Background
Vineman HIM was my seventh triathlon overall, and my second half-ironman. I got into the sport last year, mainly as an excuse to get to the pool on a regular basis (not drowning in your first tri is a good motivating factor). This is my first year of consistent, structured training, and it's really just preparation for next year, when I take on Ironman Coeur d'Alene.
Earlier this year, I'd chosen the World's Toughest Half in Auburn, CA, as my first long-distance triathlon (last year had been all sprints with one Olympic distance). As my first venture into true endurance events, WTH left me feeling curiously ambivalent. I'd finished solidly, which was really my only goal, but after a strong swim and bike--and even a strong first six miles on the run--I'd struggled home in the half marathon, walking about a third of it. I knew I was capable of more, and I went to work (after two weeks' recovery) getting ready for the Vineman HIM. I've averaged about 12.5 hours per week of swimming, biking, and running, with as much specificity to replicating expected course conditions as possible. I pored over prior race reports and TopoUSA maps of the bike course. I tested and retested nutrition strategies until I felt like I had it nailed. I set myself two sets of goals, one realistic and the other a stretch, giving me a target finish range of 5:00 to 5:20.
Saturday
Saturday was significantly more hectic than I’d hoped. First, I’d crashed hard Friday night, when I’d originally planned to pack and prep all of my equipment for the trip up to Santa Rosa the next day. That meant getting up, getting packed, giving the kids a bath, getting out of dodge by 11am, and inching my way through crawling traffic from the Richmond bridge all the way to Santa Rosa in order to register, check-in at the hotel, grab a bite to eat, drive out to Guerneville for a rehearsal swim in the river, drive out to Windsor to prep T2 and ride a portion of the run course, and drive back to the Vineyard Creek hotel for the pre-race talk.
Whew! After all that, I grabbed a shower and went to the Sweet River Bar & Grill in the Coddington Mall for dinner (grilled salmon with carrots, squash, and zucchini over rice pilaf, with orange juice and a banana), and I waited for Amy and the kids to arrive (they had a birthday party at Pump It Up). After settling down, I then mixed my various drinks for the race—fruit punch Cytomax to sip right before the swim start, Champion Nutrition Metabolol for the 2am glycogen top-off, and my apple pie a la mode bike cocktail: 10 apple/cinnamon CarbBoom gels + 3 scoops of vanilla whey protein powder (that all-important 4:1 ratio!) + water in a large bike bottle.
Pre-Race
I survived a near disaster when, after waking up at 2am for my Metabolol drink, I couldn't get back to sleep and then realized that I had set my alarms for 4:30am--which would have left all of 15 minutes to eat, dress, use the toilet, pack up, and go. I went through some visualization from about 2:30 to 3:30, focusing on positive thoughts for the day ahead--how it would feel to come out of the water after a solid swim, heading to the bike knowing that the rest of the day was about to be unleashed; climbing solidly, smoothly up Chalk Hill; coming into the last mile and ratcheting it up; the finishing chute …
Rising, preparing, and getting to the race start in Guerneville was uneventful, though I arrived with almost two hours before my scheduled wave start. I went through body-marking, set up my transition kit, and used the porta-johns. I then spent the next hour or so alternately wandering around, sipping my Cytomax, and using the porta-johns again (the nerves were starting to tingle).
With about 40 minutes to go, I started my warm-up: 5 minutes of easy stretching, then an easy jog, followed by 4 quick strides (not all out, but a good pace with good form). I don't think I timed my warm-up particularly well, though, since I finished with a good 20-25 minutes left before my wave start. Oh, well. I suited up as quickly as possible to keep warm, and sipped the rest of my Cytomax. As I was heading down to the swim start to watch the last couple waves before mine start, I spotted Dan getting his gear ready (he still had a few waves to wait). I called over and wished him luck, then continued down. (Sorry if I didn't stop to chat, Dan, I was having some trouble getting into a focused frame of mind. I still end up feeling a bit out of place at these things. It was my first race in the Forward Motion colors, though, and it was definitely a boost to see the other team members.) Anyway, I figured I’d see Dan somewhere out on the bike course, since he’s got juuuust a bit more base—and speed—than I do.
I walked down to the swim start, waited for them to send off the light blue caps and check us through the timing gate, then swam a VERY brief (too brief) warm-up, consisting of about 50m out and back just to get used to the water and the target stroke. In retrospect, my swimming muscles were totally unprepared for what I was about to throw at them.
The Race
I slotted myself a couple rows off the front and all the way over to the right, along the shore. As the start neared, there was some joking as nerves started jangling, and several athletes called out “Good luck” and other supportive shouts (something to remember in the future—a very cool, inspiring thing to do). Then the horn sounded, and the water started churning.
After forcing myself into the middle of the melee at a couple of other events earlier this season, I’d hoped I’d gotten used to pack swimming, but I still found myself moving forward in fits and starts as I’d run into legs and arms and torsos. I think I must be way too polite in these swims, as I tend to pull up as soon as I make contact, rather than swim over somebody, etc. Either I need to get more aggressive (not to the point of pulling people under or anything) or I just need to get better at navigating through the crowd without pulling up and negating all the benefits of the wetsuit and masters swimming. There was no panic, even as the odd splash or kick showered me in the middle of a breath, but I was completely unable to settle into a rhythm and the 200m dash to clear the field I had originally planned did not materialize. Instead, I spent quite a bit of energy swimming two or three strokes, bam!...somebody’s legs, pull up, sight, wait, swim another three or four, whap!...that’s an arm.
Finally, things began to clear up after about 300m or so, as we neared the bridges, but I noticed that I seemed to be getting dropped by a fairly large pack of swimmers, leaving me in no-man’s land and on my own. By this time, I was already feeling a bit winded, and my shoulders were beginning to feel a bit thick. Not a good sign. I decided to stretch it out a bit. I still struggle to draft effectively, as I can’t manage to stay on someone’s feet. Any tips out there? I can recognize the feeling when the feet are there and the draft is good, but I lose it fairly easily (and I’m not certain whether it’s my own erratic navigation or the ride’s). I end up wasting more energy trying to sight for my ride than just settling in and swimming.
As it was clear that I was having very little success in drafting, I decided to settle in. I tried to keep my strokes long, slow, and smooth. I focused on breathing easy, stretching my arms out in front of me, keeping my kick light. I sighted as I needed to (veered out toward the buoys a couple times inadvertently), but for the most part I kept a 2-3-2 breathing pattern. Breathing every cycle is just too often for me, unless I’m sprinting, but I was still fairly winded from the start, so consistent b/l was out of the question.
It seemed like it took forever, but I finally saw the balloons on the turnaround buoy and made for it. After rounding it, I took a second to roll over and check the time. Crap, 18+ minutes! There goes my goal of sub-30. Oh, well, it’s a long day. Time to head back to the beach.
At this point, I had started to pass people in the earlier wave, which was a big mental boost (even though I knew it wasn’t because I was particularly fast—but I was able to ignore that for the time being). My arms and shoulders were getting quite tired now (looks like I’ll have to do more distance sets and swim strength work in the future), I was fairly hot and thirsty, and I felt like I was working hard. It took some focus to keep my stroke from getting quick and choppy. I set an intermediate goal of reaching the bridges, which helped because I knew once I was there I’d be within striking distance of the finish.
About halfway back, I finally managed to settle into a steady, comfortable rhythm (guess my swim muscles had finally warmed up!). I also recognized a couple of the swimmers who had started around me but had dropped me earlier on … another mental boost!
I reached the bridges and saw the finish arch. I have a tendency to really push when I know the end is near, so I forced myself to keep cool, keep those strokes flowing smooth and steady. The guys I had caught veered left to hug the buoys. Hmmm, do they know something I don’t? I made straight for the finish and shaved a couple seconds. I popped out of the water and hit the split button. 34:43. I pulled off my cap and goggles and trotted up to T1. I noticed some of the guys ahead of me unzipping their suits as they ran, and cursed lightly the DeSoto top, which is difficult at best to get off on the move.
I found my kit, popped off the top (struggled a bit with the wrists, which was a surprise), and then peeled off the bibjohn. I stuffed them both in the bag, pulled on my bike, shoes and stuffed my supplies in the jersey pocket (need to tape them down next time, save that couple seconds). I had already tied up the transition bag when I realized I hadn’t put in my goggles and cap (not to mention my towel). Silly me, I actually untied the bag and put them in (note to self: next time, sacrifice the damn goggles, and, jeez, the cap was free anyway!)
Oh, well, according to the results, I was 74/288 out of my age group, which is a solid MOP.
After stuffing my goggles into the bag and retying it, I noticed that I’d left my transition towel out—again!—but this time, I’d finally gotten a little blood back into my brain, and I just decided to sacrifice the towel to the triathlon gods. I pulled my bike off the rack, started out of T1, put my sunglasses on, and … nearly had to stop because my sunglasses immediately fogged over. I pulled them back off and carried them as I ran my bike as quickly as I could out of the transition area. (What a painful experience the transition areas were, in terms of how far you had to run to get in and out of them. I look at elite times for T1 and T2, and I can’t imagine how they’re getting in and out of there in less than two minutes. It took me two minutes just running from the swim exit to my bike and then with my bike to the transition exit! Then again, the elites probably don’t have people backed up on their way into or out of the transition areas—good reason to get really fast, thin down those crowds!)
T1: 4:09.3
Once out of T1, things came to a screeching halt again, as the three athletes in front of me decided to stop dead at the bottom of Church St, mount up and clip in. I nearly rode into the back of them since I’m used to on-the-fly clipping and mounting (I live at the end of a court at the bottom of a hill, so I’ve got no choice). I pushed my bike through them, mounted up, and pushed up the hill. I hadn’t quite gotten my right shoe clipped in, so I had to focus a bit to avoid a nasty spill, but very soon I was up the hill, clipped in, and on my way. I then noticed that I’d forgotten to pull my arm warmers on (the forecast had called for high 50’s to low 60’s for most of the bike, and I wanted to make sure I was warm enough), so I soft-pedaled for about 30 seconds while I pulled them on and rolled them up over my arms.
Once out on River Rd, I took a quick check of my heart rate—152!! Yow, better get that down. I found a comfortable, steady gear, and took a sip of water. Time to settle in for a bit. I watched my HR sink slowly to the mid-140’s, but also noticed that I was cruising along at 21-23mph with what felt like a fairly modest effort. I knew that the heat of the race can do strange things to your RPE, so I didn’t want to do anything crazy and ratchet it up. So I just kept the pedals turning over smoothly and steadily, watching the heart rate settle, and sipping water slowly from my JetStream.
Three things came quickly to my attention as I rode out those first few miles: First, my speedometer wasn’t registering cadence, which is one of the primary realtime data-points I monitor (I try to keep cadence in the mid-90’s). Second, I realized that I had forgotten to zero it out. I quickly zero’ed it out, but wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed or how much distance I’d covered. Third, my watch was still on Lap 2, which meant that I’d forgotten to hit the split button exiting T1. I often have difficulty with that one …
As we got to Westside Ave, I shifted into the small ring for the climb. I popped out of the saddle to keep my speed up, since there were several people struggling to get up the hill and weaving across the road. I recalled Gordo mentioning the same thing in his race report from 2001. (Throughout much of the race, I often referred back to the descriptions and inspiring words in Gordo’s report—I think part of my success in this race was due to this, it certainly provided strong, positive visualizations.)
I noticed something on most of the Vineman climbs about my out-of-the-saddle style: I have a much higher cadence when I’m out of the saddle than other people. I frequently saw people riding out of the saddle who couldn’t possibly be turning the cranks any faster than about 50 or 60 RPM. I didn’t even want to imagine what they were doing to their run splits. I won’t stand up for extended periods (for instance, I was seated for most of the Canyon Rd climb), but I prefer a fairly high cadence when I do pop up on short, steep rollers or when pushing over the top of a climb or across the steep part of a staircase climb. Somehow, the fatigue and lactic burn this style generates doesn’t seem as severe or last as long as when my cadence drops too low.
On the first flat on Westside, I took the opportunity to start my nutrition with two quick gulps of my CarbBoom/whey protein cocktail. That stuff really goes down easy for me!! It was tough at times to keep it to two gulps every 15 minutes!
Through the rollers on Westside, I have to admit I probably pushed too hard. The pace had settled to a point where I was riding (legally--or so I thought) with the same group of three or four guys for about the next 5-10 miles. It was quite fun because quite a few of them were on posh tribikes, and here I was trading blows with them on my road bike with training wheels and clip-ons. From the SF Tri Club course description, I knew that the top of Canyon Rd was a good mental halfway point. I also knew that it was going to be the first good test of my pacing. Right before we reached Canyon Rd, Dan passed me easily, demonstrating exactly how far I still need to go to be competitive. We traded greetings and then he was gone. As we neared Canyon Rd, I watched him go further and further up the road.
In my course recon from the car earlier in the week, Canyon Rd had seemed like an unanticipated adversary, steeper than I’d anticipated from the TopoUSA profile. When I actually crested the summit, though, I looked around and thought, “That’s it?” I shifted back into the big ring and cruised down the backside, getting ready for the smooth, flat pavement of CA-128 through Geyserville.
I made sure to take in more nutrition through this section. For a while, I continued to push the pace, averaging between 20-23mph through the rolling terrain. Somewhere around mile 30-35, though, things started to get tough. Though my HR and RPE felt the same as they had for the previous miles, I looked at my speedo and saw that my pace had been reduced to around 18-19mph. The group that I’d spent most of the first half of the race with was gone, and even though I was still passing people, there were a fair number of folks blowing by me. Luckily, I had enough of my wits about me to detect that upping the effort to increase the pace would only leave me blown to bits by the side of the road, so I accepted the new pace and tried to keep to a gearing that allowed me to spin smooth and strong, just at the upper end of comfortable. And I waited for Chalk Hill …
Rationally, I knew that Chalk Hill was nothing to be worried about. I’d laid my training foundation on a steady diet of climbing early this year in prep for WTH, and my specific Vineman prep had all included late-course climbs that were both more severe and longer than Chalk Hill, for the simple purpose that I wanted Chalk Hill to seem easy by comparison. But because I’d only had an opportunity to drive the course and not to pre-ride it, there was an element of doubt. I worked hard to maintain my effort through the rollers leading up to the climb. I gulped some nutrition at around mile 40, chasing it with plenty of water. I kept my gameface on as I passed the photographers on Chalk Hill Road, and finally, there it was.
And, of course, it was much easier than what I’d done in training. I was able to keep a moderate gearing and average about 15mph up the first two-thirds of the climb with just a good steady effort, and when it came to the steep part, I knew that it was just a curve to the right, a curve back to the left, and then a curving summit back to the right. I clicked up the cassette a couple of gears but kept my cadence up, and as I curved up to the summit, I popped out of the saddle and did my best Lance imitation, shifting back down and building up the speed as quickly as I could so that I could reeeeessssssttttt on the way back down.
Unfortunately, that was not to be because the backside of Chalk Hill Road is damn rough. My quads complained almost immediately from having to pull double-duty as both pistons and shocks, and my planned strategy of catching up on the nutrition here had to go out the window, leaving that much more doubt in my mind as I crept ever nearer to T2.
Once we got back into town (and back onto smooth roads), I tried to catch up on nutrition and soothe my legs. My left calf had started to cramp badly on the way down from Chalk Hill, so I spun a bit easier and tried to stretch it out. I worried that it was a sign of dehydration or sodium depletion, but luckily (ha!) it appeared to be just a minor revolt from the effort thus far, as it eased up after a mile or so. I again noticed that it was difficult to hold the pace that I had set early in the race, and I worried that I had taken it out too hard. A bit late for that …
Finally, I reached Windsor High School and T2 and took off for the pre-transition run (I swear, I did more running with the bike in this race—I was definitely short on the bike/run-with-bike/run bricks in my training this year!). I had felt a slight urge to pee since around Geyserville on the bike, and after throwing on my socks and shoes, I debated stopping at the porta-john, but since it wasn’t yet urgent—and I knew that there were porta-johns waiting at the top of Reiman Road—I decided to head out on the run.
Bike: 2:43:19.2
T2: 3:02.5
Surprisingly, I felt good, but I tried to hold back as much as possible. After all, I had felt strong during the first six miles of WTH only to crumble like a vampire in the sun when I hit the Dam Wall. And I knew from riding the course yesterday that though it was advertised as flat and fast, there were relentless rollers that would wreak havoc on any unprepared or poorly-paced racers.
I say I tried to hold back, but I just couldn’t let myself pay attention to my race plan’s HR goals—not when I was feeling this good. I had mentally split the race into four 5K’s, and I’d planned to run the first one easy, the middle two steady building to upper steady, and then give the last 5K to the finish everything I had left. However, my 148-149 bpm obliterated my plan’s “easy” ceiling of 140, even though I had dialed it back to the point where I felt I was just out for an easy run (those good ol’ LSD’s). When I passed the first couple of mile markers and saw that my pace was a modest 7:45, I decided to hold that pace. I locked on to a strong-looking rabbit, wearing a green and blue tri jersey, who had been about 200m up the road from since T2, and decided I would let him bring me all the way home.
At WTH, I had a minor bonk at around mile 9, and I had been reduced to walking and cramming bananas, cookies, coke, and Cytomax into my stomach like a famished recreational century rider. I was determined to do two things in this race: run the whole half-marathon, and avoid the bonk. So at every aid station I passed, I repeated my mantra of “Water, coke! Water, coke!” I splashed as much coke into my mouth as I could manage, chased it with a gulp of water, then poured the rest of the water over my head.
The miles kept clicking away at the 7:45 pace, and even the hill up West Mark Station Rd (which unfortunately claimed my rabbit, leaving me to my own devices) only slowed me to 7:50. The urge to pee had receded a bit, which worried me slightly, but I still felt strong and clear. I reached La Crema Winery and basked briefly in the refreshing water tent they’d set up (the only place I was tempted to walk!), then continued around the dirt road circling the vineyard. This reminded me of running, riding, and hiking through the flower fields in Encinitas as a kid, a strong and positive thought that filled me with energy through this section. Before I knew it, I was on my way back out onto Laughlin Rd (skipping the water tent this time—too tempting!) and on my way back home.
The urge to pee was growing stronger again, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to stave it off until the finish. At the mile 8 aid station I scoped out the porta-johns, but they were behind the tents, which would require me to veer off the course and into the oncoming runners. I decided I could wait a mile.
At the mile 9 aid station, I took the opportunity to walk to the porta-john, completely downing a coke and a cup of water, then relieved myself. I exited, splashed myself with another cup of water, then continued on—only to find myself stricken with severe stitches in both sides. I guess my body had acclimated to the splash’n’dash approach to drinking and was shocked to receive a full cup’s worth. I knew that it would get better eventually, and I continued to run, albeit more slowly, and I focused on expelling my breath forcefully with every other stride.
It worked. By the mile 10 aid station, the stitches were down to a dull, manageable ache that was easy to ignore, especially in light of what arrived to replace them. My quads and calves had begun to cry out with every stride, and those cries were rapidly becoming banshee wails of pain. Though I felt as though I had the energy to push myself, the rolling hills through those last three miles were tough and painful, and it required every last ounce of my energy and will to continue running through the pain.
My stretch goal of breaking five hours had pretty much drained away when I had finished the swim in 34:43. I had set myself another stretch goal at mile 7 to break 5:10 and qualify for the U.S. Half Triathlon Championship (even though I can’t race, it would still be cool to qualify). With the muscular pain, that goal had evaporated as well. I was reduced to 8:45’s, and that was trending upwards. I knew that I had pretty much locked up my realistic goal of breaking 5:20, so it was now just a struggle to come in as fast as I could.
I counted my strides. I took note of every subtle imperfection in the road. When Karin, who had volunteered in T2, rode by and yelled out, “Hey, Steve! Bring it home strong, you’re almost there!” I could barely raise my left hand and answer her, but it helped to have the encouragement. I cheered and clapped when the first women came through, glad for the momentary distraction. When I finally turned onto the gravel of Reiman Rd, I took pleasure in the focus of avoiding the potholes. I saw KP out on the course, checking his heart rate, and I recognized Sam Doolittle (from both his gRAAM photos and seeing him at WTH) as he barreled by me on Reiman Rd.
Finally, I turned on Windsor Rd, and I pushed it up a bit higher, buoyed by the cheers. And then I was in the finishing chute, and the cheers grew louder with each step. I wanted to sprint it out for the crowd, but I just couldn’t push my legs anymore, so instead I applauded to both sides of the chute, cheering them right back and thanking them for coming out. I don’t even remember what the clock said as I crossed the finish line. When they asked me to stop so they could take off the timing chip, that was just fine with me.
Run: 1:49:55.9
Overall: 5:19:10.3 (including a 4:00 penalty for violating rule 5.10g, being overtaken--hmm, I don't know where that happened)
Post-race
My wife and kids were camped almost dead-on at the finish line opposite the vendors and the food. After finding them, I sat down in the grass, and welcomed the relief to my legs. Craving calories, I downed two fruit smoothies that had been abandoned by my kids (sorry, kids, but you snooze, you lose!) and gobbled the hot dog buns that for some reason they won’t eat. Amy had left my clothes in the car, and when I started shivering, she went and bought me a Vineman windbreaker. How cool is that?
Hanging out after the race, I met Curtis and Steve Chavez and congratulated them on their races. After grabbing some more food, I saw KP cooling down on the grass, so I went and introduced myself and chatted for a bit about his Kona prep. He’s definitely a solid guy, with a down-to-earth, unassuming manner.
After a chilly hose-down at the outdoor showers (complete with pilfered hotel soap and shampoo), we collected my bike and transition bags and headed out. What better way to top off a weekend of triathlon fun than a visit to the Charles Schulz museum with the kids and another post-race feed at the Warm Puppy Café (my order: one double turkey burger with bacon and avocado and a side of fries, one large chef salad, and one coke)?
Take-aways
As I distance myself from the race, I feel more and more satisfied with my performance, especially my mental toughness during the run. If there was one thing I especially wanted to improve on over my efforts at WTH, it was this aspect, because I really did feel after that race that I walked a portion of the run needlessly, due mainly to mental lapses (letting myself give in to the temptation to walk "just this hill", etc.). I came into this race wanting to finish with the knowledge that I'd given pretty much everything I had, that I'd held it strong to the end, and I can honestly look back and say with satisfaction that I did just that.
Still, there are things I need to improve. Obviously, while I'm above average in the swim, I can still take off several minutes there, and while I had a solid bike, improvement there will help in both the bike and run splits. (I should probably also figure out where I picked up that penalty and cut that out, too...) The run is still a big limiter. I felt like my engine was still strong enough to hold the pace through the last third of the run, but I could feel the muscles accumulating micro-tears. After Big Kahuna in September, I'm going to switch to a run focus and complete a marathon in December. Then it's probably a lot of strength runs over the winter for me as I prep for Coeur d'Alene.
One final thought: While I will always want to push myself to go harder and faster, to “go just one more guy”—I’m always reminded that the race is not the end. It’s not the cake. It’s the frosting. It’s the party, the reward, the crop you reap after sowing all the strenuous, tedious hours of 5am workouts and sore muscles. The race is not who I am, though I want to race as though it is. Who I am is defined more by those workouts, and the choices I’ve made, and the support I’ve received from my family and friends. As much fun as I had in the race, and as much pleasure and satisfaction as I derive looking back on my effort and performance, it pales in comparison to my three-year-old daughter’s laughter when she saw the kite in the kite-eating tree.
Anyway, thanks for reading this. Hope to see you all out there at the races!
