The first day of the Australian spring today was interesting.  I did a 124 mile ride out bush, on my beautiful 2011 Timex Team Orbea Ordu.  I was visited early by a magpie.  He swooped down, squawked loudly, gnashed his beak near my ear, flared his wings, took off, then came back again in a Kamikaze dive.  Then again, and again.  And if that was not enough, his mates visited me, surprisingly, at least a dozen times during the day.  A PR.

(Photo pending)

IRONMAN COEUR D’ALENE – June 26, 2011

10:57:29 as 1:02:41/T1-4:42/5:52:33/T2-1:34/3:55:59

2^nd M55-59 (by 17 seconds)

The day dawned clear and crisp at 4am, with the promise of a beautiful day and great racing.  With nearly 2,500 competitors, it would be a big day.

Essential carbo-loading supplies

The water temperature in Lake Coeur d’Alene had done a see-saw.  From a face-numbing 54F (12C) when I arrived, it had over the course of a week risen to a promising 60F (16C), only for winds to stir-up the Lake the day before and temperatures fall back to around 55F (13C) on race day.

My swim was without significant incident, if you discount the usual punch to the eye, kick in the jaw, tangle of arms, people swimming over your legs, or the odd lapped swimmer on the 2-lap course doing leisurely breast stroke on their back and bringing you to an abrupt stop when you come upon them.  There was huge congestion around the buoys encouraging close relationships amongst the entangling throng.

I managed a PWWSR (personal-worst wetsuit swim record) by almost 6 minutes in 1:02, but was immensely relieved to exit the water alive, with air in lungs and extremities still attached to arms and legs.  But it was not until half-way in the bike leg that feeling returned to my feet and I could confirm that I had not left these feet in the Lake, or in my wetsuit after the “strippers” had deftly de-wet-suited me.

A tough swim for a tropical creature like me. Photo courtesy of Dave Erickson, swimbikerunvideos.com

I was in second place in my age after the swim, behind John Weston from Missoula MT ,no doubt a turbo-charged Arctic duck, clocking a respectable 55minutes.

The bike leg started kindly, if not a bit cold, with a 10k/6 mile spin out along the Lake, with hundreds, nay, thousands, of enthusiastic cheerees spurring you on to great achievement.  There was even a Scottish pipe band, piping the momentary glory of your passage up the hill.  On the return back down Bagpipe Hill it was pretty funny, as the Doppler-effect ratcheted up the key as I sped down to them, whereupon it went badly off-key as the band receded behind.

The return to town saw you cheered on by even more crowds, before heading north up to and around Hayden Lake, brilliant scenery, and on to what the locals call “the wall”, a modest hill that takes 5 or 6 minutes of effort for the likes of me to crest.  This is followed by “the rollers”, a series of 3 hills/downhills in succession that provide a bit of excitement/effort in that order.

Surprisingly on the first lap of the bike I was passed by less riders than I had anticipated, although in the early stages there were some biking-studs who had the dual-depressing skill of riding past me at great speed, and with an ultra-low cadence.  This gave me the feeling that I was not only slow, but also something of a weakling.  Something to work on.

Parts of the bike were quite technical. Photo courtesy of Dave Erickson, swimbikerunvideos.com

A highlight of the second lap was a low-pass by what I think was an F111 jet.  It came up noisily behind, banked just behind me to make even more noise, then passed cacophonically on my right side not far above the tree tops.  I put in a short surge to outwit the pilot, but it seems he/she was unaware of the grand effort on my behalf.

An eventful moment on the ride included being passed by a bloke/guy with “60” on his calf, meaning he was in the M60-64 age group and me yelling in Australian “… go old bloke!”, then I re-passed the old bloke minutes later on a hill.  This was a fun game of leap-frog that occupied our time for some hours on the ride, knowing that I had a short 18 months before being elevated to M60-64 old bloke category myself.

The “old bloke” actually introduced himself to me at the presentation the following day, saying “I am the old bloke”, before he went on to collect his prize for winning his age group.  Well done “old bloke”, W. Mitch Hungate from Lake Tapps WA.

A most welcome BIG banana at The Rollers bike aid station

The final highlight on the bike course was finishing.  I could at last stop being neurotic about puncturing, having a technical breakdown, crashing, or of being passed by yet more riders.  My relief was palpable, and not unhappy with my 5:52, given that it was quite a hilly course, and windy on the return leg.  I was in sixth place in my age off the bike.

Palpable relief was almost immediately replaced with comic relief as I tried to run in to T2.  The legs refused to work in any sensible fashion and probably looked more like the efforts of a cartoon animator who had failed Walt Disney 1.01.  Forward progress was painful, awkward and totally uncoordinated.

Fun on the run in the sun

With the unco-T2-episode quickly fading into embarrassing memory, I experienced a new phenomenon – passing other competitors, in this case runners.  This builds on itself, because the pleasure of passing one then encourages you to seek more, a sort of short-term gratification like eating a fine chocolate, then making excuses for another, then another.

Then another.

Us old blokes are very supportive of one another, and I offered encouragement to my peers as I met them.  I was rewarded with the same, plus some tips like “… there is a 57 year old just up front”, and “you are running third”.  This was helpful to a point, but compression socks and faint/absent numbers made picking my opposition nearly impossible, and in truth I had no idea where I was placed in my category.

But I ran as if possessed, always thinking that the next person in front was in my age group, and waging a private and growing battle between my mind and my body, which was increasingly reluctant to deliver what I was asking.

The second run leg out on the two lap course was agony.  My body was in revolt, I felt revolting, I had too far to go, and had not gone far enough.  The bike ride seemed like a distant memory now.  The finish line as distant again.  Things dragged, and it was difficult to focus.

I tried to concentrate on externalities to block out the blindingly obvious.  Next aid station, the view, other competitors, funny faces, cheering fans, words that someone yells that ring around inside your head.  “Goin’ good!  Goin’ good!  Goin’ good!  Good goin!”  My head became an echo-chamber.

I lengthen my stride.  An aid station approaches.  More sugar.  Congestion.  Aid station passes.  I wave and cheer a fellow Timex Team member.

The crowds start to grow and I think that the finish cannot be too far now.  Gotta be less than 15 minutes.  Just 15 minutes.  Maybe 10?  Maybe 9?  Maybe 8?  Maybe maybe maybe.  Will I cramp?  I fight off some suggestions from a muscle that it wants to cramp.  No cramping I order.  I slap the offending muscle pointlessly to reinforce my instruction.

Isn't there some cunning loop inserted here just to prolong the agony?

I turn a corner into town.  Is that really the finish down there?  Is this a downhill finish?  Isn’t there some cunning loop inserted here just to prolong the agony?  My mind plays tricks.  Everyone is running a bit faster.  Must be the finish.  Time to run fast, I instruct body.  I pass others in my photon.  A burst of speed, a clock, outstretched hands, cheering, blur, an arch; I am still.

I am still.  My head spins.  I am still.  The body cannot comprehend stillness.  A catcher loops my arm around their neck; I pass my exhausted body to their care.  Faulting images impinge my conscious.  People are asking questions, expecting answers.  What size shirt?  Is that your timing chip?  Questions.  I am in shock, and mute.  The agony is over. Nothing matters.

The big bloke at presentation, 3rd from right

A big thank you to the thousands of volunteers in Coeur d’Alene, without which this race would not be possible.  Another big thank you to all the spectators, for your cheering and support.  Thanks to Timex Team bike mechanic Doug Berner for immaculate preparation of my bike, to Timex Team Manager Tristan Brown for bringing it all together, and to coach/wife/personal physio Ali, for getting me to the start in one piece ready to race.

And finally, a big thank you to our hosts Katie and Paul Burke, from Burke Mountain, Coeur d’Alene, for your exceptional hospitality and support.

The race started, it hurt, and eventually I finished.  It was cold, it was windy, and it was wet, wet, wet.  It was a tough day.

I placed 3^rd in M55-59 in a time of 10:33, and picked up a slot for Kona.

Lots of signage support on course

Lake Taupo behaved itself for the swim, with a relatively pleasant 21C/70F temp, little wind and easy navigation.  The crunch with the swim is the need to run slightly uphill for 400-500metres to T1, leading to transition times of around 5 minutes.

The ride is a double out-and-back course.  The first “out” was into a rising wind, the first “back” was a sail home, with the second “out” struggling into an increasing gale.  I looked forward to sailing home a second time, only to have the wind drop after about 5km/3miles on the return leg, and having to work hard the last 40km/24miles home, feeling I had been cheated of my free ride.  Such is the nature of Ironman!

Exit from T1 & about to mount

The bike leg was also spiced-up with torrential rain, something like 50mm/2” over the course of the race, and getting increasingly colder, not helped of course by being soaking wet.  It seemed there were people with flat tires everywhere, and I was very relieved to finish the bike leg with both bike and bod intact, without incident.

At the start of the run I felt exceedingly gumbie-legged.  It took me 5-10 minutes to find my rhythm, and given that it was cold I also worked harder to get/stay warm.

The run was also a double out-and-back course, with several small hills adding interest to the magnificent views of Lake Taupo.  The weather was similarly cold, wet and windy, but spectator support was extraordinary.  Having a race number personalised with a big “Stu” meant that every spectator knew me, and cheered me on by name.  A big thanks to the huge turnout of amazing/vocal/enthusiastic spectators, who had to endure standing around all day in very bleak weather.

My efforts to smile on the run look like a painful grimace

Shortly after exiting T2 I saw a competitor from my age group running around 200 metres ahead of me.  This gave me some focus to really work the first leg of the run, but at the first turnaround he had increased his lead to at least 1000metres/0.6mi.  Eventually I whittled his lead back to around 200 metres again, with him finishing just 60 seconds ahead of me.  A fine race by this other bloke, as I did everything in my power to catch him; it just wasn’t to be at NZ, but he certainly helped me lift my act and keep focus on the run.

There were two highlights for me in the race.

The first was just before the end of the ride, when “Chris”, who had spoken to me at the Timex stand a day or so earlier, rode past me.  He had an urgent question regarding his Timex Global Trainer that I was unable to answer, so I contacted the design boffins in the US and emailed Chris the answer.  I had not heard back, and was wondering if he had got my email before he raced.

Well Chris rode past and yelled out that his Timex GT was working perfectly, and he was very happy.  It was with this small gem that I went in to T2, feeling good that I had been able to help someone.

The best moment of my whole day

The second highlight, need I say it, was crossing the finish line and hearing those famous words again “YOU are an Ironman”.  Given the hideous weather, this was like an expiation of my soul, a release from the relentless torment, the pain, the cold, the wind, the chaffing, the dull ache in the stomach, the bleeding toes and the months of training.

After a few end-of-race formalities I found wife Ali, and the emotion bubbled forth, a few unmanly sobs on her shoulder and a hug, then quickly off for a very long hot shower.

Claiming my Kona slot from Event Manager Janette Blyth, alias "Big Bird"

At the presentation Mike Reilly made the point that this was one of those Ironman races that people will talk about for years.  NZ 2011.  Thus branded I felt particularly proud to have raced and finished an Ironman in the Land of the Long Wet Crowd.

Also at the presentation significant attention was given to recent events in earthquake-ravaged Christchurch, and the announcement of a special trust to assist Christchurch athletes, of which some 22 were called up on stage to much cheering and applause.

The "Gang of Four" at presentation night. From L to R. Stu Fitch, Timex Team; Peter Buckleigh, "Mr Timex New Zealand"; Ali Fitch, wife & Timex Team; Keegan Williams Timex Team, and fourth place outright

My 11:01 was disappointing – I should have raced closer to 10:30, but I was in the early stages of the flu, and the bod simply had no energy.  There were also other impediments that needed managing as the day progressed.

The swim could have been a few minutes faster, but I was trying out several “different” things, and was quite happy with my time around 1:04 – in essence I “broke” all my own water, not drafting anyone, and was well away from the “flow-channel” effect of being close with many other swimmers.  I swam on my own, well to the left.  I had demons from last year (when I got trashed and nearly drowned) that I had to deal with.

The bike was as usual very windy, especially as I got up towards the turnaround point at Hawi (pronounced “Harvey”).  Several gusts up there were probably up around 60 or 70ks (~40mph), nearly knocking me off my bike.  I would strongly recommend a low profile front wheel for this race, as the winds are unpredictable and strong.  I rode a 5:39, nearly 15 minutes faster than last year, but was left feeling I could have gone faster if I had some energy.  The 1,000s of ks on the bike in the last year, plus a lot of hill-work, ensured that I could still put out a semi-respectable bike despite how I was feeling.

My nutrition plan also failed.  I had a flask filled with gels and a bit of water, and usually can stomach these more or less until around 100-120ks (60-70mils).  But on my first “swig” I nearly vomited, so didn’t take them again.  I was left to deal with secondary and tertiary nutrition plans, and was more fuel-depleted than I should have been by the time I came off the bike.  I did feel a lot better off the bike than last year.

The run started well enough – from memory I was running sub-5min pace for around the first 8k (8min/mile for 5miles) – the ideal would be 5 1/2 min/k for the race, so this gave me a little bit of money in the bank.  But right from the start I was on a runner’s “low”, and remained there for perhaps 80% of the run – you might expect lows to make up maybe 20% or a run, or on a really bad day have to manage 30%, but the continuing and deep low, with the accompanying feeling of no energy (both of which I attribute to my incipient flu) presented a very tough challenge to manage.  Right through the run I was desperately struggling with an overwhelming desire to quit the race, and put myself out of my misery.

I also struggled to get sufficient nutrition, having finished the bike in debt.

I used several plans to get me through the run.

First, I reasoned that I probably could not complete the marathon running very fast, so I had to accept early-on that I would run slowly.

Second, I reasoned that a slow marathon is faster if you do not stop at all, so I made up my mind not to stop at all during the run.  This helped to get in to a long-term “groove”, and whilst not at all comfortable, it created what I call an “expectation” of what my mind wanted from the ailing and complaining bod.

I also did my usual mind/bod deal that the bod could resume command of the bod once we were safely over the finish line, but until then it had to comply, as best it could, with what the mind demanded.

This “no stopping” strategy was assisted by carrying a Nathan water bottle, and by unscrewing the wide-mouth lid I could add liquids and ice on the run through aid stations, without having to stop.  This worked quite well for the entire run and saved a lot of stopping/walking time.

Third, I needed an emergency nutrition strategy, as again I tried a gel and only just managed to get it down without an involuntary carbo-unload.  Bananas provided a bit of welcome relief to the tummy, but seemed to do little in contributing to my scant energy budget.

So I tried watered-down Ironman PERFORM available from all aid stations – initially one part PERFORM to two parts water in my bottle, but later in the race changed it to two parts PERFORM to one part water, plus ice.  This I drank in large amounts, giving me a relatively benign form of nutrition, and contributing to hydration.  I actually finished the race at almost the same as my starting weight, so things were fairly good on the hydration front.

And coming from the steamy-heat of Darwin in Australia’s extreme tropical north, the temperatures on course this year did not feel problematic.  However, I rarely have salt/electrolytes in any drink that I have, and the high doses taken drinking PERFORM left me feeling incredibly thirsty, all the time.  This I think is a very individual need, as a lot of people swear by huge levels of electrolytes.  I don’t.

When available I also had banana, and in the last 12kms/7miles I also had a few quarters of oranges.

The mind/body battle continued, and as the distance remaining slowly got less and less I calculated the time left to finish, and started telling my bod how much longer the extreme demands would continue.  Twenty minutes, 15 minutes, 10 minutes, 9 minutes ……

Cresting the last hill where the Queen K intersects Palani Road, I told the bod that it was now game-on until the finish – at a guess, 2km/1.2m.  I used Palani Hill to squeeze as much speed as I could out of bod, and would like to think I finished the last section to the Mike Reilly heaven/finish line/”Stu Fitch – YOU ARE AN IRONMAN” place in well under 8 minutes.

I know it hurt, I know I got more encouragement and cheering that anyone could ever dream of.  I know that I kept telling my bod that this was not the time, or the place, to cramp, to fail, to collapse, to drop dead, to want food, to want drink, to want anything,  - just run, and run hard, harder than bod had run all day.

And run it did.

I started to pass all sorts of people that I had been sharing my photon of the marathon with.  I passed my mate Randy, but could only manage a grunt.   I saw Aussie flags, and mumbled a feeble “Aussie Aussie Aussie”.  I waved, and waved, and was waved at and cheered at.  I surfed the wave of crowd adulation.  And I put on my version of a Chrissie Wellington smile.  Bod was almost all into smiles now.  We could sense the finish.

The rest is a blur.  I know I put in a surge as hard as I could in those last few hundred metres/yards.  I know I had run back from the Energy Lab as fast as my reluctant bod could run.  I knew that I could not have run a second faster – this was my day – as good as I could manage.

I cross the line, see the catchers and slump insensate into their arms.  I hear no music.  I hear no Mike Reilly.  I no longer hear any cheering or clapping.  Now was the instant that control of the bod passed from the mind, and the bod was in control of the bod.  It had a lot of time to make up.

I am eventually laid down in the medical tent.  Despite being well hydrated my blood pressure is very low, and I am freezing cold, shaking uncontrollably.  Dr Jason is giving me very good attention, and 2 1/2 hrs later he has stablized me enough to let me go.  It has been a hard day.

I find out that I have placed 9th in my M55-59 age division in 11:01.  I had given my all to break the 11hrs, but it didn’t happen.  One of my fellow age competitors was just 5 seconds ahead of me, another less than a minute in front.

Now to focus on next year, qualifying for Kona 2011, and implementing all the lessons from this year so that I can go faster next time.

But today, race day +2 I am sick as a dog, in bed with the flu, fever, aches and pains, sneezes and wheezes, a river running out my nose.  Feeling very lousy.

I can’t wait to get back into training as soon as possible with wife/coach/training partner Ali – she had extracted herself from her flu-induced sick-bed on race day, and with no voice had held up a cute little handwritten sign outside our bedsitter …

“Go StuMan

I LOVE YOU

Xoxoxoxoxox”

Kona, Big Island, Hawai’i

Sunday, September, 26 2010

Executive summary

Timex Multisport Team veteran triathlete Stu Fitch wins the Kona Mango Man Triathlon by over 4 minutes.

Long version

Local Kona triathlon character Carl Ko’omoa hosted the pre-Ironman “Mango Man” triathlon race in Kona this morning.

The course starts with swimming to the half-way mark on the IM course, called “Kings Buoy”, for  a total return swim of 1.2mi (1.9k), followed by a “15 hilly miles” (24k) bike course, then a “6 hilly miles” run.

For those familiar with local geography, the bike ride goes from Ali’i Drive up Hualali Road, intersects with the Queen K Highway, and returns via the Kuakini Highway.  The bike is 3 laps, the run one lap of the same route.  There is a long punishing climb along Hualalai to the Queen K.

Logistics were simple.  No registration, no entry fee, time yourself, and no road closures.  Names were taken on exit from the water, and there was a drink station at the top end of the ride/run course.  Elegant simplicity.

The race started in wonderfully relaxed Hawai’i time, around 10 minutes late, after a short briefing and questions session from the ever-enthusiastic Carl.  The conditions were calm and clear.

First out of the water was an Australian veterinarian Ollie Wilkinson, who swam the English Channel in September last year, in around 11hrs.  Ollie is in Hawaii to swim the 9 mile (15k) Maui Channel, between Maui and Lanai, whilst his English wife Vickie is here to do the IM.

Ollie’s swim was just under 25 minutes, but he then doubled back to complete a total of 6 miles swimming (10ks) in preparation for his inter-island swim, leaving the triathlon race to others.

Second out of the water, maybe 6 minutes later, was me, then another 3 minutes to the next competitor.

The climb up Hualali Road was hell – lowest gear, out of the saddle and working as hard as my heart-beat would allow.  I was not surprised when a younger, nimbler and lighter competitor biked passed me and disappeared into the distance ahead.  I am well trained at getting passed on the bike.  Now I was second.  Hill climbing is my worst skill in my weakest leg, due no doubt to being a big bloke, 205lbs/93kg.

Cresting the Queen K and the chase was on, down on the aeros and peddling as hard as I could.  The bike down Kuakini saw my speed approaching 40mph (60+kph), and painfully slowly I made up time.  Maybe 1/2 mile (800m) before we turned right again to climb Hualali I passed this other competitor, who again passed me shortly into the hill.

This pattern repeated itself on lap 2.

On the third and final lap my tormentor was not as far ahead, but try as I may I could not catch him – he really worked that final downhill section well.  He led me by maybe 100 yards into transition, where I was puzzled to see him genially chatting with Carl.  And not long before the bike finish I hear this etherial voice yell “Stoooooooo”, and I wave feebly in non-recognition.

Off on the run and who should run up beside me but fellow Team Timex member Barry Siff.  ”Hi Stoooooo!” he enthusiastically greets me again.  Mustering as much dignity as I can from my addled brain I say “Hi Barry – I’m in the middle of a race”.  ”Ahh!” with some surprise “What race is that?”.  ”Mango Man”, and I continue to stride hard.  ”I think I am in second, but I am not sure if the bloke ahead is in a team or not”.  Barry breaks off contact, despite my strong urge to stop and have a long chat, having not seen Barry since Timex Team Camp in February.

Hualali Hill looms, and I can sense that the bloke ahead is not running as fast as me, and I slowly reduce the gap, with furtive glances over my shoulder.  We pass, or more to the  point I draw alongside – life is all going on in pathetic slow-motion; I am operating at 20,000 feet (6,100m) through an oxygen-depletion fog.

Again, another chit chat opportunity, and he tells me that he is in a team, to relax into my stride, and that he is not a runner.  What a nice guy!

I relax into my stride, come to the last punishing rise before the Queen K; time to really start getting some pace.  I am haunted by this specter of a fast runner, real or imagined, just two yards behind me, just about to pass.  I increase my pace to screaming point, the downhill on Kuakini, and I am flying.  Flying as fast as I can, because just as I am a lousy/hopeless uphill runner, my weight proves a real advantage downhill.  The more time I spend in the air, the less time and effort I need to waste on the ground.

More furtive glances and I cannot see anyone.  But I still have an ogre just two yards behind, that I cannot get out of my head.  On I press, ogre relentlessly pushing me.

Then I am all alone on Alii Drive.  An odd feeling, running hard, hurting, like finishing the IM, but there is no one there.  Then across the line to the lone cheering of Carl.  The pain is over.

Total time of 2hrs 00mins 30seconds.  Splits of 1.2mi/1.9k swim 30mins 59sec – 15mi/24k bike 48mins 48secs – 6mi/9.7k run 40mins43sec.

Second place was 4mins 06secs behind me, the team bloke I passed on the hill, in a sprint finish with a guy from the Czech Republic called Milan.

A fun, friendly local race, where everyone encourages everyone, and then everyone stands around chatting long after the race is done.  I look forward to Mango Man #2 in 4 weeks time.