Ironman St. George - TriathlonFull Ironman

Swim
On Saturday morning I woke up at 3:30 am, and was ready fairly quickly. I walked from my hotel down to the T2 transition area in downtown St. George and dropped off my special needs bags at about 4:30 am. The bus ride was good and our driver was quite verbose but she got us out to the reservoir. I was carrying my morning bag with my wetsuit and my other swim and post-race gear. I checked my bike and there had been no exploded tires, so I skipped on refilling my tires. I sat in the women’s change tent out of the pre-dawn breeze until about 6 am when I slowly started getting changed into my wetsuit. I got into the enormous line of people and the gun went off for the pro’s right at 6:45 am as expected. I got into the water at about 6:50 am and although there were a few small waves, it was nothing serious. I floated backwards to the start line as I acclimated to the water, but kept edging back from the front as more people crowded the starting area. We did not get much warning of the start until the gun fired, and then it was a quick moment to start my watch and to swim with the flow. I spent most of the first 1000 meters or so to the first red buoy turn avoiding people and thankfully did not have any serious clashes. What I (and lots of others) did not know is that the wind had come up behind us and we were making good time because we were riding the choppy waves. Turning to the left we then came across the surging, frothing water and it was a very challenging swim to the next buoy only 400 metres away. I knew things were going to be bad after the second turn because we would be swimming directly into the waves and wind for the longest leg (1800 m). The wind pushed me well out before I knew what was going on, so my course probably looked like an enormous U shape. Turning into the waves was as bad as I had expected with three to five foot waves with spray and white caps. I could not get a good feel for the wind speed, but I was catching spray from swimmers thirty to fifty-metres away. I think 15 miles per hour would have been the minimum wind speed. I never panicked, but knew just how scary this must be for some people. Often I would turn to breath or stroke and be buried by a wave and going backwards. Finding each orange guide buoy was also very tough going and some would be fifty metres off to my right, the next one fifty metres to my left. I got a bearing on a small hill and made generally for that since the orange buoys are only for guidance. By the time I got to the small island in the middle of the lake I was able to get a glimpse of the last red turn buoy. I made sure to go around it in the proper direction and with that I was able to ride the waves the 600 m or so into the dock, which was about the only nice part of the entire swim. I’d been checking my times, and knew I was a long way outside my anticipated “pool based” time of 85 minutes. In the end I it took me just over 100 minutes (Official time = 1 hour 40 minutes)

Nothing. Just accept the weather and just keep swimming.

T1
The first transition went really smoothly, I was able to get my wet suit off my shoulders, have the wetsuit strippers pull it off my wrists and then I used their arms to lower myself to the ground, and have them rip the rest off. Into the gear pick up I grabbed the wrong bag, but it only took a second to realize my mistake and give the other bag back to a volunteer. Into the tent and the volunteers there were like angels. I had three wonderful girls putting my socks on, strapping my shoes to me feet, checking I had my nutrition and sunglasses and in just a few minutes I was out of the tent for sunscreen. I was wearing my sun sleeves, cycling jersey and cycling shorts but I knew I would catch some burning in random areas such as around my gloves. Then it was out of transition and down the hill past the ranger’s station. I didn’t hit the lap function on my watch, so I won’t know the exact T1 time until they post the official results (T1 – x minutes xx seconds)

Nothing

Bike
If the swim was awful then the first part of the bike was just as bad. The wind was howling right in our faces and giving us no respite. It got much better after we exited Sand Hollow and turned onto Highway 9 going approximately west, but then there was the ascent up Telegraph hill. It sucked, but at least the wind was to our rear somewhat. Up over Telegraph hill and down through a series of short down hill segments before a nice fast steep downhill and then the long climb over Washington Parkway. This was how we crossed over Interstate 15 without having to mix it up with the traffic. Next was the long ride over Red hills parkway, which was nice and free from vehicles due to the road construction. Crossing the 21-mile marker I had made the first time cut off, but a lot of other people had not. One guy passed me and said that he had not completed the swim, but the race officials had allowed him and others to continue on the bike segment. The next cut off was to return to the same intersection of Red Hills Parkway and Snow Canyon before 2:05 pm, a distance of 44 miles. Cycling through St. George, Santa Clara and the other small towns was rather pleasant. The real challenge began literally the minute one turned onto Old Highway 91 that marked the turn to the northwest and the ride out to Gunlock. The wind was hollowing into our faces at approximately 10 to 15-miles per hour and it did not let up until we hit the Veyo Wall. The slow uphill grade really trashed my legs, and so it was a miracle (perhaps the altitude training) not to have to push my bike up the Gunlock Reservoir climb and the Eagle Mountain Ranch climb (apparently the steepest climb on the course). The descents were not descents in the true sense of the word because any momentum that was built up was cancelled by the wind rushing down the canyon. I would have never ever thought I would have looked forward to reaching the “Veyo Wall” which is a mile long and a 10% uphill grade, but I knew the wind would be at my back finally. I made the turn back onto the highway at the tiny town of Veyo and headed south finally, but I knew that there was still more climbing to come up the side of the cinder cone. I don’t remember any times at this point, merely that I just had to keep on pushing and pushing. Respite finally came and the long down hill began. The average speed on my bicycle computer at that point had bottomed out at about 19.7 kilometres per hour, and this was not promising. I knew that picking up some time on the swim would be a buffer against the time cut offs later on the bike course, but I had lost that in the surf. The downhill ride into St. George helped a lot and got my average speed back up to about 22 kilometres per hour, but this was when the serious doubts about making the cut off began. I knew I had to be past Veyo again by 4:30 pm (the 95 mile mark) but my average speed up the canyon had only been maybe 16 kilometres per hour. I knew I could not make the next cut off, particularly since I had to make the climb up the Veyo Wall again. These negative thoughts crept in and I thought I had better take some salt, but I had seemingly forgotten to pack any salt tablets in my bento box. Cursing I forced myself to drink the awful Perform energy drink, which immediately had to be followed by water. I chugged my maltodextrin solutions, but I had added too much limeade concentrate and could barely swallow it due to the bitterness. In addition the gels and chomps that I had to eat for energy were too sickly sweet to my stomach, since I had by now eaten three or four of them. I made my way back through the Santa Clara subdivisions and back out into the wind on Old Highway 91. My legs and especially my knees were burning and the wind was still blowing down the canyon, as I ascended the hills and cycled through Gunlock was a sense of resignation. I saw quite a few young male cyclists sitting by the side of the road with defeat written all over them. Still, my mantra slowly turned towards “I’m going to keep going until they take my chip from me. Then I can ride in the sag wagon back to town and have a rest”.

My first indication that things might turn about did not happen until I hit the Veyo Wall for the second time. I didn’t have to walk my bike up that insane hill; in fact I hardly got out of the saddle at all. When I reached the top I swore with jubilation, and saw that I still had twenty minutes to make the cut off. I joked with an old guy with a UK accent that we were almost there. Perhaps I had miscalculated; perhaps I could still do it. The wind (now decreased in overall severity) was behind my quarter and the western stretch to the Vero turn was not as long as I recall. Where the Veyo road meets the highway I saw someone official looking talking on a mobile phone at the corner, but I could have sworn the cut off was further along the highway. I caught up with some cyclists in front of me on the short downhill stretch on the other side of Veyo and asked if that had indeed been the cut off, and when they answered in the affirmative I swore again with jubilation. I had made it with just 15 minutes to spare. My joy was short lived because I still had to climb the cinder cone again, but I knew that I could cycle the remaining 17 miles in the 75 minutes available to me. The wind was not as ferociously behind me as on the first lap when I had clocked in at 80 kilometres per hour (50 miles per hour), and I took a lot of chances on the bumpy road, but now I was (almost) flying. My main concern was to not hit a rock or water bottle as has happened in the past, because any stop would prevent me from making the last cut off. Also at the speeds I was travelling I could have been seriously hurt. The last part of the ride into town was frustrating due to a slow rider in a no-passing zone, and then one last uphill that really took my breath away as I had lost my momentum trapped behind the slow cyclist. I rode down Bluff street to Diagonal and then on to Tabernacle, and I made it to the T2 station with 22 minutes to spare. Total time = 8 hours 21 minutes and 39 seconds, average speed = 21.55 kilometres per hour = 13.4 miles per hour. I suppose my “good” swim had bought me just enough time to make it there.

T2
The second transition was smooth but not speedy, and I took almost 8 minutes to get in and out. Still the volunteers were kind and helped me shed my sticky cycling gear and change into fresh shirt, shoes and socks. I mentioned that my tri-suit tended to rub and they fetched me some Vaseline, something I had never thought of and which worked like a charm! I strapped on my fuel belt and headed out with 14 minutes left before the final bike course cut off. Total time = 7 minutes 45 seconds

Run
Out of T1 and I jogged and jogged, keeping my shuffle stride going and walking through the aid stations at each mile. I had not needed to go to the bathroom on the bike (just as well, or I might have missed the cut off) and I wanted to stick to a similar plan for the run. I poured ice down my sports bra and water on my sun sleeves, which helped a lot to keep me cool. I had not added the limeade to my fuel belt supply of maltodextrin and so was able to consume a lot of that. The aid stations were many and the amount of support and friendly faces helped a lot. I kept at 11-minute miles for the first 11 miles, which would have brought me to the finish line in less than five hours for the marathon. Still, at that point in the day it was not a sustainable pace for me, but I knew that if I made up time early on the run it would give me a buffer for later. About then I fell in with a woman in my age group (Hello Aimee!) who was keeping about the same pace. She was running the downhill sections and walking the uphills and aid stations. At that point we only had to make it to the end of the second loop by 10:15 pm for the run cut off, and that for us by that point in the race was not a problem. We talked and jogged and walked, and talked some more and it was really wonderful. I could have maybe picked up ten minutes on my final time by leaving her behind, but that really would have taken something special away from the day. Coming to St. George was a bit lonely, with no one to talk to or commiserate with, so it meant a lot to me. The sun went down and the full moon came up, and I stopped at run special needs to leave my fuel belt and sun sleeves. I had already stopped pouring ice or water on myself as I was quickly loosing body heat. On the third and final loop of the “run” course Aimee and I fell in with a guy named xxx, and the three of us followed our familiar strategy of walking and running with an increasing amount of walking. Going back to jogging meant that our stiff muscles would scream in agony when we had to start again, and I was certainly the most vocal about it. Still, every mile marker got a karate chop, and it was hard not to get amped up on the last mile downhill into town. By this point it was about 10:30 pm, and there was a huge turn out of spectators. We thee had initially meant to cross as a group, but we’d talked about how special it was to hear Mike Reilly say your name and “You are an ironman”, and so I urged Aimee to go first, I went second and xxx (gentlemen that he was) came in just a few seconds later. I punched the air with happiness as I made my way down the finish chute and we had finished! (Final time = 5 hours 25 minutes or so)

Post-Race
The immediate post race was something of a blur. Each finisher was assigned a volunteer and a space blanket. They took our photos and our timing chip and gave us our official finisher swag. Aimee met up with her husband and young kids and I did not see her after that. My volunteer led me down to an area which had food and chairs and brought me some chocolate milk before he headed back to help the next people staggering across the line. I ate some pizza but I was mostly a zombie by that point. I picked up my bags (good heavens that’s a lot of stuff) and called a friend to let her know I had survived. At that point I had to get to a bathroom, any bathroom. Of course wearing a jacket and a t-shirt over a one-piece tri-suit makes going to the bathroom almost impossible. In the ensuing mad rush, I managed to drop or misplace my phone, but I did not realize this until later after I had picked up my bike. By this point it was about 11:15 pm and I was bone tired. I searched and searched, but I was wet and cold and I had an armload of gear to carry. I finally managed to mount my bike with all my bags balanced on the aero-bars and ride back to my hotel. I showered, but the thought of going back downtown to catch the midnight cut off never even occurred to me I was so exhausted. I was not expecting the midnight fireworks to be so loud, but by that point I was able to put a pillow over my head and go to sleep.

The Next Day
Well as good karma would have it someone had found my phone, had called the last dialled number and I had an email from my friend letting me know I could pick it up from the Tri-Bike Transport station at about 9 am. I spent the time before that getting the car packed so that I could take my time after that if I needed too. Taylor at Tri-Bike transport wouldn’t accept my tip money, so I gave him a chocolate Easter wombat instead.  I drove down to the Dixie centre and had breakfast and picked up the last of my bags. I looked pretty awful after the sun and wind blasting I had received, so after some breakfast burritos I headed back to the hotel with an hour to spare before check out and had another delightful shower. With that it was just a five-hour drive to home.



Summary
Would I do it again? Well, there won’t be another full Ironman in St. George so the point is moot. Still, there will be a 70.3 race next year, but I would say it is unlikely I will go back for that either. The timing in early May is not great for me personally and the course is damn hard. Even though I could physically manage the proposed course in a respectable time, there are half-ironman races only 2 hours away or less from where I live. The only race that I am officially signed up for is Ironman Arizona in late November so I will be able to have a nice short training break. I’m glad I got in on the legendary St. George Ironman course, but I’m also damn happy not to have to do it again.