An accurate expression of how I'm feeling about my workouts lately

This is a taper:

Not the most traditional taper, but it’s how Jas and I roll. We’re less than two weeks away from Ironman Canada and have finally started to scale down our workouts. It couldn’t have come a moment too soon — I’m getting burned out on exercising and just want to get this pesky Ironman over with already.

The taper’s timing was pretty crucial for us — we had a Portland wedding to go to and the Lake Stevens 70.3 race to spectate, so even though we didn’t have as many training hours, we still had to cram in a bunch of stuff over the weekend. We drove down to Portland Friday night and had dinner with a friend of ours. Jason and I got suckered into having a couple beers with our buddy, and after not having drank much lately because of the relentless onslaught of workouts, a measly two beers made me feel a bit tipsy. Stupid training.

On Saturday we woke up and had breakfast with another friend of ours and his girlfriend. It was going to be a super hot day out, plus I didn’t want to run around downtown Portland, so after breakfast I went back to the hotel and ran in the fitness center. My treadmill TV was stuck on MSNBC at full volume, so I ran and watched some “Criminals Caught on Tape” show where the most recent footage was from 2000.

After the run, we showered and got a late checkout. Since the wedding wasn’t starting until 6 pm, we had our bags held and figured we’d find a place to change later. We killed time by seeing a movie and getting some food, then we returned to the hotel and got ready for the wedding ghetto-style by sneaking back into the fitness room and changing in the bathroom. At one point someone came in and started using one of the treadmills. We got a weird look when we finally emerged from the bathroom wearing a suit and a dress. I bet she thought we were a crime fighting duo (or that we just got it on in a gym bathroom. Gross!).

At this point it was nearly 100 degrees outside, but thankfully the wedding was indoors. Unfortunately, the air conditioning didn’t help too much, and by the time the reception started and people were dancing and acting goofy, we were a sweaty, sticky mess. Since we planned on driving back to Seattle after the wedding, I only had a glass and a half of wine while Jason took it upon himself to drink it up one last time before Ironman Canada.

A wined-up Jas and a sweaty me. We aren't in workout clothes for once.

When the dancing started, we had the following exchange:

I start dancing in front of him
Jason, looking concerned: “How much have you had to drink? Are you going to be okay to drive back?”
Me, looking sheepish: “I’m not drunk, I’m just a crappy dancer!”
Jason, laughing: “Oh.”

Thanks, Jas. Eventually we left the wedding and I drove us back to Seattle. I was tired and thirsty and wondering if I’d be able to get up at 4:30 am to catch the start of the Lake Stevens 70.3. We got stuck in construction traffic (seriously, construction traffic at midnight on a Saturday) and didn’t get home until 1:30 am.

Three short, unsatisfying hours later, the alarm went off and Jason got up to head to the race. I was still really tired, so I decided to meet the crew later so I could try and get a bit more sleep. Jason and his dad caught the start of the race and I met up with them before our team finished the bike portion. It was hot and sunny outside, but people seem to race well on the course despite the fact that the lake smells like garbage and the bike stretch is full of rednecks, so our team mostly did well.

Jim and Jas in front of the TN Multisports tent

After the race, we headed home and I went straight for the bed. I had been feeling pretty tired lately, and the weekend took a lot out of me. I slept like a champ, and when I woke up my ear was aching. Cue the paranoia: OH MY GOD I’M GETTING SICK I KNOW IT’S AN EAR INFECTION I WON’T BE ABLE TO RACE CANADA ALL THESE MONTHS OF TRAINING DOWN THE DRAIN OH NO OH NO OH NO

I rested the remainder of the day and got a good night’s sleep, and by Monday I felt fine. Crisis averted! Tapering is a funny thing. On the one hand, it’s giving me some much appreciated time to rest — I’ve been feeling tired lately, and all of the downtime is letting my body finally take a break and recover from the incessant wave of workouts. On the other hand, I feel like sitting on my ass and only doing the occasional two hour workout instead of the customary four in one day is kind of odd. It makes me start thinking crazy crap like, “I’m going to gain weight! I’m going to lose my athleticism and everything I’ve built up! OH GOD I’M WASTING AWAYYYYY”

Since this past weekend, it’s been no more drinking (alcohol, anyway — bring on lots and lots of water) and no more crazy workouts. We’re down to the final stretch — another nine days of taper and rest, and then it’s race day. Holy shit.

Kenny Powers is the Perfect Spokesperson for K-Swiss
If you’re not familiar with Eastbound and Down, you should definitely watch it. The show’s about a crass ex-baseball player who becomes a gym teacher despite his ignorance about the fact that his professional pitching career is over. I’ve blogged in the past about how much I’ve enjoyed K-Swiss’s ads (and I have a super-comfy pair of K-Swiss shoes that I wear more for fashion purposes than for running), but this current fake commercial combines Kenny Powers, K-Swiss, and crass humor to create an amusing pitch meeting (language NSFW).

And I Thought Jason’s Injuries Were Bad
I shared some of the carnage from Jason’s recent bike crash, but I readily admit that they were nowhere near as bad as this guy’s (caution: NSFW). Apparently he was riding with a group of cyclists when the guy in front of him ran over a tree branch that flipped up and impaled him in the shin. What the crap! How fast were these guys riding, like 85 miles per hour? The article has lots of graphic photos of the clearly morphined-up cyclist laying in a hospital bed with a freaking tree sticking out of his leg. I hate this sport.

The Classy Way to Win an Ironman Race
Professional triathlete Julie Dibens recently won the Ironman 70.3 in Boulder, but she waited five minutes before crossing the finish line to ensure that the females who finish behind her get to have a prize purse. The reason is due to some bullshit rule change stating that professional Ironman triathletes must be within 8% of the winner’s time to collect their prize money. This rule makes no sense other than to screw over other podium winners because Ironman is too cheap to guarantee them a purse and rewarding their excellence. Your placement should guarantee you some money if there’s a prize pool set aside for that place, regardless of how far behind the leader you are. Julie Dibens is a class act, and I hope other Ironman winners follow suit and take care of their fellow triathletes.

A Blast from the Past
A triathlon website recently took a look at an issue of Triathlete magazine from 1984 and laughed at some of the absurd recommendations and equipment being featured. I like the image of the dude trying to clean his bike off in the bath tub — apparently a hose was too forward-thinking in the mid-80’s. The dude with the sweet ’stache perched in the thinker’s pose atop a Cannondale frame is pretty awesome too.

“Hey Baby, What’s Your Age Group?”
Jason came across this post called Tips for Dating Endurance Athletes, and while the list itself is a bit hard on the eyes, it has some amusing gems like “‘I find fulfillment in charitable work’ really means ‘If I am not racing, I am volunteering or cheering on my buddies, and I expect you to be there alongside me as I stand out in 90 degree weather for 8 hours handing out sports drink to cyclists going 20 mph. Just stick the ol’ arm out there and hope it doesn’t get taken off.’” Anyone who has a few endurance races under their belt should chuckle at a few of these. Maybe I’ll crank out a similar list at some point (perhaps if/when I survive Ironman Canada)…

Traveling to the Race
As per usual, Jas and I loaded an obscene amount of gear and fuel into the Subaru and trekked across I-90 at a glacier pace thanks to various construction areas and generally crappy traffic. We stopped in Yakima (the self-proclaimed “Palm Springs of Eastern Washington,” which means that either Palm Springs is a total dump or the entire town of Yakima is severely delusional) for lunch, and when I checked my email I noticed a message from someone who reads the Mediocre Athlete blog and had signed up to race Boise this year. Hooray, another fan! Pretty soon I’ll be autographing people’s gu packets and reading celebrity gossip about myself (“Rebecca Kelley Caught Skipping Workouts, Pigs Out Instead”).

We continued on for a while before stopping to get gas. When I got out of the car, I was nearly blown over by strong gusts of wind. It was at this point where I thought, “Hey, this sucks…I hope this wind dies down before the race.” [Insert ominous foreshadowing here]

Pre-Race Preparations
We rolled into town and checked into our hotel. The next day we stopped at a bike shop so Jason could get his front brake wire replaced (he noticed it was out of commission during our drive over and had a momentary freakout until we got it fixed), then headed over to the Expo Hall to pick up our packets. We got ushered from section to section until I got corralled over to a volunteer to confirm medical details. When I looked at the printout of my information, I started laughing. A couple months ago, when I had signed up for the race through Active.com, I quickly grew irritated by the incessant onslaught of required questions I had to answer before submitting my race entry. As a result, I filled out some silly and stupid answers that I had forgotten about until I was asked to review my race information:

I like how my jokey answer is juxtaposed with the serious response to the “medical allergies” question. The best part is that the volunteer who reviewed my sign up sheet didn’t even notice.

Finally I got ushered over to pick up my race packet and was given my participant’s t-shirt. The upside was that this year we got an actual performance shirt, whereas last year we were simply given a cotton tee. Unfortunately, the race organizers must have ordered this year’s shirts in child sizes. My size small shirt would have comfortably fit a ten-year old but looked decidedly less flattering on someone with my adult stature.

A bit tight for my taste (notice the full-on cling in the jelly roll midsection area)

My “fat guy in a little coat” impression

After we picked up our stuff, we headed to T1 to drop off our bikes and to meet our teammates for a swim. Race officials wouldn’t let us swim in the reservoir, so we resorted to practicing in the park area below the race start. It was cold, but I rocked the thermal cap and was able to get in a decent pre-race swim.

Yes, I’m the only one with my eyes closed. Go figure.

After meeting with the group, we headed back to the hotel, grabbed dinner, and prepped for the big race by organizing everything we were going to need.

Sugary goodness for the race

Race Day
I got a good night’s sleep and felt pretty confident about the race. We grabbed breakfast and I was able to eat more than I did last year. I had some stomach issues but didn’t hoark up any foamy vomit, so that’s an improvement over last year. We headed over to T2 and set up our run gear, then hopped on a bus to get shuttled over to T1, having learned from last year that it’s better to take the shuttle bus (even though they shamelessly charge athletes $8 to ride it) instead of relying on Jason’s dad to try and navigate through multiple closed streets and drop us off at the race start seven minutes before transition closes, as we had done last year.

We arrived at the race start with plenty of time to spare, so we set up our transition area and hung around in what little shade we could find. It was a warm, sunny day with a slight wind (notice how I say “slight” at this point since it’s only 11 am and the race doesn’t start until 2).

Seeking refuge in the shade of a giant truck. (Don’t ask me why one of my pant legs is rolled up — I’m guessing it’s a pathetic gang sign or I was just being dumb)

My bike at T1. I managed to score a sweet end spot on the rack.

This year we had to put up with a “clean” transition, meaning we weren’t allowed to have anything laid out of our assigned transition bags. This was a considerable change from last year, where we were allowed to lay out our shoes and other items and just had to make sure that we didn’t leave anything out before taking off from T1. The modification meant that athletes were going to have to dig in their bags for their shoes, helmet, and glasses, and would then have to shove all of their swim gear inside before leaving. It was going to slow people down a little bit for sure.

Another big change was a new USAT rule stating that you couldn’t have your bike shoes already clipped into your cleats at transition — now you have to run out of transition already wearing your cycling shoes. One of the athletes racked near me complained to several volunteers and anyone else with ears standing near her about this rule change. I later checked her finish time and saw that she took first in our age group, so clearly it didn’t slow her down that much.

It’s Go Time
As with last year, I was in one of the later waves. The race started at 2:00 but I wasn’t scheduled to go until 2:30ish, and Jason was once again in the last wave at 2:45. I stood around baking in my wetsuit, my feet burning on the hot pavement, watching wave after wave take off and start the race. As I waited, the wind started to get stronger and stronger. Much like last year, I had the distinct pleasure of watching helplessly as the weather slowly but surely turned to shit, only this year it wasn’t a rain and hailstorm and frigid temperatures that we athletes would have to endure, but 20+ mph wind gusts. Joy!

Swim Summary
By the time my wave got into the water, I was so hot from waiting around in a neoprene sausage casing that the cold water felt pretty good. We started swimming and I felt pretty strong swimming to the first turn buoy. My group was pretty rough, but I followed the advice of my teammate Connie and fought back whenever I got bumped or kicked (some douchette who was kicking like an epileptic frog nailed me in the ribs at one point, but I shook it off and swam over her).

When I got to the first turn, the water got considerably choppy and it became harder to navigate in a straight line. I was blown off course from the wind and the chop and didn’t take the straightest route to the final turn. I eventually rounded the bend and swam to shore at a decent pace before emerging to finally peek at my watch and see how I fared.

Goal time: Anything that started with a “4″
Actual time: 47 minutes. I was pretty stoked by my time. Loyal readers (all four of you!) know that I’m a craptacular swimmer. In three years of triathlons I hadn’t broken 50 minutes in a half Ironman swim until now — my previous best was 52 minutes for 1.18 miles at Victoria, and last year’s Boise swim was 57 minutes thanks to the stupid storm. I think I could have swam a 43 or a 44, but since the wind churned the water a bit and threw me off course, I was a bit slower than I think I could have gone. Regardless, it felt damn good to finally escape the 50’s. I’m still a painfully slow swimmer, but I’m happy to have graduated from “tragic” to truly “mediocre.” Huzzah!

T1
I tried out the wetsuit strippers for the first time in a race, figuring I’d give them a test run before Ironman Canada. It felt weird to run up to someone and lay down at his feet expecting to be disrobed, but the process was relatively quick and painless. T1 felt slow due to the “closed” transition rule. Last year I blew through T1 in 2:34, but this year I had to rummage through my bag and dig out all of the random crap I’d need for the ride, so that slowed me down a bit.

Goal time: Mid-2’s
Actual time: 3:07. Oh well.

Bike Summary
I’ve been putting in more bike time this year to prep for Canada, so I was prepared to bust out a much-improved time over last year. Unfortunately, the wind blew a major wrench into my plans. As soon as I started riding, I could feel the gusts man-handling me all over the road. The worst thing is that the bulk of the ride was spent battling a side wind — I could have probably dealt with a head wind since it would have been frustrating but safer. The side wind, on the other hand, was absolutely brutal.

Within ten minutes of the ride, my left hip flexor cramped up and I had to stand up to stretch it out. By mile 30 the top of my hamstrings and my butt were aching and screaming for mercy. My forearms were getting sore from the constant death-gripping of my handlebars whenever a gust blew me four feet to the left. The wind never relented — we got a tail wind for probably about five minutes of the race, but that was about it. Even the descents were pretty pathetic due to the gusts — when you’re only going 18 mph down a steady decline with a cadence of 73, you know something is seriously wrong.

This was the second year in a row where I felt like an idiot for getting race wheels. A couple pros with disc wheels actually got blown off their bikes because the wind was so strong, and one guy even got blown off a freakin’ bridge (it was a bridge that crossed over a pedestrian footpath so he only fell about 7-10 feet, but still…). I would later find out that Chris Lieto, arguably one of the best cyclists among the pro triathletes, stated that this was the toughest bike leg he’s ever raced, and that it was worse than any year he’s raced Kona (the World Championship bike course is known to be very windy). Of course, I didn’t know all this at the time; all I was thinking about was how horrible my race was going and getting more and more discouraged about Ironman Canada. If I felt this miserable riding 56 miles, how was I going to survive 112 and a marathon?

When I was nearing town (right around the spot where I almost creamed a squirrel last year), feeling shitty and wanting this stupid race to be over, I saw another racer pull up beside me. The guy looked at me and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be the bloody shoes girl, would you?” I laughed, surprised that he was able to recognize me, and said “That’s me!” Wouldn’t you know it, I ran into another reader of my blog. He told me he loved Mediocre Athlete and that I was part of the reason he was racing today. Then he paused and joked, “I hate you” (presumably because he felt as great about the wind as I did at this point), and we both laughed and pulled into town. He found me at precisely the right moment in the race — just when I didn’t think I could hate life any more, this guy came along and perked me up when I needed it the most.

Goal time: 3 hours or less
Actual time: 3:27. I was eight minutes slower than last year’s bike time, despite the fact that overall I’m a stronger cyclist this year. My teammates (along with most of the other athletes racing, I presume) also biked much slower than expected, with many people finishing a half hour slower than usual, so I guess 8 minutes isn’t too bad in comparison.

T2
T2 went pretty well — I was in and out in 2:01. This time, I made sure to pull on some socks so I wouldn’t have torn up feet this time around (although since it wasn’t pouring rain this year, it probably wouldn’t have been an issue but I didn’t want to take any chances).

Run Summary
Most of the time when I race, I don’t typically run into nutrition problems unless the weather is exceptionally abnormal (like in Cancun when I battled 98 degree temperatures, obscene humidity, and unrelenting sun). During the bike I battled both the wind and the heat, so as a result I don’t think I fueled properly while cycling. When I got to the run, I had the dreaded bloat belly. I was also uncomfortably hot — it was in the 80s and sunny, and I tend to run warm even when the weather’s mild, so the heat combined with my little Somalian stomach made for a less than ideal run.

I came up with a relatively good strategy to deal with the heat. At every aid station I’d grab a sponge and shove it in my top, then take a cup of ice and pour that down my shirt. The ice/sponge combo would last me a couple miles until I’d eventually replace them with a new sponge and some more ice. I’d also dump water on my head and guzzle Gatorade and water every so often (in hindsight, the guzzling probably didn’t help the belly bloat — I think I have to reassess my drinking habits for Canada).

At the end of loop one, I rummaged for my Endurolytes and looked up to see my non-racing teammates cheering and yelling at me, which made me grin like an idiot:

One of my teammmates/friends shouted out, “Show us yer boobs!”, which snapped me out of my race lull and made me laugh and go, “What?” I don’t think my sweaty, nasty chesticles were something anyone wanted to see at that point.

Speaking of nasty, I’ve never seen so much carnage on a run before. The ride really must have taken its toll on the athletes, because I saw people puking, hunched over, walking with dazed looks on their faces, you name it. I saw people on stretchers, people lying on the ground waiting for medical assistance, people shaking — it was a rough day. Craig Alexander, who won the race two years in a row, ran 11 minutes slower than last year. That big of a gap for a pro indicates how tough things were this year.

Jason caught up to me halfway through loop 2 and we ran together for about 4 miles before he took off in the last mile so he could unchivalrously (yes, that’s a made up word) cross the finish line before me (kidding — he was ahead of me in time, anyway, since he started about 14 minutes behind me).

Nearing the finish and getting high fives from my team

Goal time: 2 hours or under
Actual time: 2:08. My best half Ironman run to date, but I know I can do better. Damn that gut rot!

Goal race time: 6 hours or under
Actual race time: 6:29. Sigh. I really expected to PR by much, much more, but considering how difficult the race ended up being and how I was one of two people on my team who PR’d at all, I’m happy I at least managed to shave off 9 minutes from last year’s time despite the tough conditions. Still, it’s a hard pill to swallow when I think about how I won’t be able to do another half Ironman until next season. Oh well, I guess that means I have another year to train hard and finally achieve that sub-6.

After the Race
Jas and I headed back to the hotel to shower so we could meet our teammates for some late night pizza. I inspected my feet and saw that the only real damage done this year was a blood blister that ended up healing pretty quickly:

Gross, but still a marked improvement over last year’s carnage

The worst souvenir I got from the race was a nasty chafe burn from my race belt. Here’s what it looked like when I finished:

And here’s what it looked like a couple days later:

The scab is gone now but I have a dark mark on my side that will probably end up leaving a scar. It looks like a doctor with questionable credentials removed my appendix. Blerg. Also, thanks to racing in the sun all day, my weird forearm tan I picked up in Penticton evened out a bit but, unfortunately, the watch tan continued to grow even stronger:

Final Thoughts
Okay, I gave Boise another try but honestly (and I mean it this time, damnit!), I’m not going to do the race again next year. Maybe one day I’ll do it again, but I really dislike the afternoon start time. It throws off your pre-race nutrition and, more importantly, it leaves too much time for the weather to turn. Both years, the weather was much better in the morning. If the race had started at 7 am (or even before 11 am), most athletes would have been off the bike by the time the wind got really bad. After talking to some locals, I found out that they often have strong wind gusts in Boise, and that the wind gets worst by mid-afternoon. Why the hell would race organizers plan a race to start at the worst part of the day? If they want it to be a challenge, why not just make the race in December so we athletes can battle snow and freezing temperatures?

I know that there’s really no such thing as a perfect race and that the weather is definitely something organizers can’t control. However, if you know that weather conditions tend to worsen as the day grows longer and you still opt to plan a race that starts at 2:00 pm, you’re often screwing athletes out of a decent race. Since I have no control over what time the race starts, my only option is to skip Boise next year and shoot for a different race instead. I’ll likely come back at some point just so I can try and end on a high note, Costanza style, but for now, Boise, I think we need to take a break.

Her haircut is still considered trendy in Lake Stevens

The town literally consists of this skeezy restaurant, a Subway, a crappy foodmart, a burger shack, and, inexplicably, a town museum (maybe they wanted to commemorate the day they scored a Subway franchise). To answer your next question, no, there are no hotels in Lake Stevens, so if you’re thinking of flying in to do this race then lucky you, you get to stay in Everett or a neighboring city. (And no, Seattle is not “twenty minutes away,” as I heard one race official tell someone over the phone; it’s more like 50 minutes.)

Secondly, the “lake” part of Lake Stevens is filthy. It smells terrible and is full of garbage. When Jason swam in it the day before the race, he said the bottom of the lake was littered with beer cans and junk. Teresa said she spotted a chair during her swim. Jason and his dad once saw a half-submerged mattress in the lake after they finished a bike ride, and I had the pleasure of experiencing an obese kid with a rat tail throwing firecrackers into the lake as I was standing in it for a post-workout ice bath.

This is a form of child abuse, people!

This lake is the town’s urinal — they don’t give a crap about it and they certainly don’t take care of it, so excuse me for not wanting to pay a couple hundred dollars to do a race that involves swimming in it for 1.2 miles.

Thirdly, the bike course is horrible. It’s two loops and is a challenge for sure, with a few tough hills, a lot of false flats, and many twists and turns. However, what I hate most about the course is that the town’s inhabitants are so mean and inconsiderate to cyclists that it makes for a stressful, miserable ride. Every time I’ve ridden the course I’ve had some redneck in a Ford F-150 angrily honk at me as he passes me at 50 mph. And surprise surprise, Ironman didn’t close off the course during the actual race so my friends said they kept getting passed by jerks in cars who would angrily swerve and honk at all of the cyclists who were racing. Jesus Christ, this race is one day out of the year — you’d think that these a-holes could show some courtesy and put up with a few hours of inconvenience, but no, they’ve gotta get to Walmart or a monster truck rally or a Larry the Cable Guy viewing party or wherever the hell they’re rushing to.

And yes, this is the type of place that would likely have drivers who buy “truck balls” for their vehicles

The cherry on top of this turd sundae was the expo hall for the race. Race organizers had the expo hall in Everett, because, as I’ve already mentioned, there is nothing in Lake Stevens. Fun fact: Everett has an events center. Logically, you would think that the packet pickup, race briefing and expo hall would be at the events center or somewhere similarly sized…and you’d be wrong. Apparently the organizers decided that they wanted the expo hall to match the ghettoness of the actual race itself, so they held it in a Holiday Inn that was simultaneously hosting a Cash for Gold trade show. The lobby was a mess of athletes running into old, obese people who stank of ashtrays and were trying to turn in their gold brooches for fifty bucks.

Typical Cash for Gold customer at the hotel

Organizationally, the expo hall was a disaster. There were nearly 900 people signed up for the race, and the organizers were forcing each athlete to attend a mandatory meeting before they were allowed to pick up their race packet. There were four meeting times, one of which was reserved for the elite triathletes. The meeting room held about one hundred people. You do the math: clearly, not everyone is going to be able to squeeze into the room for the meeting. Did they think about this obvious logistical nightmare?

No, of course not; instead, they had some pissy volunteer with a beer gut and a 70′ porn ’stache angrily turning away athletes at the door when they tried to squeeze in and attend the meeting, sighing as if it was a huge personal burden. “Jesus Christ,” he’d whine, “There’s no more room. You have to come back in an hour” before shutting the door in their faces. Fuck that guy — the whole point of a volunteer is to make the athletes as comfortable and as prepared as possible. When you’ve got volunteers being rude to the racers, they’re creating a hostile and unwelcoming environment. Racing that distance is stressful enough as it is — you don’t need a poor man’s Burt Reynolds with a power trip barking at you and telling you what to do.

“Go away, we’re full.”

Speaking of the “mandatory meeting,” that is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I’ve done three half Ironman races and I’ve never been forced to go to an athlete meeting before picking up my packet. There is nothing unique about the Lake Stevens race to where athletes have to be subjected to hearing someone drone on for forty minutes about the course and the token safety information. Oh really, the swim starts here and ends here, and the bike is a two-loop course, and the run is ALSO a two loop course? Wow, I haven’t heard that information since I read it on the goddamn website! Thanks so much for rehashing this for me! Seriously, offer the meeting to people who are nervous and haven’t done a race of this caliber before, but let the veterans and pros skip it — that’s what waivers are for, people.

I honestly have never seen a race this ghetto, unprofessional, cheap or poorly organized — not a half distance, an Olympic, a sprint, or any running races. There’s no way this race is worth a $225 sign up fee. My advice to anyone who’s not raced Lake Stevens before and is considering it — skip it. And to the Ironman race organizers, my advice to you is to either lower the registration fee by $100 or move the race altogether. Lake Stevens is a shithole that doesn’t respect athletes or take care of the course. Washington has better locations for a half Ironman. If the organizers want to maintain the prestige and value of the Ironman brand, I suggest they do something to improve the image of the Lake Stevens race.

First of all, I can’t believe that after swimming 1.2 miles, biking 56 miles and running 12.1 miles, Craig Alexander was still able to bust out a sub-5 minute mile to squeak out the win. His total run time was 1:13:44, averaging a 5:38 pace. Good grief. Secondly, can you imagine how Lieto must have felt? Two weeks ago he lost to Craig Alexander and took 2nd at the Kona 70.3, and he gets win-blocked again by the same dude. I bet Lieto has made a little Craig Alexander voodoo doll and is stabbing the holy hell out of it.

Major props to both athletes. I can’t imagine biking or running that fast. They’re so hardcore.

Traveling to the Race
Jason and I loaded up the Subee, strapped our bikes onto the hitch and drove the 8 excruciatingly boring hour drive through eastern Washington, most of Oregon and into Boise. The drive pretty much consisted of the following:

• brown nothingness
• brown nothingness
• brown nothingness
• ridiculous thunderstorm
• brown nothingness

Pre-Race Preparations
We finally got to Boise, and the next day Jason and I headed to the Expo Center to pick up our registration packet. I had to sign up in person and was forced to bequeath my unborn child over to the Ironman brand (Jesus Christ, race-day sign up is so freakin’ expensive). I also decided to rent race day wheels to see what they were like. They were kind of pricey but still tons cheaper than buying a set of race wheels (which can cost $2,000 and up).

Check out those sexy race wheels

After Jason and I finished up at the Expo Hall, we drove over to the swim start so we could drop off our bikes at T1. After a test bike ride, we got in the water for a 10 minute swim, and holy hell was that water cold. I flailed around for a couple meters before running into a group of idiot kids who thought it was a good idea to take a dip in the sub-60 degree water in bikinis and swim trunks. I had the following conversation with one of them:

Him: “Are you still cold even in your scuba suit?”
Me: “Yeah, this water is pretty cold.”
Him: “I’m freezing! How much did your scuba suit cost?”
Me: “It’s not a scuba suit, it’s a wetsuit.”
Him: “Oh…how much did your wetsuit cost?”
Me: “$650.”
Him: “Really? I only have $5…how much does it cost to rent a wetsuit?”

At that point I was thinking, “Screw you, junior, I’m not lending you my suit,” so I swam off and finished my miserable workout.

Race Day
The next morning we woke up and went downstairs to eat breakfast in the hotel’s dining area. I grabbed a bowl of cereal but upon looking down at it, I felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake me so I only managed to poke at it with my spoon and not eat anything. When we got back to our room I promptly threw up. Twenty minutes later I yakked again, barfing up water and foamy stomachy goodness. Jason looked at me with a mixture of empathy and disgust, asking if I was feeling okay and if I should race. I called Teresa for advice.

Teresa: “Was it something you ate the night before? Do you think it’s food poisoning?”
Me: “I don’t think so. If it were, I would have been sick last night.”
Teresa: “Yeah…do you think it’s nerves?”
Me: “Maybe. I’ve never had this happen before.”
Teresa: “Hmmm…you’re not pregnant, are you?”
Me: “Dear God, I hope not.”

(I’m not.)

I eventually managed to stop barfing and was able to choke down a protein bar. We got our stuff packed up and Jason’s parents took us to the IHOP for a pre-race meal. I ordered whole wheat pancakes but had no appetite and couldn’t eat any of them. Feeling miserable, I looked over at Jason and saw him with his head in his hands, looking exactly how I felt at that moment. We were jittery, stressed, and unable to eat.

After lunch, Jason’s parents started driving us to T1. Ten minutes into our drive, I realized that I had taken the computer off my bike the night before and had accidentally left it in my hotel room. I started to panic, thinking about how I needed my computer to check my cadence and ensure that I was keeping between 85-100 rpms, and that if I didn’t know how fast I was going I was gonna go insane. Jason’s parents said they’d go back and grab it for me and would try to pass it off to me when I got out of the swim.

I was already stressed about having puked twice and forgetting my bike computer when we decided to add “getting lost on the way to the race” to the mix. Since a ton of roads were closed because of the race, we had to take this ridiculous detour to get to T1. We finally got there, only to get yelled at by race officials that we weren’t allowed to get dropped off at the top of the hill where T1 was. Jason’s parents had to drive us all the way down to the bottom of the hill and drop us off at a park that was about 3/4 of a mile away from where we needed to be. I started walking up the hill with two armloads of gear, my heart pounding from the nerves, when I heard a far-off voice announce, “The transition area will close in FIVE minutes.” At that point I thought I was going to pass out from the stress.

Thankfully, Jason’s sister caught up to me and offered to serve as my gear mule, helping me carry some of my stuff up the hill with me. I got to the start and got marked in record time, then ran over to my bike and frantically began setting up my transition area and shoving anything remotely edible into my bento box. The entire time I was rushing and getting yelled at to exit T1, I kept thinking over and over how bullshit a 2 pm race start and two separate transition areas were.

Swim Summary
The race started but my wave wasn’t going for another 45 minutes, so I sat around and had the distinct pleasure of watching the waves get choppier and choppier due to the increasing winds and ever-darkening sky. By the time my wave rolled around, the reservoir looked like a washing machine on spin cycle.

It doesn’t look bad in the photo, but that water was choppy as hell

Finally, we were off. Waves were hitting me from the right, which is the side I breathe from, so I immediately cursed myself for not following Teresa’s training instructions and practicing bilateral breathing more often. The swim was by far the roughest I had ever done — not only were there ridiculous waves and wind to deal with, but people were running into each other and throwing elbows left and right.

I managed to get to the first turn buoy relatively “quickly,” but it seemed to take eons to get to the second turn point. I later found out that it was so windy that the turn buoys were drifting further and further out, and the race volunteers were telling some swimmers to just forgo the big buoys to save time (they didn’t tell me this — effers!). I swam and swam and swam, and finally I dragged my half-drowned ass out of the water, having swam probably about .2-.3 miles more than intended.

Goal time: under 50 minutes
Actual time: 57 minutes (wind + waves + drifting buoys = terrible swim time, though I’m pretty sure I actually swam closer to 1.5 miles instead of 1.2)

T1
My T1 wasn’t actually that bad — I managed to bust out a 2:34 even after waddling over to Jason’s sister with my speedplay cleats to grab my bike computer from her and tap dancing the length of the transition area to the bike mounting spot. (I really need to learn how to hop on and off the bike with my shoes already clipped in — these thick bike cleats are killing my mobility.) I hopped on my bike, put the atrocious swim behind me, and started pedaling.

Bike Summary
Less than three miles into the 56 mile bike it started to rain. Hard. Really hard. Then it turned into a thunderstorm. Then it started to hail. I was a shivering, snotty mess. Every ten minutes I had to wipe snot from my face onto my tri shorts. My bike was soaked and sticky, and I battled slick roads, pelting rain and hail, and unforgiving headwinds the entire miserable ride. By the end of it my crotch and back were screaming at me to stop and I was actually looking forward to seeing downtown Boise. (I never thought that would happen.)

I was probably about a half mile away from T2 and pedaling as hard as I could when I saw a tiny squirrel shoot across the street. It let out a ridiculous squealing noise right when I got to it as if it anticipated its inevitable demise, but somehow the little bastard managed to escape death by race wheel squishing and barely got out of the way as I barreled down the street. Stunned, I uttered a loud “HOLY SHIT” and the person biking behind me started laughing really hard. (This is not the first time I’ve encountered a creature while racing or training — one time a furry black critter ran across my feet during a half marathon, and during a training ride I almost got hit in the face by a bat. I must give off some sort of pheromone.)

I finally got to T2 and breathed a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was finish the run and I’d be done with this bullshit race.

Goal time: 3:00 to 3:10
Actual time: 3:19 (Slower than I wanted, but what can you expect when you’re biking through a goddamn thunderstorm. The bike course itself was relatively flat, so I imagine I’d post a better time in less inclement weather.)

Dropping off my snot-coated bike at T2

T2 and Run Summary
I busted through T2 in 2:17 and started the run. I packed socks in case I wanted to wear them for the run, but I’ve raced sockless before and haven’t had any issues, plus everything in my transition area was soaking wet so I figured socks wouldn’t help, anyway, so I ran out with naked feet. The first couple miles felt pretty good, and I was keeping a steady pace through the giant puddles with my wet feet and shoes. At mile 3 my shoes started to rub my feet in certain areas and my feet started to sting a bit. Each mile after that got worse and worse. I knew I had formed blisters and that they had probably already popped from the constant rubbing. Every step started to hurt more and more, and my run deteriorated to a Hillary Biscay-like gait (only much, much slower).

At mile 5 I stopped at a tree and took my right shoe off to assess the damage. To my surprise, the outer rim of my shoe was covered in blood and my foot was rubbed completely raw in two spots. I sighed, put my shoe back on, and limp-ran to the end of lap one. A volunteer was standing between the split (where you either run ahead and finish the race or turn to the right and begin your second 6.5 mile lap), and he shouted at me, “Great job, keep it up!” I stopped when I got to him and said, “I need medical.”

His smile faded and he said, “Okay, okay, we can get you medical attention. What’s the problem?” I told him that my feet were bleeding. He looked down, saw my bloody shoes, and said, “Yeah…um, I have band-aids. Will those help?” I said sure and he started fishing them out of his pack. Then he looked at me and said, “Do you want to drop out of the race?”

I kind of blinked and looked at him like I didn’t quite comprehend what he was saying. I survived a near drowning, rode a miserable 56 miles in the pouring rain, and just hobble-ran halfway through the run. All I had left was one more lap. Why the fuck would I quit now? I muttered a “No, I should be fine thanks byeeeeeeeeee” and ran off to begin my second lap.

The band-aids actually did help immensely for a few miles, and I was able to temporarily forget about the stinging pain and focus on running. My optimism was short-lived, however, and I Robo-Cop’d the last couple miles with a single driving force: medical. Unlike Thomas the Tank Engine’s mantra of “I think I can, I think I can,” the only word that repeated in my mind over and over again was “Medical. Medical. Medical. Medical.”

I finally lurched across the finish line, got draped with a space blanket and was forced to pose for a stupid finisher’s photo before a volunteer guided me over to the medical area.

Goal time: 2:00 to 2:05
Actual time: 2:17 (I hobble-ran a 10:30 pace, which isn’t too bad considering the state of my feet)

Time for Medical Attention
Jason caught up with me and gave an encouraging “Good job!”, then grew concerned when I told him that I wanted to hit up the medical area ASAP. I assured him that I wasn’t suffering from cramping or dehydration and just pointed down at my feet, at which point his mom uttered an “Ohmygod.” (I felt pretty bad-ass for eliciting such a reaction.)

We headed into medical and a volunteer came up to me and asked if I’d been helped yet. I said “No,” and she asked what the problem was. I pointed down at my feet and she went “Ewwww…by the way, I’m not a doctor, but I’ll get one for you.” I laughed and told her that I figured that either she was just a volunteer or she was a doctor with the world’s worst bedside manner.

Jason’s sister’s rendition of the medical area (where it was “athletes only”)

The doctor/medical dude cleaned my feet with saline solution, burned the hell out of them with some sort of devil’s liquid, smeared some ointment on them and wrapped them in blue bandages.

It’s a good look for me

My bloody shoes (the inserts are pink Superfeet, not bloody soles)

Bloody right shoe (the worse of the two)

After the Race
The funny thing about the 2 pm start time is that the race organizers wanted the finish in downtown Boise so the athletes could enjoy a “post-race party” downtown and eat, drink and hang out. This is a good idea in theory, but since the weather was apocalyptically bad, everyone finished the race and immediately began packing up their stuff to get the hell out of there and change into some dry clothes. Jason and I were no exception. I returned my race wheels and we gathered up our gear and headed back to the hotel (after making a stop at Wendy’s, of course).

Once I finished inhaling my burger, I stepped into the shower and serenaded Jason with a lovely slew of expletives and “MOTHER OF GOD”s as the hot shower water hit my raw feet and stung the shit out of them. We changed and headed over to Teresa and Mark’s hotel to hang out with them, drink, and, of course, scarf down more food. Naturally, Teresa had a kick-ass race and not only took 1st in her age group but was the first amateur female. She’s a mighty good triathlete. Mark also PR’d and did a sub-5 hour race, and Jason PR’d by 40 minutes and finished in under 6 hours. I, of course, brought up the rear and posted the slowest time in our group.

Goal time: low 6 hours
Actual time: 6:38

I’m pretty disappointed with my finish time. I really wanted to get 6:00 to 6:15, with the ultimate goal of hitting under 6 hours. I still managed to PR by about 20 minutes, but I think I could have done up to 30 minutes better if the weather were less ridiculous and if my feet weren’t bleeding. Oh well.

Final Thoughts
All in all, I think that Boise is a potentially good race that turned out pretty shitty for the following reasons:

1. The 2 pm start time. Like I said, a later start time is good on paper, but 2 pm is too late. I wouldn’t mind a race with a 10 am or a noon start time at the absolute latest, but when you start at 2 you have too much time to sit around and get stressed out and worry about everything that can possibly go wrong.
2. The two transition areas. Two transition areas is a pain in the ass. You have to run around the day before and make sure all your bags are properly packed and drop them off in different areas, and when you’re racing you have to make sure you don’t leave anything out or it’ll end up getting left behind. Also, Teresa learned the hard way that you can’t trust the organizers with your various bags of gear when she realized that someone had stolen her ring out of her bag. That’s pretty shitty.
3. The freakin’ weather. The Boise website summarized the day as such: “Participating athletes saw light rain for a majority of the bike and run course, with temperatures hovering in the low 70s.” That’s the most ridiculous euphemism for “torrential thunderstorm and 60 degree temperatures” I’ve ever seen. Granted, apparently Boise averages an inch of rain the entire month of June so it seems like we just had bad luck this year, but still, don’t frickin’ lie about how terrible it was.

I’d probably still do Boise again in the future, but only if they move the start time back to the morning. I can probably put up with the separate transitions and there’s a strong chance the weather has to be better than it was this year, but in my opinion the late start time was a failed experiment. I can’t say I had fun doing the race this year, but at least I learned a lot and can show off my war wounds to everyone.

Cut #1

Cut #2

Cut #3

Cut #4

I’ll probably try and do another 70.3 later this summer as a redemption race. Hopefully it’ll go better than Boise did. :)

Artist’s rendition of me and Jason at the finish since we didn’t get a picture together (I loved medical attention more than my boyfriend that day)

Other disappointments:

• The narrator was underwhelming. He didn’t seem especially stoked to be covering Clearwater, and his lack of enthusiasm was kind of a buzzkill.
• They didn’t really do any elite athlete profiles other than the requisite 30 second “here’s who won last year” mention. I like how Kona does it — they talk about the elites more and interview them and check in on them more on an individual level.
• Not much mention of the course. I know that Clearwater is an “easy” course since it’s pretty much flat as a pancake, but how were the conditions (e.g., temperature, humidity)? Is there any elevation gain? They could have even talked about how flat it is and compared it to more challenging race courses, but no go.
• Not only did they recycle some athlete profiles and barely cover the elites, they did some super half-ass last-minute profiling, like the 5 second mention at the very end of the program of the lady who ran in sandals because of some condition she has (what? who? huh?).

I’m sure there are more grievances to air, but the coverage was so unimpressive and disappointing that I’ve already forgotten most of what I saw. The one saving grace was getting to see Team Hoyt and finding out that this year they’ll log their 1,000th race. (I’ll post a separate entry about them this week.) Other than that, though, I must say that the coverage was pretty craptacular. Oh well — at least it motivated me and Jason to get off our unsatisfied asses and do a 10-13 mile run.