Byron Bay 2013 Triathlon

2:11:31

The rain crashes down around the car, streaming over the glass as the windows fog up. “I guess we’d better head over to transition…” says Mike. Neither of us are keen. It’s 10 degrees colder than yesterday and we don’t have any wet weather gear – not even an umbrella. The usually full Byron Bay carpark is half empty – clearly some sensible people checked the weather forecast before deciding to head down to the race. We banter half-heartedly about finding a warm cafe and sitting around a hot coffee for a few hours, but we both know we’re still going to race. Besides, the nearest toilets are down by the race precinct, and we are absolutely busting!

I guess I was overdue for some shitty race conditions, but living in South-East Queensland you rarely get more than a few showers, and it’s never cold. My only tempestuous race to date was Ironman NZ 2011 – in the cold and constant driving rain, I’d performed better than I’d ever imagined, including a really strong run. Cold? Wet? Me like!

Byron Bay Triathlon is one of my favourite races. I’ve done it 4 of the last 5 years, only missing one year when it sold out early. As well as a great location and atmosphere, they always deliver great goodies in the race bag, and this year was no exception with a running cap and a 2XU running singlet. That’s right, none of those skimpy, midriff-baring tri tops at this race!

We registered and racked our bikes, then found a leaky tent to huddle under. The rain was unrelenting and the running track in front of us was inches deep with water. Clearly it was going to be a soggy-shoe day so I made a last minute decision to wear socks on the run.

In fact, I’d already made some other late gear decisions. This was to be my last race for a while. Typically you need to enter the big Olympic-distance races 10 months out to guarantee a spot, but I wasn’t enjoying that workflow so I’d stopped entering. Triathlons had been slowly losing their lustre and I had no races on the horizon. Which meant it was time to pull out all of those dubious triathlon purchases and put them to use!

First up was the aero wheel covers. I got these when I bought my Powertap power meter, 3 years ago. I’d only ridden them once, in the DNFed Port of Tauranga Half Ironman. They are a thin sheet of plastic that cover your spokes, supposedly giving you free speed! My bike times have never been good enough that a minute mattered to me, but today I was committed to going full-tri-geek!

And of course, the sperm hat. Yes, this never-before worn gem has languished in my closet since 2009 when I picked it up from Torpedo7 for a song. In fact, it had been in the closet so long, that when I tried it on, I found that the earflaps had sagged in, turning it into a skull-crushing vice! I squeezed as many books as I could between the earflaps and left it overnight, but come race morning I had to abandon this baby, as it was still a guaranteed headache.

The Swim – 32:04

Byron Bay is an open-water 1500m swim. Conditions appeared reasonably flat with a decent shore-break to get through. I always think it looks flat when it isn’t, and this time was no exception. The 600m out to the first turn buoy was a right battle – swimming up the face of the swell and then plunging off the top with your arm flailing out in front of you, trying to grasp some water. I’d decided to go very easy, due to minimal swim training before the race (just 3 swims). This served me well as it meant I wasn’t short of breath, and had plenty of energy left to surge around the breast-strokers and lost souls, zig-zagging across the course.

I was wearing new goggles and was sighting the buoys well. The goggles were so clear, that for the first time since I’ve raced here, I could see the rocky ocean floor beneath us. I saw schools of fish and even a turtle. I felt like stopping and calling people over to see! Then I started to wonder what was scaring the fish. Then I decided to stop looking so closely!

When I rounded the second buoy and turned for home, the fast swimmers from the next wave start started coming through. Several times I upped my effort and tried to catch a draft, but they were just too quick. A 32 swim saw me in before Mike (he’s beaten me everywhere, except Byron) and right in the middle of my age group. Yet another average swim, but great to know I can do it off minimal training!

The Bike – 57:38 (1:01:32 including transitions)

Onto the bike and time to see how fast these aero disc wheels could go. Well, to be honest, this isn’t a quick bike ride. It’s a lumpy, undulating route, and the road surface varies from OK to terrible. When you add the surface water into the mix – it’s just plain slow. I rode 10 seconds quicker than last year, but I put out 15 more watts (a 6% increase). In fact, the 257W normalised power (249W average power) is the highest I’ve put out in any race since I’ve had my power meter, so that’s pretty cool. I don’t think the aero wheels gave me much of a physical advantage, but psychologically then made me try to go faster.

It was a funny old ride. I seemed to surge and settle. At times I felt strong and fresh, and would hold a steady 270W power for minutes at a time. Then I’d lose concentration, or tighten up, and notice the power had dropped down again. Rhythm was broken by the constant hills, and I used these to go out of the saddle to avoid my hammie/glute pain firing up. As I jumped out of the saddle, I couldn’t help thinking that the triathletes around me, locked on their aero bars, were frowning as I broke the “rules” of staying aero. But I knew it worked for me, and my tasty run split to come only proved my point.

At about 10km from home, when I was going through a strong period and sitting on about 42kph, Robbie McEwen came flying past me. It’s not often you see a Tour de France legend in a race – he was doing the cycle leg for a relay team. I decided to have a crack at staying with him. Before I know it I’m hitting close to 50kph and flying past other riders. I’m briefly able to maintain a steady 40m behind Robbie but my heart rate is anything but steady! Goodbye Robbie!

The Run – 37:54

This is my fourth race here and I know the run measures short – about 9.5km according to my Garmin files. Going sub 40mins in an Olympic triathlon run (10km) has been one of my goals for years. I’ve had a string of 41′s and 42′s with my quickest being the 40:58 I did at Byron Bay last year. Even though it’s short, I’ve never been able to crack the sub-40. Consistently I start my run too slow, with a 4:15 to 4:30 kilometre, leaving myself too much time to make up. This year my race plan was a little more aggressive:

- Go out hard first 1km. (3:55s). You'll come right!
- Steady for next 6km (2-7k) (3:55s). 
- 7km+ see what’s left!

As soon as I got off the bike and started running, I was reminded why I always do the first km slowly: it takes an impossibly hard effort to run fast when you’re tight and tired from the bike! I quickly revised my plan. Instead, I would go as hard as I could without pushing to 100%; and I wouldn’t check my pace until my watch beeped the pace splits every kilometre. Even this revised effort felt hard, and unsustainable – but then it always does!

But I was pleased to see the first km tick over in 4:02, then 4:05, 3:56 and 3:56. I was on track. By the start of the third lap of four, a 4:11 revealed I was losing my focus. Then someone eased past me, so I sat in behind him. He tried to drop me, and then we put a few surges into each other. All good fun and that lap flew by with a 3:57 and 3:59.

Unfortunately he finished, but there’s no shortage of motivation to finish the final lap hard, and it was time to see what that 100% effort would yield. With a 3:58, a 3:59 and the last 500m at 3:45 pace, I was over the line with a 37:54 run split! Yowser!! Even if the run course had been a true 10km, I was on track for about 39:50. Happy days.

So another Byron Bay done, another steady performance, and no more triathlons on the horizon. I must admit this race has re-inspired me, but I realise that I need to do some serious swim training if I want to improve in my age group. I just can’t afford to be giving away 10 minutes in every swim. So for now it’s time for some off-road fun, with some trail-running and a bit of mountain-biking. I’ll let the swim-focus idea simmer away for a few months…

Mooloolaba Triathlon 2013

Time: 2:20:27 – Swim 29:01, Bike 1:05:16, Run 42:38

I wasn’t going to write anything about this race – but they took such a great photo I had to!

I’m going through a period of race-malaise. Races are neither inspiring me, nor scaring me. I’m going into races without goals or expectations – just looking to compete and enjoy myself. I’m not training as hard as I need to in order to get PBs, so PBs aren’t coming. So I race, I have fun. Without all of the performance-based rock-turning and analysing, there’s not a lot to be said.

In fact, the averageness of this performance has led me to analyse just how average this performance is! Over the years I’ve amassed 8 Olympic distance results. Rather than comparing times (which differ depending on the course, the conditions, and whether transition times are included), I’ve compared my relative position within my Age Group. For example, if my result was the 30th fastest out of 300 in my Age Group, that would give me a top 10%; whereas 270th out of 300 would be a top 90% (a nice way of saying bottom 10%!).

The graph above shows all of my Olympic-distance race results; the black dotted line is my overall race position; the blue, green and red are my position in the swim, bike and run. The leftmost is my first race in 2008, the rightmost is my just-completed Mooloolaba race.

Clearly, when I started triathlon, I had a weak swim and bike, but my run was OK. Combined, this meant my overall results were below average. Over the years, all three disciplines have improved, leading to overall results near the top 10% of my age group.

This year, my 29 min swim was better than I expected, especially given that they’d moved the swim from the beautiful ocean to the skanky canal. You could barely see your own arms under the poo-brown water, and every now and then you’d grab a handful of something soft and squishy. URGGH! Looking at the graph, I came out of the water right in the middle of the field. Three of my previous four swims had been closer to the top third of the field, but given my limited amount of swim training this time around, mid-field was actually pretty good. But it did mean that, with 310 athletes in my age group, there were already 175 bikes up the road ahead of me.

My bike split was top 25% for my Age Group – better than my average, but slower than my previous two rides which were closer to top 10%. This feels about right. I didn’t go as hard as I did last year (when I absolutely went for it on the bike, thinking I wouldn’t be able to run). This year, I just didn’t feel it. I was unmotivated. I wasn’t nervous enough before the race. I didn’t put enough eggs in the basket. During the ride, when I started to feel my now customary hamstring/glute twinges, instead of sucking it up and pushing through, I immediately backed off. Last year my average power output was 253 watts (normalised); this year I only averaged 240 watts – a drop of 5%. I gave less, so I got less.

The graph clearly shows that both my bike and swim have improved over the last few years. Initially my swim improved at the same rate as my bike – just through steady training from a completely unskilled state. But over the last few years my bike has continued to improve, whereas my swim has not. I put this down to consistent, hard bike-riding with the Surfers Paradise Tri Club, which I kicked-off in late 2011. Clearly my swim needs the same kind of attention if it’s to stop being my big weakness!

My run was very strong this year – inside the top 5% for my age group. This surprised me a little because my time of 42:38 is slower than I’ve done before, and I felt sluggish during the first half of the run. I only really got going in the last 3km when someone in my age group tried to pass me. But looking at everyone’s times, it appears that the T2 times have been lumped into the run split, making them appear about a minute slower. Also, after talking with other competitors, many found the run extremely hot. I didn’t notice the heat on the run (and I don’t perform well in heat), so perhaps my slightly conservative ride kept me cool and allowed me to run faster?

Overall, this years result put me just outside the top 10% for my age group. The top 10% is a great target, and right now I need some motivation to push me harder. Next race, I want to be back inside that top 10%!

As a side note, this year we brought our tent and camped at Mooloolaba. The kids had a ball but I’m not sure it was ideal preparation for a race. Temperatures were high (33C on race-day) and it was hard to stay cool. I somehow managed to stuff up my neck (not sure if it was the punch to the head I took in the swim, or just sleeping on an air mattress) and two weeks later it’s still giving me headaches. But on the plus side, it was bloody cheap, the location was very handy to the race start (200m), and we were down boogie-boarding and body-surfing at the beach every few hours. Bliss!!

Next time? Well, if I care about my race-time, it’ll be back to the air-conditioned room!

Bonk

“Oh dear! I might have to get off and walk…”

It’s not often you think that when you’re riding a road bike! I was completely out of energy and out of power. I was on my own, riding on the flat, with a tailwind – and literally struggling to turn the pedals over. The 5km to home, which I’ve ridden hundreds of times before, suddenly seemed like an impossible distance. My power meter was below 50W when I’d normally be up around 200W. As I pulled up at the lights, I wobbled about like a roadside weed in the breeze. I was in the grips of the endurance athletes’ greatest foe – the BONK!

Wikipedia defines the bonk (aka “hitting the wall”) as:

“a condition caused by the depletion of glycogen stores in the liver and muscles, which manifests itself by sudden fatigue and loss of energy. Milder instances can be remedied by brief rest and the ingestion of food or drinks containing carbohydrates. The condition can usually be avoided by ensuring that glycogen levels are high when the exercise begins, maintaining glucose levels during exercise by eating or drinking carbohydrate-rich substances, or by reducing exercise intensity.”

It’s been a long time since I last bonked, and I’ve never bonked this hard. Over the years I’ve learned my limits – I know how long and how hard I can go before I need to eat. The truth is, it’s been so long since I last bonked that I no longer worried about it. That complacency allowed me to make a number of mistakes which, when combined, put me on the BONK-ville express!

Mistake 1. “The condition can usually be avoided by ensuring that glycogen levels are high when the exercise begins…”.

Last night at 7pm I ran a half marathon in training. (“1:48 actually, thanks for asking!”) This was a little Strava challenge, so I could get a dinky little “February half-marathon badge” on my dashboard. (I thought I may as well get something out of all this running I’d been doing in January!) Plus I’ve packed on a few kilos during the festive season so I decided not to refuel after the run. I believe scientists describe this as “depleting my glycogen stores”.

Mistake 2. “The condition can usually be avoided by… maintaining glucose levels during exercise”.

I never take gels on my Monday morning ride. It’s a 2hr ride that I’ve done dozens of times. Never needed them. And, like all real men, I drink water.

Mistake 3. “The condition can usually be avoided by… reducing exercise intensity”.

It’s been six weeks since I last rode a bike. I’ve had a very relaxing holiday (“NZ actually, thanks for asking!”) and this was my first session back. We were riding a fast 4km circuit in groups of 4. I was planning to coast around and build into things, but somehow I found myself in the front pack with the 3 strongest riders. For a lap and half I felt good and took my pulls on the front. Then suddenly there was a surge and two of us were out the back. We chased but couldn’t catch. After 3 laps we regrouped, but this time I only lasted one lap before I watched them disappear down the road. I had nothing.

There’s nothing quite like watching the bunch slowly pull away from you. It’s quite sad! The last 3 laps I spent trying to stay ahead of the 12-year old who was closing in on me. Rather than “reducing exercise intensity”, I’d increased it (relative to my current fitness levels)!

And so I bonked.

The ride home is a fading memory. I got progressively weaker. By the time I left the bunch (about 6km from home) I’d slowed to a crawl. I did a mental inventory of my saddle bag, hoping to remember some months-old race gel. I wanted a shop but couldn’t face diverting even further from home. I wondered whether I could actually slow down enough that my body would stop complaining. I thought about walking. At 2km from home I considered ringing my wife!

Somewhere under all that suffering I realised, with a wry smirk, that I was learning yet another valuable lesson! Isn’t life kind like that?

Soon I head out for my second ride back. The scars are fresh. I shall carry a gel (or two). I will not bonk!

The Daily Run

I’m just back in from my 31st day of running in January. I’ve run every single day of 2013 so far – at least 1 run per day, with a minimum of 30mins or 6km.

It’s known as streak running, and googling it will lead you to Ron Hill, who’s the current world record holder having run every day since 1964!

I’m not quite sure how my streak came about. In December I built a training plan for the Tararua Mountain Race – a 35km trail run with 2,400m of climbing. By the end of December I was already well off target. Even though the race was still 10 weeks away, I was scheduled to do the Jumbo-Holdsworth race (22km with 1,600m of climbing) in late January – only 4 weeks away! I was woefully underprepared and needed to knuckle down.

I had 5 days before the wife went away for a week, leaving me with the two youngest children. I ran every day. Then she went away and I was faced with either a week on the couch OR… So I bought a double running pram, and ran every day that she was away. Suddenly I was hitting my weekly run targets.

I threw out my carefully structured training plan, with scheduled long runs, speed sessions and hill work. I decided I’d run every day; if I had the time, I’d run longer; if I had more time, I’d run hills. But no matter what, I’d run every day. Too many “zero” days had been costing me, so I stopped having them.

And now, 31 days later, I’ve run every day in January.

It wasn’t without challenges. I’ve run the Jumbo-Holdsworth trail race, and I had to run the day before it and the day after it – not my idea of a taper or recovery! I’ve run while travelling internationally. I’ve run with two little kids. I’ve run in a Queensland cyclone. And I’ve run in stinking hot humidity.

But none of those runs were difficult, because the streak is self-motivating. The longer you do it, the more you have to do it. You don’t want to break the streak. There’s none of those draining “Will I, won’t I?” internal conversations – instead you pounce on an opportunity to get out the door, and eventually you start to base your daily plans around your run.

The Good

Running every day for a month has had some real positives. I increased my mileage – significantly: 33 hours for the month compared to my previous best of 16; I ran 65km/week up from my average of 30km/week. Although my average run speed dropped away, it was mostly due to the increased focus on hills – very steep hills!

Other positives have been reduced injury downtime. Early on I was battling plantar fascitis, shin splints and a potential stress reaction in my ankle. But by running daily, switching between a few pairs of shoes, and focussing on “easy, easy, easy”, I was able to keep the injuries at bay. My calf strains still recur, but they are predictable. Any run with more than 500m of climbing will bring on a strain, no matter how good I feel straight after the run. But 2-3 days of easy running seems to flush the strain out.

The Bad

It wasn’t all roses though. I’ve uncovered a bizarre pattern. When I run too much, I start to gain weight! I think it’s a combination of less training hours (so less fuel burnt) but increased pain from the training (so more comfort food consumed). While 8 hours per week is a decent load for a runner, it’s not much at all for a triathlete – and 8 hours of running hurts me much more than 8 hours of swim/bike/run.

Another negative is that my other sports have suffered. I’ve neither swum nor cycled during January. Somewhere along the line it became all about running, and bugger everything else. That was never the plan!

Where to from here?

Well, the Tararua Mountain Race has been scratched from this year’s To Do list. A rough guideline is that if you double your Jumbo-Holdsworth time that gives you your expected Tararua Mountain Race time. Neither my running partner, nor I, felt we had another Jumbo-Holdsworth loop in us (you have to run with it with a partner the first time). Next year!

I still hanker for trail runs, but more to explore new territory than to compete. There’s a couple of good candidates coming up: the Nerang State Forest 25km in 5 weeks, and the Up the Buff trail race in 7 weeks. They could be followed up nicely by the Glasshouse Cooks Tour 30km in May, and the Gold Coast Half Marathon in July.

But last year’s dreams saw me enter early for the Mooloolaba Triathlon (which is in 6 weeks), and also the Byron Bay Triathlon in May. Both are paid for, as is accommodation for Mooloolaba. So it looks like I’ll be tri-ing, but will I also be running?

Should I break the Streak?

This one is not so easy to answer. On the one hand I’m worried that this could turn into an unhealthy obsession and feel I should miss tomorrow’s run just to clear the slate. On the other hand, it has been highly motivating and I need all the motivation I can get right now!

Perhaps I’ll try and fold some cycling and swimming into the daily run. And then try to add some running speed sessions and quality hill reps. If I can’t deliver quality, then the daily run should go.

Running the Warrie Circuit – Springbrook National Park

I’ve wanted to run the 17km Warrie Circuit in Springbrook for ages, and today, with the wife away and the kids in kindy, I finally got my chance. The Warrie Circuit starts at the Tallanbana picnic area off Springbrook Rd – about an hour’s drive from the Gold Coast. The trail drops through lush rainforest, passing multiple waterfalls and sidling the top and bottom of cliffs. It is described as a 5-6 hour hike, but it can be run in around 2 hours.

But it’s isolated. And there will be snakes. And I’d be running it on my own.

So the PLB went into the pack, as did the compression bandages. These joined the map, compass, GPS, food, water, survival blanket, first aid kit, torch and whistle. Then I piled in a whole lot more unnecessary stuff like a polypro top, woolley hat, gloves and rain jacket. None of these would be required in the 30C+ heat, but I need to carry them (and more) for the Jumbo-Holdsworth run in two weeks so I’d better get used to it!


I decided to take a quick refresher on compression bandage techniques before I left (no point having the bandage and not knowing how to use it!). In the process I discovered that moths, caterpillars and even the friendly-looking platypuses have a poisonous sting! Man, you’ve gotta respect the first Australian settlers – while my Kiwi ancestors migrated to a giant aviary, the Ozzies migrated to the deadly animals exhibit at the zoo! I’m sure those that surived rapidly learned: “If it moves, it stings!”

I was apprehensive about this trip and found myself coming up with reasons not to go. Was I scared of the risk involved? Or was I scared that the risk I was taking was irresponsible?. With the wife away and no family in town, the kids were in my sole care. I had noone to leave intentions with, so nobody would know where I was if I didn’t show to collect them from kindy. Serious stuff!

In the end, I got an email from Shaun saying he’d entered Jumbo-Holdsworth in two weeks – that snapped me out of my indecision and sent me out the door. I had 6 hours till kindy pickup and should only need 4 of them (1 hour to drive there, 2 hr torun, and then 1 hr back). What could possibly go wrong?

Within 100m my “snake alert” had gone off a dozen times. There were rustles from the side of the track, crashes from the bushes, and lizards darting across the track in front of me causing me to slam on the emergency brakes. I soon lowered my “snake alert” threshold! I was also trying to ensure my gaze was fixed at least 5m down the trail, but with my head up, my mouth was too far open, and several flies perished in attempts to explore this enticing cave. I quickly adopted the “tongue behind the teeth” technique as a secondary line of defence. It was critter city out there – a snake seemed inevitable.

I didn’t see what tripped me. I was running pretty swiftly downhill and my right foot must’ve caught a rock or a root. The trail is pretty nice here – solid rock or packed boulders, threaded with roots, then covered with a thin layer of dirt and plenty of leaf litter. It’s firm with a little give – perfect for running. But you do have to keep your eyes peeled for the odd rock or root that pokes up – it’s not roll your ankle material, but you could catch your foot and take a nasty fall.

My right foot stopped stopped moving forwards but my body kept going. One minute I was light as a feather, floating along the trail, the next I felt like a 72kg bag of cement tipped off the back of a truck and plummeting towards the dirt. My left foot tried in vain to get under me and take my body weight. Then my right tried. My efforts only accelerated me horizontally and I kept going down.

As I fell, I scanned the path ahead, wary not to look off the sides of the trails because my mountain bike and motorbike experience had taught me that you go where you look. Ahead, the ground looked leafy but I could see protruding rocks. My right arm was out in front of me but there was nothing on the side of the trail that I could grab to arrest my fall. I could brace my arm to break the fall, but that might mean a broken arm or collar bone. So I keep it loosely protecting my head as I hit the earth with a THUD and then skidded a long, LONG way!

Here I take a quick break from writing to put the kids’ dinner out. I wince in pain as my right arm tries to take the weight of the oven dish. I’m so soft! It could have been so much worse. I find myself shaking my head in disappointment for the twentieth time. I’m a little disappointed in myself because I chose a risky run and put my kids well-being in jeopardy, but mostly I’m disappointed in myself for tripping and falling. I mean, who trips up, really?!

It was a HARD fall. Immediately I feared something was broken. My right knee had jarred into a rock and was locked up. My right forearm was rubbed raw but I could gingerly move it. Surreally, a bubble of blood appeared from one of my fingernails.

This was just what I’d feared. It had been 40 mins since I’d seen anyone and I was 6km from the trail head, all uphill. Could I splint my leg and hobble back in 3 hours to pickup the girls from kindy? I had a torch and a PLB so I wasn’t worried about not making it out – I was worried about what would happen to the kids when kindy closed! IDIOT! Lesson learned here.

Thankfully my knee started to release, and as I walked it loosened to the point that I could run again. After 5 mins of running I didn’t notice the knee at all – the arm had the pain-monopoly. But it was manageable and I was on my way. Happy days, crisis averted!

It’s fair to say that I didn’t enjoy the run so much from here. I stopped at the next stream and washed the dirt from my arm and leg, careful not to grab one of the little flitting creatures that were swimming in the stream – no doubt poisonous and blood-thirsty! 10 mins later I was at the “Meeting of the Waters”, the halfway point. With it’s massive ancient trees and boulders, I could imagine dinosaurs living here. But no – just mozzies. So time for a quick snack and then on my way.

From here it was all uphill. Most of it was runnable but at times the grade got a bit steep or there were steps, so I slowed to a walk. The fully laden backpack was making itself felt! There were a couple more waterfalls but I’d seen (and walked under) so many magnificent waterfalls already that these were more of a welcome respite from running. It was hot work and I was having trouble going slow enough to keep my HR down to a sensible level. I was hoping that after a bit of uphill, my legs would ease off and settle into a sensible pace. But with the gradient and the heat, my HR sat around 90% until I reached the top.

Somehow I managed to take a wrong turn and returned via the base of Twin Falls rather than the ridge above it. By the time I’d worked that out, I wasn’t keen to backtrack the 1km or so to see if I could find the turnoff I’d missed. Besides, the route I was on would take me back to the carpark, and would probably be about the same distance. By this point, 2 hours in, I was ready for the end!

So now I’ve done the Warrie Circuit. Nice scenery and a nice run. I’ll definitely have to do it again, when I’m not the sole-caregiver, and do it WITHOUT falling over!

Strava file showing route and elevation. Track stats: 12km, 500m climbing, 2 hours.

Hervey Bay 100 Race Report

It was great to finish, but…

Hervey Bay is a beautiful place. It’s a few days after the race and we are still here – relaxing by the pool, strolling along the beach, playing at the free water-park, coffees overlooking the bay. If the Sunshine Coast is like the Gold Coast before it boomed, then Hervey Bay is like the Sunshine Coast before it boomed. It’s a small town full of friendly, relaxed folk. They’ve got something special here – and now they can add the Hervey Bay 100 to it.

The two little ones enjoying the Hervey Bay mud flats at low tide

It’s a spectacularly scenic course: swim in the bay, bike along the waterfront and over the northern headland, and then run along the foreshore footpath under the dappled shade of enormous trees. But although it’s pretty, it’s not to be underestimated. The shallow bay chops up wickedly with a decent easterly. The bike course is hot and exposed to the coastal breezes, with a brain-rattling section near the turnaround and then a nasty little pitch back up onto the headland. And the run, in the heat of the midday sun, is stifling.

I came into this race under a cloud. An injury that had been merely a niggle months ago, had developed into a painful and unpredictable problem. As a consequence, training volume was lighter than I’d wanted and most of the key race-specific buildups sessions had been missed or reduced. But I had a great base of fitness – similar to the fitness I took into Ironman NZ – and I’d had a good hit out the week before at the Robina super-sprint tri where the injury didn’t affect me. This was a B race and I had no expectations. I was curious to see how I’d perform and what my body, and mind, would allow.

Although only a small race with less than 300 competitors, the turnout of spectators, in particular from the Redcliffe Tri Club, made for a carnival-like atmosphere on the day. Brother-in-law Mike and I were sent on our way with pompoms and coloured hair thanks to Charlotte (his better half) and their kids. But the party mood quickly sobered as we stood on the shore and tried to figure out the swim route. The wind was up and the water turbulent, and the first leg of the 1km triangle (to be repeated twice) was a long haul directly into the sun, wind, and chop. With only three waves (under 40, over 40, girls/teams) there was no time to waste. I squeezed into my stylish “Pea Brain” swim cap, had a quick splash and then we were off.

Pea Brain – Gotta love a race that gives you a “Pea Brain” swim cap!

2km swim leg

I’m pretty sure everyone hated this swim. It was an absolute bitch! Within 100m, people were standing in the chest deep water, spitting out lungfuls of seawater and trying to get their bearings. I’d positioned too far back and was having to swim around a mixture of standing people and breast-strokers, whilst getting hammered by a sharp, choppy swell (which would be well familiar to anyone who’s swum to the far wall at Lake Hugh Muntz on a windy day). My swim fitness was OK and I avoided most of the brine by breathing to the opposite side. A hard effort was required to make good headway to the first buoy but I was content to go easy and not overcook myself at the start of a long day. I found myself wondering how many people would just give the whole race away right there. If the entree was this bad, how good would the main be?

I had a comfortable, if unpleasant, first 1500m but then swallowed a couple of bewdy mouthfuls which I had to spew back out. I didn’t want any seawater in my stomach to cause problems with my gels later on. As I charged up the beach into transition I gave the crowd a happy wave – I thought I’d done pretty well in the conditions and I never check my watch. “You’d better hurry up! Mike’s got 3 minutes on you” comes Charlotte’s call. This only serves to slow me down and I do a few unnecessary stretches to entertain the kids. There’s a long day ahead and racing now would lead to a lot of suffering later. Transition is so compact that I’m still out on the bike in a couple of minutes. Time to execute part (ii) of the race plan – a steady bike!

Swim done in 44:08 – 41st in age group – A shocker as it turned out!

Awesome, FREE in-water swim photos. Did I say how good this event was?

80km bike leg

The plan for the bike was simple: hold 210W for 80km. I’d tried 220W in training and it felt a bit tough. So 210W was untested but a reasonable guess. Keeping the heart rate around 80% (and below 83%) was my backup measure – I’d used that in the Gold Coast Half Ironman 3 years earlier. But in training, prolonged periods in the aerobars had really aggravated my glute/hammie/sciatic/mystery injury, so the whole thing was up in the air.

The course is four 20km loops – 10km out over the headland and down to Gatakers Bay, and then back again. I quickly lock onto 210W and have reeled Mike in before the top of the hill – much sooner than I expected so a pleasant surprise.

I see the bold colours of Surfers Paradise Triathlon Club coming back down the hill towards me. It’s Joey. He and Katie are the only other SPTC members doing the race, and they’re both in club colours which I avoided because my club trisuit has no pockets. He’s had a good swim and is well ahead of me – about 15 mins by my dodgy calculations (it turns out it was only about 5 mins!). As the ride progresses, we continue to pass each other in roughly the same spots – riding very similarly paced rides. It’s all I can do not to unleash and try to chase him down like we do to each other in training!

The SPTC crew at Hervey Bay

The drafting rule is 12m between bikes and I see no drafting all day, which is bloody fantastic! Before long I’m surrounded by three guys who are riding at a similar pace to me. I’m pushing past them on the flats and downhills but they are charging past me up the hills as I ease off to my 210W target. I find this both mildly amusing and annoying because uphills are my strength and normally I’d be dropping bigger guys like these on hills – not the other way around. Stupid triathlon with it’s flat time-trialling!

Halfway through the third lap the injury flares – and the game changes. It hurts to push 210W and subconsciously my power drops to reduce the pain levels. Then there are a couple of spasms and pain spikes. Is a cramp coming? Am I sawing through the sciatic nerve? Luckily the hill arrives and I can do an out of saddle effort. The pain goes away and I can lock 210W back in. But before long it returns and I have to ease off. This is how the rest of the ride continues. On the last pinch up Gatakers I finally unleash and hammer it – out of sheer frustration – my biggest power spike of the day. But my ride buddies are well up the road by now and only the spectators can reward me with a “You did it easy #27!” as I go by. I push hard all of the way back to transition – not the ideal race strategy when I should be saving my legs, but one that seems to stop the pain. For some reason it hurts less when I go hard!?!

I pull into transition disappointed. Unsure what’s in store, I grab two panadol along with a gel. Will it be a run or a walk?

Bike done in 2:28:20 (2:24:38 excluding transitions) – 30th in age group – 211W, HR 80% and 92 cadence. Average speed 33.6 kph. 148 TSS. Decoupled 6% (ok-ish) – C’est la vie!

18km run leg

Onto the run and I have no pain from the get go, but my legs are pretty heavy. The first km of the run feels lovely with a fresh breeze blowing off the beach under the trees. I see Joey coming my way, making him about 3km ahead of me by my still dodgy calculations. I quickly realise that taking my expected 30sec per km out of him means I won’t catch him today. He’s having a great race and I’m happy for him.

Within a kilometre my legs start to lighten up and my pace increases to the 4:30-4:45 min/km target I’d set for the first 6km loop. There’s a bit of confusion at the aid stations with coke, ice, water and electrolyte all being offered at once by many helpful volunteers, but I slow down to ensure I get what I need because the heat is really starting to build. Ice down the front and back of the trisuit was awesome, but under the hat was a bad idea – BRAIN FREEZE!

Just before the end of the first lap, the lead male (Brian Mcleod) comes past me – not moving much quicker – but on his final lap and on his way to a new race record. A little demoralising knowing I’ve still got an hour left to run! Then the first lap is over and it’s time to up the pace to 4:20-4:30min/km. It feels good, and right on queue I hook up with another runner on his first lap who’s running 4:20s. For 2km we stride along together, weaving our way through the field. I’m a little surprised I haven’t seen Joey coming the other way yet and then I spot him up ahead, still going in my direction, hobbling and stretching. “Cramp” he cries. I yell out an offer of salt as I pass, and then wonder if that’d be considered “outside assistance” and mean disqualification. I better get that rule clarified!

I stop for fluids at the 8km turnaround and am busy stuffing ice down my shirt and electrolytes in my mouth, when I hear one of the volunteers say “Someone’s missed the turnaround and run off the course!”. I look up to see my 4:20min/km companion disappearing down the path as the volunteers shrug their shoulders and resume their ice shovelling and cup passing. The poor bugger. I see him again much later in the run and yell my condolences – he’s still several km behind me even after I’ve blown to smithereens.

Suddenly, with Joey no longer in front of me, and my 4:20min/km leadout man gone, I find it hard to hold my pace. I manage a 4:25, then a 4:45. Oddly, my head is starting to feel cold and tingle and my right hammie is threatening to cramp. I’m thinking dehydration so I take a very long aid station, hitting water, ice and electrolytes. Then I realise, 11.5km into the race, that I haven’t taken the gel I planned to take at 6km. Whoops! I stuff it down but I’m nowhere near an aid station so can’t wash it down for a few minutes.

But it’s all coming unravelled. My shoes are suddenly heavy and sloshing with water at every step. I’m fighting to get my pace close to 5 min/km and slowly people I’ve passed start to pass me back. The HORROR! I’m in new territory.

It feels like a mental game now. What can I do to coax some pace out of my body? I pick a lady who’s passed me and try to keep her in my sights. No good. I try my first ever on-course coke. Too bloody fizzy – and still no good! I try to concentrate on form – fast turnover, light feet. No good. Any pace increases are quickly lost and I’m resigned to struggling home and just finishing this damned race!

I put on a brave face for my wife and kids as I head through transition for the last time with just one km to go. Another runner approaches from behind breathing hard. He’s no doubt also on his final lap and picking off a few places. I’m determined not to make it easy for him and push myself up to 4:30min/km pace. He sits in behind and follows me. I imagine he’s waiting for the final 100m where he’ll surge past my slumbering form, and I’m annoyed at my inability to pickup the pace and drop him. Running away from someone is so much harder than chasing someone! I’m in a pretty negative headspace.

I pass Mike coming the other way – just before the 500m to go turnaround – and wonder if I’ll be able to lap him before I finish. Then I hear the guy behind me urge on a mate who’s going the other way “You’ve done the hard work, now claim your prize!” or something equally absurd. For some reason, the combination of that comment, and the fact that he seems to have dropped a few metres behind me, transform me from the mouse into the cat. I fly around the turnaround and close the race in a ridiculous 4:10min/km. Past the mate. And another place. And another. But I don’t quite manage to catch Mike as I fly down the finish chute – it turns out he’d put on a surge himself in a bid to stop me lapping him

Finished and fried. And relieved. And alive. And happy. And then, much later, frustrated.

Run done in 1:26:07 – 13th in age group – Average pace 4:44 min/km. HR 88% and 86 cadence (low due to walking aid stations). 111 TSS. Decoupled 10% (ouch!!) – My first run #fail

Overall: 4:38:36 – 22nd in age group – 65th overall

Post-race analysis/Navel-gazing

I’m still not sure why I’m disappointed in this result. I broke 5 hours, which was a goal. I beat the people I expected to beat. I’d survived a race where I’d started falling apart. Maybe I’d hoped to place higher in my age group in such a small field? But that’s entirely dependent on who turns up. My age group was big: 76 of the 263 competitors who raced were in my age group. I was 22nd. To get a top 10 I needed to do 4:23 – 15 mins faster. Doable, but not with the fitness I took into the race. I’m probably disappointed because I’d restrained myself on the bike and yet I still suffered in the run – which is usually my strong suit.

My initial reaction was to blame the injury for my less than satisfying performance. But having thought about it some more, the injury played a part, but this race was actually a true reflection of my current fitness.

The hard swim exposed my weak swim – the injury played no part in this performance. Last weekend I lost 2 mins to the leaders with a 7 min swim. This week I lost 13 mins with a 44 min swim. If I want to be in the race, I need to start taking swim training seriously! I need to get my pool times of 1:45/100m down to 1:25/100m or below.

The injury certainly affected my performance in the last half of the bike, but I think lack of fitness – race specific fitness – was as least as much to blame. I just wasn’t well prepared for a 2hr+ effort at a constant hard pace on the bike. My injury gave my tired legs an excuse, which they took too readily. This is backed up by the power file which shows my power and heart rate only decoupled 1% in the first 60km, but had decoupled 6% by the end of the 80km ride. I wasn’t fit enough for that last 20km. In my buildup I should have done a hard 80km session (and even more) so my body would know what to expect, and my mind would know how to deal with my body when it started to falter. Admittedly the injury stymied my attempts to do any long TT sessions in the month leading into the race, so my ride preparation was underdone because of the injury.

The poor run was a result of an overly ambitious race plan – I wasn’t prepared for a fast 18km run in the heat, off a hard bike. My run form had tanked after the Gold Coast Half Marathon in July – partly due to me putting running on hold while I rebuilt my bike, and partly because of the month completely off running due to Plantar Fasciitis. I’d put together a reasonable 6 weeks prior to the race (with my CTL peaking at 26 compared to 36 for the GCHM) but it wasn’t enough for the raceplan I tried to execute. It needed another month of running. I had ignored my failed final hit-out run to my peril!

I started listing my lessons learned for this result – a lot of the usual stuff…

• Set realistic goals based on current form, not past form!
• My swim is crap.
• Do some long, hard race-length rides in the buildup.
• Prepare for the heat with some long runs during the day.
• Keep my head in the game.

But after leaving this writeup to stew for a week, I think the key point I’m going to takeaway from this race is: if you want to take your result seriously, then you have to train seriously! As they say: “Failing to plan is planning to fail”.

Time to let it go!

Final hit-out #FAIL

(Note: This was actually posted a few days after Hervey Bay, when I finally pulled my finger out and got around to publishing the bloody thing!)

It’s 7am and I’m back at home, legs-up, coffee in hand, laptop out, contemplating yet another failed final hit-out run.

It’s not that I didn’t finish the run – finishing was never in doubt. I just totally missed my targets, right through the run. And this was my final long run before the Hervey Bay 100 in two weeks – a triathlon that finishes with an 18km run. This was to be a confidence-booster that would confirm I had my target race-pace nailed, and my nutrition nailed. I either totally misjudged my fitness and ability, or I had a shitty run. The aim of this bog post is to find out which!

It’s not the first time I’ve had an epic fail on a final hit-out run. Earlier in the year, two weeks before the Gold Coast Half Marathon, I also totally missed my targets. This led me to tone down my expectations for that race, but then on raceday I hit it out of the park – running much quicker than the pace targets I’d failed to hit two weeks earlier. So I’m not too put off by a crappy final hit-out run. BUT, I don’t like them, and I don’t want to have any more!

Once again I’d decided to split the 20km run roughly into thirds. First third at easy pace (5:00-5:10 min/km), the middle third at my target race-pace (4:15-4:20 min/km), and then the last 6km at faster than race-pace (hopefully 4:00 – 4:05 min/km). I had pretty much pulled these numbers out of thin air. I had run the GC Half Marathon 4 months ago at 3:55 min/km pace, but my running form has dropped significantly since then and I’m carrying a few niggles. So I figured 4:20 min/km for a slightly shorter distance, after a 2km swim and 80km bike ride should be doable.

Good morning.

The alarm went off at 3:45am. I was up and out the door just after 4am to be greeted by a sight we haven’t seen for some months on the Gold Coast: rain. I enjoy running in the rain, but I have to make a few changes: no iPod, lace the shoes tighter so they don’t loosen when wet and heavy, and wear my tri-pants to avoid chaffing.

And we’re off!

The first 10 mins of every run sees me build from a laboured plod to my relaxed running pace. I’m not sure that it’s always been this way, but it certainly is now. My runs start slow! Cadence starts at low 80s and builds to 90. Pace starts at 6 mins/km and builds to 5 min/km. By this point, any stiffness or niggles should be gone. But today my current arch-nemesis, the sciatic glute/hamstring pain, is alive and aching. Not a good sign. From past runs I know that this pain won’t subside and will probably increase to the point where it hurts so much to lift my right leg that I can’t run with proper form.

By 4km in I’m seriously contemplating bailing on the run. It’s not helping that a few days earlier I’d gotten a scare. I’d figured out that nerve pain was not an injured muscle telling me that it needed to be protected, but rather a phantom pain that could be ignored. I’d been thinking a few panadols to numb the pain and I’d be able to race at full-speed without fear of damaging myself. I’d mentioned this to the local tri-club coach. Then she started talking about nerve damage and paralysis!

PARALYSIS!! Not the thought you want in your head when you’re trying to tough out a long run.

It was apparent that already the mind games are beginning and I needed to complete this run if I was going to have any show of pushing through adversity in my coming race. So I pushed the pain to a corner of my mind where I could keep an eye on it, but not focus on it. Before long the pain wasn’t an issue.

Shortly after 6km I hit the Miami boardwalk. My HR had stabilised at an easy 76% and my pace at 5 mins/km. This is a lovely elevated stretch with views out across the beach and ocean – always inspiring – and the perfect place to ramp up the pace to a steady effort.

1st third completed: pace 5:07min/km, HR average 73.5% of max, cadence 89 steps per minute

My original plan was to run this second leg at 4:20 min/km. But the way I’m feeling, that’s out the window straight away. I quickly revise the plan: I’ll run this third at a ‘steady’ pace, and then the final third at race-pace. But I struggle to maintain even a steady pace. I’m trying to run by feel, but whenever I check my watch I find I’ve slowed down too much. 4:40min/km is my target, but when I switch off I drift back out to 4:55min/km. It’s a seesaw and I’m forced to stay focussed – not a good sign when the fast running is yet to come! The 10km turnaround at Burleigh SLSC seems a long way away.

This part of the run always appears slower in my GPS tracks. There’s a 50 step climb to the top of Nobby’s head (aka Little Burleigh Hill) that has to be done on the way out and again on the way back. And there’s my nutrition break. The plan is to try these new Powerbar Shots. At the hour mark I slow to a walk and wolf 3 down (equivalent to half a typical gel), followed by a drink of water. 10 mins later I stop for another drink of water. The gels stay down well during the run, but I do have a case of the “gotta-go”s once the run has finished (about an hour after I first took them). The jury’s still out on these gels and they won’t be getting used at Hervey Bay.

As I run back past the Miami foreshore, I watch the surfers bobbing in the chop and I listen for the 14km lap to bleep on my watch. That will mean 6km to home and time for the final test.

2nd third completed: pace 4:59min/km, HR average 81.4% of max, cadence 90 steps per minute

BLEEP! I hold 4:20 min/km for two minutes. I stay within cooeee of 4:20 min/km for another eight minutes. Then it’s surge and slump all the way home.

Once again, I’m inexplicably unable to push myself hard and hold it, and I can’t get my heartrate up. I never used to have problems with running motivation and frequently pushed my heartrate up to 95% and beyond in hard runs. Perhaps I’m too tired? Or perhaps I’m attempting a run that is too far beyond my current capabilities? Or perhaps I need to find myself a run group to push me harder? A lot of questions – but no answers.

3rd third completed: pace 4:30min/km, HR average 83.5% of max, cadence 93 steps per minute

So this run gets a big, red X in the “Fail” column for race preparation. I have no better idea of what pace to run the Hervey Bay 100 18km run in – I’ll have to take a stab.

But hopefully, like the Gold Coast Half Marathon, it’s a sign of a great race to come!