Yogi Berra (attr)
Last weekend my activities consisted of the following:
I swam two kilometres, biked 90 kilometres, ran 21.1 kilometres, and drove
4,200 kilometres. The first three were
in my first triathlon of the season. The last was to get to the triathlon,
which was the Florida Ironman 70.3. Not unsurprisingly, I found
the drive to be the easiest but least fulfilling of these activities.
The race, which like all 70.3 events is beautifully organized, is held in Haines City, south of Orlando. This is a move from the former venue of Disney World, at which I always felt a bit out of place, being an athlete surrounded by thousands of tubby tourists waddling around in their oversized T- shirts and Mickey Mouse ears. The Haines City townfolk came out in huge numbers and supported us as volunteers and as cheering well-wishers.The swim was probably the most daunting part of the day, not because of the distance but because of the medium. The lake—a term which would be laughable to anyone used to the pristine beauty of Muskoka waterways—was really a glorified swimming hole, with attendant mud and weeds making the water into an opaque and unappetizing subtropical sludge. The lake is not large enough to accommodate a complete 2K swim, which is not unusual; many triathlon swims have two loops in them. Rather than having a two-loop swim here however, the one-loop course doubles back on itself, making a large ‘M’ shape, which happily is not as confusing while you are swimming it as it is when you just try to think about it.
Since the lake temperature was well over 80F, there
were no wetsuits allowed, thus removing a layer of insulation between my body
and whatever liquid suspension the lake was filled with. In the end, it was
swimmable however, and swim we did, nearly 1700 of us. As I became horizontal
and began my slow freestyle stroke I forgot what the lake was made of, forgot
what might be living in the muck beneath me, forgot to wonder if a stray alligator
had ventured in overnight, and just concentrated on enjoying my day. It was one
of my slowest swims ever for this distance, a fact which mattered not a whit to
me, even though having started in one of the first waves, I got subsequently swum
over by nearly everyone else in the race. I was glad to be back in a long distance
triathlon on a beautiful morning.
The bike ride was a great one for the early season. I
have not given my terrific Cervélo P2 much outdoor exercise since the very
hilly Muskoka 70.3 last September, so it was good to be back on the road hearing
the gears clicking precisely into place and feeling the carbon fibre, metal, and rubber
moving smoothly and responsively beneath me. The 90 kilometres of the Florida course
are fairly tame hillwise and the road surface is mostly good. Winds kept calm; in
any event, I mostly stayed down on my aerobars and enjoyed the feeling of being
streamlined and swift. Overhead, the sun was climbing in the sky and was
already warming up the run course like a light bulb in an Easy Bake Oven. The
heat and humidity were waiting for us.
One of the first things you encounter as you start the
three-loop run course is an aid station offering water and ice. I wanted lots
of both, and I took as much as I could drink or carry every chance I got. In my
last 70.3 race in Florida, my feet had swollen up from the heat and had really hobbled
me; the memory of having to stop and sit down every mile to massage my pinched and protesting feet had been nagging at me for months. I was
determined to do whatever I could to stay upright and keep moving forward despite the potential dangers of the oppressive heat.
I swallowed a lot of salt tablets and took in oceans of sports drink to keep
my electrolytes in balance as much as possible. I have come to believe that there
is a relationship between electrolyte imbalance and the swelling and pinched nerves in my
feet, which affects me almost always in very hot conditions. But as they say, correlation is not causation, and I had no assurance
that I would not once again be hobbling painfully for most of the 21.1 kilometres. At every step I monitored the intermetatarsal plantar nerves that
run from my heel to my toes for signs of distress.
 |
| Secret to a good, comfortable run: don't let your feet touch the ground |
There was only one challenge in the Florida 70.3 run:
the relentless and unforgiving sun proved a great leveler, an agent to inspire
humility in even the speediest runners. Many people, as they began their third
and final 7K loop, started to resemble the extras in The Walking Dead (but with redder faces). In addition
to popping Lava Salts, I ate and drank as much nutrition as I could stomach and
stuffed ice everywhere I could think of: my hat, my pockets, my shirt, and even down my
shorts (distracting, but not recommended unless in dire straits). Whatever it
was I did, my third loop of the course turned out to be my strongest, easiest, and
most comfortable. Best of all, there was no twinge of pain from my feet; they
were not exactly fresh as daisies, but they carried me across the finish line
with a minimum of fuss.
My splits
were all slow. I had expected this though, and my goal was to accomplish nothing
more than I did. I now have a good benchmark for Ironman Mont Tremblant training,
which I plan to begin immediately. As slow as I was, I loved every minute of
this race; it was a treat to get back into an event as challenging and well organized
as this one was, and to push my body and mind against the distance and the elements
once again.
