What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas! Unfortunately this race was in Henderson, so I guess I will have to write something. (That and because many of you asked).
Silverman is a full iron-distance race: 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run. It is branded as the world’s most grueling race. There is something very alluring about a bold statement like that which made me sign up.
I officially started training in August. After a rocky start, I got my act together in September and October. I completed every planned workout, put in heavy training hours, and developed a rock solid nutrition plan.
Ironman training can be a lonely affair. Key phases are done in solitude. It’s just you staring at a black lane at the bottom of the pool for hours. It’s just you and your bike fighting gravity while the wind howls in your ears. And it’s just you on a desolate trail run. At times, I had great training partners for parts of my workout which I am truly grateful for.
The weeks leading up to the race, I was a nervous wreck. Why? Ironman is a journey into the unknown. Many many things can go wrong. You can get kicked in the face in the swim and break your goggles, your bike can malfunction, your stomach can shut down and stop ingesting food, you can suddenly develop an overuse injury, etc. The list goes on. As much training as you do, certain things you cannot account for.
To add to that, the mind games start. "Did I do enough training? Should I have swam more? Should I go for a workout today? I haven't exercised in five days, maybe I should go do something." This list goes on as well and I dreaded it. I talked to some friends who were seasoned athletes at this distance. They reminded me that my heavy training was done, the hours were in the bank, and nothing I did at this point would help, but instead hurt me.
I arrived in Vegas after a two week taper feeling a little moldy. Nevertheless I was rested, ready, and in the best physical shape of my life.
Race Morning:
I woke up at 3:30am after 5 hours of sleep. I've never been able to sleep well before a big race. They key is to sleep enough the night before which I accomplished. I looked out the window to see newspapers flying around the courtyard. Great. I quickly ate ~800 calories and headed to catch the shuttle to the swim start. I arrived at the transition area to see helmets and other big goodies flying around. I knew I was in for a long day.
After getting body marked, making last minute adjustments to my bike, and ingesting some more calories, I was soon in the water. Temperatures in the water were warmer than the air temperature with the windchill factor. The national anthem was sung, and the 10 second countdown began: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. The 140.6 mile race was off.
Swim: The swim is a counter-clockwise loop, going out to an island an back. I situated myself in the back right so I would not be kicked, shoved, groped, and swam over by other swimmers. The first 200 yards of the swim was fine as it was protected by a harbor. Once we past this stage, the next 2 dot something miles would be one of the most brutal open water swims I have ever done. The wind was causing a major left to right current which blew many of the weaker swimmers off course. White caps started appearing (when the waves are so big it splashes) and for the first time I was real scared. Every breath I took, I was eying and anticipating the next wave, which would then either make me swim further underwater to not get swept away, or take a quicker breath. I never wanted out so badly.
I reached the turnaround point where we take a left. Now the current was directly against us. That was a real treat. It seemed to take ages for me to swim this short part to take another left. I started froggy styling it underwater and I was passing people who were doing freestyle. I also saw a few swimmers plucked from the water at this part, and it was really sad to see their day was over. I have a lot of respect for them for making it out so far.
The swim back home was the same, except the current was now from my right to left. My shins started tiring at this point and at parts, I was not moving my legs, hoping to save it for the bike. Because I'm so bad at judging distances, I was deathly worried that I was about to miss the swim cutoff. That fear was set aside as I soon reached the shore at 1:50. I had never been so happy to get out the water and start a 112 mile bike ride.
Bike: I spent some time in T1 (transition area) to get changed. I wanted to be comfortable for this 112 mile ride with 9,600 feet of climbing (that's a lot!). T1 is located on a hill... surprise surprise... and the first mile is a grinding uphill. From here, we go north, then east to a turn-around at 50 miles, and then to T2 located in a separate location. The course meanders through the Lake Mead recreational area, composed of a giant lake surrounded by vast beautiful desert. Coming from the city, I was not used to the desert terrain and thought the scenery was amazing. There is something very humbling about biking in such a vast, desolate, and inhabitable area.
I was confident of my biking abilities. I had put in major hours in training, logging up to 200 miles a week during my peak. What I wasn't ready for was the tremendous amount of east to west headwind, which I later found out to be upwards of 22mph. The best part was this 22 mph headwind was in our face for the first 50 miles nonstop. There was not a single stretch where it died down. I don't think anything you do in training can prepare you for that much wind. I don't even know where to find 50 miles of headwind back home. Biking in heavy wind is harsh. It constantly makes your forward motion increasingly difficult. It howls in your ears, zaps the energy out of your legs, and demoralizes you. It is a huge, yet simple, force.
I took it easy at first, not getting my heart rate too high. I rode comfortably and passed many people on the way out. It was very difficult to get into a rhythm as I'm accustomed to riding in my aerobars even uphills. Because of the winds and safety concerns of being swept from side to side, I had to keep my hands on the handlebars. No biggie I thought. I could do this.
I started having stomach pains at mile 20. I believe it was a combination of the lake water and the cool winds. I have discovered that when I got from hot, to cold, to hot, and cold again, my body reacts funny. I was already wearing arm warmers but decided to not use leg warmers in T1 after a volunteer said it was warming up out there. Crap, I thought. Stomach pains can have detrimental effects on your race. It could end your day early. During an Ironman race, you can burn upwards of 6,000 calories through the day. Optimal caloric intake on the bike is ~300 calories/hour. A stomach ache can make you miss this number. Depending on the severity, your body might stop processing calories, leaving you into a stage known as a 'bonk', when you simply have nothing left.
I decided to push on. I had the desert scenery to take my mind of things, and the fact I was continuing to pass people built some good mental confidence. I soon hit the 50 mile turnaround and was flying on the way back. It felt great. In a way, I was happy the headwind was on the way out and not the way back, as the way back is ~72 miles. My body was still doing ok at this moment. There were not much people left to pass and it was a very lonely 72 miles back. I saw at most 10 bikers the whole time, and of course the ones still heading the opposite way to the turnaround.
Some of you have asked how I can bike 112 miles in complete solitude. There is a trick I have learned, and that is to not think of it as a 112 mile ride. You never think of the past, and you never think too far ahead. In my mind, I had not swam 2.4 miles, and I had not biked X miles. Instead, I had just started my ride, and there were X aid stations remaining. As simple as it sounds, telling yourself you have, for example, 5 aid stations remaining, is much better than telling yourself you have 50 miles remaining.
The 90mile mark soon approached. It meant I had 1 more aid station to go. By this point, we were already out of the desert and back into civilization which was much needed. I was starting to miss the crowd support. At 90 miles, we take a turn onto a residential bike path. I'm not sure who designed this or how it met engineering standards, but there are three 18%-grade hills on it. Not long, but 18% after biking 90 miles is pretty steep. I saw many people walking up these as I biked up these short rises.
My body was still feeling decent at the moment. Nutritionwise, I was not in the best shape. I was a little below target on caloric intake, and my stomach pain was still there although not as bad. I arrived at T2 thinking if I could hold it together, I would have a decent run. How wrong I was. I was in for a world of hurt.
Run: The 26.2 mile run (3,200 ft climbing) consists of two loops in Henderson, running through business and residential districts. Coming out of T2 after getting changed, I felt tired, but able to continue on. The stomach pain was still there. I stopped by a porta-potty to let gravity do its work. Came out and ran the first mile in ~9 minutes. That's not too bad I thought, but the stomach was screaming otherwise.
Long story short and to keep the meal you just ate in your stomach, this was the worst run I have ever done. Just when I thought the stomach ache put me rock bottom of the pit, someone throws me a shovel. The stomach ache turned into diarrhea. I stopped by every single porta potty on the run. Everything I ate was being refused by my body. I would run 100 yards and have to stop. It was humiliating and the mental disappointment and anguish built up in my mind. I knew I was really low on calories. Optimum intake on the run is ~100 calories/hour. I was nowhere near that.
I march of the penguin'ed it most the way, at times stopping for a break. Walking because a chore and increasingly difficult with each step. I hated being out there. I vowed to remember how horrible this felt and to never do one of these ever again.
At times during the run, I was in grave danger of missing the cutoff. For an Ironman, you have 17 hours (or until 12AM) to finish the course. At 10PM and with 6 miles to go, I was in serious danger of missing it. Don't think that far out, I said to myself. Keep doing what you're doing and marching on. I did this and put my fears at ease. At mile 25, I was well below the 12AM mark and was going to make it. I pulled myself together and with another athlete, made promises to each other to run the remaining 1.2 miles.
The run down the finishers chute was bittersweet. It marks the end of your 140.6 mile journey. It shows you have defeated the course. All the pain, suffering, mind games suddenly disappear during this time. The finishers chute at an Ironman race is a very special place. In the grand scheme of things, very very few people will have the opportunity to put in half a year of training and dedication week after week to get to this place. In fact most people will never have the desire to do this.
My final time was 16:45:54. I never thought I would be a 16+ hour finisher but going with the 'journey into the unknown' mantra, anything is possible. Some have asked if I am disappointed with my time. I had a nice plane ride to think about this and I can say with 100% certainty that I am not. I have had a great year where I've done a number of events and gotten progressively faster at each.
Given what was thrown at me, I finished and that is all that matters. You can have a backup plan B, plan C, plan D, and one for each letter of the alphabet but as your journey plays out through the day, your plans won't matter. Many people did not finish. I have a lot of respect for them for showing up and knowing when to cross the line to call it a day. Believe me, it is a very very difficult decision as an endurance athlete and there is often a lot more going on that what meets the eye. We race because we love it. For myself, I have some unfinished business left on the run course and I am committed to coming back next year.
Most importantly, I've had great people to train with. Elaine, Duncan, Rajesh, Kristine, Greg, Rajeev.. thanks for keeping me honest out there. Sinclair, Matt, UCD tri team, for the training tips. There were are many days I would have been missing in action or done half what I intended if you had not showed up. You all are amazing athletes and I hope to see each of you out there again next year for another great year.
This is longer than I intended and a bunch of ramble, but if you made it down this far, you probably should have done the race. It would have taken you faster to race it than read this. Thanks for reading and if you have questions, let me know. :) Signing off.
