2019 BWR

The 2019 BWR is completed. I made it through my fourth Waffle ride (in 2018 I did the Wafer). The ride overall went well. I had a very pleasant day out without major incidents. Going into the event I felt prepared. I dedicated more time to bike training in the weeks leading up to the event. I was also dieting seriously. My weight on race day was 163, with a BMI of 20. I felt really skinny and nimble on the bicycle. I took ten days off work prior to the race. I back loaded a lot of miles. I had a great week pretending to be a professional athlete.
Let us state the obvious: I suck. I do not harbor notions of placing high in this event. It is all about finishing and enjoying the experience.

I planned on riding a 3T. I pride myself on obtaining and maintaining high quality bikes and  gear. There was a mini disaster with my equipment four days before the event. My bike mechanic (who will remain unnamed) went over my bicycle and tuned it up a week before the race. He did not torque the crank arms properly. I had just left my house for the maiden voyage when it happened. I turned up a climb, gave it 700 watts, and the left crank arm fell off. I did a faceplant and hurt my shoulder. I was frantically trying to fix the bike. The day before the race I found another mechanic who fixed it. Needless to say, the old mechanic is fired. I can’t wait to fire him in person. One would assume tightening crank arms is important.

My left shoulder is hurting. I was going to get a collarbone Xray. I decided against it. Conveniently, my left collarbone has been shattered into innumerable fragments since 2013. It cannot really be broken much more.

The BWR has become a huge event, with 1,000 people riding. Breakfast was fantastic: waffles, eggs, bacon. I ate more than I have in months. I really enjoyed looking at the expo bike porn. People seemed to have either state-of-the-art gravel bikes or junkers. One guy had a fixie, but with fitted brakes. I am generally a rim brake guy. Some part of me wishes I had ridden my road bike. We need to keep the rim brake fraternity alive

The first 20 miles were quite nervous and twitchy. The throngs were bunched up on the road. Everyone was quite chatty. There was a lot of hollering, laughing, and conversational narcissism. That didn’t last long.

The first dirt section was a fiasco. Lemontwistenberg was a Conga line of walkers. There were just too many riders there all at once. It would make sense to have a huge road climb prior to the first dirt section. That would spread things out. Take a look at some photos here.

There were long road sections with vicious headwinds. It was important to sit in the peloton during those sections. People kept asking me to take a turn pulling. As a younger man, I  cut my teeth being a large lumbering  domestique. I am familiar with the concept. They wanted the full frontal of 6'3" Alec. I feigned exhaustion, and wormed my way back in the group. I kept thinking Michael Marckx might chase me down and purple me. I was so purple I should have worn purple.

The off-road sections seemed easier than in previous years. I think someone bulldozed many of the rocky sections.

My bike performed flawlessly. The tires made a big difference. I never felt out of control. Previously I did the race on a rim brake road bike with road tires. This year I had 37 mm knobbies. It was fun surfing through the deep sand sections. I could have completed the event on my road bike with 28 road tires. The downside of knobby tires is you really suck on the road sections. It is like rolling on suction cups.

The dirt sections are, of course, the essence of this event. Words cannot describe the toll it takes on your body. Any mediocre cyclist can ride 135 miles, but not this. As the day wore on, my whole skeleton started hurting. The constant vibration was like being jack hammered. My collarbone started to nag at me. I ignored it and just put more body weight on my right arm. The bikes were taking a beating. Everything rattles loose. There was bike debris all over the trails. I saw someone hit a water bottle and flipped over. He wasn’t really hurt, just pissed off.

My favorite section was Black Canyon. It is a long sand and gravel climb. The grade is about 5%. This was perfect for me. I passed dozens of people there. I also made a friend  there. We rode together for about an hour. He was from OC, and was wearing a Leadville jersey. We had similar ability, and  a lot in common. I forgot his name

No one riding at my level was really racing. Everyone was just noodling. There was lounging at all the aid stations. The food at the aid stations seemed slightly meager, but there was lots of drink. After about 100 miles, the riders had stopped jabbering at each other. Many were bonking and walking up the hills. I saw one guy Ubering. The famous Oasis aid station was disappointing. The music was too loud. The playboy bunnies of yesteryear were replaced by pot-bellied, buck-toothed gypsies. They seemed fascinated by some type of water mister and were spraying it on everyone. I think they were on acid.

I was gorging on food prior to the Double Peak climb. I have been known to walk up that pesky road. It was quite cool, with a fine tailwind pushing us up the climb. It was pleasantly anticlimactic.

The descent down to the Lost Abbey was fast; people were going 50mph. I rolled across the finish line around 10 hours. I don’t know if I registered a time. The helmet timing chip was a piece of wax paper. I got two bottles of beer and a T-shirt. My family was waiting for me. They seemed hungry and bored. I went to get my food, and there wasn’t any. It was all eaten up. There were five dirty riders vying the last french fry. There were only containers of sauce with fragments of floating chicken bones. This was weird. I finished in the middle of the pack. It is customary to have food for the riders. I have an inkling the food was gobbled up by non-riders. I was hungry but had to drive somewhere to get food.

Now I am back in my rental house with my feet up. I had planned on doing a victory lap up Mount Palomar tomorrow. Forget it. Now that the race is over, there is a certain emptiness. I guess it is time to return to work.

Open letter to Phil Liggett

Dear Phil,

I wanted to express my condolences on losing your dear friend Paul. You and Paul have had a profound effect on my life. I have been enjoying your commentary since the Indurain era in the 1990s. The gift of YouTube has given me hours upon hours of your vintage episodes. I have watched, re-watched, and re-re-watched all the modern stages of le tour. The magic of your partnership has been lovingly remembered in eulogies all over the globe. I wanted to share my own personal feelings. Listening to your voices has a calming and uplifting effect. I love the soaring language, interspersed with comedy, self-deprecation, and historical references. There are so many memorable quotes you have together. It is almost unbelievable that you two men could rap for so many hours. I have countless anecdotes. I recall one dreary TDF flat stage where you and Paul discussed the virtues of bananas for about 10 minutes. I still laugh about that. I think Paul loved bananas, but you hated them. My favorite Paul expression remains: “that move has left him asphyxiated a fraction”. Hilarious stuff.

Paul Sherwen (left) and Phil Liggett at Paris-Roubaix (Picture: Watson)

One aspect of Paul’s legacy was unknown to me, that of an inspirational figure to his teammates. I wish I had known that before. Now I see it in him and elevates my respect even more. There was a period in my life when I entered a deep depression. My treatment was watching your TDF commentary on YouTube. I would watch the entire tours back to back. Your inspirational voices gave me an escape into another world of athleticism, wit, and knowledge. You and Paul would elevate the TDF from a mere bike race into an international phenomenon.

Phil and Paul will forever be remembered as a unique creative duo, a la Lennon and McCartney. Paul’s death has saddened me tremendously. I cannot begin to understand how you must feel. I dearly hope that you will continue to commentate. Paris Roubaix and the TDF will not be the same without your voice. No other Phil Liggett foil could replace Paul, but I dearly hope you will not retire.

Best wishes Phil

Alec Hull

Ironman 2 days later

After decompressing from the race, a few things are worth remembering. I am now back home with my feet up. I have one more day of vacation; it is back to work tomorrow. It has been an incredible vacation for me. But it is time to go back to work. I need another tangible objective besides torturing my body. Today I have dangerous free time. When I have undifferentiated free time, I inevitably devolve into mischief and delusions.

I have talked about the Ironman Arizona race with my family and fellow athlete friends. I watched myself on TV. I have done a forensic analysis of my race data. My swim and bike ride were much slower than I had anticipated. This is undoubtedly due to my hypothermia during the swim. During the first 30 miles of the bike ride I was delirious, shivering, and cyanotic. I looked like an Avatar. The incident was a good reality check for me. I consider 2.4 mile of swimming to be easy, but this one completely dismantled me. Next time I race Ironman, I will take the swim more seriously.

As the day progressed, I got stronger and stronger. When it came time to run, I was quite fresh. I was not fatigued at all when I hit T2. For the first two hours, hypothermia had rendered me metabolically inert. The nutrition aspect was good. When I started running my organs were overflowing with glycogen.

I am very proud of my pace and heart rate data from the marathon. I ran it under 4 hours, with a negative split and average heart rate in the 120s. I think that is the second fastest Ironman marathon in my career. It is really my modern personal Mona Lisa. Panache. I was unaware that I still had that in me. This was my first decent competitive run in several years. In my twenties I could run a 10K in less than 34 minutes. My PR in a marathon is 2:46 (Long Beach Marathon 2001). I recall running an Ironman marathon in 3:30 back in 1994. This was after riding 112 miles on a vintage bike with down tube shifters, drop handlebars, and running shoes. Unfortunately, I have no GPS data from that day. I don’t think GPS had even been available back then. The 1994 results are merely burnished in my memory. Perhaps it is documented on a piece of paper somewhere in my attic. I hope the wetsuit rats aren’t eating it.

When I finished the race I still felt fine. One of the reasons was better nutrition. I was eating constantly, mainly Clif gels from the aid stations. It was really strange to finish an endurance event not being hungry.

Before the race, there was a tingle of neurons in my brain telling me that I might qualify for Kona. Of course, I was nowhere near that level. I needed to shave only a mere 1.5 hours from my overall time. That is a preposterous concept. Frankly, I am quite mediocre. I always have been. I am now making myself repeat something over and over: “I will never qualify for Kona”. That is a scientific fact. I need to have that on a loop recording. Having an intense competitive drive, this is difficult to admit. The psychology revolves around denial and grandiosity. No doubt there are many other triathletes in the same boat. Perhaps I should start a support group. We could call it “Ironman Anonymous.” We could have weekly online meetings to give each other emotional support. None of us will ever taste the salt, wind, or lava from a Kona October.

Initially the Ironman app reported me outside of top ten per cent in my age group. Today I was notified that I was indeed inside the top ten per cent. The glitchy app had not accounted for the large numbers of DNFs (Did Not Finishers). Being in the top ten per cent gives me automatic qualification for 2019. Today is not the right day to decide about this. I looked at the Age Group results. It seems I moved overall from 150th place to 30th place during the marathon. This verifies and reinforces my attitude about this event: it is all about the end game. This goes for professionals, too. The fastest runner almost always wins.

My mood today has the appearance of a sine wave. It is fluctuating wildly between post-race euphoria and depression. There is an element of endorphin withdrawal. One could postulate similarities to childbirth. I would dearly love to exercise, but my legs, neck, and back are aching.

Running is out of the question. My plan is to take at least six months off running. It is a beautiful day outside; a bike ride would be marvelous. My legs would be too sore to climb the hills around my house. I could certainly swim without hurting. The idea of getting in the water nauseates me. I might have PTSD from that terrible freezing swim I had. Deep down I am repulsed by swimming. I think I swam too much as a youngster and young adult. Swimming feels like a chore. I even despise the whole process of going to the pool. I hate going in the change room. There is always the same naked guy in the shower when I go to Splash La Mirada. This pervert is taking a shower when I arrive. Two hours later, after my workout, he is still taking a shower. One would think he is clean by that point. He is probably still taking a shower at closing time. I should report him to the authorities for wasting Southern California water. I don't know how Splash can stay in business with patrons like him. $3 for an entrance fee, use up $200 of water in the shower.

It was fun to watch the video of the Ironman finish line. I managed to find my finish, and we watched it as a family. My children enjoyed seeing me on TV. I did not get much screen time. I was coming in really hot. I pipped two racers at the line. My efforts diminished the power of my finish somewhat. I really wanted to do one of those victory dances, but it was all about business.

It helps to have another athletic goal on the horizon. Mine is the 2019 Belgian Waffle Ride (BWR). It is on Cinco de Mayo. Despite being a four-time BWR veteran, the event still scares me.

One odd thing about the Ironman finish is the traditional “you are an Ironman” declaration. I forgot the name of the guy who says this. He has a distinctive voice. This pronouncement is one of the iconic parts of the race. In the triathlon world, it is comparable to being knighted or inaugurated. “Joe Blow, you are an IRONMAN!” Curiously, this even applies the female athletes. “Debra Smith, you are an IRONMAN!” etc.

The actual term “Ironman” is sexist by definition. The female athletes do not seem to object to this. In fact, I observed many women with an “M-dot” tattooed on their calf. In modern times, the suffix “man” has disappeared from the vernacular. Think of “spokesman” being replaced by “spokesperson”, and so on. In fact, whenever I hear a noun ending in “man”, I cringe. It just sounds wrong. It could even be considered offensive.

The entire business model of the Ironman Corporation revolves around the antiquated term and ubiquitous “M-dot” logo. When I started racing triathlon in the 1980s, Ironman was a generic term for the 2.4/112/26.2 event. In 2015 the term Ironman was trademarked. There are many events around the world with the exact same race distances. These races are so-called “non-branded”, and must be merely labelled “full distance”. The Ironman name is actually owned by a huge corporation from China entitled “World Triathlon Corporation”. This entity must make millions from entry fees and marketing of “M-dot” paraphernalia. The female triathletes should rise up and protest. Why would athletic women ink up their legs to advertise a sexist Chinese conglomeration? If I were an elite female triathlete, I would boycott all Ironman branded events until the name was investigated. If someone from the World Triathlon Corporation actually reads this blog, I will probably be banned from racing in their events. Whoop dee doo, who cares?

Before I leave the topic, I wanted to give thanks to Mark and Paul from velofix.com. They took custody of my bike a week before the event, tuned and race-dialed it, transported it to the event, and brought it home for me. This alleviated all the bike fussing during race weekend. I really felt treated like a professional cyclist.

Goodbye for now. My race blog will be going dark for a while. My muscles alone will do the talking.

2018 Ironman Arizona - Race Day

I have just finished the race, cleaned up, and finished dinner. I wanted to give a recap of the race.

The pre-race activities were routine: putting on wetsuit, loading the bike with supplies, etc.

Swim

The lineup to get in the water was really crowded this year. I had to start with the two-hour people due to the sea of humanity. This does not really matter, as we are chip timed. However, I had to swim the first mile with really slow people. I veered off to the left and swam a little further to avoid the traffic jam.

I was swimming fine, but I started to get cold at about mile two. This is unusual for me. I grew up open water swimming in Canada; I have seen cold. I think the hypothermia was a combination of my being too skinny and using an inadequate wetsuit. I had made a mistake with my wetsuit. I chose to wear my vintage Quintana Roo sleeveless. I have had this wetsuit for about thirty years. I like it because it is sleeveless. I feel my arms move better, and it is faster. Unfortunately, the wetsuit has disintegrated somewhat from sitting in my attic. The seams are separated, and it is peppered with rat holes.

I realized I was freezing cold, and getting out of the water was challenging. Some kind soul chaperoned me to the warm changing tent. I plopped down butt naked in front of a giant heater. After about fifteen minutes I regained composure and put my duds on and took off.

Swim time 1:20:40

Bike

When I started riding I was still hypothermic. I was afraid to use the aerobars, and the whole system felt rickety. I could not even figure out how to turn my Garmin head unit on. (Look at my Strava data).

My first lap of the bike course was quite pathetic; I think I averaged about 14 mph. After the first lap I was warmed up and felt like racing again. I put my head down and tried to salvage the ride. I ended up finishing at six hours, much slower than I was expecting. But I was alive, and without road rash or a broken collarbone.

The ride itself was actually easier than last year. The wind was quite gentle. The other athletes seemed well behaved. I only saw one accident. It looked minor; the guy was in the ditch but seemed OK.

I had to stop a few times. I was not planning to stop at all. In my delirious state, I had forgotten to apply sunblock, so I stopped for that. I also stopped to take a wizz twice. My hypothermic state had rendered my junk invisible. I could not manage to coax it out while riding. After the second lap, all my food was gone. I was hungry. I felt like a homeless person asking for handouts from volunteers.

To summarize, my swim and bike ride were only OK. I had expected faster times, but I made it through and still healthy.

Bike time 6:02:52

Run

After changing outfits, I took off onto the fairly easy course. I felt fine by that point. After looking at the clock, I knew there was no hope of a good Age Group placing. I spent the first 5 miles just lollygagging. I ate several of the energy gels and drank Redbull. I was running about 9:15-9:30 miles. My lighter weight was really helping with the running. Compare my appearance in 2018 to 2017. I was a real porker in 2017.

After ten miles I looked at my watch. I was in good spirits. There was no discomfort; I felt like I could be watching a movie. The tachometer was favorable, heart rate around 125. I did some math and figured I could potentially run a sub 4-hour marathon. This would require an injection of pace. I would need to run several miles in the 8 or 7 range. I really wanted to attempt this. A sub 4-hour Ironman marathon is quite prestigious. I pulled my hat down over my eyes, and went into bulldozer mode.

At mile 24 my watch reported 3:44.  I needed to run 7 min miles to break four hours. This would require something special. There was a lot of work to do.  I was slightly fatigued, hungry, and my legs were hurting,  but I went for it.  I took my last gel, grit my teeth, and accelerated down to 7 min/mile pace. In the last half mile, I had more incentive, as there was a group of 4 runners just ahead of me. I wanted to pass and be clear of them so I could be alone on the finish line television feed. My watch said 3:57 when I hit the red carpet. I knew I had sub 4 in the bag, so I held up slightly.

I managed to do it! My time was 3:58. I was delighted. I had managed to salvage something from this race.

Run time 3:58:55




Total race time 11:49:24

Aftermath

I didn’t feel too bad at the finish. They gave me the usual space blanket. I got my bike and went home.

I am quite glad to be finished today. I am happy overall but did not really enjoy the hypothermia part. My Age Group placing was not in the top ten percent, so I didn’t qualify for the 2019 event. Maybe this is good. I need some time off.

I’m calling it a season. Next up, the Belgian Waffle Ride in May 2019.

Race Tomorrow

The race is tomorrow morning. I received notification that the practice swim is canceled. I don’t know the reason, but am assuming the race is going forward. It cannot be the weather. It is probably some unhealthy water conditions. I would love to take a water sample to streak out an Agar plate. The coliform count would be interesting. I will try not to open my mouth during the entire swim.

Arrive Tempe

Today I arrived in Tempe, Arizona for this Sunday’s Ironman. I am now at the tail end of a self-imposed work sabbatical. Yesterday I packed everything in my car except my bike. Mark from Velofix has kindly agreed to transport my bike to Tempe and deliver it to me tomorrow. He will go over it, replace the chain, adjust the Etap, etc. The rear mech has been rattling in the 55 X 19 for some reason. I dearly need that gear on Sunday. I suspect the cassette on my kickr may have misaligned it somehow.

Eight Days To Go

It is 8 days until my race. I am feeling fantastic. I have not worked in 10 days. My life has become sweet self absorption. My days resemble that of a professional athlete. I wake up whenever I want, have a coffee and a spoonful of peanut butter, then take my kids to school. My wife appreciates this. She is normally the chauffeur. Then I plan my days training on a whim. I have been trying to swim, bike, and run every day.