This article is borrowed from the newsletter “Toronto Olympic Club: The First 50 Years.” I like recycling it, mostly because Bill Marcotte is my uncle but also because reading it gives me goosebumps. Bill has survived two liver transplants.  A couple of years ago he started to race triathlons as a way to get back into sport.

“Teeth, Dreams, and Psychology“, by Paul Craig.

The ability to go beyond the limit, to push your body where it hasn’t gone before, to dig so deep you surprise even yourself, is a special talent. It is sometimes dangerous, almost always awe-inspiring. It is what makes the good effort, mundane, the great effort, routine, and sometimes, every once in a while, it makes the impossible dream attainable.

I can’t remember many of the details, but some time ago, somewhere, somebody did a study on the psychological difference between boxers and distance runners. The study was based on the assumption that boxers, who stand toe-to-toe in the ring slugging away at each other, are psychologically geared to see how much pain they can inflict on their opponent, whereas runners, who race stride-for-stride for the finish line, are focused on how hard they can push themselves, how much pain they, themselves, can take. It seems that the researchers were wrong in their hypothesis. The results showed that boxers punch away, jab after left uppercut, ultimately to see how much punishment they can take. Distance runners, on the other hand, keep upping the pace in an effort to see how fast their competition can go, how much pain the other guys are willing to fight through. This is a significant finding, and a significant difference.

When I was at the point in my life when I could run a really tough workout, (now when I run my body usually breaks down before I can push myself to the limit of exhaustion), I would sometimes get light-headed afterwards. This was because most of the blood in my body was going to my oxygen-starved legs, leaving less blood for my head. I usually didn’t want to do a lot of thinking after a really hard workout, and when I got lightheaded, I couldn’t.

But sometimes, when I had an exceptionally tough workout, a once-a-year workout when I was totally exhausted, when I’d run hills or intervals until there was nothing left inside, and the well was empty, my teeth would hurt. Maybe hurt isn’t the right word. I guess it is more like “tingle”. You know you have given it everything when you don’t even have enough blood for your teeth.

For several reasons 1983 was a good year for me. I was starting a come back from chronic-fatigue syndrome, my first child was born, and I helped officiate and watched that year’s edition of the Silver Relays, a race that involved my brother John, and most of the best distance runners in the country. You probably aren’t very interested in the birth of my son or in my recovery from a still unexplained disease, so I’ll tell you about the race instead. That year the Silver Relays proved to be one of the best races ever run in this country.

The Silver Relays, (an event not contested any more), put on and often won by the Toronto Olympic Club, was steeped in tradition. It was usually raced in late October, or early November, and all member of the winning team won a set of silverware. Each of the five legs of the relay was three laps of the inside loop in High Park, a distance of about 5 400 m, with a few rolling hills along the way. The race often attracted thirty to forty teams, mostly local, but occasionally teams came from a long way away.

Even before I was a member of TOC I had participated in the Silver Relays a couple of times, and I knew about Bill Marcotte, (who ran for TOC), and his record time of 15:41 over the three lap course. To me this was one of those records, like the four minute mile, which was almost untouchable. It was faster than Grant McLaren, Bob Finley, Jerome Drayton and Dan Shaugnessy had run. It was faster than I thought possible to go. It put me in awe of Marcotte. It was one of those impossible dreams.

Anybody who ran the race anywhere close to sixteen minutes knew that they were in great shape, that they had a good race. Some years the best time on any team was around 16:05, with the top 5 guys under the 16:20 mark. A couple of years, on cool, windless days, a few runners would sneak under the 16:00 mark. In 1979, when I was in about the best shape of my life, I ran 15:46, close, but still so far away from Marcotte’s magical record.

That’s why the1983 edition of the Silver Relays was so special.

A team from Vancouver, the Valley Royals, came to Toronto to win the Relays and take the silverware home. Their team was a list of who’s who in Canadian distance running. Dean Childs, Paul Williams, Greg Duhaime, Art Boileau and Peter Butler had collectively won 13 Canadian championships, held 2 Canadian records, and all of them had run 29:30 or faster for the 10 km.

TOC fashioned a team to run against the Valley Royals of Greg Lockhart, Jerry Kooymans, Rob Earl, Terry Goodenough, and John Craig. Other great runners on the day included Dave Northey from Waterloo and Dave Reed from Longboat. Realistically, though, there were only two teams with a real chance at victory, the Valley Royals, and the Toronto Olympic Club.

In the 35 years I have been running and racing I have had the privilege of being a participant in and a spectator at some memorable events. Sometimes a runner or two does something unexpected, runs over their head, puts in an effort that will make them rise above the crowd. But sometimes you know it is going to happen even before the start. You can feel it in the air, you can taste it on your lips, and you can smell it in the wind.

There’s a feeling you can’t shake, that on this day, in this race, at this time, there will be a race, a performance, which will be long remembered by all who watch it. I had this feeling before I listened on the radio to the Ali/Forman fight in Africa, one of the greatest fights of all time. I had the feeling when Canada beat Russia in the ’84 World Cup of hockey. I had the feeling when Simon Whitfield won the gold medal in the 2000 Olympic Triathlon. And I had the feeling at the ’83 Silver Relays.

The day was cool but sunny, little wind, not quite an Indian summer. Picnic tables had been turned on their ends, making a type of instant bulletin board for the results to be nailed to. There was a supply of water and cups, ropes set up for the finish line and exchange zones, and more stop watches and clip boards than necessary. There were still some leaves on some of the trees, but most of them had dropped, blown away. Someone had taken a broom and swept away the small pile of leaves in the gutter at the last corner, making sure the runners would have a clear path.

And there was an anticipation in the air you could squeeze in your fingers.

Not all of the details need to be mentioned, although I remember every metre of the race, every leg, every split, every face. What should be said is that they went at each other, these two teams, for what seemed like an eternity. They clawed and scratched for every inch, every second, every breath. It was a battle, not of hatred, for there were friends on both teams, and certainly there was respect. It was perhaps a battle of pride. It was certainly a race filled with magic.

Runner after runner, lap after lap, the team from the east and the team from the west ran shoulder to shoulder, side by side. Williams, Kooymans, Duhaime, Earl, Northey, all ran at a pace that only days before seemed impossible. Timers stopped timing, marshals stopped marshalling, and everybody just watched. After four legs the teams were even at the hand off. The final runner for each team, Peter Butler for the Valley Royals and John Craig for TOC set off together, as if one was the shadow of the other. Two laps later Butler led Craig by a metre. Then, with maybe 900 m to go, out of sight of the finish line, Peter Butler faltered. He didn’t slow down, he didn’t stumble, he didn’t pull up. But one stride wasn’t as smooth as the last one had been. It was almost imperceptible, but it was there. It was something you would never have seen if you weren’t watching for it, never have noticed unless it was the only thing in the world at that time that mattered. I don’t know if Peter even noticed it.

But John did. And then he did what any runner would do at a time like that. What every runner had to do. He upped the pace. John got a metre on Peter, then two, then three.

With about 400 metres to go John was down to his kneecaps, three seconds up on Butler, and sprinting all out. He held off Butler down the chute, and TOC walked away with the silverware.

Part of the excitement of the day was that the Toronto Olympic Club won the race, and set the record. Part of the excitement was that they had beaten the “dream team” from British Columbia. But more than anything else, it was watching the best do what they do. Though the race is won by the team that crosses the finish line first, it is remembered for the strength of the competition. It was an epic battle, one of excellence, one of excitement, certainly one of courage, fought long and hard by both sides. That day no less than 9 runners beat the “unbeatable” and magic time of 15:41, with the record dropping to 15:23. That day distance running in Canada was redefined.

Just thinking about that race makes my teeth tingle.

Pre-Race:
I felt great heading into the race. My swim intermediate interval splits were a little slower compared to where I was last year, but I was not far off. My endurance biking strength was right on. My threshold power was higher last year heading into Clearwater, but my long rides were the strongest ever. My run was close to the best it’s ever been. All in all I felt very good coming into the race.
Race Morning:
I was up and out of bed by 3:30am. I made my breakfast of 6 eggs with mushrooms and peppers. In addition I had 2 pieces of Ezekiel bread with Almond butter and a banana. I had one cup of black coffee. My stomach felt good and I was anxious to get down to transition. I had planned on taking two salt tabs before the swim start, but in the excitement of race morning, I forgot to take them. Fortunately, this did not hurt me as I only had a very slight calf cramp during the swim that faded away pretty quickly.
Swim:
My game plan was to position myself right up front and let it roll. If you want to swim fast in Kona, you have to give yourself a chance to do so. However, you need to be willing to get pummeled in the process. I’m not sure I fully respected the amount of pummeling that would come. I got in the water at 6:45am and swam out to the start line. When I first got out to the line, the amount of bodies treading water was still thin, but as we got closer to 7am it started to pack in.

The paddlers were trying to keep pushing the masses back. By the time the cannon was ready to go off, we were packed in like sardines. The start of the race was a very interesting learning experience. I had settled into the 2nd row right before the cannon went off. Then everyone attempted to move forward while dunking each other under the water.
After about 20 meters of extremely scary swimming, we were finally under way. I managed to move my way to the inside of the buoys, which enabled open water swimming all the way out to the turnaround boat. I was swimming next to one athlete the entire way out to the boat. We would occasionally bump against each other as the swells would push us one way or the other. Once we got around the turnaround, things bunched up quite a bit.

The only real issue I had while swimming was due to a classic last second decision. My teammate, Cindy Bannink, offered some nice anti-fog drops for my goggles right before the start. This anti-fog solution worked fantastic; however on the way back into transition I realized that I had not cleared the solution from my goggles. My eyes were burning like crazy every time I turned to breathe. This was a minor irritation and I finished up the swim in: 59:49. One of my top three goals for the race was to come out of the water in sub 1 hour. The majority of athletes come out of the water 4-5 minutes over an hour and I wanted to try to have cleaner roads for the bike.

Transition 1:

I hit the split on my Timex Global Trainer coming out of the water and made my way into the changing tent. I attempted to self administer the sun block (this was quite comical!). I was out of T1 quickly and I had my first minor error of the day. My chain had come off while I was running with my bike to the mount line. The front cassette must have rolled backwards and the chain popped off. It was not a big deal at all, but it was a little embarrassing. Picture this: I jumped on my nice Orbea Ordu, started to pedal, and did not make any forward progress. I think my face was as red as my uniform. I quickly hopped off the bike, put the chain back on, and I was on my journey.
Bike:

The beginning of the bike was very mentally challenging for me. I felt great. I really wanted to let it rip. However, I knew it was going to be a long day. Paul, my coach, and I had laid out the game plan during the week leading into the race. I needed to try to keep my effort in Zone 2 heart rate and perceived effort around 6 (scale of 1-10) for the entire bike portion. My power output (third factor) would be used to keep things in check throughout the day. I would also use my cadence monitor to insure that I was not mashing a big gear. I’ve found that my optimal cadence for power and performance is around 87 rpm’s on flat roads. My Timex Global Trainer came in very handy as I used it to track my heart rate, power, speed, cadence, and distance: all on one screen.
I tried to settle into the early miles. However, I was getting passed by quite a few athletes. This was my early challenge on the bike. The little voice in my head was saying: “just go with them”, but I knew it was not the time to “burn one of my matches” (as Lance Watson likes to say). I focused on my own effort and let the other athletes pedal by. Once I got up on the Queen K highway, my new focus was to dial into my nutrition and electrolyte game plan for the day. I saw a lot of those same athletes that were leading the charge at the start of the bike drop back once we got into the rolling hills on the Queen K. I had planned to try to take 250-300 calories on the bike, while consuming 800-1,000 mg of sodium per hour. My journey out to Hawi (the turnaround on the bike) was very methodical. I stayed right in my heart rate zone, averaging 143bpm, and my power output was 231 normalized watts. My perceived effort felt very comfortable. When I reached Hawi, I felt the best I had ever felt in my 4 attempts at this race. I dumped my calorie bottle and picked up my special needs bag which contained my 2nd bottle of carbo pro 1200. The next leg descending down to the Queen K felt great. I was reminded why it was so important to have a good swim. The other side of the road was very bunched up with athletes climbing up to Hawi. The winds were blowing pretty hard at this time, so I tried to stay as aero as I could. In hindsight, I got a little behind on my hydration and calories during the descent. However, while I was in the moment, I did not realize it. As I reached the Queen K, I started to feel the heat of the day. It was reported that temperatures climbed to 104 degrees Fahrenheit and the white line on the road reached 127 degrees. I was definitely feeling the heat. I continued to really focus on my electrolyte intake. I was starting to have some minor stomach issues with my carbo pro 1200. I had decided to use my road helmet instead of my aero helmet for this race. This decision turned out to be a very good decision as I was able to cool down much easier by dumping water right into my helmet as I went through the aid stations. As I passed the 85 mile marker I did a check on my three factors. My heart rate was still in low zone 2 at 141bpm. My normalized power was standing at 228 watts and my perceived effort was still comfortable. Over the next 5 miles things started to come unglued. My stomach really started to bother me. I even had a little internal vomit episode. I tried to take some more carbo pro 1200, but my stomach was not taking anymore. I tried to adjust on the fly and I grabbed a banana at the next aid station. This worked for a little bit, but then I noticed my heart rate slipping down into the low 130s, which is low Zone 1 for me. I wish I had something good to write about the remainder of my ride, but it was a struggle home. The last quarter of my ride was spent in low Zone 1 heart rate with a normalized power for that section of only 199 watts. I was in shut down mode.

I also started cramping pretty severely as well. I finally grabbed a cola at the last aid station on the bike with hopes that the simple sugars would pick me back up into transition 2. The cola did help, but my cramping was pretty severe as I finally rolled into T2. I was pretty happy to hand off my bike to the volunteers. I ended up biking 5:04:35.
Transition 2:
My lower back was very stiff (no kidding) running through transition. My running form was even more peculiar than normal. I hit the tent and attempted to get into my running shoes. My calves and hamstrings were cramping and I was having a very hard time getting my shoes on. Finally, I was able to move out of the door of the tent and I grabbed 2 sports drinks.
Run:
My goal was to make it to the first aid station and walk the entire 100 yards. I saw my coach, Paul, at the half mile marker. He encouraged me to try to have a decent run and try to bring things back together a bit. I was really struggling at this point. Once I hit the first aid station, I walked the entire stretch and I took everything they were offering: water, PowerAde, cola, ice, banana, and more water. I started to run again to the next aid station where I repeated the process of walking and grabbing everything on the menu. Finally at the 2.5 mile mark, I started to feel better.

I was able to put together some decent miles until I started to approach Palani hill. As I covered the ½ mile leading up to Palani, I was starting to suffer again. My body temperature was really rising. I realized that I had made another tactical error. I had worn a visor instead of a hat. Therefore, I was not able to keep ice on top of my head. However, I did pour the ice everywhere else. I repeated my aid station strategy again on the hill. In fact, over the following several miles, I continued to walk the aid stations. I was still running a decent pace from aid station to aid station as I averaged 7:04 mile pace over the first 16 miles of the run. At mile 16, I started to feel very deep muscle soreness in my quads. It was a little early in the run to feel this and I was a little worried about how I would get through the remaining 10 miles. I tried every motivational trick I could think of: segmenting the run, thinking of my kids, counting my cadence, and attempting to pace off of other athletes around me. Every race is unique. This time the ability to pace off of the athletes around me proved to be the most useful strategy to keep me moving forward. As I approached the 22 mile mark, I saw my coach Paul again. He encouraged me to finish up the race strong. I made a decision at that point that I was going to run the remainder of the race. I shuffled my way along all the way to the finish. I crossed the line with a marathon time of 3:12:32 and total time of 9:23:30.

I was really hurting. If I wasn’t so scared of needles, I would have gone right into the med tent for an IV.
Race Summary:
Ironman distance racing is so much different than 70.3 racing. I had been away from the distance and this race for 5 years. My impression of the race was not quite as fresh and realistic as it should have been. I re-learned a lot about the race and myself on the day. It was not exactly my best day, but I gave everything I had. After crossing the finish line, if anyone had asked me if I would return to do another IM in Kona, I would have emphatically said no. The funny thing is that it only took me 2 hours before I told my wife that I have to go back to Kona again. So the recovery is under way and the 2011 campaign will begin soon.
Thanks for reading. Sorry it was so long.

I’m always excited to get a chance to put my silly mug in front of a camera, so when the guys from iCool asked me to do an interview about my experience with their products, I jumped on it.

I thought it was funny that Bella (Shelby’s dog), got in the back ground of the shot. We didn’t plan that, she just wanted to get on camera as well.

My friends and I had a little fun at Interbike.  See if you can pick me out at Interbike’s cyclecross race.

The world championships in HI have come and gone in the blink of an eye and unfortunately ended a bit quicker than I hoped. I was just not able to overcome the ITBS injury I had been dealing with in the month prior to the race, and it proved to be too much at the 56 mile mark on the bike. I surprised myself by making it into the front group of the age-group race to this point but my knee then locked up and was extremely painful. I made the decision to pull the plug at this point. I ended up just finishing the ride soft-pedaling/ enjoying the views/ and stopping for some oranges at aid stations along the way. I officially dropped out of the race in T2. Disappointed, but I knew I made the right decision. It was still great to enjoy the atmosphere and participate in the world championships.

Here are some helpful tips I found out if you get to race here:

1) The swim matters; swimming <57 minutes vs. swimming 1hr means you are in front of a big group and don’t have to fight it the first 10 miles on the bike. Thank you AquaSphere for my custom Kona swim skin!!

2) No big efforts the first 50 miles- the 7 mile grind+ wind to Hawi will kill you if you have spent too much energy prior to this

3)salt tablets are a must, I have never salted out more than here.

4) use Tri-Bike Transport – saves $$ and hassle

5) pay no attention to those people doing intervals on the Queen K and Ali’i the week before the race

Atleast it looks fast!

Swim Start

Thanks DJB!!

The K-Swiss K-Ona never got a chance :(