Now leaving the transition area, Eric Rescorla from Los Altos". Wow, that's an inspiring thing to hear. Oops. Forgot to throw my rain jacket in my jersey pocket. Hope it doesn't run too much. (Remember, I was the guy who wanted it to rain at Wildflower, but that doesn't mean I want to get soaked, and I certainly don't want it to be slick going down that big descent.) The road gets steeper and steeper until suddenly we're climbing. Beach Hill really isn't much of a climb by Bay Area standards, but I've still got some post-swim dizziness, so it serves as a sharp wake-up call. This first section is kind of a mess. I'm immediately passing lesser climbers and people who are tanked from the swim, but I've got people passing me as well. It's impossible to get out of the draft zone and noone's even trying. I mainly concern myself with staying as far right as possible while passing. So far, I'm still on the aero bars, but someone cruises by me and says that I'm going to slow to make it worthwhile. He's right and I sit back up again and pass a few more people. I hear someone call out my race number and something that sounds to my paranoid ears like "time penalty" and think "What the hell can that be for?" but I'm gone before I have time to find out. I figure I'd better be careful for the rest of the race, since I certainly don't want to be DQ'ed for this. Soon we're at the top of the hill and I'm starting to fill more together. Seems like a hill was just what I needed to get me warmed up from the swim. The rest of the 6 miles out of the park passes quickly, and we're on our way. I grab a Gu off my top tube and suck it down and settle in for the long haul. I realize two things almost immediately: 1. The HRM is going to be completely useless. In typical style, it's flashing 237. This is actually something that happens to me a lot, and I've complained to Polar, but they just claim they've never seen the failure before and ask me to send the HRM back. (I've already replaced it once.) Also, I've forgotten to zero my cycle computer. Looks like I'm going to be riding this one by feel. 2. There's no way I'm going under 5 hrs, since I'm averaging just over 20mph on the bike, which is fairly comfortable, and I'm worried about burning out if I try to go much faster. The next 25 miles or so pass into sort of a steady blur. I'm down on the aero bars and I'm cranking. The most noticeable thing is that I'm having to force myself to eat and drink because it feels like my stomach is backing up into my esophagus. This isn't good, but there's not much I can do about it except not drink, which also doesn't seem like a good idea, so I keep feeding religiously: a Gu about every 30-40 minutes and fairly constant sips of Gatorade and water. Every so often I glance at my HRM and the mile markers, and I'm still doing a little over 20 mph, so all seems to be going well. On the long downhill to mile 32, I get passed by two big packs of people drafting off each other, which kind of annoys me. I don't care so much about them cheating (though that does bug me some) but they're also blocking, and I don't want to get caught up behind them when we get to the climbing sections of the ride. Right about this point I notice that both quads and knees are starting to get sore, and my left quad wants to cramp. We hit the turn at mile 34 and begin the long slow climbing bit. I knew from driving the course and the hill profiles that the real climbing doesn't begin till mile 40 or so, and right now it's just sort of slightly uphill rollers. And a bunch of gravel on the road. Oh, yeah, and a steel bridge. Forgot about that one. But I successfully negotiate it and it's on to mile 40, where the climbing starts. Actually, maybe I didn't push hard enough earlier, but Nasty Grade is surprisingly easy for me. I pass four or five people, who do look like they're struggling. It's certainly a lot easier than Kings Mountain or Old La Honda, and trivial compared to any of the Death Ride climbs. It's right about here that I'm pretty sure I can finish this race no problem. On the other hand, here's where I slip below a 20 mph average for the first time. The false summit presents no problem and I tear down the back side of the climb and then grind my way through the remaining rollers and back into the park. There's a little climbing, but after Nasty Grade, it's just a warmdown, and I cruise through it. I don't bother trying to pass anyone on the descent into the transition area, and just focus on getting ready for the run. Two down, one to go. T2: This could present a problem. I hit the transition are, rack the bike, and my left quad immediately seizes completely. This isn't a disaster yet, since all I have to do at the moment is sit down and put my running shoes on but it could present some difficulty when it actually comes to doing some running, which is after all the next event. I manage to stand up and have some trouble getting my jersey on, since I try to put my head through the arm hole. But I do get it on, and I take another shot of Proventil to make sure I can breathe through the run, put on my hat, and get halfway out before I realize I don't have my HRM watch. I go back for it. I try to head by the portajohn on my way out, but there is a line and people don't seem to want to move for me, so I head on out. I've really botched this transition, but no time to worry about that. THE RUN I start off on the run at something like a trot. I'm certainly not even managing 7 minute miles, but my legs aren't feeling that great either, so I'm mainly concerned with having enough energy to finish. Also, I'm concerned with finding a portajohn , since I need to urinate fairly badly--actually this is a good sign since it means that I'm not completely dehydrated. I decline the water and Gatorade at mile 1 but ask where the bathrooms are--a few hundred meters up on the right, up a little hill. As I stop in the stall, my left quad (vastus medialis, actually) completely locks, but I've got to keep going. I realize that I can run, but I can't walk. Oh well, I wasn't planning on doing much walking anyway. I grab the Gu I've strategically taped to the back of my jersey (man, I'm starting to get tired of that sickly sweet taste) and trudge on. We enter the trails and I start getting mentally warmed up for the climb up mile 4. At least I've got the nude rest stop to look forward to. I hit the next rest stop, and it's mile 3? 3? 3? I've got to have gone further than this. Oh well. Up hill we go. Mile 4 rest stop here I come. Here's where running at Rancho San Antonio pays off. But I'm sadly disappointed. True, the women aren't wearing shirts, but they are wearing strategically placed V02 Max stickers. We wuz robbed! One of the guys in front of me drops his shorts and moons the volunteers. This draws a big laugh. Things just get worse. I'm starting to overheat and though it's been teasing about raining all day, the weather just won't come through for me, and my hat is driving me nuts. It's one of those Pearl Izumi Zephrr hats and so it's kind of a compromise between sun protection and rain protection. I've worn it before, but suddenly it feels incredibly hot and I know it's got to go. I tear into the mile 5 aid station yelling "free hat" and people look up at this lunatic. Finally one of the many pretty women volunteers says yes and I hand it to her. One less load off my mind (well head). The next rest stop I grab some Gatorade and Gu. I stuff it down but I'm starting to feel pretty nauseous. This isn't good, but I'm almost there now. A little over 10K to go. I've done 10Ks before. They're easy. Hell, I've run up to 16 miles in practice. This should be no trouble now. I hit the next aid station but I'm not ready to drink, so I tell them to just toss the water on me. They laugh at me but they do it and it feels great. I do this for another rest stop or two and finally let myself have another Gatorade and Gu. It still doesn't go down easy but I know I'm not going to boot, at least not yet. The climb to the mile 9 aid station seems endless, but it's finally over. I try to pick up some speed on the descent to the turnaround, but I'm pretty spent, and I keep thinking about having to climb back up this monster. They hit me with water again at the turnaround and I head back up. I finally get a chance to look at my HRM and realize that it's working and it's reading 145. That's not right, I should be doing 160 or so. I push the pace a little and manage to bring it up and sit around 155, but it's painful. I've never been one for running up hills and I've certainly never had to climb one as tired as I am now, and I'm starting to wonder if I can really finish. I've pretty much stopped thinking about my time. Once I gave up the 5:00 barrier, I stopped having any clear time goals. I tell myself I'd like to go under 5:30, but mainly at this point I want to be finished. I'm well into 'just 3 more miles to go' mode. After an eternity I crest the hill and am rewarded with that nice long flat-to-downhill section. I celebrate by getting splashed with water again, but soon enough we're in the final climb. At least this one is different, because I know that at the end it's all downhill. The spectators cheer us on and tell us we're almost there. Of course, I know they're liars because they also say I'm looking strong and I know that I look nearly dead. But true enough, I get to the top and it's all downhill, and I just let my feet do their thing. This is going to be hell on my knees later but I'm too far gone to care. I pass a few more cautious souls on the downhill and then we're on the flat, and I start my uh... kick. It's not much of a kick at this point but it's the only one I've got and I pass a person or two on the way through the chute to the line. I cross the line and let them pull off my race tag and sort of stagger through the chute. The finish line clock says just over 5:30. I started 11 minutes in. Total time: 5:19.07. AFTERMATH: Our hero discovers the med tent I'm always nauseous after a race. It usually takes a couple hours to go away and sometimes I'm still shaky the next morning. This seems to be a combination of salt depletion and the fact that my body is dragging all the blood to my muscles and away from my stomach. As a consequence, I'm unable to take in the fluid that my body is screaming for because I'm afraid of vomiting it back up again. I sort of drift over to the finish line refreshment area, looking longingly at the Gatorade and strawberries. The table is right in front of the med tent and the woman "manning" the tent asks me if I'm all right. I say I'm a bit shaky and she asks if I want some IV fluid. I say I'm not sure and I'd like to sit down for a minute. After a few minutes, I decide that an IV would probably be the best thing. 25 minutes and 2 liters later, I'm feeling a lot better, and I manage to get up and power down some Gatorade and a banana. As my body systems finally came back online, a deep feeling of satisfaction spread over me. Also, a sense of relief that I'd survived and could rest. SECOND THOUGHTS I'm actually pretty pleased with this race. I think this was about as long a race as I was capable of doing for my first triathlon. I think that the major barrier to going faster would be how bad I felt on the run. I consider this a consequence of two problems: 1. I wasn't properly hydrating on the bike and the run, because I just didn't feel like I could hold enough fluid down. I normally train with Gatorade (1/2 strength) but I made an effort to dilute the Gatorade I got, so I don't think that was the issue. It may just be that I need to practice more drinking under hard loads, but it might also help to try a different (less sugary) drink. MET-Rx O.R.S. maybe? 2. I hadn't done any really long hard bricks, so I wasn't prepared to be that tired when I started the run. Not surprisingly, I also need to be more organized during the transition. I don't think that cost me that much time, but it didn't do anything for my mental health. Equipment wise, things went pretty well. I'd just replaced a lot of components on my bike, and everything worked flawlessly. I've got nothing but great things to say about my Syntace C2s. Most comfortable aero bars I've every owned by far. Similarly, my Dura-Ace 9-speed gruppo performed like a champ. No complaints there either. I was kind of worried since I'd just done the work a week before and hadn't had time to really road test it much, but no problems. Thanks due to Triathlete Zombies for getting me a bunch of components on short notice for a good price. I thought the race itself was fairly well run. Like any big undertaking, there were some good things and some bad things. Good: Beautiful course. Friendly volunteers, especially at the med tent. Frequent aid stations. Good food choices on the run course. Generally smooth organization. Quick posting of results. Course mile numbering. Having mile markers every mile was great, especially on the bike. Bad: Long lines during the beginning of registration. Not enough draft marshalling. Bad food selection on the bike. Having Gu only at mile 26 was a real bummer. With only 7 aid stations, it would have been nice to have 3 or 4 with Gu. No nude aid station at mile 4. :) The packets were distributed without any instructions. It would have been nice to have had some documentation about where all the numbers went. In particular, I saw a lot of confusion about where to put the swim tag. I'm planning to put these comments (in slightly more detailed form) in a message to the RD. I'll send a copy to r.s.t when I do that. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Thanks to Ron Renwick for giving me a ride to and from the event. Thanks to Bill Spencer for just being a generally cool guy to camp next to. -- [Eric Rescorla Terisa Systems, Inc.] "Put it in the top slot."