Races in Retrospect: ChesapeakeMan 2006 (Part I of II)

This November's Ironman event will not be my first race at that distance.  I actually completed an "ultra-distance" triathlon in 2006.  Because of trademark issues, only a dozen races a year are called "Ironman."  All others are simply "ultra-distance."  But the stats are the same:  2.4mi swim, 112mi bike, 26.2mi run.  I thought the 2006 event would fulfil my need to check the Ironman off my bucket list, but it didn't work for two reasons:

1. The race was the biggest disaster of my life, start to finish.  (Yes, even a bigger disaster than the man-perm I got in 1991.)

2. Ultra-distance just doesn't have the same ring as "Ironman."  If you are going to train 12 months for one event, spring the extra $300 and get the name-brand event.

Now that I have 5 years of additional experience in multisport events, I can look back and identify the problems that made the race so miserable.  (And with a little luck, I won't repeat ANYTHING I did that day!)  It's embarrassing just how bad my training and execution were.  Although the event nearly killed me, it fortunately did not kill my interest in multisport.  I took off a year of training to teach early morning Seminary (and gained about 25 pounds), but I returned for more punishment in 2007 and have steadily worked on my skills since then.  Here is Part I of the belated race report for ChesapeakeMan 2006.

My Hyper-Logical Decision

While I had a little experience in multisport events (mostly duathlons), I had never attempted a long-distance triathlon.  Lest you believe I was a TOTAL amateur, I had completed century rides on my bike and had run 5 marathons between 1998-2000.  But ultimately my logic for attempting this feat went something like this: "The people completing these events are not superheroes -- they're human.  And since I'm a human, I should be capable of the same things."  This logic is useful for any of life's big decisions that you really want to screw up.

Training
I signed up for a half-ironman halfway through the year as a benchmark for my training (the subject of another likely blog posting), started swimming at the Rec Center, and pieced together my training plan based on a "12 Weeks To Ironman" web posting that I stumbled across, probably while Googling "How to train for Ironman when you don't know what the freak you are doing." 

In hindsight, my training was very sporadic and undisciplined, to say the least. I overestimated my ability to learn how to swim in straight lines in open water, never combined swims with bike rides, followed bad advice on the bike ride, and really undertrained on the run.  In fact, I can't think of one thing I did correctly!

In comparison with my most recent years of competing, my annual training totals in 2006 were much lower.  56mi in the pool, 386mi running, and 2637mi biking.  That's it.  With the exception of the biking number, I am on pace to more than double these amounts in my training this year.  The final killer was a taper that was too early and too drastic.  I began teaching early morning Seminary in September, and my training mostly shut off for the last month before the race.  In the month before the race, I often went two or three days with NO workouts.  (By comparison, I don't think I have missed three days in a row for the last 3 years!)  To make matters worse, I only slept a couple of hours the night before the race because of our lousy hotel.

Race Day
I woke up 2.5 hours before start time and started hydrating.  Body marking at 6am, start at 7.  The race organizer warned that a jellyfish or two might give us a "kiss" during the swim, but not to worry about it.  Oh -- and because of the tidal flow, the water in the Choptank River was brackish, a fact that I probably should have researched before the race. 

Look at this guy -- Younger, fatter, and about to get trashed by the Choptank River.

  Always a good time for a flex photo.

 "Does 'brackish' mean salty, or lightly-salted?"  Answer: Triscuit salty.

The swim followed the hotel dock for 100 meters, then turned 90 degrees left to head "downstream," which was actually into the tidal flow.  It was just past the turn that I encountered a patch of foamy water.  As I swam through it, I could see jellyfish -- lots of them -- just a few inches below water level.  Almost immediately, the little critters wrapped themselves around my wrists and ankles, leaving me with what felt like paper cuts.  In salt water!  Of course, I broke from my rhythm and started swattting and kicking these things away.  As I moved through the foam, I eventually got rid of them.  "There," I thought, "I've been kissed and won't have to worry anymore."  Unfortunately, this routine happened another 5 or 6 times during the swim, so that by the finish my neck, wrists, and ankles were covered in red, swollen stings.

As for my navigational skills, at the 90 degree corner, I turned about 45 degrees, then zigzagged my way a couple hundred meters off course.  At the time, I had not yet developed an ability to breathe on both sides, so my body naturally pulled to the right (and because the shore was on the left, I was unable to use it as a sight line).  Finally, a guy in a boat pulled up alongside and told me I was swimming somewhere other than the finish.  I'm not sure why he waited until I was so far away before he said something.  I course-corrected and zigzagged my way toward a specific pylon on the bridge, knowing that the finish was about a half mile beyond the bridge. 

I knew all year long that the swim leg would be the most difficult for me, so I was not surprised to see volunteers on kayaks looking at their watches everytime I swam by them.  Plus, my detour took away any margin of error.  At 2 hours and 20 minutes, the race organizers will literally pull you out of the water and end your race.  Just past the bridge, a guy on a kayak looked at his watch and shook his head at me.  I gave it everything I had, and made it to the finish -- 2 hours, 12 minutes after the start (and one of the last people out of the water).

Welcome to land.  Have a drink from the firehose!

The volunteers in the changing tent pulled off my wetsuit, then treated me like a celebrity (or a dead man walking -- I can't decide).  "Would you like a gatorade?  Here's a power gel.  Why don't you sit down and cool off for a minute.  Do you want to see a doctor?"  Last I checked, I was in a race, and I was WAY behind.  So I got on my bike and started looking for people to reel in.  (Continued in Part II.  It gets more pathetic!).

Photo credits:  Alisha Lacey, the bestest cheerleader ever.