For those of you who prefer movies over books (or perhaps both), i first offer the following video race report. Click the play icon to jump in. A high-def version is also available via my Facebook page.
For more technical details, please read on.
Ironman Florida 2008 was meant to be my one and only full IM, so why did i sign up for a second? The time and energy demands would be large, the unpredictable mix of suffering and joy would surely test my will, and the idea of training for one year for a single race, well, OK, i apparently like it. So, once friends decided to sign up for some big 2011 races, i felt like this was the year, if ever.
Without a doubt, this season has been the closest i've experienced to training and racing with a team since college cross country and it was a blast. Huge thanks to Jodi, the Fab 5, the IMC crew, and all the other training buddies who have pushed me forward this year.
After putting in a solid winter of base training, getting stronger through the Spring, sharpening skills during the final few months in races like 70.3 Kansas and the Omaha Tri, suddenly it was time to pack and make the drive to Penticton.
So, enough about how i arrived at the starting line. Let's get to what went down on race day.
Thanks to a modified version of Jodi's checklist, i was organized and we were ready to make the dark walk from the B&B to the transition area on time. Found our way in, got body marked, added last minute contents to our gear bags, and headed to our bikes. Pumped tires, computer on and reset, 9 gels taped to frame, drinks caged, check. Found a short line for Porto-ps then waited briefly before donning our wetsuits. Morning clothes dropped off, headed to beach. Once my toes hit that sand, the impending reality of the day hit and i felt ready for the challenge.
A volunteer hustled by carrying a bewildered duck that was waddling around the crowded transition area and set it afloat near the starting line. O Canada was sung (twice?) and i soaked it all in: athletes still pouring in to the wide, sandy starting area, now approaching nearly 2,900 making for the largest IM start ever. Just like Kona, each discipline is one loop, so you couldn't clearly see the end of the swim buoys but you knew they were there. This day would be a lot about faith. The cheers from the crowd mixed with blurred words from the announcer mixed with helicopter chatter. Suddenly, the cannon. Actually i don't even know if there was a cannon this time, but there was a boom of adrenaline and a roar from the crowd. 54 weeks of training was over. i was living the dream... again.
As i waded forward, i took one last look down the beach to see the mass of black wetsuits starting to turn the water white with foam. The duck was out of sight. Time to join the herd in the migration. i dove in.
For me, there are two points in a triathlon that are like slipping into a dream: the first few minutes of the swim and the final few steps leading to the finish line. As the cool water filled my wetsuit, i moved my arms like i had for thousands of laps in the pool, only this pool effectively had no such borders. Imagine driving on a highway that happened to be a hundred lanes wide but jammed with cars -- a road without lane lines -- in a severe thunderstorm, wearing tight goggles, at dawn, and it is a race. Thankfully, Jodi's suggestion to take the inside path proved wise and it saved me from any major collisions. While i rarely felt in a position to either draft or get fully clear of the crowds, i still found my way around the lake for a decent swim.
Running up the beach through the swim finish arch felt good. Really good. Right where i wanted to be: out of the water with no damage and in the top third of the field. After a fist pump to the photographer, i plopped down to get the bottom half of my wetsuit ripped off by volunteers with such force that i felt about to be slingshot-ed by my ankles high over the transition area. Instead, i shuffled there and grabbed my swim-to-bike bag, dumped it out, grabbed my helmet, shoes, this, that, found my bike and clip-clopped the long jog out to the mount line to start my rolling picnic in the mountains.
Downtown Penticton was soon behind me and Skaha Lake was its usual brilliant blue. Now at the base of the first mini-climb -- a winding 1KM up McLean Creek Rd. -- i took nothing from the crowded, first aid station and thankfully picked nothing else up on this part of the course, namely: furniture tacks. i had heard talk of locals tossing these frustrating obstacles here, but had forgotten to keep an eye out. It wasn't until i started seeing an abnormal amount of flat tires that i realized the sad legend was perhaps true. As i meandered through Okanagan Falls countryside, i felt bad for those already holding tires above their head, but Osoyoos was calling.
i should take this time to contrast the bad apples with the good. From my point of view, the town of Penticton fully embraced this event. We were made to feel quite welcome and the race was center stage. Add to that the approximately 4,500 volunteers (quite nearly 2 for every competitor) and we were well taken care of.
As i flew south and turned not far from the US-Canada border, my average speed was at 21.4mph, not bad for a runner. That would change for everyone shortly as we were now at the base of Richter Pass, where the official course description states, "...from this point the course becomes more difficult." The 11 km climb up dropped my average speed but the burn in my legs was manageable. i don't mind hills. Still, the goal was to stay in the saddle and keep the heart rate as low as possible. At the top of the climb, the crowds were thick and loud in a mini-Tour de France style. It was hard to not hammer and pass everyone. Just like that, first climb done.
Now, the descent. i will amend my earlier statement and say i don't mind climbing hills as i don't have much experience flying down them. Thankfully a slight headwind kept my top speed to 40mph and my knuckles only became a slight shade of white. At the bottom my reward was a roller coaster of 7 challenging "rollers" and somewhere in here (around 75 miles) was a little out-and-back where the special needs bags waited. i spotted Jodi -- who, with her fast swim and transition was now about 5 minutes ahead of me -- and was able to wave and yell an "i love you." It was also here that i realized it was hot. It had been in the 90'sF for days and race day would be the hottest of our stay. We didn't anticipate this but we had trained in the heat and humidity for months, so just needed to throttle our expectations.
One more major climb to go, up to Yellow Lake. As i spun up this part of the mountain i remember wondering if i would be able to run a marathon after this effort on the bike. i quickly replaced that fear with the knowledge that all i had to do was make it to about the 93-mile mark and the final 17 or so miles would be a relatively easy descent back to transition, despite the headwind...and the heat. Normally by this time in a long ride, my back pain is so bad that i am very ready to leave my bike on the side of the road, but i was not going to let it stop me today. i was actually having a ton of fun. This gorgeous valley with its vineyards and orchards and bountiful natural beauty was energizing me. That plus pure adrenaline. And caffeinated gels. And PBJ sandwiches. Yes, i had nailed my nutrition and felt ready to run. And, whoa, now i liked flying down mountains too. And i was going to snag my goal of breaking six hours in the saddle. 5:58:51, to be exact, and just about in the top 25% overall. Still feeling good.
After my last full IM bike i was barely able to feel my feet, so i made an effort this time around to be kinder to them by strategically shifting my weight at times, wiggling my toes often, and hoping for the best. During that final descent on the bike i realized that the front half of my foot was sound asleep and let me know with stabbing pain that it did not want to wake up. Still, by T2 i was able to hand my bike off and walk to find my bike-to-run bag without much trouble. After a quick transition, i was off to tackle the final 26.2 miles.
During a quick out-and-back on Lakeshore, i saw Jodi again. More smiles and encouragement. She was now but a couple minutes ahead. Reaching into my pocket, i took stock of the food left over from the bike. Not much except for an extra bag of Trader Joe's PB-filled pretzels. i couldn't stomach eating them, so i licked the salt of off each morsel. i chased that with some gel and a sports drink and made my way out of town, back to Skaha Lake.
i started doing the math. Could i possibly PR on such a tough course on such a tough day? It was really hot now and there would be very little shade on the run. i settled in to a pace that would get me to a sub-4 marathon and a memorable time. i tucked the bursts of adrenaline these thoughts gave me into the back of my mind. Stay steady; keep moving.
As the miles passed by one by one, i could see i was getting closer to Jodi, little by little. Suddenly, i didn't see her. Where did she... "David! David! David!" came the yell from a slightly opened porto-P. This caught me off-guard as Jodi didn't stop for anything. i jogged a few steps, trying to decide what to do. i wanted to wait for my wife -- the person who endured, laughed, dreamed, and worked so hard by my side all year long -- but my goal time, my PR, what about that? She exited the plastic booth like Superwoman and we were back running, but she let me know that the rest of her day wouldn't be easy. Perhaps her bike nutrition didn't go exactly as planned; she had major bio problems but would do her best.
i knew then we would go the rest of the way together, whatever it might bring, and i was so happy that we had a chance to finish side-by-side. So, we set off on our romantic run/jog/walk over the final 15 miles. There were times where i wouldn't have faulted Jodi one bit for calling it quits, but she stayed strong and hung in. The pain was eased by so many shouts of encouragement from spectators. Now and then we held hands as we walked, and since we were also wearing matching race gear, it was clear that we were together and loving every moment. A group of screaming, cowbell clanging supporters would suddenly break into a chorus of "Awwwww," or a volunteer would remark, "Now that is true love." It was an unexpected blessing. We forgot all about time goals, and, well, not really. We were still doing the math. We walked to an aid station, then picked something in the distance to run to. We really wanted to break 13 hours despite it all. We ran a little more, and 12 and 1/2 hours became the goal. Push. Push. Crowds growing larger, louder. More smiles. The finish line was near.
When i was young, i had dreams of finishing "Ironman." Here i was now, moments away from finishing my second, squeezing the hand of my beautiful wife, as she finished her fifth. There was no reason to fight the tears. The joy was a river, carrying us home. "Here comes David Seevers," yelled the announcer. "And it looks like we also have Jodi Seevers!" Yes, yes we do. 12 hours, 20 minutes, 6 seconds. We did it. Together.
It was an incredible experience for the two of us, but i cannot stress enough how blessed we were by so many of you this year. You trained with us, encouraged us, left us happy comments on Facebook, made us feel so special and thankful for the amazing people who surround us. We love you all.
i started this blog after finishing my first full Ironman triathlon, so i never got a chance to describe the day. The following rights that wrong. It is not a full race report, but a copy of an e-mail that i wrote to family and friends a few days after the race.
After the recap, you can also find a very short video of Jodi and i (26 minutes after Jodi) crossing the finish line.
Enjoy...
Everyone,
i'm walking again, even up and down stairs! i want to thank all of you for your encouragement, both in recent e-mails (fun to read as my body healed) and in person over the past several months and even years. It took a ton of hard work to get to the starting line, but i never would have been able to slide on my goggles or lace up my running shoes if not for the support of so many of you, including folks not on this thread but who are forever in my heart. i appreciate and cherish every kind word and helping hand.
By request, race recap:
* Pre-race: Kept waiting to get nervous but somehow never did. The training was done. Detailed checklists ensured there were no surprises on race day. All gear was exactly where it needed to be. 8 gels taped to bike frame. PBJ sandwiches, salt tabs, bars, more gels, more everything all set. Up at 3am for power smoothie and first to the race site by 4am. Final adjustments made to bike, shared good luck wishes with strangers, slid wetsuit on, headed for the beach and waited for the national anthem. Ready for battle. Tip: It's dark at 4am, especially in a PortaPotty. Headlamp invaluable.
* Swim: Starting cannon fired right next to me, caught a little shrapnel. Was definitely awake now. Good water conditions. Stingray and jellyfish below but no sharks (that i saw). 2200 triathletes flying through the salty water felt like a cross between swimming with a huge pod of dolphins and a stampeding herd of buffalo. Very primal, very intense. Survival. The water was clear so one could face guard in order to get kicked and punched in the arms rather than in the head. It worked for the most part. One loop done. A quick run on the beach and a drink of water, then back in for more boxing/swimming. Didn't kick at all during final stretch to conserve legs. Somehow swam 4 minutes faster than i thought i could. Tip: As you are running over the first couple waves, just before diving in to the deeper stuff to take the first stroke, look back at the beach through the white water spray and the rest of the athletes. Awesome.
* Transition 1: Ran up beach, felt fairly fresh. Found a clear spot and before my butt hit the ground two volunteers helped my rip the wetsuit off over my feet to save time and my somewhat tired arms. Helmet on. Shoes on. Go go go.
* Bike: Decided to leave arm warmers behind, so first 30 miles were on the chilly side. Settled in, sipping lots of water to start and broke into solid food around 45. Was holding over 19mph, which was significantly faster than any of my 100 mile training rides, so wondered if i was moving too fast, but legs OK so just stuck with it. Grabbed my special needs bag -- filled with extra food and drink -- at around 60 miles, slung it around my shoulder and enjoyed a fast stretch of highway before turning into the wind and some rougher patches. Just tried not to crash and hoped against hope for no flat tires. Soon i was back with the wind and getting even faster. 5 hours and 44 minutes flew by. i was thrilled with my time but very ready to say goodbye to the bike. Tip: Do not miss the special needs bag. Stop if you have to. A teammate missed his and he lost 26 pounds during the race.
* Transition 2: Hopped off the bike and grabbed my transition bag. Tried to run in bike shoes but was awkward. Grabbed curb and went barefoot for the run to the transition tent and it felt like i had no feet. Found a chair, pulled on my running shoes and visor, tucked more nutrition in my pockets and headed out for the marathon.
* Run: Felt surprisingly smooth as i settled in. Latched on to one person who i felt had a good pace until about 10 miles. Took my turn in "the lead" and at the halfway point was on a pace for a 3:40 marathon. Knew i only had to run 9s to break 11 hours and that was 2 hours faster than my original goal so I allowed myself a smile. Somewhere after 16 miles my legs got goofy and i started to spin. It was very hard to let that perfect race go, but suddenly my new goal was just to finish and avoid the medical tent for once. Started doing the math and hoped to break 12 hours. Walked 50 steps, ran 100 steps, repeat, repeat, repeat. Kept eating, mostly bananas and coke now. Some chicken broth. Pretty sick of gels by this point. Somewhere around mile 22 i rallied and was back to all running. Watching the sun set over the ocean, i knew now i would finish and that there would even be a little daylight left. At mile 25 i could hear the party at the finish line and i started to float on air.
Turning the final corner, finish line in sight, tears mixed with sweat. A lifetime of running around the planet, biking up and down mountains, swimming in endless circles, lifting heavy objects, overcoming injury and life's many challenges, just finding a way... it was all crescendoing at a line painted in the middle of a road in Florida... And then -- 41 years (give or take), 11 hours, 19 minutes, and 8 seconds later -- my arms were instinctively raised, the finish tape across my chest. i closed my eyes for a moment and when they opened, Jodi -- who had finished her fourth Ironman 26 minutes before me -- was there with arms out, wearing the biggest smile i'd ever seen, screaming at the top of her lungs, "David Seevers -- YOU are an Ironman!" All i could think was, "How can i be this blessed?" Tip: Just keep moving.
Lesson learned: If a goal seems impossible, set that goal high anyway because you can do way more than you think you can do.
i've been running and racing since the 6th grade. i'm now 40-something. i'm nowhere near as fast as i once was; still, i work just as hard as i once did. Long ago, my favorite races were the track mile (4:31), the cross country 3 mile (15:22), and the road 10K (34:38). More recently, it's about going longer: Lincoln Marathon (3:15:14), Ironman Florida (11:19:08), Ironman Canada. Long ago, i kept up running logs. Here, i will attempt to revive that practice to some degree. See you on the roads.
As i flew south and turned not far from the US-Canada border, my average speed was at 21.4mph, not bad for a runner. That would change for everyone shortly as we were now at the base of Richter Pass, where the official course description states, "...from this point the course becomes more difficult." The 11 km climb up dropped my average speed but the burn in my legs was manageable. i don't mind hills. Still, the goal was to stay in the saddle and keep the heart rate as low as possible. At the top of the climb, the crowds were thick and loud in a mini-Tour de France style. It was hard to not hammer and pass everyone. Just like that, first climb done.
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