Friday, June 27, 2008

Ironman Coeur d'Alene: the US Championship





I went up to Idaho with an incredibly relaxed and confident attitude. I had forsaken the temptation of racing an early season Ironman for the first time in four years; I had trained well in Austin for four months, before doing a shorter Ironman build in Boulder; I was rested, I was fit, and I was motivated to race. The perfect storm was brewing for my best ever race.

Prior to the race, I pointed out to Greg Welch that being fit, rested, and motivated were really only half of the things I needed to have in order to win the race. The other 50% was made up of a well executed race day. If I delivered that, I could win the race. As we all know, "if" is a pretty big word in the world of Ironman racing.

Race day started out as cool and beautiful as the weatherman had predicted. The lake was calm, and the water temperature was perfect. I don't just say this to paint a pretty picture; the water was 60 degrees, which is just cool enough to keep my lizard skin from overheating in the swim.

I opted not to take a long warm up, which is a departure from my pre-race norm. I figured I'd only start to cool of if I was in the lake too long before the start. Positioning myself at the start line, I chose not to pay attention to where anyone else was standing. I have finally learned that my best swim will come when I do what's best for me, rather than key off any of the others' actions.

Two or three strokes into the race, I found myself on Viktor's feet. He had green, I had purple (caps). He was easy to spot amongst the others in yellow. I stayed put for a couple hundred meters, enjoying a very, very comfortable start. We were barely above a float, as far as I was concerned.

As we neared the first turn buoy, I took Amanda's advice by making a surge. My normal swim strategy is to hold on for dear life, while making no sudden movements. Amanda knew I had worked hard to get my swimming back to where it was years ago, and she felt I could play some games in the water. This surge to the first turn was only the first of many little games I would play during the 2.4 miles.

Out of the turn and into the sun, I kept my surge going for several meters. I noticed that Viktor was still in tow, and the two yellows were hanging tough. Through the second buoy, I eased up, stayed the course, and returned to a comfortable pace. Nearing the beach, Viktor came back through to take the lead. In spite of my games, we were actually working well to pull one another through the course.

Exiting the water and re-entering is one my least favorite parts of a swim. Lucky for me, we were in a group of four, and Viktor make a right turn, instead of the left we were supposed to take. I gracelessly flopped back into the water, checked yellow 1 and yellow 2, noticed Viktor's slight gap, and I dropped the hammer. How much fun it is to be able to race the swim!

I tried as hard as I could to drop the trio. I went through the first buoy, and kept the pedal down. My effort was for naught, as they were all still in contact. It doesn't hurt to try, and the efforts to drop my competitors did not seem to hurt me in the least. I settled back in and saved energy for my next effort.

Rounding the turn, I made another go at dropping the yellows. I zigged left, I zagged right, I surged and I veered. Nothing worked, so I settled back into a normal pace. Again, I reveled in the fact that I was in control of my swim (and of others') for the first time in a while.

Before I end up with a novel about the first 54 minutes of my race, I had better touch on the bike race for a spell.

Starting the ride, I knew I was rested, and that I'd be strong enough to push the pace. I reeled in the guys who beat me out of transition (they beat me by a long shot). I kept the pressure on, knowing that my fitness would allow me to rebound from any blow-ups later in the game.

The splits were all in my favor as I entered the hilly and scenic parts of the race. Evans' lead was down to 2:00, to 1:45, to 1:15, and finally to 45 seconds. He informed the spotters that I should hurry up and catch him. I informed them right back that he needed to slow down so I could catch him!

The games were about to end, as Tom put his back-half strength to the test. Somewhere around mile 45, he dropped the hammer. I stayed steady knowing he was going to do this. My only hope was that I would have caught him by the time he made that move. 45 seconds was as close as I'd get to the hard charging dentist all day long. (Is it foreshadowing when I give that away, or is it just giving it away?)

As I rolled over hills, pushed through the windy flats, and collected my thoughts for the run, my strongest impression was that I was finally dialed in perfectly with my bike fit (thank you Jack and Zane!). This is a funny thing to think about, but it occurred to me nonetheless: I was so powerful in that position, and I was ready to run!

My ideal scenario coming off the bike was to have a time deficit to Tom (who I historically outrun), and a time gap on Viktor (who historically outruns me). I knew that to chase down my prey, while simultaneously being chased by a predator, would yield my best marathon to date.

I could not believe how light and fresh and speedy I felt when my legs first touched ground in transition. I had zero sign of the hobbled, post-ride stiffness that will sometimes greet us in T2. I was ready to run.

My first few miles came by with incredible ease: 6:01, 5:57, 6:10, 6:12. I made that fourth mile split with a brief stop to stretch the hamstrings. They felt a bit of a twinge toward cramping, and I wanted to be safe. Back through the next eight miles, I was effortlessly chipping away at Tom's lead. My ten mile spit was just at 1:02. His 6:30 lead off the bike was down to 3:55 by mile ten. My jock math was calculating the necessary difference of pace to erase my deficit by the finish line.

My jock math may have distracted me from what was about to happen.

Mile thirteen was about as different as it could have been from the preceding twelve. My stride shortened, my energy dipped, my intestines twisted up, and my momentum nearly halted. What I needed was a porto-potty, and I needed it soon.

The energy of the hot corner, and all that goes with it, carried me to the Honey Bucket (that is what they are named up in CdA) stationed near special needs. I jumped in, jumped out, and plugged back along to the second turn. I took note of Evans, he took note of me, and the race was still on.

To forget about Viktor during the marathon is a rare occurrence, but it's just what happened. What was going on behind me was of no more importance than what was going on in the life of Brittany Spears. I was focused on my chase.

Normally a brief stop in the little blue box takes care of everything. My return to 6:20 and 6:30 miles indicated to me that I had gotten past what was ailing me. By mile 16, I quickly concluded that was not the case. Another quick stop (to deal with the party in my pants) had me in and out of another Honey Bucket. It was Ironman racing at its finest: it's dirty, it's fast, it's hard, and there are no guarantees.

From mile 17 to mile 20, I went about as far to the dark side as I could go. My stomach would tolerate no more Power Gel or Gatorade. It didn't seem to even like water, and salt tabs were out of the question. I walked up a hill. I ran down the other side. Amanda was nearby and when I passed her, she yelled at me to dig deep, and that catching Tom was still a viable option. All I could think of was whether or not I'd make it to mile 18. I walked again, and I stopped again. This time there was nothing but a tree to hide my potty stop from the world.

Getting going again, I realized that my body needed carbs. I thought of one thing: coke. I made it to mile 19, and began my seven-mile parade, fueled by coke and water, coke and water. It seemed to settle the gut a bit, or at least it seemed not to upset it further. There was really nothing else left to evacuate from my system, so maybe I was back in the mix.

At the base of the turnaround climb, just about 20.5 miles into the marathon, Viktor came by me. "What is wrong," he uttered. I just said one word: "shit." Sorry 'bout that, but it was on my mind. My pace at that point was a full-blow Kona Shuffle, not unlike my stride that was captured in the 2000 IM Lake Placid TV footage, when Dave Scott voiced over these words: "Lovato just got passed by Cam Brown, and you just don't come back from a pass like that!"

Realizing that my walk-and-stop program had only then lost me the second spot was a bit of a mental recharge for me. No, I was not going to win, and no, I was not getting second, but yes, I was going to survive. As a matter of fact, if the coke did its thing, I was going to be able to compete again, and after all, that is what I was there to do.

A quick time check to fourth place told me that I could run my way home, and still hang onto that final podium spot. I was back in the game. I didn't feel too hot, and I didn't have more than a handful of caffeine-spiked simple sugars to work with, but I was in the game. No more walking.

I had successfully gone from racing to survival and back to racing.

Nearing the finish line, I began to feel the pull and the draw that downtown Coeur d'Alene produces on Ironman day. That community loves this event, and the event is characterized by all of their energy. They got me down Sherman Ave, and they got me to the finish line.

I wobbled and tottered a bit as I crossed the line, but it was a satisfied wobble-totter. Tom Evans had an amazing day, and Viktor was a strong second. The three of us have made up the podium two years in a row, and only one other man has won this race, outside of us. I think we all look forward to next year already.

From all races, we must take home a lesson or two or six. And in this case, I learned my lesson with the help of Robert from First Endurance. After listening to my account of the race, he promptly pointed out that my excess sodium intake was the culprit to blame for my nutritional hardships. On a day when temperatures never really got above 70 degrees, my body was in electrolyte overload. While I followed a sound calorie intake plan, my supplemental sodium intake pushed me over the edge with respect to electrolyte balance. It now is very clear that too much sodium can draw water from the blood, back it up in the small intestines, and effectively stop absorption. With no absorption of the food and liquid going in, there is only one way to empty the gut, and we've already discussed what that means. Lesson learned.

Getting to the finish line of my 21st Ironman was really only possible because of the support I had going into the event. I am thankful to have an incredible team of family, friends, and sponsors around me. They all believe in me, and they all show their belief in a tireless fashion.

Thank you to each and every one of you, and in particular, thank you to Amanda for giving me the courage to push myself before and during that great event.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Friday, June 13, 2008

Help Me Pick!

I just received my race outfits for Ironman Coeur d'Alene.  Please help me pick the perfect SPLISH bottoms to go with one of my Saucony tops. 

Thanks to the generous folks at SPLISH for setting me up with some winning designs.

Yes, I stole this blog idea from Amanda.


Race Outfits




Race Outfits








Sunday, June 08, 2008

Best Wife Ever





How many of you read the blog of my dear wife, Amanda Lovato?  I am sure there are many of you, as you probably would not be here now if you hadn't clicked my link on her blog.  I know how you operate.

Of those five hundred of you who read that blog, how many of you really think you know Amanda?  I wonder.   I thought, just for kicks, that I would share a few thoughts about my wife, so that you, the careful reader, can understand a bit more about how she ticks. 

Yes, she is a pretty open person.  She talks about her poop.  She talks about her friends.  She talks about her enemies, pet peeves, favorite things, swim suits, and a bit more about her poop. There are so many incredibly interesting topics inside the head of AGL that she may never have time to post them all on her blog.  But she will damn sure try.

Even though she takes time to write about just about everything, I still think the vast majority of her readers don't know just how great a person she really is, so I will share her with you.

Amanda is the one of the most caring, giving and loving people I have ever met.  She talks about how she has older child syndrome, but she does not let on that the syndrome has made her a sweet and generous caregiver.  

She talks about how anal she is, but she doesn't let on that she is one of the most organized, detail-oriented, task-driven people I know.

A rant from Amanda is just that: a rant.  She calls out people's flaws, she points out injustices and rude occurrences, but she does not ever mean to hurt any one's feelings.  She truly sees her rant as a way to get things off her chest.  Rather than let it fester inside forever, she let's it go, and on some occasions the subject of the rant could take the opportunity to learn a bit about him or herself.

One of Amanda's greatest strengths is that she handles criticism very well.  She knows she has room to improve in many aspects of her life.  She takes feedback and uses it constructively to make herself a better person.  This is a rare trait, perhaps more rare than you think.

Amanda can tell someone she is sorry, and that she was wrong.  Sadly, there are more folks in this world who are incapable of doing just that, even if they could stop an argument,  a fight or even a war.  

Amanda is the one of the most sensitive people I know.  She may appear to have a tough skin, but inside she takes things to heart.  

Amanda is my Domestic Goddess.  For proof I took this photo the other night after a long training day.  She prepared my dinner, cleaned my dishes, and made me comfortable and happy.  
Amanda is my inspiration.  When dedicated to realizing a goal, nothing gets in her way.  She follows the path she sets without wavering, and she does so without being late. 

The only thing Amanda loves more than her dogs is me, and I love that.

Amanda is my best friend, and I have gotten to know her better each and every day.