What a long, strange, lead-up to Mooseman this past week has been! Between waking up one week away from my first triathlon of the season with the start of a sinus infection, to the discombobulated state of my training program on account of said sinus malfunction… I was glad to finally get my bearings Friday afternoon as I made my preparations to race the Mooseman Half-Ironman triathlon in Bristol, New Hampshire.

My goals going into this race were complicated (a big surprise, I’m sure!). I say “complicated” because there were several bits and pieces of this race that I wanted to use for both gauging my fitness and assessing my weaknesses and improvement requirements for Lake Placid; all while getting some solid racing in my legs in the early season. To further muddy the issue, I was originally treating this race as a B-priority, meaning that I would train through the week entirely, and then simply race it and recover in the subsequent week. As part of the bigger picture, I was trying to set up a crash cycle, as I said here. But with my illness in the week leading up to the race, I had to cut back on my training in order to reach a full return to health. Oh yeah… I also wanted to PR the half-Ironman distance, and as a pie-in-the-sky goal, break the 5–hour barrier for the distance. So, as you can see, there were many facets to this event for me.

Pre-Race

Saturday morning, Liz and I made the familiar trek over the hills, through Vermont, and up to Newfound Lake in Bristol, NH. The weather was grey and threatening all day, and as we got closer to the race venue, the heavily clouded skies were only getting more foreboding. After packet pickup, I drove the bike and run course to get a good feel for things, then proceeded to sneak out for a quick tune-up run consisting of a ten-minute warm-up, followed by 5x20” pickups, separated by 40” of jogging. I wrapped things up with a ten-minute cool-down, and then some stretching, before calling it a night and vegging out in front of the TV before bed time. As I drifted off to sleep, I basked in the notion that this would be the last race night before Ironman (translation: I was thinking: “Heh! if you think you’re anxious now, wait until Ironman eve!”).

Sunday morning I was out of bed long before the sun to down my usual pre-race meal: two whole-grain bagels smothered in Nutella, and my essential coffee. After loading up the car and making the trek from the hotel to the race site, I gathered my gear, racked my bike, and proceeded to go through my pre-race routine. I finished off bottle of Accelerade, took in a gel, then suited up for a splash in the very brisk 60 degree water. I did a quick warm-up out-and-back to the first buoy, came out of the water to stretch one final time, and then joined the masses as my wave - the first of the day to go off – slowly began to assemble in Newfound Lake.

The Swim

After I’d done my warm-up in the water, I almost began to warm to the temperatures. But in the time between getting out to stretch, and then getting back into the water to start the race, I swear that water dropped another ten degrees… It was very cold. But before I could even register the fact that the coldness of the water was literally taking my breath away, the gun went off and it was quickly down to business! With arms thrashing, catching clean water was impossible for the first – I’d say – 400 meters. If I wasn’t hitting someone’s feet in front of me with my catch, they were grabbing a hold of mine or bumping and sloshing shoulders close by. I just kept things cool, thought about my previous performances on the long-course, and did my best to get into a smooth swimming groove. Things were going pretty well, and I felt confident as I made my way along the first half of the course which, despite the threatening clouds and noticeable winds, consisted of pretty calm water. But just as I rounded the first turn-buoy, I got stuck in the squeeze with several other swimmers, and wound up taking in an enormous amount of water. Now, turning into the flow of the current, things were getting a bit choppy. My sinuses, which had just recently returned to their near-normal state, continued to fill with pressure at about the 1200 meter mark. The combination of the cold water and the surprise inhalation of plenty of it, was not quite what the doctor ordered during my road to sinus-recovery! It was amazing just how quickly my strong start had seemed to diminish from that point on. As the buoys went by, I began to feel slower and slower. My perception of my performance had become so gloom, that by the time I had the swim exit in my sights, I had resolved to not be disappointed with my time; to take stock in the fact that I was smart enough to balance out my week leading up to this event and to regain my health quickly. Merely showing up to race and doing the race was going to be enough for me to consider the day a success.

Last year at the Tupper Lake Half-Ironman, I completed the 1.2 mile swim course in just under 40 minutes. Likewise, at the Timberman Half-Ironman course, I felt much stronger in the water, but the tremendously difficult conditions led me to an almost identical time for the swim. With a lot of effort in correcting my form, and many yards in the pool over the off-season, I was really hoping to get that time down into the 32–minute neighborhood this year on the half-Ironman course. I was afraid, by the time I saw that swim exit banner lining the shore of Newfound Lake this past Sunday, that I was going to clock something quite far from 32–minutes. I had accepted this – mentally – because I realized that it might just be okay not to have a perfect race. But as the floor of the lake became clearer and clearer, and as the sounds of the incredible spectators became louder and louder… I put my hands down on the sandy beach, rose to my feet, and crossed the timing mat into T1 clocking a 33:35 swim!

Previous Half-Ironman Swim PR / Target / Actual :: 0:40:00 / 0:32:00 / 0:33:35

The Bike

Having just PR’d the swim, and getting much closer to my goals than I thought I would, I rocketed through transition and made my way onto the 2–loop bike course. I didn’t have a target time going into the bike – primarily on account of how hilly this course was compared to the other half-Ironman events I’ve competed in - but I did challenge myself to ride steadily, and to practice my Ironman race-nutrition. Things felt great coming out of transition, but my euphoria didn’t last very long – as there would be absolutely no favors on this day. Within the first 5 miles I developed a killer knot in my left inner-thigh as the course began a very gradual climb upwards. I quickly began taking in fuel to help ease the muscle cramping, and alternated standing and sitting in order to urge the bloodflow into all the muscles in my legs. Just as the kinks started to work themselves out, the course wound it’s way around the north shore of the lake where the roads quickly took a turn straight up towards the blackened skies. Out of the saddle and working my easiest gears, I got myself up and over the hardest set of climbs on the bike loop before settling back down into a tuck and taking advantage of the long stretch of rolling terrain laid out before me. By about mile 10 of the first loop, My body had gotten fully accustomed to being on the bike, and my fueling regimen was underway and starting to kick in. But because I was the first wave to go off for the day, there weren’t a tremendous amount of riders in front of me to try and reel in. Instead, my fortitude was tested as I tried to power through the course as fast as possible, with virtually no “carrot” to chase throughout the entire first 28 miles. My pacing was more than satisfactory, but the course was unforgiving in it’s design. Every time there was a good opportunity to open things up and gain some speed, a sweeping turn or a sharp ascent prohibited that average speed from getting too high. Even still, I felt my adrenaline surge as I made my way through the halfway point (the end of the first loop) to the harmonious sounds of countless spectators lining the roads. At race pace, I blasted through the timing mat just a hair over one hour and twenty-one minutes for the first loop of the bike course.

Fully comfortable on the bike now, my target was to match my split on the second half of the course. I retraced the route, knowing now every hill where it was better to stand and power a big gear versus those that were best conquered by spinning lightly. The rain had started to come in, but it was a cool mist and a welcome retreat from the humidity. I continued my nutritional uptake, and worked the balance of the bike course as though it were the very last portion of the race itself. I dropped my chain twice on one of the big climbs, but stayed motivated by promising myself I’d take it easy on the run, if and only if I could match my split… It’s amazing the lies our bodies believe in the heat of a race. I kept it on full-steam as best I could, and charged into the second transition with a time of 2:43:03; making my latter split of the 56–mile bike course just a minute slower than the first. Easily the hardest triathlon bike course I’ve ever competed on, I blew through T2 like a breeze feeling fully satisfied having just averaged 20.6 mph over the very challenging, hilly, Mooseman long-course.

Previous Half-Ironman Bike PR / Target / Actual :: 2:38:06 / – / 2:43:03

The Run

It had already been a very tumultuous race for me. The swim started out great, but towards the end I was feeling slow and ineffective. I surprised myself with a good time, sure, but I just wasn’t feeling “on”. Even though my bike splits were very decent, I had urged myself to go pretty hard in order to even out the first and second split. Basically, I’d thought (again) that I’d come to the race and done as much as could be expected given my leading week. Like this, during those first several dozen footstrikes coming out of T2 and through the throngs of spectators, I’d once again cut myself short and offered my body this compromise:

“You did a good swim, and in the end, you did a good bike… Let’s just cut our losses and run the half-marathon as a long training run.”

It seemed reasonable, I suppose. But after hitting the first mile marker in 6:45, I was suddenly confused… Did I start my watch late coming out of T2? Was I just on a gel-high? So I kept the pace on to see what my next split was. Mile 2 came about, and with a gentle “beep” of my monitor, I saw a lap time of 6:50. There was no question about it, I was on. Miles 3 through 7 were a blur as I made my way out and back along the first loop of the half-marathon course. I was passing people frequently here, making up some time on the run against those who’d gone too hard on the bike. My legs felt fresh, and I was taking in fuel at every opportunity. Coming along the final mile-long stretch back towards the transition area, the crowds were crazy now, as the majority of the field behind me had made their way off the bike and onto the run course for their first loop. As I tore through the midway point of the run-course, I finally saw what I’d been looking for… My position in the field relative to everyone else was far, far ahead. Like that, I was invigorated. I realized my swim hurt because I was going hard, not because I was “off”. I realized my bike started awkwardly because the course was challenging, not because I was “off”. And finally, I realized that the run was going well because – despite the vacillating thoughts I’d had throughout the day – I really was sharp and racing well.

Now out again onto the run-course for my second lap; hundreds of competitors in front of me working their way through the first few miles of their run. I passed people left and right - the kindness of strangers never so prominent as it was every time someone would muster up, under labored breath, a “nice pace man, keep it up”. I dug deep, and I went where I had to go. The 10–mile mark brought about the largest climb on the course, followed by a quick turn onto a dirt road before looping back and heading towards home. At mile 11 I was still pushing an average 7:10 min/mi pace, and the pain of being at LT for so long had slowly started to sap into my body. My target was still over 2 miles away, but locked in my eyes. I knew now - after this day – that I was really going to do something special on this course. At mile 12 the burning of my muscles and the heaving of my lungs began to fade as a renewed surge of endorphines began to flood my every sense. In less than 1600 meters I was going to see my fans, my wife, and my finishing time which would be so hard fought for. There, in the distance, I spotted the collection of spectators as they stood under those gorgeous lakeside hills. The sound of the cow bells and hand-claps. The smell of the misting rain and the moisture off the lake. Suddenly, dirt and earth invaded my senses as I pushed the final 200 meters off-road and towards the finishing arch. The announcer, amazingly pronouncing my name right and informing the world of my race number and my hometown, echoed over the heavy atmosphere. “Did I do it?” I thought rabidly. “Could I have possibly broken 5 hours today?” There! Next to the announcer, the official clock! And my finishing time for the Mooseman Half-Ironman: 4:53:26.

Previous Half-Ironman Run PR / Target / Actual :: 1:44:13 / 1:40:00 / 1:33:41

Overall

Previous Half-Ironman PR / Target / Actual :: 5:11:05 / 5:00:00 / 4:53:26

This was a magnificent event for me, and I’ll tell you why. My week leading up to this race was all but turned upside-down and backwards as compared to what I had down on paper. And given my absolute “by-the-book” approach to training and racing, you can probably imagine that I had a hard time toeing the line Sunday morning while having even the slightest bit of lingering thought that I might not have been perfectly prepared. Combined with my goals for trying to asses my fitness and see some real numbers to back up my feeling that I’ve gotten stronger on the long-course over the off-season, while trying to break 5–hours, well, every little thing that felt “off” tried to multiply in my mind. But I read once that in Ironman racing, you can never let yourself get too down during an event like this (or Ironman, obviously) because the day is just naturally going to be filled with physical and emotional ups and downs. And athletes who find themselves in a tough spot at any point in the race, need to recognize that they’ll probably bounce back later in the event. Although I tried to keep all of this in mind during the swim and the bike, I never fully appreciated the advice until I crossed that line. Coming out of T2, I was surprised; once on the run-course, everything clicked, and finishing in sub-5 was just bliss.

Official Results

Photos here

In the first two races of the season, I’ve managed to shatter my half-marathon running PR, carve almost 7 minutes off of my half-Ironman swim PR, and break down the bike/run barrier of a long-course race by taking out more than 10 minutes from my run-results of last year. None of this came easy, and I can recognize that now – whereas out on the race course it was harder to put things in perspective. This is a story of “anything can happen” and a race I’ll remember all season as a true breakthrough. To my friends and family who support me, and to Liz who hands-down wins the spectator-, photographer-, pre-race sherpa-, post-race aide-, and cheering-section-of-the-century award: Thank you all so much for everything! My drive is only half of what gets me through these events. Your support is the rest.

And of course, to all the folks who frequent my blog, thanks for reading.