Saturday, February 17, 2007
A Day Like This – Ironman vs. Coast to Coast (Part 1)
“The biggest room in the world is the room for improvement.”
Prologue – Sizing Up
One race involves a mass open water swim, an 180km road bike time trial, and a full marathon, combined in a mind-boggling back-to-back format. The other boasts a backcountry course incorporating rural roads, mountain passes, and glacial rivers - spanning an island nation literally from coast to coast.
The Ironman triathlon and the Coast to Coast “Longest Day” multisport race: two endurance events, involving multiple disciplines, challenging the individual athlete, over a single day.
These two races are distinct from other well-known competitive endeavours of human endurance. There are single discipline events (like swimming the English Channel, ultramarathoning, and trans-ocean yacht racing) where total focus on a single skill set is required. There are the multi-day stage races (everything from week-long desert foot races to professional cycling tours like the Tour de France) that spread out the exertion over huge blocks of time, interspersed with sleep. And then there are team or relay events (as per adventure races and the hugely popular endurance mountain biking events) where an individual gets to be part of something more than just him/herself, and where the notion of “misery loves company” can be wholly realized.
Still, the Ironman and the Longest Day stand apart. They compress the fatigue and competition to within a single day, without rests or breaks – negating any opportunity to consolidate efforts or recover. They place the burden of the race effort upon the individual athlete – all the highs, lows, triumphs, and mistakes belong to him/her alone. And they demand that the single athlete – in order to just finish the race - be proficient across three disciplines and be able to make time cut-offs. These two events are truly the ultimate test in their respective endurance sports genres.
As an adventure racer on the look out for new challenges away from the team format for a change, I had always been intrigued to find out which race was the more difficult – the more grueling, arduous, and challenging. Only one way to find out: do them both.
Iron Will
The world championship for the Ironman race distance is held in Kona, on the big island of Hawaii, USA. As deemed by the triathlon establishment, no one gets to the world championship without first attempting a qualifying race. With no illusions whatsoever of magically making the start line at Kona on my first qualification attempt, I reasoned that my first Ironman event to enter should be geographically close by and popular (where many people I knew would be doing it as well), and where the goals I had set myself would be attained with reasonable effort.
Ironman triathlon is not for the faint of heart – there are sacrifices to be made on the long road to becoming a finisher, as thousands of Ironmen and Ironwomen will attest to. The investment of massive amounts of mileage is a pre-requisite, which entails time spent away from family, friends, and social occasions. At its core, it is a lonely race: Human interaction during the swim (where talking to other competitors is obviously not an option) is limited to bumping, kicking, and the occasional face-gouging or punch; bike drafting is outlawed; and the run is where everyone inevitably stews in their own private pot of pain and fatigue for long stretches of time. The journey to the start line and onwards to the finish line is strenuous - mentally and emotionally, if not physically.
I was duly informed of the perils of an Ironman race by the veterans who were my training buddies and triathlon acquaintances. The sheer repetitiveness of movement would fatigue muscles to the point of non-function for days afterwards, if not debilitating injury. How easy it was to lose concentration and cruise along in an almost zombie-like state, particularly on the marathon. Accident and injury horror stories aplenty, but also inspiring accounts of breakthrough performances, utter dedication to training, and toughing it out in the most trying of conditions. Come race day, I considered myself amply warned and familiar with what it took physically and - more importantly - mentally, to last the day and remain positive, no matter what the outcome would be.
The conditions on the swim were flawless, and coupled with a gigantic lane marker – the Busselton jetty itself – made the 3.8km swim leg very enjoyable. As soon as I got over the initial start line frenzy and found some open water, I quickly found my rhythm. I could feel the benefits of the consistent swim training I had had for the past seven months, and the numb hands and ‘ice cream headaches’ that used to plague my tropical constitution was but a distant memory, thanks to regular training swims in the cold waters of Port Phillip Bay. Three-quarters of the way through, I got kicked in the face and water filled my goggles, but I calmly rotated onto my back, re-adjusted them, and carried on. Apart from the occasional bumping and toe-tickling, I found it easy drafting other swimmers as well as letting them draft me, all the way to the swim exit.
I glanced at the timing clock as I trotted towards the transition tent, and was very surprised to see an elapsed time of 1 hour and 3 minutes! I was so pumped from seeing that that in the ensuing excitement, I scrambled out of T1 too quickly and accidentally cut myself on the chainring of my bike as I bumped into it. Ouch. Blood flowed freely from my ankle and dried to form a brownish-red crust on my left cycling shoe as I eased into the 180km ride along the picturesque coastal plains surrounding Busselton
The ride was a long - if flat - slog, but I was sure I had a consistent effort throughout. The jelly snakes I had knotted to my aerobars had dried up and were falling off as the morning heated up, but I had other food alternatives to rely on. The roads were rough in patches, but smooth in others, and the wind was quite tame throughout. I began to settle myself mentally for the long haul. Heaps of people on very flash bikes kept passing me, but I chose to stick to my game plan of racing my own race and keeping a high average cadence. My special needs bag, when I grabbed it from the roadside aid volunteers, was a highlight that brightened up the otherwise dull grind of the ride. It was a musette-style cloth bag from my university, and I carried it slung over my shoulder like a pro cyclist till the next aid station, refueling as I went. In retrospect, I think I rode a little too conservatively, but then again as this was the first time I was doing an Ironman, I wanted to remain comfortable with all muscles and joints intact, and with enough juice for the marathon.
Glad to be off my bike at T2, I got into the 42km run feeling sprightly… perhaps too sprightly. I found myself wondering why some of the competitors ahead of me, having collected a scrungy (indicating their completion of 1 lap of the run course) were walking when they could be going all out on the home stretch of a long day. Well, I was soon to find out.
Somewhere after I passed the half-marathon mark, I started to slow down, and the heat was becoming more than just a comfortable reminder of my sunny homeland. With temperatures soaring along the coastal running paths and a blazing afternoon sun sending glaring reflections off the waves by the beach, I regretted not wearing a cap or visor. I resorted to lashings of iced water over my head at every aid station to keep cool. I was physically in discomfort, and although I did not know it, my concentration was wandering as a result – the mind games had begun in earnest. I found it surprising, the amount of focus needed just to maintain a steady speed, let alone break stride and start walking. As this was my first-ever marathon (a lame excuse, but an excuse nonetheless!), experience was definitely not on my side; and while my mind was prepared for the ‘games’, I lacked that definitive mental edge that separates the veteran from the young gun.
Deep fatigue crept into my legs, and although I was certain I had taken enough electrolytes to stave off cramping, a dull pain soon established itself deep in my quadriceps. I sipped some Gatorade, but my stomach rebelled. Diluted with water and chased down with flat Coke though, it helped me through the last lap of the run. By this time, my whole running gait had regressed into a survival mode ‘shuffle’. It was definitely not cramps… more of muscles, joints, and connective tissues begging for mercy and an end to the continuous movement of running. Literally putting one foot in front of the other became a chore, I even ran in reverse for a short stretch. Finally, high on caffeine and the applause of the crowds lining the route, I trundled as best as I could into the finisher’s chute and into the waiting arms of the ‘catchers’. Medal and finisher’s towel draped around my sunburnt neck, I reflected upon the day’s work.
I had done it! I was an Ironman (so said the race commentator sitting high in his booth above the finish arch)! For the next couple of days, using staircases would be painful for me and fairly entertaining for people happening to watch me, but I had a wonderful experience to recount to all my friends.
To be continued… build-up, or burn-out?
Before I headed off to WA for the race, I asked my coach Simon what I should do training-wise to get fit for Coast to Coast. Noting the paucity of my kayak training leading into Ironman, he said: “We’re gonna have to paddle you like a madman”. Well, that and quite a bit more, actually. I had a relatively short recovery after WA, and considering I pulled up without any injury, considered myself extremely lucky… lucky enough to commit to a substantial build for the Longest Day of Coast to Coast, the next race on my calendar.
Prologue – Sizing Up
One race involves a mass open water swim, an 180km road bike time trial, and a full marathon, combined in a mind-boggling back-to-back format. The other boasts a backcountry course incorporating rural roads, mountain passes, and glacial rivers - spanning an island nation literally from coast to coast.
The Ironman triathlon and the Coast to Coast “Longest Day” multisport race: two endurance events, involving multiple disciplines, challenging the individual athlete, over a single day.
These two races are distinct from other well-known competitive endeavours of human endurance. There are single discipline events (like swimming the English Channel, ultramarathoning, and trans-ocean yacht racing) where total focus on a single skill set is required. There are the multi-day stage races (everything from week-long desert foot races to professional cycling tours like the Tour de France) that spread out the exertion over huge blocks of time, interspersed with sleep. And then there are team or relay events (as per adventure races and the hugely popular endurance mountain biking events) where an individual gets to be part of something more than just him/herself, and where the notion of “misery loves company” can be wholly realized.
Still, the Ironman and the Longest Day stand apart. They compress the fatigue and competition to within a single day, without rests or breaks – negating any opportunity to consolidate efforts or recover. They place the burden of the race effort upon the individual athlete – all the highs, lows, triumphs, and mistakes belong to him/her alone. And they demand that the single athlete – in order to just finish the race - be proficient across three disciplines and be able to make time cut-offs. These two events are truly the ultimate test in their respective endurance sports genres.
As an adventure racer on the look out for new challenges away from the team format for a change, I had always been intrigued to find out which race was the more difficult – the more grueling, arduous, and challenging. Only one way to find out: do them both.
Iron Will
The world championship for the Ironman race distance is held in Kona, on the big island of Hawaii, USA. As deemed by the triathlon establishment, no one gets to the world championship without first attempting a qualifying race. With no illusions whatsoever of magically making the start line at Kona on my first qualification attempt, I reasoned that my first Ironman event to enter should be geographically close by and popular (where many people I knew would be doing it as well), and where the goals I had set myself would be attained with reasonable effort.
Ironman triathlon is not for the faint of heart – there are sacrifices to be made on the long road to becoming a finisher, as thousands of Ironmen and Ironwomen will attest to. The investment of massive amounts of mileage is a pre-requisite, which entails time spent away from family, friends, and social occasions. At its core, it is a lonely race: Human interaction during the swim (where talking to other competitors is obviously not an option) is limited to bumping, kicking, and the occasional face-gouging or punch; bike drafting is outlawed; and the run is where everyone inevitably stews in their own private pot of pain and fatigue for long stretches of time. The journey to the start line and onwards to the finish line is strenuous - mentally and emotionally, if not physically.
I was duly informed of the perils of an Ironman race by the veterans who were my training buddies and triathlon acquaintances. The sheer repetitiveness of movement would fatigue muscles to the point of non-function for days afterwards, if not debilitating injury. How easy it was to lose concentration and cruise along in an almost zombie-like state, particularly on the marathon. Accident and injury horror stories aplenty, but also inspiring accounts of breakthrough performances, utter dedication to training, and toughing it out in the most trying of conditions. Come race day, I considered myself amply warned and familiar with what it took physically and - more importantly - mentally, to last the day and remain positive, no matter what the outcome would be.
The conditions on the swim were flawless, and coupled with a gigantic lane marker – the Busselton jetty itself – made the 3.8km swim leg very enjoyable. As soon as I got over the initial start line frenzy and found some open water, I quickly found my rhythm. I could feel the benefits of the consistent swim training I had had for the past seven months, and the numb hands and ‘ice cream headaches’ that used to plague my tropical constitution was but a distant memory, thanks to regular training swims in the cold waters of Port Phillip Bay. Three-quarters of the way through, I got kicked in the face and water filled my goggles, but I calmly rotated onto my back, re-adjusted them, and carried on. Apart from the occasional bumping and toe-tickling, I found it easy drafting other swimmers as well as letting them draft me, all the way to the swim exit.
I glanced at the timing clock as I trotted towards the transition tent, and was very surprised to see an elapsed time of 1 hour and 3 minutes! I was so pumped from seeing that that in the ensuing excitement, I scrambled out of T1 too quickly and accidentally cut myself on the chainring of my bike as I bumped into it. Ouch. Blood flowed freely from my ankle and dried to form a brownish-red crust on my left cycling shoe as I eased into the 180km ride along the picturesque coastal plains surrounding Busselton
The ride was a long - if flat - slog, but I was sure I had a consistent effort throughout. The jelly snakes I had knotted to my aerobars had dried up and were falling off as the morning heated up, but I had other food alternatives to rely on. The roads were rough in patches, but smooth in others, and the wind was quite tame throughout. I began to settle myself mentally for the long haul. Heaps of people on very flash bikes kept passing me, but I chose to stick to my game plan of racing my own race and keeping a high average cadence. My special needs bag, when I grabbed it from the roadside aid volunteers, was a highlight that brightened up the otherwise dull grind of the ride. It was a musette-style cloth bag from my university, and I carried it slung over my shoulder like a pro cyclist till the next aid station, refueling as I went. In retrospect, I think I rode a little too conservatively, but then again as this was the first time I was doing an Ironman, I wanted to remain comfortable with all muscles and joints intact, and with enough juice for the marathon.
Glad to be off my bike at T2, I got into the 42km run feeling sprightly… perhaps too sprightly. I found myself wondering why some of the competitors ahead of me, having collected a scrungy (indicating their completion of 1 lap of the run course) were walking when they could be going all out on the home stretch of a long day. Well, I was soon to find out.
Somewhere after I passed the half-marathon mark, I started to slow down, and the heat was becoming more than just a comfortable reminder of my sunny homeland. With temperatures soaring along the coastal running paths and a blazing afternoon sun sending glaring reflections off the waves by the beach, I regretted not wearing a cap or visor. I resorted to lashings of iced water over my head at every aid station to keep cool. I was physically in discomfort, and although I did not know it, my concentration was wandering as a result – the mind games had begun in earnest. I found it surprising, the amount of focus needed just to maintain a steady speed, let alone break stride and start walking. As this was my first-ever marathon (a lame excuse, but an excuse nonetheless!), experience was definitely not on my side; and while my mind was prepared for the ‘games’, I lacked that definitive mental edge that separates the veteran from the young gun.
Deep fatigue crept into my legs, and although I was certain I had taken enough electrolytes to stave off cramping, a dull pain soon established itself deep in my quadriceps. I sipped some Gatorade, but my stomach rebelled. Diluted with water and chased down with flat Coke though, it helped me through the last lap of the run. By this time, my whole running gait had regressed into a survival mode ‘shuffle’. It was definitely not cramps… more of muscles, joints, and connective tissues begging for mercy and an end to the continuous movement of running. Literally putting one foot in front of the other became a chore, I even ran in reverse for a short stretch. Finally, high on caffeine and the applause of the crowds lining the route, I trundled as best as I could into the finisher’s chute and into the waiting arms of the ‘catchers’. Medal and finisher’s towel draped around my sunburnt neck, I reflected upon the day’s work.
I had done it! I was an Ironman (so said the race commentator sitting high in his booth above the finish arch)! For the next couple of days, using staircases would be painful for me and fairly entertaining for people happening to watch me, but I had a wonderful experience to recount to all my friends.
To be continued… build-up, or burn-out?
Before I headed off to WA for the race, I asked my coach Simon what I should do training-wise to get fit for Coast to Coast. Noting the paucity of my kayak training leading into Ironman, he said: “We’re gonna have to paddle you like a madman”. Well, that and quite a bit more, actually. I had a relatively short recovery after WA, and considering I pulled up without any injury, considered myself extremely lucky… lucky enough to commit to a substantial build for the Longest Day of Coast to Coast, the next race on my calendar.
