This was the swim from hell. It started off very well. I managed to hold my position well. My mantra for this part was "eat or be eaten," which really seemed to help. If someone hit me I hit them back. I didn't move, I didn't apologize (which I used to actually stop to do), I just went for it.

That reminds me, the day before during a quick swim warmup, in typical Canadian fashion I apologized to someone who bumped into *me*. You know, I apologize, you apologize, and life goes on, right? This douchetard just gave me a dirty look. I think that was the last straw I had with giving people the benefit of doubt for this swim.

I found some feet to follow, and the first 1k was finished at a 1:29 pace. That would have put me on target for a sub 1:00 swim! I was feeling very strong, and I actually enjoyed being in the thick of things. I was thinking back to what my lanemate Leanne said about how much she liked being in the middle of things, because everyone was confident and you knew what to expect.

This is where I got my earworm, which was Wandering Feet by a local band Noah's Arkweld. The chorus of this song repeated almost continuously for the next 14 hours.

I managed to find some space on my own, and my sighting and directionality were bang-on. Somehow over the winter I've learned how to swim very straight. I was only sighting every fourth of fifth cycle of three strokes, and I didn't have to make much adjustment at all.

The first turn was at the 1k mark. I noticed a few little swells before the turn, but it just felt like a small wake from a boat. Once we made the turn things got hairy. I've never swam in water that choppy before. I did a little swimming on vacation where there were waves, but after a couple hundred metres I thought that was just stupid. This *was* stupid.

The swells apparently were 3-4 feet high with whitecaps. The water was spraying everywhere, where it felt like it was raining. They were hitting us from the side, and the tight-knit group spread apart right away. I'm pretty confident in the water, but I actually felt like this might be it. In my mind I was going through whether I had all my affairs in order, and how people would react to me drowning in a race. Suddenly all these people in the water, all these enemies became a group of people all trying to survive.

The second turn came up soon enough, and now we were going almost directly into the swells. They were offset just a bit, so during this time I switched to breathing unilaterally, just off to my left side. I had to adapt and learn how to be creative with my breathing. I was thinking back to the hypoxic drills we had done in the pool, and the different stroking and breathing patterns.

Even though the waves were very erratic, I was still able to develop a bit of a rhythm. I would sight the next wave when I was breathing (every other stroke), and then either swim underneath it, or try to ride the top. If I didn't have an opportunity to breathe for a cycle or two, I didn't stress out. I knew that I would get the chance. For that I attributed the flip turns that I've recently started doing. Now I know, and I'm comfortable with staying underwater with no air in my lungs. It wasn't too bad.

This is where my new swim mantra came into play—this isn't Pussyman, this is Ironman! If you make this, you deserve it. I started yelling Pussyman at the top of my lungs into the water when I was exhaling, when I came down off a swell and yelled it into the air. There was a swimmer near me who (I don't know if I imagined this) seemed to take offence. Enemy.

This is where my GI issues started to set in. I should not have eaten that much chicken the night before. It was making things very uncomfortable for me. Even worse, at this point I involuntarily threw up. Not a lot, but enough to give me a very bad taste in my mouth that lasted a few minutes. Around this time I lost my flow, and went back to survival mode.

At this point it was difficult to figure out exactly where to go. I could more or less see the buoys if I sighted at the top of a swell, but there didn't seem to be any pattern to how they were laid out anymore. They had moved. A lot. There weren't even many swimmers to follow, at least not that I could see. From what I heard after, there were a group that cut through and avoided going around the island that we went around.

I aimed for the furthest out buoy. No way I was going to get disqualified, even though the main red buoy was supposed to be the turnaround point. This smaller yellow one was just supposed to guide us. At least I wasn't the only one—there were two others who did the same.

After rounding the buoy it was much easier. The wind was blowing us straight to shore. It wasn't directly straight on, and I found it hard to go completely straight. I was using the feel of the waves to guide me, and I was a little bit off. I had a few people pointing at me to get back in line, but again, I figured it was better to be outside than disqualified.

Actually nothing.

It was pretty cool to have so many volunteers helping out. From the wetsuit strippers, to the guy who helped me find my transition bag, to the guy who held open the door to the porta potty, to the guy who guided me to a chair and helped me go through my transition bag, to the sunblock lotion applyers, to the guy who found my bike and pulled it out. Very smooth, very slick.

The one issue I had was I didn't think to bring any hydration for the start. I thought there would be aid station-type supplies there, so instead of starting with a couple water bottles, I had a couple small cups in my bottle carriers. Not a big deal though. I drank more than enough water in the resevoir.

Bring disposible water bottles.

This part of the race did not start off well at all. On my way out I discovered that my old Gamin—the one I use to display heart rate in big numbers—was dead. This wasn't forgotten, there is something wrong with it (which is partly why I replaced it with my 910XT). Still it was an annoyance, since I had to choose to show heart rate data on my wrist.

The wind was very strong. Reports were that it was around 40 mph. It was comining in from the front and side, and in some places it was picking up sand, painfully sandblasting every exposed part of skin. I couldn't believe how hard this was shaping up to be.

The next problem was at the bottom of the first short climb. I dropped into the small ring and dropped the chain. I didn't want to stop to put it back on, so I shifted my derailleur to the big ring and turned. I was pretty proud that I got it back on without getting my hands dirty. But now the chain would jump every time I put down any power.

I kept going with the chain jumping. I figured it might only happen sometimes, and it might not be too bad. At the next big hill I had to stop to try and have a look. I coudln't find a stuck link, so I started again. It was so bad that I had to pull over. I was kicking myself for not looking harder for the chain pin that I lost when I was packing. At least with the chain pin I could cut the chain, remove a couple links and throw it back together. Now I had no option.

I fished around a bit and the stuck link made its presence known. I pulled out my multitool, and loostened it up a bit. It took a couple tries, but it worked perfectly. Back on the road (still sans hydration, but back on the road nonetheless).

The first rest stop took a while. I don't want to get into too many details, but I had to make a lot of rest stops. Even after my stops I still felt uncomfortable. It was hell. This is where I changed my nutrition plan completely. Instead of taking one gel an hour, and supplementing with Perform, I just drank water and supplemented with whatever my body would take. I had taken in enough nutrition before the race even started. I had to give my body a chance to deal with it. I stuck with water, then once I could feel whatever I ate last start to get digested, I would take another. It was surprisingly easy to listen to what my body wanted, and I did a reasonably good job at avoiding overhydrating and overeating (at this point).

On top of the GI hell, we had turned into the headwind, which also coincided with the majority of the hill climbing. Most of the hills weren't too hard on their own, but combined with the wind I almost didn't get out of my smallest gear for the first 90k.

I took it very easy for the first lap. I kept my heart rate below 130 whenever possible, which meant that I was climbing most of the hills at a snail's pace. I was okay with that. I've heard people talk about pacing so much, that I didn't want to take any chances. At least not for the first lap.

I was actually excited to get passed by the pros (on their second lap) just before the Veyo wall. Not that I actually know who they are (I thought one was the arabic speedo guy, but I don't think it was now). There was a bit of a buzz with all the riders when this happened. It was pretty neat!

I was also a little overly-hydrated at this point, and I was peeing a lot. It's hard for me to do on the bike while pedalling, so I had to lift off a bit, which is hard on the quads. At first I tried to pee a little at a time to try and avoid attention. This only caused me to ride half an hour in a state of constant semi-peeing, before I finally said "to hell with it" and finally let loose. Much better.

Just past halfway of the loop is the biggest climb of the course—the Veyo wall. I was looking forward to this hill, because once it's done there's only one more before the final descent. With an average speed of 13 km/h through most of the climbing I was looking forward to the change. Surprisingly the hill wasn't very hard at all. There was a strong tailwind that basically pushed us up the whole way. I just straightened my back like a sail and that was it.

The Veyo rest station was my last urgent pitstop. I felt much better after this one, and after being as rested as I had been for the whole way up, I was pumped full of energy. I flew out of there feeling awesome. I passed about eight people on the last uphill, then with the crazy tailwind and steady descent, I flew back.

I've hit high speeds before, but nothing like this on roads as smooth as these. I had no problems spinning out in my top gear, which was around 60 km/h. In training I realized that the only time I would ever need a bigger front chainring (I run a 46t cyclocross ring) woudl be if I had a very strong tailwind while going downhill, while on extremely smooth roads. I regretted not fitting my 50t ring, because I was flying and wanted to go even faster.

I was passing people like they were standing still. I was pushing hard, and when I would see someone in the distance, I would ride right behind them, trying to make the most of the minimal draft I would get before pulling out to the side and passing them. Of course this was well within the time allowed for passing, so the benefit was probably too minimal to make a difference. It didn't matter though, it felt so good.

I don't think I've ever had felt that good on the bike. It was insane to go from the worst hell to the most adrenaline pumping experience.

The second lap was more of the first. The winds died down slightly, and I bumped up my heart rate by 10 bpm. I wasn't planning on running the marathon, so why not? I already had a good idea I'd be able to finish, so now I wanted to bump up my average speed (which at this point was only 22 km/h).

When it got time for the second big descent, I started hearing buzzing between my ears. It sounded like a bee was circling me. I didn't see anything, nor did I see one in my shadow. I was wondering if it was real or not. Could this be caffeine-induced psychosis? Maybe my head was playing tricks on me. It went away, but it only came back a few minutes later. This is when I decided to lay off the caffeinated gels for a while.

The end of the bike was solid, and I was feeling great.

Push a little harder through the first half.

A quick pitstop, met up with my volunteer, and changed into some running shorts. Pretty uneventful actually. I was surprised how quickly it all went. Made my way out and that was it.

Nothing.

The run was the easiest part. This is coming from someone who doesn't run at all. I started off just running. I was so excited to be in the final part of the race, I coudln't wipe the smile off my face. That smile actually lasted the entire first lap. I ran for the first 3k, then I switched to a "run downhill, walk uphill" strategy.

Each lap was 14, and for the first lap I kept that up. I also ran most of the flat sections too. There were tons of spectators cheering, lots of cheering and encouragement, and so much support. It was a lot more helpful than I had expected.

There were tons of rest stops, and it was hard not to treat all of them like an all-you-can-eat buffet. I took on a bit too much on the first lap, so by the second, I needed to take things a little easier. I spent most of lap two walking. I met up with a couple guys who were into ultra marathons, and we just chatted a bit.

Somewhere near the end of lap two, I saw my roommate Erica, who was not too far behind me. She was walking too. She asked which lap I was on, and I said the second. I could have sworn she said she was on her third, so I said to have a good finish. Shortly before the finish she passed me, and I was looking down trying to hear if they were calling her name. I didn't hear anything.

During the next out-and-back I saw Erica was still walking. She was about one or two km ahead of me. This was what motivated me to finish strongly. I wanted to catch her and finish ahead of her. The next hill I ran up almost completely. Then I ran back down the next out-and-back. I saw that I was slowly gaining on her. The last out-and-back loop I ran even faster down the hill. By the time I got to the bottom I was only seconds behind her.

This is where the pain in my feet plateaued. It wasn't going to get any worse, so I could just keep going. I didn't think this would ever happen. It was a great feeling. Well, maybe great is a bit of a reach, but it was still pretty awesome.

The rest of the hill climb was a speed walk, where I ended up passing Erica. I think I gave her some encouragement, but I didn't want to give too much, in case it actually worked and she started chasing me!

From the top of the hill there was only 6 km left. I tried to run as much of it as I could. When I was walking I was speed walking. My arms were moving around like mad. Spectators were cheering, telling me I looked fresh, and saying nice things about how my pace was looking great. It helped a lot, even though I felt like a bit of a fool for throwing my arms around like a madman. But really, at this point there really are no inhibitions. I'm here to finish this race, and I'm not letting anything get in the way.

The final 2 k were all automatic. I turned off my brain, and just told myself that my body was under autonomous control. Rounding the last turn before the finish, I knew my body was suffering, and I wanted to stop so badly, but the roar of the crowd was pushing me anyway.

I coudln't believe how loud these people were, and how many of them there were. It was amazing. All down the chute there were kids with their hands out giving high fives. I was running faster than ever, and had the biggest spring in my step. I hit all of them. Crossing the line was amazing. I didn't hear Mike Reilley call my name (apparently he butchered it), but I didn't even care. That was just awesome. I couldn't believe how happy I was.

I did forget to stop running though, and nearly overshot the chip removing station.

Nothing.

I got a bottle of water, my hat and t-shirt, wrapped in a foil blanket, and firmly held by someone guiding me to the food area. I didn't really feel like I needed it, but I'm sure there are others who don't feel like they need it, only to collapse soon after.

I ate a couple slices of pizza, talked to a few other finishers, met up with Erica (who I was unable to see finish), went back to the hotel. I don't really cool down.


The conditions, the bike and the run.


Awesome. Just awesome. St. George is a great city with amazing support. The organizers thought of everything and did a great job. It was well worht it.