Kona: 2014 Ironman World Championships
The short: My first Kona experience was nearly quintessential. I fan-girled over probably half the pros, took part in the festivities, carried home a pile of swag, ate tropical fruit, and rented mopeds to jet off for cliff jumping afterwards. My own race performance was solid, but not overwhelmingly fantastic. The perfect combination to leave me excruciatingly hungry for more.
The Before:
Kailua Kona was exactly as described to me. It wasn’t lush and green, nor lined with white, sandy beaches. It was dry, with yellow-brown vegetation and a black, lava rock lined coast. Only ever having lived in the PNW, Southern California, and skipping the summer in DC, I had never before experienced humidity. It is not unlike being stuffed in a sleeping bag. You know when you’re camping and your choice is to either unzip and freeze, or stay stuffed in a down bag, roasting, with relatively limited breathability? That’s what it felt like. I wouldn’t call Kona suffocatingly hot… until that sun came out and the atmosphere does not feel far off from that of an oven. The hills above the coast, however, seemed constantly blanketed in clouds, which rolled in almost every afternoon. It was for those mid morning hours that the sun just beat down, giving that energy lab on the Queen K highway it’s sense of purpose.
My teammate DJ and I flew in Friday evening, a whole 8 days before the race, as suggested by Dave to acclimate. It was cloudy and warm, but nothing like I was expecting. From the moment I stepped foot in PDX with a bike box, in line for Hawaiian Airlines, strangers approached me in awe that I was doing the infamous Ironman in Hawaii. Strangers succeeded in instilling a sense of fear in me, with dramatic stories of the heat only found in Kona on the coast. So, with exceedingly high expectations for intense heat, I was pleasantly surprised when I rolled into the airport that Friday afternoon.
The next day I had my final 50 mile ride, out the Queen K with a bit of TT work. I went late morning, the time of day I’d be out there in the race, and felt totally fine going out North, flying with ease about 25–28MPH being pushed by the wind. What a breeze! I turned around to head back, and almost immediately got a flat. It was while changing the flat that my body temperature felt as if it rose about 25 degrees. Into the head wind I went, praying to not flat again, and quickly found myself with very limited water supply. Okay, I got it. I was slightly exasperated upon arriving back at the apartment, but quickly cooled off with an icey recovery drink. Jumping into tropical ocean later on for the first time in my life left me happier than a clam.
The week went on with a few bumps along the way that sometimes felt like mountains, particularly since it was all I had to concentrate on. It quickly became evident that I was not going to run at all until the race. That would make for a couple full weeks without running a step, to rest the calf and shin that just became tired of overcompensating for my stress fractured foot on the other side. DJ had me ice 5 times a day and stay off my feet. Walking irritated it. About 2 miles out from town — the race hub and all sources of food, we were a bit challenged without a car. This is an obstacle I’m quite used to facing, being car-less in my daily life, but less so on super-taper mode. DJ was an above & beyond sherpa running back and forth, bringing me my bike, getting groceries, anything I needed. I only had to hitch hike up Ali’i drive once. It was amazing how many uptight Americans passed by me, wearing an athlete bracelet with an Ironman bag on. Thank God for the Belgian dude that thought nothing of it, understanding the universal thumb up hand signal. He spoke only French, a language I know not a word of, and certainly limited our small talk! The other obstacle was figuring out my powertap calibration. It wouldn’t seem to stay calibrated, sensitive to the heat, and I’d stop and pull over to calibrate a couple times during each ride. That was not exactly part of the race plan, however.
The town quickly filled in. Fellow Ironhead/Summit teammate Rick came Sunday night, and soon it was Ironman week. This consisted of daily early morning swims out to the Blueseventy coffee boat and then beyond, grabbing swag and spotting pros at the pier, and then athlete check-in. The blue wristbands from check in quickly distinguished which fit looking people were here to race and which were not. David, my mom and Bonnie all came midweek, as I was beginning to feel at home and comfortable. Just in time for the underwear run!
Thursday night was the athlete welcome banquet. Rick and I decided to go, while the others enjoyed pints at Kona brewing. The banquet was cheesy, yet inspiring, just as expected. Fire dancers performed, Dave Scott and Mark Allen, the infamous Ironwar legends were welcomed on stage, Bob Babbit and Mike Reilly led the show, and the most inspiring story and appearance of an athlete who after being paralyzed for 26 years, learned how to walk again. A phenomenal runner in his day, struck by a car, he was the first hand cyclist to make the time cutoffs and finish in Kona years back. Today, he walks slowly and wobbly, and is signed up for an Olympic triathlon. Absolutely amazing.
Friday was almost showtime, and its reality very evident in the energy throughout Kailua. We jumped in the bay for a super short swim, took a few fun underwater pics, and got out. I spotted Callum Millward on the pier, a Kiwi pro that has been producing the “Cupcake with Callum” videos in which he interviews various pros. He was hanging out with Gomez! I waited until he was through to approach him, and ended up getting sucked right into a role reversal in which I interviewed him! I’m no where close to funny as he is, but had a great time. Waffles with Whitney… someday. My time in front of a camera did not even end there. After a nice leisurely breakfast in town with Bonnie, we were headed back to the car and asked to interview at the Do More for Sport booth, Chris Lieto standing right there!
That was plenty of camera time for me, and I returned to prep the bike for bike check in. What a show that was! Bike, helmet and transition bags in hand, each athlete walks down what is best described as the red carpet. The isle is lined with Zipp guys, Cervelo guys, Lava mag guys, Slowtwitch guys, etc. All taking detailed notes on every component of what was headed in to transition. We each were assisted by our own volunteer to rack our bike and walk us through transition, carrying our bags for us. Mine was an older local guy that asked if I was going to flat my tires that I had just overinflated. I said NO. Boyles law of physics dude — said Dave about one hour earlier ☺ More surveys on the way out, we were asked if we have a coach, what sunglasses we’d wear, etc. It then was around 3:30pm, and time to head back, talk with Dave, make dinner, fill bottles and chill out. Everything went smoothly. I was slightly disgusted by how much rice I ate, and moderately grossed out by the super recovery drink that took forever to get down. All sounds about right. I slept in blocks, but mostly was excited to wake up, and ended up beating my alarm to it.
The Race Day
Race morning, Rick and his wife picked DJ and I up at 4:45am. We went up to Kuakini Hwy to avoid the massive traffic jam that was Ali’i drive and headed to special needs drop off, got our numbers temporary tattooed onto our arms, and were weighed in. It was pitch black, and the sun didn’t start to rise until just before the pros jumped in the water. The sunrise was unbelievable, dramatic and completely on par with the epicness of the event that was unfolding. That cannon! The pros went off about 30 min before the age groupers. I found Bonnie to hang out with in the mass of excited happy athletes in skin suits and pink and blue caps. We stood right next to the disabled athletes area, watching them preparing with some awesome volunteers for the swim. Unbelievably brave.
I was right under the arch after the men got in the water, Andrew Messick snapping pics of us on his phone to tweet about the first ever ladies start in Kona. As soon as they let us, I swam right out to the front, on the buoy, as planned. We had a good 7 minutes to tread water on each other, guys on paddle boards swimming back and forth to keep us back. Huge cameras in waterproof gear were in our faces, underwater scuba divers with go pros, some hawaiian cultural hoopla on the speaker, and the sun rising. I was so happy to be there and excited for the day.
The cannon went off and I went off with it. My start was great, and I was out in front with the leaders. The pleasantness of racing through the ocean swells lasted maybe 2 minutes before it was an aggressive battle of the strongest female age group Ironwomen in the world, all believing they deserved their spot in the pack. We fought hard, arms tangled, salt water up the nose, avoiding being punched in the face and after not too long the chop morphed into huge wave swells, adding to the excitement. Then the men pack. We caught and passed the slow ones first, but the pack of men that started just before us became more and more stubborn. This was the swim. There was really no relief, fighting the whole way — each other, the men we were passing, and the waves we were attempting to dominate. I never saw a red buoy once and relied on the pack for direction. Too many waves. However, we did nearly hit every yellow site buoy out there, learning later that they were in a jagged line and not straight at all! Fighting the men was just intensified on the way back, since they were slightly faster and have egos that can’t get over being passed by a pack of women that are already 10 minutes ahead of them anyway. Come off it, and get out of our way.
We came up on shore, all of us first getting tossed back in by a wave, and ran out to transition. In the tent, I had 3 or 4 women pulling out my bike stuff, toweling off my cheeks for me and sunscreening me. With no watch, I had no clue what my swim was, but oh well, time to bike. I quickly got to my calibration screen on my Garmin while running out of transition, not trusting it after it kept becoming un-calibrated on my 3 training rides on the island so far.
We were looped through town, still foggy headed, excited and with pretty minimal concentration, taking in the crowd’s energy. Turning to go up Palani, David was screaming, my mom and DJ with, and he ran up Palani with me. Dave was right, everyone was passing, people standing on their pedals, while I simply sat there on my bike right at my Palani watts cap, chatting with David as he snapped some pics. The Queen K quickly silenced this experience and dampened the excitement. Now we were relatively on our own, and out for the remaining 100 miles of the bike.
That head wind! Starting out down the Queen K, it was present, but manageable. By the time we got to Waikoloa, it was completely nuts. Seeing the tents blow around, we literally were looking at each other, awestruck. All sound was deadened by the winds. Well okay, I figured we’d get some tailwind on the way back then. That seems preferable anyway!
Countless packs of riders passed me, many cheating and with great benefit in these winds. I am too proud and also paranoid of penalties to not drop back immediately to legal distance, and watched pack after pack breeze by working as a team. Angering and frustrating, but not surprising. Athletes’ morals and insecurities are easily revealed on the bike leg.
The first 30 miles or so felt weirdly hard. My legs weren’t kicking into it. Then, right about mile 35 or so, I started to just have fun, feeling suddenly fine and totally able to soak up the experience, the scenery, the ride. I was happy to be there. The Queen K rollers were hardly noticeable with the head wind and the miles went by fairly quickly. We faced some seriously comical winds along the way to Hawi. There was a point, I kid you not, I was pushing my uphill cap watts, going downhill, at 9 MPH. No exaggeration! I did my best to stay in my aero bars, as Dave had really emphasized the importance, and I think did well at this. Especially in comparison to other athletes, nervously gripping their handlebars. I thought about how in cyclocross you’re better off confidentially riding than letting nerves affect you, and ran with that concept. Don’t get me wrong, some super powerful bursts had me with at least one hand out gripping my bars to steady myself.
By the time I got to Hawi to start the 18–20 mile slog up to the turn around, the men pros were descending like race cars. Lead cars and motorcycles with cameras everywhere, it was so cool! In passing other age groupers, we exchanged quick words with each other on the pro race status, unsure of who just blazed past. After turning off the Queen K, the climb up to Hawi was absolutely beautiful. The big blue ocean right there was gorgeous, and so enticing. According to my Garmin data, it reached over 95 degrees around here. This is also where the side gusts became scarier and more intimidating. Special needs was pretty soon after turning around at Hawi, and I pulled over to quickly calibrate the power tap. It would have been a lot more useful to do this before going up the hill than down, but oh well, it only took a second. I could feel the strip on my back between my top and bottoms burning, and was disappointed to hear they did not have any sunscreen.
Shooting back down the hill was a nice break on the legs, but was scary. I actually braked at some points, nervous about the huge side gusts. Terrible I know! But the road rash I was seeing… I wanted no part of that. Once we were headed back on the Queen K, it was really toasty. I kept thinking any minute now, we’ll have a nice tail wind push us back, just around the next corner. Okay the next one. Nope, never came. Surprise, it was headwind again! I felt the strip on my lower back burning, started to get a bit uncomfortable, and continued to be frustrated by all the people drafting their way through the headwind. Overall the ride went by very quickly, right until about mile 85-90. I thought back to Canada and was overjoyed not to have that massive, intense hill right then at mile 90. The miles ticked by slowly now, as I began recognizing the road from riding throughout the week. Reflecting back, I’m not terribly sure what the case was, but found the powertap data untrustworthy, and didn’t know how hard to push. Maybe the data was off, or maybe those watts really were that hard to push. It’s hard to judge the feel at that point in the race, but the watt numbers were certainly off the plan.
Finally we arrived back to the turn off the Queen K and I almost immediately heard DJ’s voice. I flew back down into town to get off my bike. Someone grabbed it from me in transition and I was hustled over to my run bag and the change tent. Even in my very first steps of running I could feel my shin. Not surprised since I’d felt it just walking around all week, but had some distant hope that it would magically fade for race day. Nope. Oh well, I am tough. I ran immediately past Mom and David. Looking at my watch, I was surprised to see my pace, not moving too quickly. In canada those first few miles felt awesome, but this was not the case today. I had to really work to hold the planned 9's. Down Ali’i drive I went, happy to be running with so many others, the street lined with spectators to set me off. Blair and Staci weren’t too far down the road, Staci in a bikini and beer in hand, looking like she was having a blast! As much fun as it seems to spectate this race, I was constantly reminded that being able to race in it myself was truly a blessing.
Passing by our condo rental, of course thoughts rolled into my head about the relief of being “home” there. What if I just quickly grabbed an ice pack, taped it to my shin and went on my way? These are the silly, rapid-fire thoughts that go through the brain. Obviously I’m just going to keep trucking away, and dang those sponges feel good!
I saw Bonnie not too long after the turn around, and said “see you soon!” as I knew her run potential. She might have picked the two hardest races of the year, given their conditions, and with only 5 weeks or so in between. Phenomenal athlete that I get to call my teammate, and so inspiring as she has just begun an intense session of school at OHSU. That’s passion for you.
Coming back to the main strip, just before heading up to Palani I had a nice bout of grumpiness. I saw DJ first and tossed him my empty run bottle. He yelled to just stick to my plan, and I grumbled something back about already being too slow. Walking through the aid stations to drink water, and walking to take nutrition, I was already into 9:30s or so rather than 9s. Soon to be 10's. Pros were coming back in, on their final mile as I approached Palani. Linsey Corbin looked awesome, TO looked terrible and defeated.
The plan was to walk up Palani, a steep hill, as to not blow up the calf anymore. It was actually a pretty long walk! Once at the top, we’d be back on our own, without the energy of the spectators. This was my expectation at least, and was true to an extent relative to the Ali’i Drive stretch. However, once out on the Queen K, every aid station was a huge party with maybe 50 volunteers at each and loud music, getting the athletes pumped. The miles were really ticking off slowly up there for me, and I kept questioning how I was going to run so many more miles. As cheesy as it sounds, I can’t think of how many times I thought of all the people I knew were watching me and cheering from afar, and how I couldn’t let them down. There is a lot of power in all the words of encouragement that I had received that week.
Roller after roller, I could finally spot the energy lab. I entered as the sun was dimming down, and it was actually totally gorgeous. I don’t remember making the decision, but at the first aid station at the top of the hill, I decided to try Red Bull. I had never had coke during a race, never drink soda, and had really only ever had red bull with Vodka. But, it was delicious! I think I had it most aid stations after.
I felt so done after the energy lab turn around, so ready to find the finish line but with so many more miles to go. I should have stopped my watch and turned it off, because checking it all too often was simply torturous. The sunrise was absolutely gorgeous over the water, and I concentrated on this, telling other defeated looking athletes I passed to check it out as well. The sun was a deep and bright red at one point, hanging low above the ocean surface. The last few miles I made a friend from Texas, who really got me home. We chatted and ran together and he literally gave me a little push into the finish line, to go ahead of him into the shoot. A great spirit, and truly captivating the sense of teamwork this sport requires, athlete to athlete.
The finish line was just as they describe. An insane amount of energy with a huge, loud crowd — and I was too focused on just getting to the finish to properly enjoy it. Immediately after finishing, I wandered back with my purple flower lei and massive medal to receive my shirt and hat. Athletes were lying around all over the place. Training Peaks was writing down results for anyone curious, and I was slightly shocked to find out I was 9th in my AG. My first reaction was to find out what it would have taken to podium (5th), but decided to be happy with a top ten. I chugged a chocolate milk and had some pizza, and went to find DJ who was volunteering in the massage tent. Skipping the waiting line, I went right to him and suddenly felt so at home, getting my usual massage work done by my usual massage therapist. I could feel a few tears leak out, just in reaction to finally being done with a very long day.
In Canada, my post-race evening was full of friends, my family, a home cooked meal and then back for cheering. I found my mom, who went to get my bike, but split right after. I rode home in the pitch black by myself, made some food by myself, took a shower and went to bed, just feeling emotionally exhausted and a bit defeated.
Done.
There are an infinite amount of things that could go wrong in an Ironman race. It’s a long day! For the second time this year, I was lucky enough to not encounter any real surprises during the race. Nothing to throw my whole day out of whack, but just enough for a good challenge. Such a part of the Ironman journey is responding and reacting to any obstacles thrown our way. The mental challenge is undeniably tougher than the physical!
Reflecting on my first year of Ironman racing, I think I’ve raced conservatively. I don’t want to be dumb or deviate from a plan, but could possibly benefit from taking more risks. Just slightly. I have proven to myself that I can race consistently despite some challenges, and might be comfortable testing myself a bit more. These are ponderings that can wait to be considered until next year.
Mostly I feel like I’ve got something to prove. With such minimal run training, and now 2 races of experience under my belt, I know I’m no where near my full potential. I couldn’t have asked for more out of my first year of Ironman racing, but am anxious and excited for the next already!
