When Blogs Go Silent

As a blog follower, I've learned that when things go silent, something in life is taking precedence. The good news is that I feel like my body is on the mend. I wouldn't say that I'm training, but I've been able to exercise, getting in a handful of swims, bikes, and runs, and it feels great. And I've been eating well, really well. But not necessarily healthy food well, just really good food well. My trip to the urologist was a FAIL due to an authorization/health insurance mishap, and I was turned away by the receptionist. I did, however, get to see a specialist about my ear and structurally, the ear is fine. The doc thinks it's a case of TMJ, or clenching/grinding of the jaw whilst sleeping. He followed the prognosis by asking if I was under any stress?

I found that question to be very interesting, because I have been under some stress. But I handled the stress in the same manner as I have at any other time in my life, I internalized it, knowing that things will get better. I asked the doc why now would I be suffering physical symptoms from stress. He responded by saying the body is weird like that.

My friend Jeff, who I had blogged about and dedicated the IM Canada race to, passed away on February 8 of pancreatic cancer. He was 52 years-old, and just 5 days shy of his 53rd birthday. On the night of his death, I dedicated my yoga practice to him and ever since that night, my body feels better each day. I guess the body is weird like that. Rest in peace Jeff.

IM Canada Race Report

I decided to arrive a bit later to the race venue to save some money, and to spare myself all of the sitting/waiting in a hotel room that is associated with racing an ironman. I won't do this again. I arrived to Penticton on Friday, and it was too stressful trying to get everything done, all the while suffering from dehydration/headaches that usually accompany traveling. My advice is to arrive no later than Thursday afternoon for a Sunday race (for no time zone change that is). I flew into Spokane Thursday night and stayed with Matty and we drove up to Penticton the next day. This is a pretty good option for those wanting to avoid driving from Seattle or flying into Canada. Jill hooked me up with a homestay in Kaleden, which is just outside of Penticton. At $75 per night with no night minimum, Jill and I had the entire first floor to ourselves and we had access to a kitchen, swimming pool, and a great deck overlooking Skaha Lake, good stuff. Onto the race:

The swim: 58:25

I am really shocked by my swim time, based on feel, I really thought I dialed both my effort and my strategy to swim a 54-55. Some speculation: the day before the race, I hopped in the water and felt great. By "felt great", I mean I had great feel for the water (it's a swimmer thing). Come Sunday morning, I had no feel for the water during my warm-up. I swam with one other guy the entire time, and though I put in some hard efforts to pull away from him, we always stayed together. Maybe I ended up doing his swim race? And finally, maybe it's the Blue-Seventy? My swims have been mediocre all season and the only difference is the wetsuit. Two weeks ago, I swam a straight 4000, holding 1:17's for the first 2000 and 1:15's for the second 2000. On Wednesday of race week, I was holding 2:15's for 200's on the 2:30 and I was holding back. I KNOW I had the swim fitness to swim a 54-55. Though the Blue-Seventy has great shoulder flexibility, it doesn't feel as buoyant as my Zoot or a Sailfish. Like I said, all speculation, but I really am shocked because I felt the effort was the equivalent of a 54-55 minute swim.

The bike: 5:56:40

From the get go, my legs burned! My glutes hurt the most, and even sitting on the saddle was painful (and it was not a saddle sore pain, but actually the glute muscles themselves). Every time I tried to push to establish my pace, they just hurt. The pain was a combination of tightness, feeling bruised, and just burning. It's a good thing I had posted this the day before because I definitely needed this attitude to overcome this crazy burning in my legs. I just told myself to pedal, at whatever pace, just pedal and maybe things will come around. 40 km into the ride, the legs loosened up, but I just couldn't find the race gear just to hold my "conservative" pace toward Richter climb . Though I couldn't ride at my goal pace, I was looking forward to hitting Richter because if there is one thing I can do really well on the bike, it is climbing. But once again, I couldn't find that gear that I know I can when I'm climbing. Very few people passed me on the climb, but I also passed very few people, and really, climbing is my strength, even when I'm not trying to climb hard. But not today. I felt like I was in my training gear the entire bike ride. With about 40K to go, I started to feel a bit nauseous, I'm sure as a result of the 90°+ heat. At 30K, I tried to put food down my sensitive stomach to prepare for the run. At 20K, I vomited and with it, all of my precious calories and fluids. The last 10K, I bonked and I could barely turn the pedals over against the headwind. My speculation: My body was just having a really off day? Or maybe I was out of shape on the bike? I've been accused of overtraining all season, so my mantra going into Canada was better to be undercooked than overcooked. I now know with me, it is actually better to be overcooked. I lose my fitness too quickly. Before IMOZ where I rode a 5:30 , I rode 3 hours hard the Thursday before the race. Two weeks before the full Vineman, I raced hard and won a trail marathon with 5000' of climbing; and the following day, I rode 5 hours and ran 6 miles off the bike. Then, the Thursday before the full Vineman, I once again did a hard 3-hour ride. Three days later, I ended up riding my fastest ironman bike split (5:22). This time around, my longest ride in the last two weeks before the race was 3.5 hours, and during race week, I only rode 3 times, with the longest ride being 90 minutes. Once again, all speculation give me your thoughts!

The run: 3:55:05

Though this was not my best ironman run split, it is the run I am most proud. After getting off the bike totally depleted, I mentally prepared myself for a 14-hour ironman finish. I thought about my friend Jeff, and I set a goal to finish no matter how long it was going to take. I spent a good 5-6 minutes in transition, sipping water and taking what little food my stomach could take. One mile into the run, I threw everything up, right in front of the maddening crowd, which seemed to get even more mad. After throwing up, I felt much better, and set out to take it one mile at a time. I started on coke at the second aid station, a new record for me. I also set a goal to only walk the aid stations. Miles 2-15 were simply amazing. I couldn't stop thinking about my runs on Kona and how the heat in Canada wasn't even comparable. I drew so much strength just from this thought alone. Miles 15-18, I started to slow and I knew I had to take in food/salt and not fluids, but my stomach was also sensitive again. I tried to take a salt tablet at mile 17 and started dry-heaving and the pill came right back out. Miles 18-24 were slow but I never walked except for the aid stations. I came so so close to walking at a non-aid station but for the first time, I actually won the battle and I kept running. Turning onto Lakeshore for an out and back section before the finish, I heard the announcer say that those just turning onto Lakeshore have 10 minutes to break the 11-hour barrier, and something in me came to life. I dug deep and crossed the line under 11 hours with 30-seconds to spare. On this day, I equate breaking 11 hours to that of breaking 10 hours. I am proud of my run.

The result: 10:59:31 [290th OA, 57th AG]

It's late as I'm writing this and I'm tired. I just wanted to focus on the logistics of the race, but I will give more sentimental moments from race day in a later post. Because as my friend Tom posted on my FB wall, "Ironman is like pizza, even when it's bad, it's good!"

Because I Can

I've been holding my cards pretty close to my chest for IMC, unsure if I wanted to share what's been on my mind of late. But they say ironman is a journey, and many of you have followed me and will be following me online tomorrow, so I thought I would give you some insight on the title of the post. Three weeks ago, I learned that a friend was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. I was even more stunned when a top-notched doctor at Stanford told him rather coldly, "I give you 4-5 months." Jeff didn't like that answer so he hustled over to UCSF, and he is being treated with both chemo and a clinical trial drug. Cancer is my biggest fear. I know cancer all too well, from my mother's death to breast cancer, to my studies as a cellular/molecular biologist, there are a lot of reasons for me to fear cancer.

When I first learned about Jeff's diagnosis, most days were normal with me living life as usual. But on several occasions, my mind would drift to Jeff, and I would empathize. When I put myself in his shoes, this whole IMC thing felt rather frivolous, and it was really hard to put my game face on for the race. Last week, my mind drifted again to Jeff and for some reason, rather than feeling frivolity, I felt gratitude. I was grateful because I can race. Since then, when I think about IMC, I think, "Because I can." And for some reason, I feel strong, and I feel ready to tackle whatever race day brings. It's a good feeling.

So come tomorrow when my arms start to burn during the swim, I will dig a bit deeper to shave off more time...because I can.

If I push it too hard out to and over Richter pass and I bonk, I will dig to get myself through the bonk...because I can.

If my stomach shuts down on me, I will be patient and wait until it comes back...because I can.

If I overheat, I will cool myself down or I will simply sit in the shade and rest until I can make my way to the finish..because I can.

Whatever the day brings tomorrow, I will race to go under 10 hours, race for an opportunity to earn a Kona slot, race to race, and I will enjoy every moment of it good or bad...because I can.

Jeff, you are a champion, I love you.