Ironman Canada 2010- It is a thin line between quitting and winning!

    Paul, clearly enjoying the fact his Kona slot is in the bag!

I have said before in this blog that Ironman Canada is where I started my Ironman journey and that this race was by far my favorite event. I come away from this Ironman in Penticton feeling the same way.

We arrived in Penticton late in the evening and began our week in Paradise with an easy run. There is a magical quality to Penticton. It is hard to explain to someone in a blog, so I won’t try. I will just say that picture Tuscany on a lake close to some of the nicest human beings our planet has to offer, and you have Penticton. We had a special crew of IMJ athletes there this year. The mornings were my favorite parts with all of the crew jumping in the lake at 7:30 or so every morning. Race week morning group swims are easily one of my favorite aspects of our sport. Standing around with bed head and pillow marks on our faces, donning our wetsuits talking about whether the water is cold or not with the crew is just fun. There is a pre race vibe of excitement, slight nervousness, but generally just great energy amongst the bunch. Every morning we would all assemble, jump in and get wet. We would swim along the buoy line in a pack and when we would get a bit strung out; I would stop and re gather the tribe. We would usually toss around jokes, make fun of someone about something and generally just have a good time. Every morning after the swim we would all meet at the same café called the Bench. It is a lovely café with an international vibe as we would meet the Swiss and German athletes there every morning. I love to sit around café’s and get high on lattes, and this café is no exception.

Our pre race week is really not that interesting and is kind of just technical tri-geekery, so I won’t cover it blow by blow. Bottom line: it was fun.

The race:

I was a little more nervous this year than I remember being for past ironmans. I am guessing the reason for that is I felt like I was coming into this race with pretty good form. I had gotten a really good look at my fitness at the Racine 70.3 in July and had a chance to address the issues I found needed work between the two races. Coaching our two camps back to back provided me with a challenging 55 hour block of work in about 13 days, so I was absorbing that nicely and thinking that I might have the opportunity to run a personal best in this year’s IMC. In years past, I have never run well on the course along Skaha lake and was curious if my long runs in Magnolia above 9,000’ elevation back home might help to bring me into this race a bit stronger on the run, as that was my limiter in Racine a month prior. I found it interesting that I would be more nervous the more fit I was. I think the reason is I didn’t want to squander that fitness with a bad performance or by making a racing mistake. With my aggressive life and work schedule, I don’t know when I will be able to build that level of fitness again.

The morning of the race was miserable for me. I just sat on the couch eating my breakfast, nervous as hell. I am able to control it, but geez, no fun. I became very concerned after body marking when I ran out to the Starbucks to get to a restroom, and as I was running out there my legs felt terrible. Usually on race morning, my legs feel springy and explosive, and usually give me a shot of confidence that I am race ready. As I ran, I felt like my knees and ankles were just bottoming out. The visual in my head was like I was running with a pocket full of bolts; just heavy and flat. I didn’t panic, but I definitely remember thinking this does not feel good.

The swim got off quick and within 5 or 6 hand hits I was free of the crowd and swimming in clear water on a solid pair of feet. I was digging that for sure! The water was like glass and everyone around me obviously had a clue on how to swim in a triathlon. We formed a couple nice little lines and away we all went. The girl I was swimming on was swimming straight enough and was a classic two beat kicker, so it was easy to see where she was and where she was going. I was living large for sure. I stayed on her feet until the turnaround when she exploded and fell away to never be seen again. I saw a pack in front of me about 30 meters ahead, so I decided I would try to dig hard for a few minutes and see if I could bridge up. I was successful in that attempt and I found another set of female feet. This gal was going max gas and I had to initially dig hard to get on. I was able to stay with her until about 3 buoys to go and she lit off another rocket booster. I kept her at about two body lengths and could not get any closer, but she wasn’t getting any further away. Good enough! I exited the swim, saw 54 something on the clock and away I went into the changing tent.

It is not often you go into T1 and the volunteer helping you is a friend. One of my Canadian military coach friends was a volunteer in the tent. Michel recognized me as well, as we have been to Sweden and India together as athletes and coaches for our respective national teams. My only challenge was to put on my gear as fast as he was putting on the rest of my gear! He had me suited up and ready for bike combat in what seemed like about 8 seconds. Out on the bike, I was riding out Main Street and looked down to see I was driving 340 watts. A touch large on the power I would say, so I made a mental note to trim way back and not try to eat up the faster swimmers all at once. Climbing up McLean Road I lost my spare kit out the rear cage holder. I had to do a U-turn and go get it. I lost a considerable amount of momentum, not to mention the group of dudes I was leading up the climb. That is how it goes when you don’t tape things down properly. The ride was uneventful for the first 90 minutes or so. I was by myself the whole way. When I say by myself, I mean I can’t see anyone in front of me and I cannot see anyone behind me. Crickets and the lovely, hypnotic sound of a disk wheel- that is it.
After passing through the small town of Oliver, I looked behind and to my right and I could see the mountain passes I was going to be climbing in an hour or so. My pilot’s eye spotted the weather front moving toward the mountains. I thought to myself that the mountains are going to get ugly soon. I decided that I would risk going hard early in order to be up and over the passes before the real stuff hits. I dialed up my watts and was holding 260 watts on the flats and climbing the rollers at 280-320 depending on the pitch. I knew I might blow up, but if you know me, you know I do not tolerate the cold at all. Never have. I would much rather race in a furnace than a refrigerator. It is just how I am built. I got up the first pass called Richter and into the rollers, affectionately known as the “7 bitches” with no drama. I climbed solid, but not my best, and was generally moving well. I never felt like I had that pure pop in my legs that I usually have when I race, especially when I climb. I just felt flat for whatever reason. My legs weren’t tired, just flat. Anyhow, I just pressed on without much overall concern. I just kept riding my tempo, eating and drinking and hoping for good things. I got up Yellow Lake Pass and on the final ascent, the rain hit. At about this same time, payment came due for my earlier decision to ride watts I cannot sustain the entire 180k of riding. I was not surprised when it hit, I was just happy that I was inside 10 minutes of summiting and would be able to motor back into town on what I had left. The rain started hitting me pretty hard and my legs got really cold. I focused on descending safely down the mountain and a few of the younger dudes passed me going much faster than I was willing to go. When I was a flight school instructor pilot, I used to refer to that as NAFOD (no apparent fear of death). I wished the young boys well, and hoped they wouldn’t pay a severe penalty for the 55 mph descent on wet, slipper asphalt. I shiver uncontrollably on cold descents and if I don’t really focus, it can get really dangerous really fast. As I entered Penticton, I had become very cold and my legs were seizing a bit. I was solid on calories and water, but the overall cold had really soaked into my body. I was suffering for sure. I started thinking about pulling the pin. I worried that I would dig too deep into my system and not only finish this race poorly, but endanger my effort in Kona, which is only 6 weeks from Canada. As I tried to ride with pace back into T2, my legs were absolutely gone. I remember looking down and seeing 129 watts and I was riding for all I was worth. I decided to not fight the power and just rode comfortably back in. It is what it is, I remember thinking. As I got off my bike, I remember hearing the announcer, Steve King, state that I was the leader in my age group. Figures, I would quit a race that I was leading. Bike split 5:10:50.

I got into T2 and the volunteer there was just awesome. He was putting all my gear right in front of me and encouraging me to hurry. I was so cold; I had kind of gotten to the point where I was convinced I was going to pull out. I told him so and he couldn’t believe it. He told me he had only seen 30 or so guys come through the tent and that nobody as old as me had gotten there yet. I think that was a compliment, but I am not sure! I went to the restroom and took care of that urgent feeling that had been there the last hour and then decided I would run out on Lakeshore and talk to my longtime training partner and best bud, Paul. I got to Paul and he was full of stats, positions and other key race info that I should be caring about. I told him I might quit. I honestly can’t remember the conversation we had, other than he encouraged me to run for a while and see if I felt better. I got emotional and he ran alongside me until I quit balling. I tell ya, man. There is no crying in baseball, but there is a heap of crybabies in Ironman. I was feeling absolutely exhausted, my feet were numb, my butt hurt from a nagging saddle sore I had picked up late in August and I was freezing cold. Total freaking misery. I asked myself; why in the hell do I do this stuff?! This sucks! So I got my act together. Paul squeezed my arm and told me to give myself a chance to win, and that I had a big lead. I trust Paul. I have written enough about him in this blog, I will spare you the love fest.

So up I go onto Main Street with a Canadian in the 50-54 AG. He was awesome. We were running stride for stride and then he just fell behind and drafted off me up the hill. We were close enough that we were still talking. As we cleared the second aid station, all the bikers were starting to come in. In about a 2 minute time frame, four or five spectators on the side of the road were screaming “Go Jonser” and then about 10 riders from my crew and others I know all were screaming “Run Jonser” and then T rode by and screamed “Go Scott”. So now I am committed. There is just no way can I quit this thing. They have all seen me and I am in. I told myself I need to HTFU and get up the road. At least give yourself a chance to win this thing, I told myself. The Canadian also added into the mix when he asks me, “hey, is there anybody here you don’t know?!” We laughed and I could tell our running legs were starting to come to both of us so we started to lay it down proper. I came right at about the 7 or 8 mile marker and it was there I started thinking, hey, I don’t think I am stinking up this run. Things feel pretty solid here. I climbed up into the OK Falls and low fived Dennis Meeker, my Boulder buddy, coming the other way. Hey, I am almost at the turnaround and the fast dudes are just now climbing out. Things are ok. I just need to keep running, eating and don’t puss out of this thing!

As I was climbing out of the OK Falls, I ran into a friend of mine, Dave Ciaverella, who was on the side of the road on his mountain bike. I asked him if he had seen anyone in my age group. He shared with me that he thought he saw a dude running the same speed as me, 3 minutes behind. Holy cow, I thought, I better ramp it up and see if anything is there. I picked up my tempo at the 15 mile mark and ran as hard as I could all the way back into town. I was pleased with the tempo I was holding. I looked behind me and I could not see another athlete in sight. I thought, well this is a good thing and just kept running with everything I had. I came through the 22 mile mark and another bud, Ben Bigglestone, saw me and starting going crazy, cheering me and jumping up and down. I got choked up for some reason. It is just good to see people you know when you are suffering and hitting it hard. I was able to just go full speed all the way to the finish. I came down the chute, high fived my dear buddy Paul and Hamster’s wife, Margy and ran with authority all the way to the tape. 3:28 on the run. 9:40:52 on the day. Steve King looked down at me from up in the booth above the finish line and announced to everyone that I had just won my age group. 2010 Ironman Canada Age Group Champion 45-49.

My take-aways:

-When in serious difficulty, Franklin Deleanor Roosevelt offers outstanding counsel: Never ever ever ever give in!

-I owe Tim Deboom, two- time Ironman World Champion, a sincere thank you for my performance in this race. When I started the day, I did not feel good. I never felt good at any point during the day. I never felt strong, I never felt powerful. As I described, there were times when I felt worse than I ever have. Tim said during an interview after his 2002 victory in Kona that you don’t have to feel good to go fast. I repeated that to myself for 9+hours last Sunday. I don’t know Tim. I have seen him often over the last year I have lived here, and we wave at one another on rides in Boulder, but if I ever do meet him, I will be sure to thank him for sure. Had I not had those words with me, I don’t know if I could have kept charging all day.

-Having a wife that has taught me how to eat, sleep and live like a champion is indescribable. She tells me daily how talented I am and that I am going to keep getting faster. She has helped me change my racing from not trying to lose, to actually turning that energy the other way and racing to win. That sounds like a subtle shift in philosophy, but it is not. It is a very dramatic difference in how you execute your race. It changes how you structure everything in your life. Thanks Sweet Pea.

-Having a network of friends, especially dear ones that you can tell anything to, and can lean on when you are tired, cold, and suffering makes all the difference in the world. Thank you, Paul.

-I have significantly benefitted from swimming with Monica Byrn and seeking Joanna Zeiger’s counsel on race pacing. Monica has shown me the penalty in pacing poorly in a hard, long workout and Joanna has given me a couple of go to swim workouts that I do every Monday and it made all the difference in the world. Thanks JZ and Monica.

-One of my goals in 2011 is to become a better bike mechanic. Currently, I am a touch below absolutely terrible. Thanks to Shawn Burke for pre-flighting my bike for me and getting my Zero brakes race ready. I am not ashamed to say in front of God and everybody- Zero brakes suck. They are light for a reason; they don’t serve any other purpose. My new bike will have durace or ultegra. I won’t even sell my zero brakes. I wouldn’t put anybody else’s life in jeopardy. But seriously, thanks Shawn.

-Thanks to Dave Ciaverella. After the race he confessed that the nearest guy to me was over ten minutes behind, but that I was running well and he didn’t want me to slow down. Thanks, bro.

Lastly, I would like to thank all of my athletes. I read your logs daily, love to train with you at our camps, and you motivate me more than you would ever know. Our little mom and pop coaching enterprise is not only as fun as anything I have done, we are forming lasting life friendships beyond my wildest expectations. Just remember, rest days are for the weak!

I will close this blog with my own piece of advice to you. It has served me well over the years, as I am clearly an emotional type of dude. It is an old navy pilot trick; it is also a line from an old A3 song - “If you’re going to cry, leave your shades on!”

Peace,
Jonser