Vegas Ironman 70.3 Worlds Race Report

I always say you learn more from the bad races than you ever will from the good ones. That being the case, I think the race I had at Vegas 70.3 Worlds should earn me a degree. It was such an experience it’s brought me to begin writing race reports again; something I haven’t done in at least a year.

 Also, I feel the need to start documenting the stupid crap that seems to happen to me before nearly every race. To give you an idea, at my first NYC Marathon, the cab that was taking me to meet the ferry to Staten Island was rear-ended by a drunk who was still out celebrating Halloween. Before the Boston Marathon, I developed a nasty bike saddle sore that almost took me off the start line. That wasn’t so much the sore as it was the treatment. I decided to try tea tree oil and quickly learned that I’m seriously allergic to tea tree oil. So, it was only fitting that when I went hiking on Shelter Island two days before heading to Las Vegas, I come out of the nature preserve covered in hundreds of deer ticks. For anyone who doesn’t know, Shelter Island is known for Lyme’s Disease, a tick-borne illness that will screw you up big time if gone untreated. I started taking prophylactic antibiotics, which happen to cause hypersensitivity to the sun. I’m half Polish, half German. I don’t really need any more sun sensitivity than I already have but look out, sunny Las Vegas, here I come!

Despite all this, I felt confident the days leading up to the race, having just achieved my first sub-5:00 half ironman a few weeks ago at Timberman. Vegas is my “A” race, of course, so why wouldn’t I do even better there? Unfortunately, while my mind may say this, my body doesn’t necessarily have to agree.  Something that I did find a bit worrisome, however, was that I was getting a dull headache during every little training session I did in Vegas leading up to the race. These were not hard workouts and I believe I was completely hydrated. I made a mental note that odds are, I’d get a slight headache at some point during the race.

Race morning began with an easy walk down to transition and a quick bike check. I had been going back and forth with whether or not I should keep the bike shoes on the pedals, since it’s something I stopped doing, probably out of laziness, but one look at the crazy ass run up to the road and the answer was easy. I set them up knowing that even if I stumbled at the top of the hill when I went to put the shoes on, I’d still take less time (and risk less injury) if I ran up barefoot.

Before I knew it, it was go time. My swimming has improved quite well this season so I seeded myself up front. I realize as I write this that this is something I never would have done a year ago, especially with the level of athletes I was up against here, yet I did it without a second thought.

This was by far the roughest swim start I’ve ever been in. I even got my thumb sliced within the first few strokes, presumably on someone’s watch. It’s okay! I’m on antibiotics! The water was about as murky as the Hudson River, making it a little harder to see where everyone was around me, but I was pretty sure I was still up front as I approached the first buoy. I settled into race pace, found a set of strong feet to draft off of and stayed with her through the turnaround point. On the way back to shore, I thought about swimming around her and going off on my own but I resisted the temptation knowing I had a long, hot day ahead of me. Oh yeah, did I mention the water was in the 80s and the air temperature was around 100? In a non-wetsuit swim, I was very happy to come out of the water 11^th out of our group of 90.

Transitioning to the bike went just fine and off I went into Lake Mead National Park. I knew it was especially important that I not let myself be carried away by others in this very competitive field. I had to race my own race if I wanted any chance of having a good run. A few girls passed me right away. I let them go, kept my head down and did my best to stay focused. Singing songs helped push any other thoughts away and I found the new Gaslight Anthem song, “45,” kept me going most of the way. Funny, it even has “And the song just keeps repeating, drop the needle again” in the lyrics. And then there’s the very fitting chorus: “Hey hey, turn the record over. Hey hey, I'll see you on the flip side. There you go, turn the key and engine over. Let her go, let somebody else lay at her feet."

Somewhere around mile 20, I went to shift gears and dropped my chain. It got stuck in my derailleur and it took me probably two minutes to wiggle it loose and get it back on my chainring. It sucked but I didn't panic. Instead, I shrugged it off as just one of those things that can happen. You hope it doesn't happen in a race, but what can you do?

I knew how important it was to stay hydrated in the dry heat and took every opportunity to utilize the bottle exchanges, dumping half the bottle on my head, the other half down my throat, tossing the empty, grabbing a second bottle to put in the cage on my bike all in the span of about 30 seconds. I noticed the headache began somewhere around mile 40 but it wasn’t that bad and I was still enjoying myself out there.

I reminded myself to look around and appreciate the beauty of my surroundings. I’ve never been in a desert before and I found it breathtaking. The opportunity to race through the desert is something I never thought I would have and I was kind of pinching myself a bit. Maybe this is why I was surprised when I looked at my computer and saw that it was almost time to get my run on. I finished the bike in 14^th place feeling happy and strong, and excited to run.

My first mile was, I would say, “spirited.” I looked at my watch and saw a 7:05 minute mile. This is about my usual half ironman race pace, so it normally wouldn’t scare me into slowing down, but I knew I had to reel it in and conserve energy. The run course is tough. There’s no shade, it’s hot and it’s fairly hilly. I didn’t want to underestimate it and blow up. So, at precisely mile 2.5, I went ahead and blew up. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that bad at a race before. But you know how they say the only reason women have multiple children is because the body can’t remember pain? I think that’s similar to the only reason athletes continue to race. I’m sure one day (hopefully not soon) I’ll have another bad race and I’ll think “I’ve never felt this bad at a race before!”

I didn’t want to finish. It seemed like there was so far to go and I had been reduced to a walk. The slight headache became a thumping that reverberated through my skull with every step and I’m wondering, “why the hell do my hands feel like they’ve been dipped in hot wax?” My hands had gotten so badly sunburned during the bike that they now felt like they were on fire. I wasn’t thorough enough with the sunblock and the medication made it that much worse.

I figured if I walked the aid stations and maybe a few of the uphills, I could get enough time back by running the downhills, which would feel relatively easy. That became my new strategy. I wasn’t racing anymore. I didn’t care where anyone else was or who would catch me. I just wanted to finish. I just wanted to get my freakin’ tee shirt and go back to New York. Then I noticed a few pros walking as well. I saw Meredith Kessler walking and a few others I didn’t recognize. They could’ve easily quit and said they were saving themselves for an upcoming race but they respected their fellow competitors, and the race itself, enough to not do that. I had to finish.

And then, somewhere between miles 12 and 13, I noticed a few women in my age group gaining on me and I found my fifth gear. HA! I didn’t care how much it hurt. Being passed in the last mile sucks and after the day I had, I wasn’t about to lose another spot to anyone that close to the finish. It felt like forever and hurt beyond hurt but I pulled out a 6:03 minute mile. From where, I don’t know. Yeah, that’s pretty cool but if I had that in me, why couldn’t I have done that a little earlier with like half the intensity and spread it out a bit? That would have been much better.

I finished 12^th and I’m happy with that. Generally, the run is where I move up the most and, despite the hard time I had, I still moved up two spots from the bike. The hardest pill to swallow is that at 5:25, this was my slowest half ironman ever. I had a bad day. It happens to everyone at some point. It happened at Worlds for me but the bright spot is that my PR at Timberman has qualified me for next year and I will return with fierce determination to have the race I know I’m fully capable of having.