One of the huge benefits of racing Galveston was that I was able to drive down there from Austin. Not having to get on a plane, and deal with the wear and tear that goes with air travel, was a nice draw for me. However, one of the mistakes I made in my preparation for this event, was not respecting the possible downside to sitting in my car for three or four hours the day before the race.  In retrospect – and noting the struggles I ended up with on the race course – I should have arrived two days before the event; and I should have reserved ample respect for the wear and tear of a three- to four-hour drive.

Skipping ahead to race day, I awoke to the sound of absolute howling gale. My ideally located home stay was just one block off the seawall, so not only was I conveniently located near the race venue, but I was able to get a small taste of the weather conditions we’d face on the day.  As I prepared my pre-dawn breakie – version two of my pre-race staple – I began to get very excited to see how the rest of the field would handle a healthy dose of Texas wind.

I pedaled down to Moody Gardens to set up transition.  Even without my partner in crime, Amanda, I was a bit anxious and arrived at transition a touch earlier than I normally would.  One of the many benefits of having a prompt wife is that some of her timely traits have worn off on me.  With a fairly quick set-up, I ventured out for a short run warm-up.

Knowing that the air down on the Texas coast was a touch  more humid than, well, just about anywhere at this time of year, I ended up downing the better part of a 32-oz bottle of EFS.  During my set-up and warm-up, I stayed in touch with how much I was sweating, and I tried to keep the fluids topped off, and to not mistake the “cool” feeling of humid air for actual “cold” weather.

By the time we were herded over to our start pen, I was feeling topped off and ready to rock. My swim training this year has given me the confidence that I could exit the water with the front pack.  I knew we had a solid field, with some really good swimmers, and I was excited to test myself against some of the best.

We had a very short warm-up time, and I did my best to take full advantage of it.  I love a long warm-up, but when it’s not permitted, I throw a few dozen “frantic” strokes in there to simulate a bit of good arm turnover.  That being done, I situated myself on the start line between Tim O’Donnell and Terrenzo Bozzone: two fellows I knew would make that front group.

Once we get out into the meat of the swim course, my only complaint – aside from the slightly warm water – was that my navigation seemed to be a touch off.  I stayed in a nice patch of bubbles, benefiting from a great draft, but on several occasions I found myself veering right. Fortunately, I was able to swim my way back into the draft, and reposition myself with the group. However, with 400 or so meters to go, I popped out of the pod one too many times, and I never found my way back to them.  I exited the water approximately 20 seconds behind the trailing edge of the large front pack.

Transition is definitely an area where I can use some work! I did my best to sprint to the bikes, but ended up doing what I call a shuffle-plod until my legs got back under me. Not the best way to close that little gap!

Once onto the bike, I began to prepare myself for a rough 28-mile stretch of crossing headwinds. For some sick reason, I tend to really like riding in the wind, and crossing headwinds tend to be my favorite. There were no gusts, so I settled into a steady lean for an hour or so, hammering my way toward the front of the race.  With Chris Lieto blowing by me inside one mile, I did my best not to get discouraged with my early pace.  I felt that I was riding strong, but it’s hard to still believe it when someone like him comes by as though you’re seated on a stationary bike.

Once he was out of sight, I was able to focus on how many of the others I was able to pass, and consequently drop.  Knowing many of my fellow competitors, I knew that my efforts must be pretty solid – these guys I was getting away from were very strong cyclists.   Nearing the turnaround, I finally caught up to my teammate Richie Cunningham.  It was great to see a good friend out there, so I encouraged him to ride along with me as we caught the front group.

Hitting the turnaround, I had just managed to catch the chasing quartet of TO, Terrenzo, Rasmus Henning, and Paul Matthews. If chasing down Chris Lieto and Frederick VanLierde is the goal, having a strong bunch like this was the best way to tackle the task.

After regrouping for two to three minutes – in my mind I wanted to see what it felt like to sit at the back of a legally  spaced group – I pushed to the front.  With five competitive and driven individuals in close proximity, the collective mojo must have raised the pace a bit.  We ended up dropping TO, and breaking clear from most of the chasing riders.  One exception was that Ronnie Schildknecht of Switzerland came flying by around the 40-mile mark.  He took such a vicious turn at the front, that I feared he was going to make me pop.  Fortunately for me – and for the others – Ronnie seemed to pop a bit, most likely from the effort it took to catch us at that point. I retook my position at the front of the chase pace, and forced what I felt was a sustainable but challenging pace all the way back to T2.

My decision to stretch out the calves and hammies as we closed out the ride cost me all the glory of riding into T2 in 3rd place. I politely asked Terrenzo  why he could not let me have the glory of leading into T2 after dragging him and Rasmus for much of the last 28 miles.  It was a rhetorical question, but he answered me anyway, by running away from me after transitioning like a banshee.

Out on the run course in sixth place, I felt good about my prospects for holding a money spot.  I have done some very strong IM-prep runs, and I knew that a steadily paced half marathon would treat me well.  I’m not sure what my pace was at the outset of the run, but I was sure that my left quad seemed to be on fire – just the left medial quad – while the rest of my muscles felt a “normal” post-ride fatigue.  Assuming that my left leg had loaded up an inordinate amount, due to the unbalanced riding into the cross/headwind for 28 miles, I did my best to even out the stride and run a steady, strong race.

Without warning and without explanation, nearing the five-mile mark, my left calf exploded with an unpleasant strain.  At the time, I was not sure why it had happened, or what had caused it.  I stopped running, tried to massage the area, and attempted to continue running.  Very shortly thereafter I had to stop again, this time to stretch, massage, and stretch again.  No luck.  I stopped again, and began to walk.  By this time, I had been passed for seventh, and still had a sizable gap to 8th and 9th (running together); and there was a decent gap to the remainder of the men’s field.  However, it appeared that my race was over.

I struggled along with walk/ jog until I spotted a friend on course – Amanda’s coach Derick, actually.  I stopped and chatted to him, and let him know that I was no longer in the race, but that I was going to keep on plugging along if I could.  From that point onward, I was able to watch a steady stream of competitors run past me (women, men, professional and age group).

To be honest, I knew that my calf strain was bad enough to stop racing, to stop pushing; but my hope was that the calf would not be further damaged if I continued along at a jogging pace.  Without accessing the push-off phase of the run, I felt that the “heel running” might even loosen up the strain/ knot.  Whether or not this was a good decision, I’ll never know.  And whether or not I should have stopped and taken the DNF, I’ll never know.  What I do know is that by finishing the run, I was able to keep piece of mind that I finished what I started, and that I did not quit, despite having to drastically change the goals with which I started the day.  Sometimes, that’s what racing is all about: adjustment and perseverance.

Looking back at how the race went, I am still very positive in some regards.  I was able to test myself on the swim and bike, and, in my eyes, I passed the test: my early-season swim/ bike fitness is in a great place.  Another positive that came from the experience was that I got a swift kick in the pants to get back into my regular gym routine.  I had been consistently swimming, biking, and running since arriving in Austin; but my gym work had slipped by, for no good reason.  I know that my body responds very well to consistent and light gym work, to keep it in balance (mostly), and to keep me from getting injured.  I neglected this small piece of the puzzle, and my assessment of the calf injury is that without my tuned-up and balanced body, I was unable to handle the strain that came from a few seemingly minor variables (i.e., uneven riding in the wind, car drive before the race, first race of the year, and even lack of arch support in new cycling shoes).
The obvious negative that came from the race was that I have now suffered a set-back to my training and racing plan.  I have been receiving extensive PT and rehab here in Austin, and by all accounts my muscle strain was only a 1 or 2 on the scale of 1-10. The prognosis is good, and the hope is that with 7-10 days of rehab/ easy running, I should be back to 100%.  In line with that hope, my aim is to forge ahead with swim and bike training knowing that my body will rebound nicely with a few missed run sessions.  The beauty of having trained for and raced 26 Ironmans is that I have a lot of built-in training in my body.  My Ironman prep may well be right on track, but only time will tell!

In summary, I am looking forward to a strong and successful race season, and I know that my body will rebound quickly enough to enable my best racing to date.  And getting through another rough go in Galveston was rewarding on many levels, not the least of which was being called “old school” for sticking it out and avoiding the all-to-typical pro DNF.

Onward and upward.

Emotional reasons include, but are not limited to: a great vacation; fond memories and past experiences at the race; a great homestay; the chance to visit friends and family; a beautiful course; and even the chance to see a part of the world we’ve never seen.  These are all strong reasons, but they are not based in the realm of  rational decision making.

The rational reasons include: timing; ease of travel; type of course suiting the strengths of  the athlete; for pros, return on investment; and how the event aids in the progression toward a goal, or progression of the season.

Sometimes it’s OK to make the emotional call – especially for most age group athletes – but sometimes the only way for a pro to decide is by following a rationally laid-out plan.

After finally making my late spring migration to Austin, I have fallen right into a nice training rhythm. I am working hard, resting well, and enjoying the groove I’m finding. My original plan was to shut down the training early next week, to pack up, and to head out to Oceanside to race the Cal 70.3.  My reasons for choosing this race were as follows: I always start the year in O’side; I love visiting Southern Cal; I have so much fun catching up with my friends there; we have a great homestay – thanks Roch & Heather!; we love eating at Pipe’s and the Potato Shack after the race; I have done fairly well in the event formerly known as Ralph’s; and ever since 2001 when I raced it as an IM, it sure feels like a short day on that course!  There are other reasons, for sure, but it’s pretty clear the list is rife with emotional components.  All good, but not all that wise.

As I type away, it becomes obvious to me that a more rational approach would be smart. So I’m challenging myself to start a list of reasons to skip this event, and to find a replacement.  My list is here: I want a race that will be similar to IM Texas – flatter, windier, fast competition, and a bit of heat, humidity and wind; I want a race I can drive to; I want another week of training before I race; and I still want that same stacked field to push me to race hard and fast.  Looking at my criteria, I have settled on the 70.3 US Championships at Galveston.

It’s official, I’m making good choices, and it feels alright.  Galveston Island, here I come; and Manhole Cover Pancakes, I hope to see you next year!

Question #1: What made me chose to race IM Cozumel?

The answer is a long and multifaceted one, but for the sake of brevity – something I normally ignore – I’ll sum it up by saying that I really wanted to close out 2010 with a competition.  Despite completing the Ironman in Hawaii, I did not compete in it.  I was never in the mix, and I did not ever get the fix of racing the other athletes.  I did have a few chances to battle it out on course, but in the grand scheme of things, I did not get my competitive fix. Fortunately, Amanda and I had already talked about both of us racing Cozumel – back in July – so the trip and race had been on the back burner for quite some time. When she opted out of racing, it only made sense for us to keep the event on the calendar, and to just swap roles of supporter and athlete.  And in the end, my goal of getting one more competition for the year was accomplished – and it sure was satisfying!

Question #2: Where Kona Pro Ranking (KPR) points on my mind when I chose to race Cozumel?

It would be wrong to say that I did not care about grabbing a few points – points are points, and we all need to amass enough to find our way into the top fifty by next July.  However, I can truly say that my decision to race in Mexico was not driven by Kona qualification.  My schedule for 2011 will not change based on the points I acquired in Cozumel.  I will race Rev 3, I will race an early Ironman, and I will race some 70.3 events.  These races were on the calendar regardless of my KPR standing.

Question #3: How did I bridge the gap from Kona to Cozumel?

With only seven weeks between the two Ironmans, it was very important to play my training cards right.  My body was still very beat up after Kona, and I needed to take that recovery very seriously.   I knew that I was in great shape, so all I really wanted to do was hit a couple key workouts to maintain that fitness, and perhaps boost up my top-end a bit.  I really wanted to avoid getting too beat up, knowing that Ironman recovery has a way of sticking around much longer than we think it does.  So what did I do?  Well, after the first week of barely moving, I did four weeks of 15-17 hours of training. My main focus was on logging a lot of time in the pool – a great place to boost fitness with little impact on the body.  I did two long runs of 16 miles, and I did two long rides of 4 hrs to 4 hrs 30.  And I punched out a couple of high-intensity sessions on the CycleOps PowerBeam Pro.  Those were geared toward pushing the LT up a bit, so I could handle a higher pace on the bike in Mexico.  Aside from my  big push in the swim, most of the training was very “light” by pro Ironman training standards, but I felt that it was a truly effective way to bridge the gap.

Question #4: How did you like that Kestrel 4000 with the Zipp Firecrest 808′s?

The answer to this question should be short and sweet: I loved my set-up for Cozumel – it was the fastest ride around!  But to dive further in, I will rewind to about five weeks before the race.  I was accompanying Amanda to a Retul fit with Mat Steinmetz here in Boulder.  She was getting positioned on her new 4000, and I was there to observe.  Or was I?  I had a few questions for Mat, and one question lead to another, which lead to me signing up for my own Retul fit.  For some odd reason, it took me a long time to get dialed in on my bikes this year.  I had some fast bike splits, but never seemed to be getting the most out of my ensuing runs.  I felt there was something off.  Mat determined, with one quick glance, that my saddle appeared to be too low. Once he took a few snapshots with the Retul, he determined that I could stand to move my seat height up, a lot.  So we went ahead and raised it (about 1.2 cm).  We compensated for the significant saddle height adjustment by raising the front end, too.  He wanted to keep my hip angle open, so we pushed the ISM Adamo Racing seat all the way forward on the rails, to allow me to achieve a more forward position.  We made some pretty drastic changes to my set-up, and Mat cautioned me to take things slowly as I adapted to what we did.  I informed him that I didn’t have much time to take things slowly – with an Ironman in five weeks, I had to get right after it. I joked with Mat that I’d fully blame him if I did not have a good bike ride in Cozumel, but that I would give him all the credit if I rode well.  So with that in mind, I’d like to attribute my 4:30 bike split (for those 114 windy miles) to Mat’s brilliant fit techniques, and his masterful use of the Retul.  Thank you, Mat.  (I hope none of my competitors see you in 2011!)

Question #5:  What does 2011 have in store for you?

The plan right now is to travel to as many REV3 races as I can. I’ll probably be supporting Amanda at those events, and will likely do some commentary for those races. I really love what that series is doing, and enjoy being a part of its growth. In fact, the REV3 series will be coming on as a main sponsor of our Trakkers Team, so look for all of our athletes to be targeting those events more seriously.  As for my own racing, I am planning on hitting a couple half irons in the spring, with the new Ironman in Texas being a first-half focus of mine.  At this point, I’ll be in Costa Rica for REV3, Puerto Rico and St. Croix for 70.3, and the Woodlands in May for IM.  The next trip will be to Quassy, where I plan to cover the event, hopefully with others of the Trakkers Team.   My season focus will be Kona, once again, and I look forward to getting back there for the 12th time, and to notching my best finish ever.  Stay tuned for the full 2011 schedule to be updated soon.

Thanks for checking in on my end-of-season recap.  Please go to the contact page of my website to submit questions for next month’s Q&A feature!

We arrived on Tuesday morning, after a short and stress-free travel. Getting here from Austin is quite easy, and remaining in the Central Time Zone was a nice perk that helped with a quick adaptation to Mexican Time.  We had a lot going on prior to traveling south of the border, including good, bad, happy, tough, stressful, tiring, and even trying events.  We checked into our hotel – Fiesta Americana (yes, that’s right) -  relieved it was time to buckle down and take a serious siesta.  The siesta lasted for most of the first two days.

In addition to napping away the first part of our week, we acquainted ourselves with the hotel’s three delicious restaurants, we did a touch of training to get the body moving, and we settled into the slower rhythm we both craved. Amanda was instumental in wrangling me in, slowing me down, and setting me into a great pattern of resting and refreshing.  She also managed to help me refrain from overdoing it at every trip to the buffet. (BIG gracias there!)

By Thursday I was ready to do some Ironman fine tuning.  I got my first true taste of the Cozumel humidity on a morning run, and followed it up with a gorgeous ocean swim, while Amanda guided me in her kayak past snorkel-fed diver-types and their transport boats. The bright blue Caribbean waters were absolutely perfect.  To cap off the day, I rode one loop of the bike course with Amanda escorting me on our rented scooter. Love the moto! (Not the mota.)  With a full day of training in the books, I was feeling very ready to race, and we treated ourselves to one of many scrumptious fish taco feasts.

By race morning, I was starting to reap the rewards of my five-day decompress from the outside world.  The stresses of the prior week were a distant memory, my siestas had rejeuvenated me properly, and I was anxious to get out on course and race against a top-class field (the men’s field alone boasted 14 Ironman titles).

We scooted our way down to the swim start to arrive at a typically relaxed – but organized – transition area.  Setting up the Kestrel 4000 was a painless and smooth task. We pros each had our own transition “tower” to hold our individual rigs. There was no jostling for position, that is, until we got into the water.

We were graciously afforded about 7 minutes of warm-up time prior to the start of the race.  Normally it takes me 15-20 mintes to get my arms fully swinging, so I was a bit anxious to find a great spot with the quicker swimmers.  Andy Potts and Amanda Stevens both fit the bill, so I did my best to wedge myself between them and the lifeguard who was there to contain us.  When the gun sounded, I got a great jump with the others.  Over the last four weeks, I put a lot of time into the water, as I felt it would give me a nice advantage to exit the swim a bit fresher – and closer to Andy – than I had in Kona.

Rounding the first turn buoy, I let a gap open up between me and the feet belonging to Steve Bayliss or Amanda.  Either way, I was pleased to be dragged away from the likes of Sturla, Beke, and Galindez (and the others!).  I swam completely solo for a long 2800 meters or so, before linking up with Dede as we came around the final buoy. Exiting the water in 49 minutes meant I couldn’t be too far down, but that perhaps the swim was a tad short as well!

Onto the bike I felt comfortable and strong immediately.  Having not felt in control of my ride in the last two races, I was very happy to final have the opportunity to let loose on those pedals and move my sleek 4000 down the road.  Beofre long I had caught Amanda – thanks for dropping me in the water – and continued to roll through the field.  By the end of lap 1, I moved into what I assumed was second place to Andy.

At approximately 60 or 65 miles, I found company from behind in the form of my good friend Eduardo Sturla.  He had and I have a strange habit of exchanging the lead with one another each time we face each other in Kona. He’s a great guy, and is one strong athlete.  Rather than watch him ride away into the distance as he normally does in Kona, I chose rather to apply a bit more pressure to the pedals, with little regard to the power numbers flashing on my Power Tap. (From the outset of this bike ride, I knew I wanted to compete rather than pace myself; I had nothing to lose, and I watned to get as much out of myself as I could on that ride.)

Eduardo allowed me to take the lead for another 20 miles or so before he took charge again, and made the pass.  He served as a brilliant carrot for me on the back side of the island, where crosswinds and bumby roads can try the patience of a rider 90 miles into a bike ride.  Sturla kept me honest, and the appearance of another South American stud, Oscar Galindez, gave me ample cause to keep the cadence ticking over.

By the time we entered the final 12-km stretch of  road – a long, strangely straight bit of highway with a tailwind – I was again ready to let drop the hammer. I came back around to the front to see if I could reel in that lone wolf up the road. As it turned out, I did reel him in, but he was no lone wolf!  Another rider – Balzas Csoke – was accompanying Potts in his charge.  At the front of my Argentine sandwich, I made the move to pass Potts.  My only hope was that he had drained the tank a bit more than I had, and that we’d have an evenly matched marathon. Knowing that any one of the top five off the bike could take the win – or that any number of the fleet-footed runners behind could sweep through – I prepared myself for a hard run race.

(Does anyone need a breather from this race report?)

Entering transition with four others is exhilerating. And getting off the bike after 114 hard miles is satisfying.  (Yes, we got the pleasure of doing 2.3 extra miles out there on the highways.)

Out on the three-loop run course, I told myself that the smartest runner would win the day. I told myself that 2:52 or 2:54 would take the top step of the podium.  I told myself I’d be that guy, but only if I let the rabbits go early. My fastest marathons off the bike have come with the “out hard” technique, but only in cooler temps. The smoke-em-while-you-got-em tactics can come back to haunt you when it’s hot and humid; and my best marathons in the heat have been evenly split.  Plan at the outset: let Potts and company burn out their engines early, and I’ll pick up the pieces with only k’s to go. Plan with k’s to go: pick up my own pieces and finish as strong as I can!

Midway through the run I started to feel the effects of the heat, the humidy, the efforts of the bike, and/ or the toll of a long sesaon. It all came, along with other tidy challenges, but it did not come unexpectedly.  It’s Ironman, and tackling whatever crazy challenge comes your way on race day is exactly why we do this.  At least it is for me.

Whether the challenge is mental, physical, external, internal, intestinal, or aesthetic(al), we all run into a hurdle that wants to crack us.  Whether or not we crack is the only question; whether or not we push on is all that counts.

With each painful step in the final ten miles, Andy drew gradually further and further away.  The short time where the splits were shrinking in my favor was long gone. I was going to finish second, as long as Edurado did not catch me!

To neglect to mention the unbelievable crowd support would be an absolute travesty. With pretty much every road closed to vehicles, I would estimate that 90% of the residents came out to cheer for every Ironman athlete on course.  With three laps on both bike and run, we had ample opportunity to draw from that amazing energy.

In the closing miles of the marathon – after cruelly mistaking a 25K sign for the 25 MILE sign – I squeezed every bit of energy out of my body.  I crossed the line five or six minutes after Andy, which told me that, in fact, the 2:52- 2:54 I had predicted would do, did take the win.  Andy’s gamble to go out strong paid big dividends, and he was a deserving champion on the day.  I finished second, and was very pleased to have done so. The effort I put out on the  day could not have been much better, and to add to the 1-2 American sweep was a wonderful bonus.  Not long after crossing the line – and plopping down on the floor – mi buen amigo, Eduardo finished third. (See you next year, my friend.)

As we knew we would from nearly the first moment we arrived in Mexico, Amanda and I had a wonderful time in Cozumel.  The pre- and post- race relaxing was incredible, and the race was a first-class experience.  And although we do not know our entire race schedule for next year, we know we want to cap off the season with una siesta, una carrera, y una margarita en Mexico!

And a special thanks to the incredible supporters of Team Lovato. We could not have done it without you all: Charlie at Trakkers, Steven at Kestrel, Robert at First Endurance, Jack at Jack & Adam’s, Saucony, Zipp, Oakley, Blueseventy, CycleOps Power, NormaTec, T3 Recovery Products, Headsweats, Justin’s and Monkey Brains!

Arriving in Kona I truly felt I had put in some of my best preparation.  I trained sensibly, and I paid close attention to a few details that I had left untouched in recent years.  I.e., I spent a fair amount of time in Austin, acclimating my body to high doses of humidity, as well as moderately high temperatures.  The time I spent at sea level in September was a nice complement to the strength-based altitude training I had done in Boulder in August.  I was feeling fresh, motivated, and hungry to find my way back into the top ten in Kona.  I knew that if I performed to my potential that my strength and experience could land me on the top half of the podium.  In short: I was ready to race.

The time I spent in Kona pre-race was all business.  Amanda was not able to travel with me, as she was attending her High School Sports Hall of Fame Induction in Maryland.  I knew that I would be missing a key element of my Hawaii routine, so I did my best to minimize outside distractions. She always keeps me on-task, but this time around,  I managed to put my head down as I topped off the final preparation.

Race day started at 3:30AM with my customary jog down Ali’i.  I typically notch about ten minutes of slow running first thing in the morning, just prior to breakfast. This has always been a great way for me to wake the body, to shake off the initial nerves, and to get out and feel the Kona air.  I do love that jog.

As I sipped my Ultragen smoothie and downed a cup of black coffee, I made use of Skype – and all its wonder – to video chat with Amanda.  She got me fired up, by sharing with me some of the inspiration she normally gives me out on the run course.  I was amped and ready to move.

I arrived at transition to pump my tires and place my food and drinks onboard.  I found my Kestrel 4000 sitting alone, lacking all of the cameras of prior years (evidently I lost a bit of pre-race hype by finishing in 535th last year!).  Zipp had hooked me up with some of their sweet new Firecrest 808 wheels, and I have to admit, they really made the race rig look sweet.  When all is said and done, I’m still duly impressed by a fine looking machine.  It did not take long to get everything loaded up: helmet + Oakleys on the bars, Jetstream filled, Bento Box chalk-full, tires aired, and shoes on pedals.

With that done, I made my way to my pre-race sanctuary: my massage therapist Kris’ hotel room.  Doing my best to stick with all the rote activities of years past, knowing that the familiarity would keep away any unneeded stress.  Before I knew it, it was time to head to the water.

My mom and Bob were the only family representatives of Team Lovato on-hand, and I was grateful to have them present. My mom pointed out that she had been in attendance at each of my Ironman wins, so that must be a good omen.

I jumped in the water at 6:10, which gave me 20 minutes to wake up my swim muscles.  A major focus of my training this year has been geared toward raising my game in the water, so I would have little trouble exiting the water with the lead group of swimmers. My focus, especially through July, was unparalleled for me, and I was hoping to make use of my new swim prowess.  I did not.

After getting out very well for the first several hundred meters, I found myself in what I thought was the middle of the main pack.  But evidently I had been moved to the back of said pack, which tends to be a dangerous position. Despite giving what I thought was enough to stick in for the duration, I let my fate be decided by another swimmer who dropped off the feet of the back-of-the-pack folks.  We were left to dangle, and despite my attempts to bridge back up, I was mostly on my own.  After hearing the significant time split to the contenders, I could not have been more disappointed in my swim performance.  However, I am not a newcomer to sub-par swims, so I was able to quickly dispatch the memory as I moved onto the bike ride.

Out on course, I was quickly passed by Norman Stadler, and a few others of my competitors came by. My typical plan is to chase those of the strong bike/ slower swim crew, in an attempt to bridge up to the lead groups.  Having followed that plan to various levels of success, this year I chose to race my own race, with an attempt to dole out an even effort throughout the 112 miles. I am new to training and racing with power, but I figured I’d set myself up for solid day if I listed to what my PowerTap was telling me.  So rather than race the guys around me, I raced within myself for the next several miles.  Looking back I think this was a tactical error.  To remove myself from the competition around me, and to not take advantage of the drive that comes with it was a mistake.  However, at the time I truly felt that I was making a sound decision.

On the climb to Hawi, I paired up with Chris “Big Sexy” McDonald, a strong athlete and friend of mine. I followed his lead up to Hawi, thinking that the two of us could give one another a nice mental push to the end of the ride. In a strange but welcome turn of events, I found myself taking the lead on the downhill section from Hawi (normally down hills are a weakness of mine).  While much of the ride was characterized by mild winds, we had some decent crosswinds (nothing like the days of old, but something!).  Heading back onto the highway, Big Sexy took the lead again. We were later joined by Hell on Wheels Helriegel, who appeared to be pushing the gears of old.  Pleased to have a mini-group for a while, I was left to push the pedals and tend to what was amounting to a perfectly executed hydration and fueling plan.  BIG thanks to First Endurance for making the best products around!

Coming off the bike, I had lost a minute or two to my former partners.  Riding solo at the end of the day is fine with me, as it gives me the ability to truly assess how my legs are doing, and whether or not I need to top off, stretch, gear up or spin the legs.  In this case – and after notching a much slower bike time than I was capable of doing  -  I really felt ready to run my best marathon.

Transition felt great. Sometimes it feels like death warmed over, but today was great.  I felt quick and ready to roll!

After taking the first  mile and a half to ease into the marathon – while sipping a bottle of water – I settled into a nice rhythm.  My goal was to even split or negative split the run. My last good marathon in Kona – a 2:52 – was run with matching 1:26 splits. The plan always seems smart when I have ground to make up – and I had A LOT of ground to make up.  My past top-ten performances have always come after entering T2 in 18-22 place, with ten or so minutes down to the 10th place guy.  I usually play my cards right, and take advantage of the conditions smoking out those who went out too fast.  But this was not my “usual” day.

I got through the first nine miles in town feeling very comfortable, and controlled.  I focused on fueling, pacing and nutrition.  I was noticing that the others up the road were in one hell of a battle, and seeing the competition without being in it was tough. I kept my mind in the game, and began to push a bit more, just after cresting Palani.

At that moment I was feeling pretty confident that I was still going to run a solid marathon, despite my sub-par bike and swim showings.

Shortly thereafter, I found myself engaged in a battle with my own quads.  This can be completely normal for an Ironman run: pushing through that quad burn is the thing that all true Ironman athletes thrive on – at least I would wager that most all of them do.  It comes at various points of the run, depending on the particular race. Sometimes it hits early, sometimes it’s near the end; however, when it comes, those who love Ironman enjoy pushing into that feeling.

This time around my push was there and my pain was there, but my pace was not lining up.  I did a quick rundown of my calories and liquid count: did I need more? Was I bonking?  It did not seem likely, so I only made minor adjustments.  I kept the pressure on, but as the pain increased, the pace did not reciprocate.  And it was way too early to be experiencing this sort of downward spiral.

My mile splits fell way off, despite my internal gauge telling me they were staying the same – or even improving.  I began to get discouraged, and to further that disdain, I crossed paths with the top ten runners way too early on the highway.  They were really drilling the pace, and there looked to be none of the major blow-ups that characterize this race.  While maintaining my own efforts to finish as quickly as I could, I took a small bit of energy to holler at some of my fellow competitors who were in the thick of battle.  Not how I like to engage in the competition, but it was all I could do.

Somewhere within the Energy Lab, I found a bit more speed, but the paces were still nothing to scream about.  I was pushing the best I could, and I was seeing a few folks who seemed to be catchable.  Motivation was still strong to keep the pressure on.  I hoped that the zip I was missing all day would find me, and give me a boost down that final 8 miles.

It turned out that all I had left was a little more of the same.  Making the final climb of the day, and just prior to the final quad-pummeling downhill, I upped the ante one more time.  I had to see if I could work every bit out of myself.  I may not have been doing my best time – far from it, in fact – but it would not be for lack of effort.

Finishing the race is always an amazing satisfaction: after great days (like ’08), really bad days (like ’09), and average days (like this one). I soaked up as much of the Ali’i Drive energy as I could.  That stretch of road is exactly why athletes yearn to race in Kona.  That stretch of road can give so much satisfaction.

In an attempt to answer the ever-present question of why my race was not on par with what I had expected to do, I come up a bit empty handed.  I can definitely say that I made a few key tactical errors – on the swim and bike – that might have made a difference in my overall outcome. However, those errors only contributed to the result, whereas something else was just as culpable.  That something?  It was just one of those days.  We all experience the sometimes dramatic swing in performance from our best training sessions to our worst. We analyze and calculate and obsess, but we never can pinpoint the why.  And maybe sometimes we shouldn’t.  In our races, sometimes we have it, and sometimes we don’t.  Scientists and engineers don’t like this answer, but the liberal art folks can latch right on.  I don’t speak French, but I believe I just lacked a certain je ne sais quoi.

On a day where the conditions were amazing, the level of competition was outstanding, and so many athletes pushed themselves to incredible performances, I congratulate all of my competitors. To those of you who had sub-par days, congrats on sticking it out, and hang in there: we’ll be back!

With the guidance of Ironman great (and my good friend) Paula Newby-Fraser, I set out to prepare a little bit differently this fall – and that meant adding the Austin Triathlon to my calendar of events.

Since I am now three weeks late with this report, and I still have last week’s race recap to write, I’m going to sum this one up quickly. Well, quickly for ML speak.

High Five Events and Jack and Adam’s Bicycles put on one of the best darn triathlons I have done in a long time. It’s right downtown Austin, with incredible support, great spectators, and top-notch competition. My goal of working myself over in a high-intensity “workout” race was more than achieved. I had two fast cats up the road (and up the lake) all day long, and they made me chase hard. Phil Graves and Richie Cunningham, who finished 2nd and 3rd, lead me out of the water by 10 seconds or so, gapped me further in transition, and then stayed away on the bike. In Phil’s case, he distanced himself further. Once onto the run, I quickly remembered that there is no time to warm up in a short race. Oh yeah. My effort was solid, my legs were average, and my results were right about where I expected them to be. I finished third, and chalked it up to one of my best speed workouts of the year. On to the next race…

The two highlights of my travel to Michigan happen to coincide with my very arrival at Chicago’s Midway airport. First, I bumped into Karen Smyers, who is one of the coolest triathletes on the circuit. She’s got great stories, and is not afraid to chew the fat as much as I tend to do! Next up on my highlight reel was that my newly formed “twosome” demanded that we rent the Ford Flex, a car I thoroughly enjoying driving. Boom: travel was easy-breezy.

I took a little dip in Lake Michigan on Thursday night, and with the warm and choppy swim gained confirmation that we would not be having a wetsuit swim on Saturday. Post-swim, Mark and Julie treated me to a healthy dose of Italian food, in honor of what happened to be National Lasagna Day. (Highlight #3?)

Race day greeted us with a few gnarly thunderstorms passing their way across Lake Michigan. The water was calm as it could be, but the skies were angry. Mark and I spent a bit too much time analyzing the radar, and we consequently proved that we learned very little from the Meteorology courses we both happened to take in college. Despite our thoughtful predictions, there was no rain/ lightning delay in store for us. (This is only worth mentioning in an effort to foreshadow my untimely arrival to the swim start.)

Rather than sit around in the pouring rain and face the (imminent delay!), I opted for a later departure than originally planned. I arrived at the race site about half an hour after I had planned to do. (Not liking where this is going.)

Leaving transition, I was hopeful that the warm-up jog en route to the swim start would be quick and painless. I had just enough time to cover the mile+ at a leisurely pace. Unfortunately, I made a wrong turn or two, and somehow I ended up back on the beach with way too much running still in front of me. I finally made my way to the start, where I proceeded to struggle to get my wet and sandy body into my blueseventy PZ3: not an easy task. The only true casualty here was that I gave myself zero opportunity to warm up, and even less of a chance to find a good starting position on the line. With two strikes like that against me, I stood little chance of showcasing what I believe to be a vastly improved swim game.

Exiting the water, I faced a substantial gap to the leading few. It turned out that there were quite a few cyclists up the road, and with quite a nice gap. I was unsure of how my body would respond to the truly high-end effort I would need to put out, but when Eric Bean passed me about five minutes into the ride, I decided it was time to find out. He set a nice tempo for a couple miles, and I allowed myself the luxury of following his lead as we gunned down the first chase group. Passing the group of four or so, I took the reigns, and urged Eric to drop the hammer with me so we could dispatch the now followers we had picked up.

After a few miles, we managed to spit out a few of the hangers-on, but still had a bit more company than I would have liked. I found myself on the front again, pushing a solid pace to try to break the group apart. I realize it’s probably smarter to stay at a steady effort, to ride with the established bunch, and to steadily pick away at the ride. I also realize this would have probably suited my run legs a bit better. However, my goal was not to sit in; my goal was to catch the leading group of five.

Several miles later, I made a break on the group, and managed to put a gap between us. I could finally see the leaders – when on long stretches of road – and my confidence was climbing. I knew I just needed to make a bit of contact with the leaders before the closing miles of the bike.

With a few miles to go, after not gaining any more time to the leaders, Eric closed up the gap again. We entered transition together, and left for the run in fourth and fifth place. (The front group lost two athletes: one to a puncture, and one to a penalty.)

I immediately found my stride, so I set out to chase down the leading trio. My effort felt strong, and my pace felt quick. I was absolutely certain my mile splits were going to reflect the solid effort I was putting out. As I glanced to my watch, I was sure there would be a string of 5:40 miles. Shockingly, my perceived pace was no nearly close enough to my actual pace. I was seeing way too many 5:50 and 6:00 miles. Soon enough they had turned to 6:05 and 6:10 miles, and I had actually picked up the pace. How was that possible? I was running as hard as I could, yet my opening miles on par with the opening miles of an IM marathon. Shocking!

I had been on top of my hydration and nutrition since the very outset, so I knew I was not bonking. I could only conclude that my hot pace on the bike had taken away the speed from my run legs. In other words: I had ridden too hard! Crap. Readjust the mindset, and keep on plugging – that would be my plan. I kept on plugging, and despite the loaded quads (something I was suddenly very aware of), I pushed the pace harder and harder to the finish. Around ten miles in, I was overtaken by a runner who relegated me to fifth. Residing in the last money spot is an uncomfortable yet motivating place to be. I could feel – hear, sense, see, smell – the sixth place man coming, so I dug a bit deeper, and grunted a bit louder. I don’t think the final miles were very pretty, but fortunately, I was racing for fifth rather than the ever-elusive style points.

I crossed the line a minute or two under four hours, sore, happy, and satisfied. And thanks to my good friends at Boulder County Communications, I crossed the line to my favorite Aerosmith/ Run-DMC song, thank you very much. (I hope these guys are working in Kona!)

Looking back at the race, I am quite pleased with the result. I entered the race with a few performance goals in mind. I managed to realize a few of them, while I came up short on a few more. I got a huge boost to the fitness – one that can only come from a race-day effort. And along the way, I got to have a lot of laughs with Mark, Julie, and Karen, as well as many others here and there. However, with the athlete’s critical eye, I can also clearly see that a few key mistakes on my part may have cost me a bit more overall success. Living and learning is the name of the game, even at this stage of the match!

Showing up in Coeur d’Alene for an Ironman at the end of June has become very familiar territory for me. I know when to travel, where to stay, how to spend my final days of preparation: everything. It’s as much of a home course race for me as any Ironman could be, and for that – and many other reasons – CdA is my favorite Ironman outside of Kona.

I’ve learned the course inside and out, and I’ve tackled the race with just about every strategic swim-bike-run combination. I’ve swum fast; I’ve swum terribly slow; I’ve set bike course records; I’ve blown sky high at mile 50; I’ve run my marathon PR; and I’ve been forced to a staggering walk, only to rebound to a strong finish. I’ve seen a few highs and a few lows, and they periodically come within the same race.

This year, however, was a unique race for me. I planned my 2010 season around an early Ironman in St. George. My training was spot-on from February 1 to April 1. My strength was building day-to-day, and my confidence was rising equally well. I was on the path to confidently crush the inaugural Utah course. And then I got injured.

Every dark cloud has a sliver lining, and in the case of this setback, my bright side was the addition of CdA to the schedule. And the change in schedules gave me loads of comfort. However, the down side – as is always the case with injuries – was time off in a key training block.

My rationale for mentioning this rocky start to my race season is that I hope to express how very pleased I am – more than I normally would be, even – to be back in the mix at such a competitive Ironman. I truly feel that finishing third on Sunday was every bit a victory for me, and one that I am very proud to have notched.

Facing Lake Coeur d’Alene at 6:10AM, swinging the arms, watching the sun come up, I had a sense of excited calm come over me. I knew that I was ready to race, and I was fired up to do so, yet I knew I needed to keep control over my emotions for the next several hours. I tried not to get too amped up, and I dove in for a warm-up swim. I made my way back to the beach to join my fellow competitors at 6:22. We gathered at the water’s edge, and I found myself sandwiched between Luke Bell and Tom Evans: two guys who normally put two to four minutes on me in a 2.4-mile swim. Heck, Evans has gapped me by over six minutes before. Tom joked about sitting on my feet, and I joked about sitting on his. Neither seemed a likely outcome.

52 minutes later, I exited the water feeling fresh and comfortable. I had managed to take control of what seemed to be a low-effort swim, yet somehow I touched ground in front of Evans and Bell. Either my swimming has found its way back to a high level, or Tom and Luke felt sorry for me and gave me the gift of an early confidence boost.

Luke and I got onto the bikes first, with a staggering six-minute deficit to Andy Potts. How on Earth did he get that much time on us?! We lead the chase out to the first turnaround, but did so cautiously, hoping that Potts’ inexperience at the Ironman distance would force him to ride way too hard. We were the veterans, and we were intent to pace this challenging bike course appropriately. The gamble was on: who knew the best way to get to T2?

At about mile 8, I took position at the front of the pack. Realizing that Luke was not going to launch an early attack on the lead, I settled into the train-conductor’s position of our little pack of six. Not too much later, Courtney Ogden and Matty White of Australia both came barreling past our group. Grabbing firmly a hold of my emotions and competitive drive, I did what came quite unnaturally to me: I watched them ride away. My plan was to evenly pace this ride, and it became clear that Bell, Evans, and the others had the same plan.

By mile 25, we were all caught up by a hard charging Chris “Big Sexy” McDonald and Matt Lieto. Seeing their gaps at the early turnaround, I knew they had put forth a good effort to catch us by that point. It was nice to have their company, as each of them took willing turns at the front of our chase pack. Later in the first lap, most everyone seemed content to leave me in the pacesetter’s role. I admit that I was more comfortable in front as well, knowing that control over my effort was more firmly in my own hands.

Finishing loop one, and heading out to tackle the hills again, I felt that my race was going exactly according to plan. I did not feel that I had done any hard riding yet, and with the challenging back half of the bike ride ahead of me, I was very eager to drop the hammer. Nearing the 75-mile mark, a noticeable change in pace – and effort – struck me hard. I pushed the pedals, but they stopped wanting to move the bike forward. My speed dropped, my watts dropped, and my spirit followed suit. Lieto took charge at the front, and Bell followed suit. Additionally, Big Sexy and Evans seemed to sniff weakness, so they took off in pursuit of Matt and Luke. They happily left me for dead.

I came to terms with what was happening, and I dealt with the problem the best I could: calories, calories, calories. Covering the next eight or nine miles was a bit challenging: I briefly started to feel sorry for myself, but then the chocolate boost kicked in, followed closely by a steady dose of Pre Race and EFS. My mental game was back, and the legs were coming around as well.

Mile 85 came, and some anger arrived with it. I felt used and abused by the others, but the tables were turning. Heading into mile 90, I had a head full of steam, and I was determined to return to my pre-race plan of pushing hard to the finish. The headwinds helped me get going, and the sight of Evans, McDonald and Lieto fueled my charge. I tried to pass by them without so much as a glance or a how-do-you-do? I tried to break the elastic before it had a chance to take hold, but these guys were strong and they were every bit as determined as I was. Our train now included Courtney Ogden, who must have lost contact with his early riding buddies.

We came back to town, facing a six minute deficit to Luke Bell (who had absolutely crushed the final 35 miles!), and about ten to Andy (who was clearly executing a smart and strong race). Out onto the run, I felt incredible. My bike pacing plan had paid off, or so it seemed, and I was easily able to transition to my running legs.

Within the first mile, I found myself in a comfortable rhythm. I was in fourth place, and the day seemed to be going exactly according to plan. Looking back at my mile splits after the fact, I may have taken out that first half marathon a bit too hot. It felt comfortable, but I don’t believe I respected the toll it was taking on my legs.

I have always felt that one of my greatest assets in Ironman racing is my back-end marathon strength. I love the mental aspect of that portion of the race, and the physical part is normally pretty solid for me. However, this time around, I found myself in uncharted territory. I had not done nearly as much run training in the weeks leading into the race as I normally would do, and I felt that my legs might have been a bit soft and underprepared. Nonetheless, I knew my mental game would still be there to help me through.

At mile 14 I managed to take a firm grasp on second place. I was not making up too much time on Potts anymore, but I was holding steady in my position. I kept plugging away, knowing the meat of the marathon was still in front of me. Luke and Courtney were both running strong enough behind me that I had ample reason to keep an honest effort going.

By mile 18, things started to get a little shaky. My mind was prepared for the muscular pains that come deep into the game; however, I was not anticipating the total breakdown I was about to experience. Fairly abruptly, every part of my body from the belly button down began to ache: joints, muscles, tendons, bones, everything. I was hurting in a very new manner. And I was in trouble!

Within the ensuing two miles, I tried every mental and nutritional trick I could think of to push through the discomfort. I knew I could do it, but my knees had a different plan. My knees? Am I that guy who complains about his knees?! The line from a famous commencement speech rattled in my brain: “Be kind to you knees; you’ll miss them when they’re gone.” I missed them already. Get me to the finish, ASAP.

Mile 20 in CdA treats you to a nice, little up hill (not so bad), and the complementary down hill (very bad). Courtney rolled by me just as I hoisted the white flag. Darn it. Courtney was racing such a bloody consistent marathon, and he glided by with exactly the poise I hoped to have in my final 10k. Well done, my friend.

I wobbled down the hill, chugged through a couple more miles, then somehow found a new rhythm of running. My paces did not tick back down to where I wanted it, but I did manage to do what I no longer considered shuffling for the final 3 miles of the day. Running scared is never fun, but I did my best to enjoy myself, while periodically peeking over my shoulder for what I feared would be Luke’s return.

Cresting the final hill, and making the final turn, I made my way down Sherman Avenue, which is quickly becoming one of triathlon’s greatest finish straights. I grabbed an American flag from my kind home stay, Ann; and I galloped to the carpet, where – who wouldn’t? – I cut a quick rug.

Nearly duplicating my finish time from at least two of my past CdA races, I proved that I am nothing if not consistent. I soaked in some incredible crowd energy, and I congratulated the deserving champion on his well executed race. And I hobbled myself over to a chair.

Three days after the race, I’m finally able to move about in a normal fashion. The swelling is gone, or nearly gone, and the temporary tattoos and body markings are all but a tan-lined memory. I am reflecting on my finish, and more appropriately, the path I took to get there. I went to Coeur d’Alene to bring home another Ironman title and a Kona slot; however, I also went there to get myself back in the game, after a rocky start to the season. Obviously I did not accomplish all of the goals, but as far as far as I’m concerned, I realized the most important one: I’m back!

After two races in March, both of which ended with sub-par results, I found myself facing an injury – the first I have suffered in my pro career. In April, I tended to the injury – a sacroiliac joint problem resulting from misplaced bike cleats – and resumed training with new goals and a new focus.

My first race back after the injury was to be Revolution 3′s main event at Quassy in Middlebury, CT: a half distance triathlon over one of the toughest courses around, with some of the toughest competition around. Never one to skirt the issue, I figured the best way to test myself was to race the best guys on the best course. As expected, Rev 3 did not disappoint.

Rev 3 is staged at an amusement park, which is great fun for those athletes who wish to entertain their families while they are out entertaining themselves over an extremely challenging course. Amanda and I were both a touch apprehensive returning to this race, with vastly different preparation than we had last year. With her just returning to the races after overcoming a bout of overtraining, her confidence did not fly as high as it did last year when she notched a solid fifth place finish. With my training being geared toward Ironman Coeur d’Alene in three weeks’ time, I knew my high end speed would not be quite as stout as it was last year, when my early season focus was set purely on the 70.3 distance. Nonetheless, we were both very drawn by the challenge we faced.

Race day dawned without the predicted rainfall, but with a heavy dose of humidity in its place. 95% was the reading we saw on WeatherBug, and it felt every bit that high, as we loaded ourselves – and our friend Richie – into our super cool rental car. We showed up quite early for the race, and were rewarded with ample time to set up our transition and to warm up.

My swim started very well, as I found myself sitting a few spots back of the leaders. Knowing that it would be a challenge to hold the feet of the very frontrunners, I settled in a few rows back. As we neared the first turn (at approximately 600 meters), I knew things were about to get interesting. The buoys lend opportunity for surges and shuffles and breaks and collisions. They are were the boys are separated from the men. And that first turn buoy was were the men flutter kicked out of sight, and I found myself heading up the pack of boys in chase.

I don’t blame Viktor for causing the split, but it was totally his fault. (Maybe that means I do blame him?)

Rounding turn number two, I took charge of my posse, and pulled our solid group to shore. Somehow – perhaps it was because I lead the swim charge – I got left behind in transition. My bluseventy PZ3 did not want to come off, and my helmet did not want to go on. I can only attribute my slow transition to being a touch rusty with the lack of spring racing in my body. Either way, my swim cohorts were gone.

I jumped on board my Airfoil and set about to reeling in my old crew. My cycling has felt very strong in training, and with my new found use of a Power Tap I now know a touch more about pacing more appropriately. My goal was to negative split the ride, knowing it would really help me tackle the run hills later. As I zoomed through the opening miles, I quickly came to the conclusion that the only thing cooler than the whoosh-whoosh sound of a disc wheel is the wicked air-slicing moan of a Zipp 1080 front wheel. Damn.

The first 24.8 miles went by quite smoothly. There were sections of drizzle, there were sections of wet road, but for the most part, it was quite a pleasant ride. I was gradually bringing back some of the guys up the road, when I heard the ill-fated noise we all hate to hear: pssssss. There you are. No longer would I hear the whoosh-whoosh or the moan. I was on the side of the road with a Pit Stop in my hands. Lucky for me, tech support showed up almost immediately after I stopped. They watched me shoot in the Pit Stop, and they watched at it deflated faster than seemed naturally possible. I guess the hole was too big to be sealed.

Plan B was to swap wheels – no more whoosh-whoosh – which we executed fairly quickly. Soon enough I was climbing back up the long hill in pursuit of the others. (In training we wait for one another when we flat. I’m just pointing that out.)

Ten miles down the road, after I had gotten accustomed to my silent rear wheel, tech support showed up again. This time they waved me over and asked me if I wanted to replace the wheel again. And in a split-second decision, I stopped. Not too smart. As great as Zipp wheels are, I tend to think that forward progress will still tend to outweigh the aero advantages they offer on the side of the road. Correct me if I’m wrong, as I know these things are amazing, but standing still for too long just doesn’t seem to be wise, when compared to the alternative. Next time I have a functioning wheel, please remind me to keep pedaling.

Finishing up the bike ride – after one more stop to reopen my brakes! – I found myself well, well removed from contention. I did my best to shake a mental leg and move, but the motivation was lagging a bit. I pushed as hard as I could to finish, knowing there was still a half marathon awaiting me.

It was quite a relief to be off the bike, which is something I rarely find myself saying. I was out on the run course in record time: too bad this transition time doesn’t really matter anymore!

My first two miles were easy and comfortable. I had nobody to race, so the pain and discomfort that sometimes accompanies the opening miles were absent. I have to admit that I struggled for a couple miles to find the reason to push myself. I was going to finish, of course, but did I have to run hard? Was the training effect going to be more if I pushed the miles harder? I waffled a bit, and started settling into a comfortable pace, intent to enjoy the beautiful run course.

By the time I reached mile 5, I managed to bump into some motivation. I can’t really say where it came from, but suddenly I decided I needed to race that final 8 miles. A lot can happen in 8 miles, even if I was two miles behind!

My pace went from cruise to push, and my attitude went from fun to compete. I was pleased with the transition, and from that point onward, I really made an effort to catch as many runners as I could. It was really too bad I did not stumble upon the motivation a bit sooner, because by the time I crossed the finish line in 11th – one spot out of the money – I was just over a minute down from 10th (with only another minute to 9th).

The are many positives that come from finishing a race on a high note, which is exactly what I did. I went to Quassy to test my body after its return from injury, to gain a significant training boost that comes only from racing, to compete against some great athletes, to support a wonderful race production company, and to have a bit of fun along the way. Sure, it would have been nice to mix it up with that front bunch of contenders, but I’m pretty sure they will all be around this summer and fall, when the other races present themselves.

As for the positives that came from the race, like I said, there are many. One at the top of the list was this little reward that I found waiting for me at Friendly’s post-race. And I got to share it with my sweetheart.

Despite my ample breadth of experience as a pro triathlete, I find myself facing a brand new challenge this week. The challenge today is coming to terms with the fact that I will not be toeing the line at Saturday’s inaugural Ironman St. George. While I officially withdrew from the race ten days ago, it has been hard for me to come right out of the blue and say it: “I won’t be racing St. George.” But today is the day I want to share with those who have been so kindly supporting me that I have changed directions.

To some this may not seem like much of a challenge: On a weekly basis, athletes change race plans and race schedules and race goals. Some athletes change their race plans within the very race. And others see no issue or difficulty in jumping ship from one planned event to another. But for me – after making it more than one decade without backing out of a commitment – I am forced to make a significant change of plans.

Sparing the details for another post, I will sum things up by saying that I suffered a setback in my training, and I have yet to regain 100% strength. One thing that I have told myself year after year is that I will never start an Ironman – or any other triathlon – without being 100% ready to race. I have seen too many athletes enter races with niggles or injuries or small aches and pains. Additionally, I know very well how capable the Ironman distance is of picking apart an athlete, and exposing his every weakness or flaw. I have promised myself that without being 100% healthy to tackle the challenges of the day, I would not put myself out there.

I am very disappointed to be missing this event, as I had been very drawn to the challenging race, the fairness of the course, and the beauty of Southwestern Utah. My fondness for inaugural events, my connection with others of the athletes tacking IMSTG, and my desire to really knock one out of the park will definitely make it hard to miss Saturday’s race. However, I’ll be with you all in spirit.

My best to all of you on race day; make the most of the challenge; and, without a doubt, go out there and get race that thing for those who cannot be there with you!

And I’ll see you all in Coeur d’Alene…

To look at my finish time from Saturday’s race, the natural assessment would be that something went disastrously wrong: that I belly-flopped on the Big Day; that I somehow managed to mess up my pacing, my strategy, or my nutrition; or that I executed a badly run race.  The finish time was my slowest ever; the marathon was my longest yet; and the drop from 9th place in 2008 to 538th place this year was the farthest I’ve ever fallen.  This was my worst Ironman ever; however, I executed an OK race.   So what went wrong?

My season focus had been squarely set on this race.  There was no doubt about it: throughout the year everything I aimed for was to help me prepare for my ascent up the ranks in Kona.  My three ninth-place finishes proved to me that I know how to race in Hawaii; but this year was the year I upped the ante.  I was going for the podium.

My race season was strong: I competed frequently, I trained hard, and I recovered well.  I made my way to autumn with a hunger and a freshness I had not had in past years.  My assault on the Hawaii Ironman seemed to go perfectly from February to August.  I was on track and my confidence was sky high.

At the start of September my fitness was better than it had ever been when starting my IM training build. I was faster, fitter, and fresher than I had ever been.  But then I got greedy.  To look back now at the path I followed, and the choices I made, it seems obvious that I was going too far.  However, my plan was to try something new to achieve a new result, so I kept on pushing.  I was on fire in training, and I was getting hotter by the day.  And then I got a bit greedier still.  I wanted more.  Logically, if I could take an even better swim, bike, and run into the biggest race of the year, I would swim, bike and run faster than I ever had.

Midway through September, I hit my first speed bump of the entire 2009 season.  I hit the wall.  I got angry.  I got tired.  I lost my momentum.  So I took a short break to try and rebound.  After the rest, I got back on track and proceeded to follow the track laid out before me.  Mentally, I was right back where I needed to be.

In the days leading into the race, I truly believed I had dodged the bullet.  The concerns and worries I had midway through September (that I had cooked myself too much) were gone from my mind. My taper sessions were spot-on, and I was attending to every detail.  The support I got from Amanda while in Kona was incredible: she did everything possible to ensure that I was ready on race day.  I felt great and I was ready to race.

My track record in the Kona swim is not too good.  As has happened in the past, I was dropped from the group and I exited the water over two minutes down from the main contenders.  But many other top athletes were still close, so I set out to join a good group for the bike ride.  My training this year has allowed me to handle a very hard first hour of riding, with the ability to settle in and recover once I have bridged up.  I have done this multiple times in my 70.3 racing this season, and I was very comfortable with the method.   Within the first eight miles, I did everything I could to ride my way up to a competitive bunch up the road.  With company on the Queen K, the miles go by much more smoothly.   Sadly, my legs did not respond to my efforts.  I pushed the pedals, but they felt squishy and unresponsive.  My initial assessment was that I would come around later in the ride.    I kept after the pace, and I pushed and pushed, disregarding the fact that my effort was not lining up at all with my speed.

At least I had good equipment!

At one point–approximately fifteen miles into the ride–I found myself around  last year’s 4th, 5th, and 6th place finishers. Two of us took control at the front of our mini-group, and we encouraged one another to ride hard enough to bridge the gap.  But I could not shake the feeling that my effort was not at all in line with my pace; I was working way harder than I should have been to see those numbers.  But I put this out of my mind, and I rode as well as I could.  And all along the way, I was tending to an absolutely perfect hydration and nutritional plan.  My consumption was right on; but it did not make my legs feel any better.  Execution has let me down in the past, and I was intent not to let that happen this time around.

Somewhere between Kawaihae and Hawi, I realized I was dragging a long line of guys up the hill.  I figured that was a good sign, even if I was losing ground to the others up the road.  I kept pushing, and I hoped that I’d be strong enough to handle the infamous Hawi winds.  Finally, I did have a brief glimpse of strength as I closed in on the turnaround in Hawi. As I pedaled toward the turn, the seemingly ever-present headwinds in that segment were mild or nonexistent.

Approaching the turn in Hawi, I saw that I was way behind the leaders.  There were also a lot more guys ahead of me than there typically are, which was a testament to the great field we had assembled.  I did what came naturally, which was to shake it off. I knew I could ride that last 50 miles pretty hard, and I’d do my best to keep myself in the game.

On my way back home I started to feel worse and worse about the effort I was having to put into the ride.  I had felt that way once before, in 2004, when I was giving everything I had to ride fast, but nothing was working.  My hydration and nutritional plans seemed to be working, as I was alert, present and peeing.  However, the mental toll the subpar ride was taking on my spirits was hard to ignore.

I managed to suffer through all the sections of the race I normally find extra challenging; however, I was finding it hard to tackle the sections I normally crush.  Right now it is difficult to describe how frustrating this was, but I am well aware that many of you reading have experienced this sensation before.   Some days you have it, and some days you do not.  By my nature, I do not give up, and I continued expecting things would come around.

Finishing the bike ride, I was faced with a larger deficit than normal, but I am fairly comfortable with facing long odds in T2.  I know this race very well, and I know my competitors equally well.  The top step of the podium is won by the athlete who is strongest, smartest, and toughest; whereas many of the other top spots are won by those who win the war of attrition.  I normally hold up pretty well in that regard.   So I started the run with every intention of running my way to the top twenty or beyond.

Early in the run, all signs pointed to another strong marathon.  I was hydrated, I was coherent, and I was freshly motivated.  The splits I received were bad, but undeterred, I was ready to turn things around.  Miles one and two were quick and comfortable.  Mile three was moderate.  But by mile four I found myself facing a challenge I had never had before: mentally I was drained.  Looking back I can now see that I had used nearly every ounce of motivation in me, nearly every mental trick I had, and nearly every race tactic to merely survive the bike ride.  I had drained the pot, and I still had over two hours of running ahead of me.  I looked to my deepest reserves to see if I could race this race with a depleted supply of physical and mental energy.   My initial answer was that yes, I could.

By mile six I realized that I was wrong.  I was running down Ali’i; I was getting incredible support from my friends, my family, and other spectators along the road; but I was dreading the task at hand.  I was empty.

I used the cheers and screams and shouts for another four miles.  I knew they would carry me to the top of Palani.  Crowd support in Kona is unreal.  However, I realized that I could not finish a race on external motivation alone.  And my internal drive was gone.

I crested the hill and turned onto the Queen K.  Ironically, just at the point where I normally begin to reel in the competition and unload a full-fledged attack, I opted to walk and jog my way to the finish.  I was not prepared to give up, but I was finally giving in to the fact that my body and mind did not have what I needed to keep racing, and I would need to cruise my way to the finish.

Shortly thereafter, from the side of the road, Amanda reminded me how much I love this race, and she told me to find the joy and fun in being out there.  It was a great thing to hear, as I suddenly realized that throughout the draining and powerless bike ride, I had not only sapped my mojo, but I had not enjoyed any part of the race (something that is very uncharacteristic of me).  I started the next fifteen miles with the goal of figuring out a way to enjoy my 10th finish in Kona, and finally, after a few miles, I managed to realize that goal.

Looking back at the whole 2009 Kona experience, I can see many errors in my ways.  I can see that I did not really need to change everything to achieve goal to finish top-three.  I can see clearly that I already knew how to prepare for this event, and that rewriting the book was unnecessary.  However, I can also say that I have no regrets about how I approached the year. I changed things up, I raced hard, and I went for it.  Along the way, I had a great season of racing, and I gave it an honest go in Hawaii.  It just so happened that my body needed to race this event on a different day.

And it is safe to say that I will be back next year with sound preparation and a fresh pot of mental energy, and I will have another honest go at the podium.  Without question or doubt, I will be back.

Checkout my latest race report from Ironman Rhode Island 70.3 here:

http://www.michaellovato.com/2009-race-results/ironman-703-rhode-island/

Be sure to read my REV3 race report in my SCHEDULE section or click here to check it out:

http://www.michaellovato.com/2009-race-results/revolution3/

While I have a lot to say about how much great support we get from Vigo and George (the race directors); about how great it was to return to Columbia after twelve years; about how fun it was to race hard, in an attempt to get back some speeeeed; and about how much fun we had with all our Baltimore peeps, sadly, those details will have to wait.

For now, I must only post the photograph, to show the truly important piece of hardware we brought home. Witness our success:

On to the Islands!

Amanda and I have been going to St. Croix since 2000, and we have been staying with the same family since that first trip. We love the race, and we love spending time with our adopted family, the Isherwoods. It’s hard to believe we’ve known them for this long!

The funny thing about STX and its triathlon is that we have a love/ hate relationship with one another. That does not, however, mean that I hate it; but rather that it hates me, despite the love I give it! My breakthrough day will happen some day, but in the meantime, I’ll keep having fun with the event, while battling all my Vato Bad Luck in the Caribbean.

Where to begin? OK, let’s just say that my pre-race plan did not involve swapping ALL the parts off my stunning orange Airfoil to my studly blue Airfoil only three days before the race. But plans are not always set in stone, and this one needed modification. Let’s just say that I ended up with a broken frame, and my friend Steven at Kestrel kindly shipped a brand new one to my home stay, where I promptly unbuilt and built the bikes. Don’t do anything new before the race, right? Don’t make changes, right? Screw that.

I rode the bike twice to see that it worked as well as it should. Technically, I rode it three times, as the morning of the event, we pedaled five miles to the race venue. So I knew there would be no mechanicals this year. I just knew it.

Skipping back to the race report side of this blog, I’ll say that my swim went very well for the first time in St. Croix. I got out fast, found a good spot, then lost the good spot. My decision not to jump the person in front of me, to make up for the fact that he (we) just got dropped from the main players, proved to be a bad call. I’ll not do that again. My swimming is at a very high level right now, and it’s time I put all that hard work to use on race day. That being said, this was definitely my best time relative to the others.

Exiting the water, I spotted TJ in T1, and figured he was going to be a good riding partner to bridge back up to the leaders. One place you don’t want to be in this race is trailing off the pack. Drafting legally or drafting illegally, this race allows it all. If you are not in the pack, you are not in the hunt. And I wanted to be in the hunt. After coaxing TJ to ride with me, I chased as hard as I could. I would love to share the watts with you, heck, I would love to share the MPH with you, but I had nary a computing device on my bike. I figured I did not need it for this race, as the only feedback I needed was to catch, to drop, or to be dropped.

TJ did not have the legs that day, so I left him alone. Then we were both alone: not a good place to be. Nearing the most famous climb in all of triathlon, I was starting to realize I would not be catching the leaders. I had covered 20 miles, and it was time to back it off for a mile or two. This decision came just after the pothole I connected with caused my handlebars to plummet downward. In spite of carefully checking every bolt on Thursday, it turned out there was one or two that had rattled loose. It could have been the rough roads; it could have been my wrenching.

I rocked the bars back to their proper place, and I hoped they were still tight enough to hold. Next thing to happen was that I summited the Beast feeling strong, while putting the handlebar issue out of my head, for piece of mind. I recovered on the descent, before heading back to the chase. Chase, chase, chase.

With the hardest part of the bike ride being over the final 35 miles, I was in my element. It was windy, it was hilly, and I was riding strong. Again, no idea how fast, but trust me: it was fast. And strong.

Didn’t I say I was going to have NO bad luck this year? Well, that went out the window with the handlebars, and it flew further away from the window at mile 43 (just passed the mile 42 aid station, for those who wonder how I knew where I was with no computer). It turns out that even after two test rides, and 43 miles of racing, a newly installed chain can settle. To settle is an odd thing… it could mean it gets loose, it could mean it gets tight. In my case, the pin must have settled in too tightly, causing the link to stiffen up BAD. After jumping off the bike to see if I could find the tight link–and after screaming a few obscenities–I determined that I was losing too much time, and jumped back on without fixing the soon-to-be annoying chain.

For 13 miles, the chain skipped severely every time it passed through the derailleur. As the Rastaman “Marshall” who rode his moto near me can attest: I expressed my anger and annoyance by yelling. Then I got over it.

Starting the run, I felt great. My run training in Austin was top-notch, in part due to the hard sessions I did in the heat (and humidity) with my training partners Derick and James. I was ready to roll, and my work was cut out for me.

Unfortunately for me and my goal of running my way to the top five, my tank was just a bit empty on that run course. I was moving very well on the down hills and flats, but just did not have my strength on the ups. My assessment was that I was bonking, as I find it’s easier to push through a bonk on the downs, where the ups will show your weakness. Further clues that I was deficient were the fact that I had dropped my EFS Liquid Shot flask early in the bike ride, and I failed to consume enough “back-up” fuel, despite my better efforts.

Well, my engine burns hot, and calories burn out of me like that little piece of hamburger that falls between the cracks of your grill and sizzles and fries to a small, crispy, charred nugget. The 500 calories I took in on the bike were about 250-300 too few. And the too-little-too-late Liquid Shot I sucked down on the half marathon did not do its job until it was too late.

Nonetheless, I finished that race swearing that I’d return to someday redeem myself with a top finish. My poor home stay family is losing serious bragging rights, as “their” triathlete doesn’t ever beat the other families’ triathletes! I did manged to move up to eighth place, certainly not bad with the level of competition.

On the overwhelmingly positive side of things, I was ecstatic to see Amanda battling it out with a stellar women’s field. She rode and ran to her potential, which is something she has not done in many, many races. I was very fired up to see her on the course, racing on Lisa B’s shoulder. I could not be more proud of her, and can’t wait to see her uncork on in Coeur d’Alene next month!

Here are the videos from last weekend’s race.

Amanda at mile 2

Amanda at mile 4

Amanda’s post-race interview

My nerves woke me up at 10:30PM, 1:30AM, 2:30AM, and finally at 3:30AM. Other than those brief and expected interruptions, my sleep was sound and restful. There are certainly some advantages to being part bear.

The best way for me to start my Ironman day is by doing a light jog in the pre-dawn dark and calm of Ali’i Drive. I don’t go far, and I don’t go fast, but I love to get out there and soak up the final calm energy before a very energized day. I felt particularly spunky on this year’s pre-race trot.

After the run, I positioned myself for a nice breakie: coffee, Justin’s Almond Butter, some Monkey Brains, toast, and a banana. For those who are interested, I do not refrain from drinking coffee in the weeks leading up to the race. I don’t believe the drastic shock of reintroducing caffeine to the system is a sound practice. Why shock the body on race day?

Amanda and I arrived at body marking at about 5:00AM. There really is not a lot to do race morning, but I like to have everything done by about 5:25 or 5:30. This gives me time to hang out in Kris’ room (my massage therapist) for the hour or so before I jump in the water. It’s a good way for me to save up all my energy, and to apply my Vaseline, Body Glide, and sunscreen.

During the swim warm up, I found Paula, who was to be leading the swimmers on her paddle board. She gave me a quick embrace or sorts, and told me to have my day. She refrains from the typical “good luck” or “have fun” well-wishing, as she feels that it’s not really that fun out there.

My race began better than it has in each of my nine times racing Hawaii. I found open water immediately, and I swam very aggressively. In past years I have made the mistake of picking one guy to swim with; this has left me dropped from the main group each time. This time around I was taking control of my own destiny. I put myself in position to have a great swim.

200 or 300 meters into the race, I found myself in perfect spot: I was behind two swimmers who were side-by-side. The draft was huge, and I felt very comfortable with the pace. I knew (not sure how) I was in the front group this time.

All the way out to the boat, and making the turn back to the pier, I felt that the pace was very moderate. I was focused on not losing the feet in front of me, and I knew there was a swimmer or two behind me, which is a comforting feeling. Near the Coast Guard buoy (about a mile to go) the group made a surge. It was a noticeable change in pace, but I felt prepared to handle it; however, about 250 to 300 meters later, I lost contact with my group. The fellow behind me had already come through and displaced me to the position of caboose. I feel that every train needs a caboose, but I was gradually coming detached from my train. Damn. Double damn.

Getting dropped was not fun, but for the first time that I can remember, I managed to keep swimming strong on my own. I did not ever blow up, I just lost contact. I gradually lost a bit of time over the final kilometer or so. Fortunately for me, I was not swallowed up by the chase pack, and I exited the water in my best ever position or time for Kona.

Onto the bike I was about a minute back of the group, and in around twenty-fifth place. I made a gradual push to catch the leaders, not knowing they were out of my reach. Seeing them on the first out-and-back gave me good feedback: many of the main players were in the group, but I was close.

Behind me I saw stormin’ Normann coming on strong. I figured I would use him to tow me up a bit further. I gave him about twenty meters, as I was not about to risk a drafting penalty. He pulled away, and I fell back… no, I did not “let him go.” He went.

Looking behind me, I saw a small group of four coming up on me. Within the group were my back-up plan riders, Rutger Beke and Marino Van Hoenacker, as well as Maik Tweselik (the young German who won IM Wisconsin last year). I integrated myself into the group, and proceeded to watch the dynamics of a group of strong cyclists.

I should note that my cycling has come up a notch this year (over the past three months), and I was confident that my ride would put me in position to use my run weapon, as I have grown accustomed to doing in past races. I was riding strong, and I was prepared to notch my best ride to date. And I truly believed I was capable of coming off the bike within striking distance of the top five.

I rode along as the middle part of a Belgian Waffle (with Rutger and Marino). The German was hanging on the back, and we picked up the Swiss athlete who finished fourth. Nearing the forty-mile marker, Rutger stopped for a penalty, and we picked up Andy Potts and Luke McKenzie, both of whom had just finished serving their penalties. This meant we were four minutes back to the lead group, and it meant our group was picking up its casualties. We were growing in size, so I made a move for the front. I figured it was time for me to lead the charge for a spell, and I did not want to risk being in the middle of a larger group.

From mile 37 to 42, we had some tough headwinds, a welcome blast-from-the-past, in my mind. My speed dropped from 26-28mph to 19mph in a matter of seconds. My normal tendencies are to thrive in headwinds, as others suffer more than I on the mental side. I enjoyed this section of feeling controlled and in control. However, feeling strong for these first two hours somehow caused me to lose track of my nutritional plans.

Climbing up to Hawi was when I first started to notice something was not right. I got passed by one guy in the group… then another… then another. I was steadily moving backwards, but I attributed it to the fact that I typically allow more room between myself and the rider in front of me, while many others like to keep it a bit tighter. I figured it just meant that the others were not comfortable giving that much space; that they wanted closer contact.

The 17 miles of climbing from Kawaihae to Hawi are normally one of my best stretches. I tend to pass those around me, and drop those behind me. It’s early in the ride (mile 43 to mile 60), and it’s when I make a bit of a move. This year was completely different. I was getting dropped, and my legs would not respond. They felt weak and powerless. I pushed and pushed, but did not gain ground.

Facing the final 7-mile stretch of up hill headwind is normally a highlight of the race for me. This year I found myself down shifting and slowing down: not good!

I took inventory of my situation: I calculated what I had consumed; I looked at my pace; and I assessed how to get myself back on track. But I came up with no clear answers.

Making the turn and beginning my decent, I got one final slap-in-the-face reminder that I was off my game: Rutger and Ain-Alar Johannsen went screaming by me, and I had ZERO ability to latch on to their momentum. I was dropped faster than they had caught me.

During the descent, I finally determined what I was lacking. I had shoveled in a bit more food on the climb, and it did not seem to kick in. Like a light bulb clicking on, I realized I was getting dehydrated. More appropriately: I was dehydrated! I looked like a margarita; I was hot; and I was, very prematurely, out of steam.

As my emotional side began to wonder how long it would take me to walk the marathon, I formed a bail-out plan. I would cut back on calories (knowing gastric emptying slows with dehydration, and not wanting a bloated belly to boot); I would suck down as much water as I could; and I would dig myself out the best I could.

My lull lasted from mile 51 until mile 88 or 89. During that time I was slow (for me), I was weak, and I could not stay with anyone who passed me…. and believe me, I tried!

Somehow I managed to get enough fluids in me, and I began to regain my power. I picked up a few athletes who were spit out of the group. And I began to think I might be able to run the marathon after all. The six-hour walk was not appealing to me one bit.

I entered T2 feeling rough, but by the time I got up from the change tent, my legs were there. I climbed the mini hill on Palani 10:30 down from tenth place. I have faced worse deficits, but this ranks right up there with the worst of them!

My first mile felt smooth, but my goal was to shorten the stride, to minimize energy output, and to save up for the Queen K. The temptation was there to blow through the first ten miles in an hour, eating up the time immediately, and placing myself closer to the contenders. However, I have seen the carnage that results from giving too much too soon, and I stuck to my conservative run plan. I wanted to run a strong marathon, and I could not afford to blow up.

By mile six I was still well back of tenth. I felt a bit of pressure building, but was able to immediately duck into a porto-potty. The mile split was 6:50 with the stop–a bit off pace–but I was feeling clean and empty and ready to roll. Marino Vanhoenacker passed me while delivering the quote of the day: “Michael, did you have a nice poop?” (Read with a strong Belgian accent.) Hilarious. Naturally, I let him know that I did, and that I felt much better.

My gradual pace continued along Ali’i and up Palani. They call it Pay and Save hill, as there used to be a store there with that name. Pay now or Save for later is the current meaning of the name.

I chose to save, and I followed my pre-race plan to open it up at mile 11. Mile 11 comes just at the base of the Dave and Mark hill (later on that is mile 24). It signifies to me that it’s time to race. With a conservative opening stretch, I allowed my stride to open up and go. I went for it, and I went hard. The splits were changing in my favor, as I was catching tenth.

Into the Energy Lab I really began to open it up. I could now see the leaders, and I could now begin to see the ones I had in my reach: Marino, Normann, Faris, Andy, and Matias. They were the ones I could see fading before my eyes. I pushed hard.

Back on the highway with seven miles to go, I really began to dig. I was gaining on the temporary duo of Faris and Normann. Passing them would give me tenth. At some point, Faris dropped Normann, and I was left to pass them both individually, which was actually quite satisfying. I knew they had both really gone for it on the bike, and early in the run. They were in damage control mode, a place I had been for quite some time during my ride. Hawaii was doing its thing.

Once in tenth, I took a deep breath, and sighed with relief. I had overcome a large deficit, and was in the safe zone. But I wanted more.

Up ahead was the duo of Potts and Switzerland’s Hecht. I wanted badly to catch them both, and the encouragement I was receiving from Amanda, Stephanie, Cassie, and Robin Ficker (aka Mr Fuzzy Duds) was amazing. I was going to catch them.

Taking the turn at the top of Palani, I made my push for the catch. I bombed the down hill like I have never done, and I was grimacing in pain. Breathing hard and grunting, I passed the throngs of screaming spectators, and only one face did I recognize: that of Simon Lessing. He yelled for me to go for it, and so I added to my list of motivating reasons the idea of gaining redemption for the whipping that Potts had given me and Simon at Timberman in August. I would catch them.

Rounding the turn onto Kuakini, I could see that Potts had dropped Hecht. They were only about twenty and twenty two seconds ahead of me. I was gaining, and I was the stronger athlete (I told myself this over and over).

With barely a mile to go, I had the stride opened up to rival that of Carl Lewis. I was in a big-time sprint for the finish. And then my left hamstring cramped up so bad I had to limp to a quick stop.

Not now! Not now!

I chuckled to the crowd my rhetorical question: “how can I cramp now, after all these miles? Why now?!” Touching the toes once seemed to work… briefly, and I cramped again. I touched them again, stretched those hamstrings out, and began my jog to the finish.

I could not switch off my competitive drive, and my desire to be top American made me sprint again. This time I was rewarded with a calf cramp on my right leg. OK, I got it. I chose to hold my tenth spot, and to stop risking the kind of continued cramps that would leave me walking (and getting caught by my pursuers!).

I soaked up my finish, waved my American flag, and cramped one final time as I walked across the line. I was ecstatic.

What a day I had, and what a battle I fought! I was very proud of my efforts; I was happy to notch another top-ten finish; and was pleased to learn, once again, a new lesson in racing Ironman Hawaii.

Not long after the race, the fifth-place finisher was disqualified for not serving a penalty, and I was moved to ninth place. I have now notched three ninth places in Hawaii…. and I’m ready to cut that number in half next year… or maybe even in thirds!

**Photo courtesy of Dirk Friel

This time around I’m going to blame my lack of updates on the fact that Amanda and I have unreliable internet access. Never mind that I am a lazy blogger, or that Amanda has that same patchy internet access, and she has managed to post. Hmm. Maybe I just lack things to say.

This past week has been really fun. We are very well settled into our routines here, and we’ve been really enjoying our days and nights. The training has been going very well, and just about each session has felt very good.

My sister, Stephanie, and brother-in-law, Huggy Bear Hays, arrived last night. We all four gathered down at Lava Java for a really nice dinner. Three out of four of us had the fish tacos, and the fourth person at a grilled fish salad. Whoa. They have some seriously fresh and delicious fish over here. I love it.

Tonight I’m laying low in the condo, as Amanda is out enjoying a VIP booze cruise on the Body Glove boat. I wish I had gone with her, but at the scheduled departure time I was feeling more like lounging around on the couch, so here I sit, conserving energy… and blogging away.

It’s becoming more and more evident that my lack of posting is more likely due to my lack of interesting topics of discussion. So on that note, I’m signing off until I find something really juicy to share.

Thanks for checking in!

As we were heading down to the race early that morning, Amanda was taking advantage of the quiet time by taking a nap. I’m not too sure I’ve ever seen anyone sleep on the way to a race, and then win it. I, on the other hand, was hopped up on some of my finest home-brewed coffee, so I could not sleep. Plus, I was driving, so I chose to spend my time pondering various things and such.

Some of the things that crossed my mind were very boring and, therefore, not worth reporting on the blog. Others were less boring, so I’m going to report them on the blog.

The first thing to pop into my head was that I had never raced so close to the Hawaii Ironman before. Normally I spend the whole month of September training and resting and training and eating. And sleeping. I don’t like to travel during this time, which makes doing big national-caliber triathlons a bit challenging. Having this race on my schedule was very appealing. It was something completely new for me, after having done eight Hawaii Ironmans over the past nine years.

What did that mean? It meant that I was getting the opportunity to do two races, not one, while enjoying the absolute best fitness I would achieve all year long. It was a strange realization, for some reason. I thought more about that as we pulled up to Cherry Creek State Park.

Getting out of the car, the next thing that came to mind was that I was very tired. The coffee seemed to be doing wonders for my attitude (I can’t say the same for Amanda’s) but my legs were a bit heavy. This would also be the first time I would do a race so soon after a couple of very long days of training. Thank goodness it was only a sprint!

After checking in, setting up, and getting body marked, AG and I headed out for our run warm ups. Amanda had her business to tend to, and I had mine. After twelve minutes of running, I returned to transition, and promptly sucked down a Motivator caffeine pill. The fact that I was completely out of breath on my warm up JOG meant I was in need of some outside assistance. Motivator is such a great little mental boost. Getting the equivalent of a shot or two of espresso was just what the doctor ordered. I felt ready to rumble.

We hit the water for a very short warm up (the water was 65 degrees, and wetsuits were encouraged); fortunately, I felt much better than on the run warm up. I figured I could fake it pretty well for a sprint.

The gun sounded (Darrin yelled “go”) , and I was off like a shot. There was a lead kayak, and for the first time that I can remember, I was the swimmer directly behind it! Whoa! I noticed a couple others of the Elite wave trying to find my feet. I put my head down and swam absolutely flat out for the next 700 or so meters. Coming out of the water in first was nice, and marks only about the third or fourth time I have ever had that honor. Fun stuff.

Transition was about three miles long. Once I got to the bike, and my heart rate had found its way in to the upper 180s (I was actually counting it based on how many times I heard it beat), I took a look to see where the competition was. Someone was in transition with me, but based on the incredible distance that represented, I could not tell how close he was.

I hit the bike about as hard as I could. My instructions (advice, warning, so forth.) was not to kill myself on the ride, but to ease into a manageable pace. I didn’t figure my fatigued legs had the luxury of letting anyone catch up, so I disregarded that plan and went for it. After what seemed like forever, I looked down at the computer to see that I had only covered 3.2 miles. Ouch. I kept the pressure up; I kept the rhythm going. I actually began to feel a bit better, and then we hit a small hill (very small hill). The hill informed my legs that they felt like shit; my legs argued back; the hill was behind me. Phew.

After glancing down at the computer four more times, still hoping to see that the ride was almost done, I finally hit what looked to be the final stretch. How is it that I can train for a 112-mile bike ride, and 20km feels like forever?

Just prior to that finish straight, it dawned on me that I am in incredible shape. I was plugging along at 30mph, pushing the pedals hard, legs aching, and remember how tired I really was… and it felt great.

I performed one of my smoothest dismounts ever (about three hundred meters from the transition racks). Then I ran my ass off to the racks, convinced that someone was about to catch me.

My transition was fairly slick: shoes on; helmet off; this is not Ironman, so there is nothing else to do; leave!

A 5k can be so much fun, and a 5k can be super painful. Sometimes the two coincide: fun and painful. This seemed to be the case on Saturday. I am pretty sure I was out of breath the entire run, and it became more and more evident why we train at altitude and race at sea level. I was huffing and puffing worse than in the warm up, and I was loving it.

A funny thing about me is that I never really care about my overall time in a race, and I don’t so much care about the swim or bike splits. However, pretty much regardless of the race distance, race priority, race location, race t-shirt, or race course, I like to have a fast run time. My only goal while out there was to have the first number in my split read 16. I did not wear a watch, and I did not see any mile markers. All I knew was that I am in good shape, I was out of breath, and I was moving my legs quickly, so I must be running well.

It turns out that I narrowly missed my run time goal, but finishing first is a fine consolation. I waited for Amanda to finish (fifth overall), and we celebrated Team Lovato’s strong day. It had been since the 2000 Couples Triathlon that Amanda and I had taken home victories on the same day. Here’s hoping we don’t have to wait another eight years for our next double!

Another tough day at the Ironman office should not dilute what has been a great season so far for the Gillamster. I’m sure her version of a race report will hit the blogs soon enough, but I wanted to keep the Amanda Fans in the loop, as best I can.

Thanks for all the good vibes you sent her way!! She’ll live to fight another day!