Ironman California Race Recap 🐻

Intro

A lot of people asked me how one ends up deciding to race an Ironman. I think it comes from the progression of constantly trying to break through whatever limits you impose on yourself. Can I run 10 miles? Yea-ok, what about a half marathon? Yea-ok. What about a full marathon? Yea-ok, and so on and so forth.

Back in 2012, I was in Spanish class and I listened to my teacher tell us about his Ironman experience. Being 17 at that time, I thought this was something that I never would be able to accomplish. I remember seeing the stickers on cars and always thinking about how I probably don’t have what it takes to do one. I remember visiting my friend Tres in Tempe, Arizona and stumbling upon the Ironman Arizona race. We spectated for a few minutes, and I remember thinking that is something I probably won’t ever do.

Through the progression of doing different endurance events and races that I’ve written about here, that doubt of what I was able to accomplish morphed into the drive to see what limit I can break next. The Ironman distance triathlon represented one of the biggest challenges I could think of.

A major difference between this race and others I’ve done is that I technically raced for a team. I got to represent the Chicago cycling club Bad Bikes and rock a team skinsuit as my tri suit. I’ve been really lucky that I’ve had support behind almost every race I’ve done through family and friends. This was true for this race and then some since I also got to have a feeling of representing something more than just myself on the course. That feeling was something that helped me push through some of the mentally tough portions of the race, and for sure helped my end result. I’m still grateful for the opportunity.

Pre-Race

There was a lot of anxiety leading up to this race. It all comes down to one day after training for essentially two years through the different marathon and Ironman 70.3 training cycles. A lot of that anxiety was alleviated by the fact that we planned a fun weekend leading up to the race. We had 12 people (+1 dog) all stay in a large cabin in Lake Tahoe as a pre-vacation before coming back to Sacramento where the race was held.

We had an awesome few days of relaxing by the water, some shakeout trail runs, and quality time together making dinner and playing games. It was the perfect thing to be surrounded by an amazing group of people to take my mind off the impending suffering.

On Saturday, I drove with my brother down to Sacramento, checked in my bike, checked into the hotel, and began putting everything together for the following day. After going over all the nutrition plans and all the equipment required, I realized I forgot to bring salt tabs. I used those during my Ventura Marathon, and they were perfect for fighting off muscle cramps. I figured I would be fine without them.

I woke up at 3:30 am. I got in my race day breakfast (english muffin w/ peanut butter and banana), and my brother drove me to the transition zone which was a baseball stadium in Sacramento right near the river. I set up all my transition needs and last-minute bike maintenance and then headed to the shuttles to the swim start.

I got to the shuttle line at 5:45 am thinking I would be fine on time since I was going so early. Apparently, the shuttles got lost and the line started growing and growing. I was lucky to be near the front of the massive crowd of 3000 people that wrapped around the baseball park. I got on the bus around 6:40 and was actually able to make it to the start line right around 7. I had to jump off the bus, immediately put my wetsuit on, throw my morning clothes bag to the volunteers, and jump right in the water.

Swim

The swim was amazing. I felt really calm and in a flow for the whole race. I was able to sight fairly easily and dodge most people to not get kicked in the face. Since it was down current, it just flew by. I came out of the water in 51 minutes which was about 15-20 minutes faster than I expected. It almost seemed like an unfair advantage compared to other Ironman races, but I think my open water swim training with the “North Ave Swim Team (yo)” aka N.A.S.T.Y. really paid off and it all combined with the benefit of the current to make for a great swim.

I came out of the water feeling fresh. The only negative was the .75-mile run from the river to the bike transition. They said it would be padded/carpeted, but it wasn’t. It felt like my feet were bleeding after running barefoot for those few minutes, and it made for a longer-than-normal transition time. After a quick change, I set off on the bike.

Bike

The bike course was two 56-mile laps out and back. The course was extremely flat… even more than Chicago. My goal was to hold 20mph for the entire course (with no drafting per the rules) and a second goal was to hit a 100mi in under 5 hours. I was excited to really push it but knew there were two important factors to consider. The first was controlling the effort to not explode on the run. I feel like I really pushed the bike section during the Ironman 70.3 Steelhead race, and I paid for it with a less-than-optimal run. The second was the wind. The weather said it would be pretty rough, but I wasn’t quite prepared for how bad.

It was a tailwind going out, and a headwind going back. That basically split the course into 4 segments: two out with a nice tailwind and then two back with the headwind. There were two really large straight sections that spanned a few miles north and south and then some short east/west cross-over sections.

The way out was nice as I tried to keep things “chill” and cruise with the tailwind. I pushed a bit on the straight sections and the crosswind sections but wanted to hold back for the second lap. I held an average of 22mph out on the first section.

As soon as I turned around it at mile 26, it felt like biking through mud. The wind hit me head-on and my speed was cut in half. Pushing with huge power, I could only get up to around 14 or 15 mph. I read later that the headwind ended up being around 25mph with 35pmh gusts in some areas. Several other riders (especially those with aero wheels) ended up crashing due to the cross winds and gusts. I saw one rider go completely over his handlebars and snap his fork and handlebars after a gust caused his front wheel to pivot. After surviving the first headwind section, I turned around knowing that I would have to do it all again.

Back at the turnaround near transition, I passed our 12-person support crew and gained momentum back out with the wind behind me. I knew I would need to preemptively push to make up for the time I would be losing on the way back. By holding about 30mph in the tailwind, the third segment flew by.

The final stretch back home was mentally brutal. My speed was cut in half again, and I knew exactly where the suffering would intensify. My only solace was the fact that no one was passing me, which meant at least everyone else was suffering with me. Getting to the second and much larger straight-north section, another rider who seemed to be in my age group passed me. I decided to hold behind him, and then I made a move to pass him a few minutes later. We began aggressively attacking off each other all the way to the finish. Every time I would repass him, I would hear his gears shift as he readied to push again. This made the final stretch exciting but absolutely destroyed my legs already that were suffering trying to power through the headwind. I was able to hit my sub-5 hour 100mi goal with three minutes to spare.

Then, the last three miles of the course were the worst. The headwind intensified and all the fatigue set in. It was brutal to exert so much effort to keep the pace up as the reality of having to run a marathon next started to sink in. Worse, my opponent for the last 90 minutes leaned into his aero bars (I opted not to use aero bars and race the course like a road race) and was able to break away from me right before the transition zone.

Run

With my legs much more fatigued than I planned, I headed off on the run. I actually ended up passing my bike opponent out of transition, so that was at least a win.

It was around 2 pm and the hottest time of the day and the wind was still raging. I got some great motivation from the cheer squad coming out of transition where Riley and Jill ran alongside me after the first-mile marker and screamed at me to “DO BETTER”.

I came out a little fast and by the time I reached the 4-mile mark, my heart rate was climbing to around 190 bpm. My hands were going numb, and my head started to feel really light. I knew that this was a sign I needed to slow down or I was headed down a dangerous road. I promised my mom I would never pass out at a race again (shout out to my first half marathon in 2018), and I wasn’t about to let this course win.

I slowed the pace and made it to the 10km mark. At this point, I had some deep moments of self-doubt. The thought of running 20 more miles, when my legs and my body were already begging me to stop, seemed unrealistic. With my body in a stressed state already, I actually began to panic.

I tried to take everything in. I thought of the people that came out to support me. I thought about the team name on my chest. I thought about how all my training was leading to that moment and how I would respond in this situation. I ended up focusing on my breathing and mentally repeating “I am in control” over and over again. I decided that I would also only focus on completing the current mile I was running. In my head it wasn’t twenty miles left, it was only this mile and this breath. This strategy actually helped me a lot as I was able to get my heart rate back in control.

I made it all the way to mile 16 battling the constant headwind the entire way. I was inhaling gels and all the Gatorade/water I could get at the aid stations when something worse started happening. Both of my calves began spasming. At first, it was small tingles on the sides, but then it elevated to feel like pins and needles as I got closer to mile 17. Then as I was going up one of the only minor inclines on the course, they both completely locked. I stretched really quickly, downed a gel, and began running again. I made it about .2 miles before they completely locked up again.

I’d never been in this situation before, but I knew I needed sodium and more water to address this. I screamed at myself internally for not trying to get salt tabs. I walked a tenth of a mile before trying to run again, and could only make it another tenth of a mile before the full lockout. I had to keep alternating run-walking until the next aid station where I had a full cup of Gatorade and a banana to try to get something in my body to keep the cramps from getting worse.

More self-doubt set in as I thought about whether or not I would be able to finish the race like this. Even if I did, my finish time goals were out the window as I’d likely have to walk the entire next 10 miles. I thought about how disappointing that would be for myself and for all my friends and family that came to cheer at the race. Trying to break through that trough of negativity, I refocused on just finishing each mile I was in - walking or otherwise. I knew I would have to do whatever it took to finish the race, no matter what the time. I also knew I would do whatever it took to at least run the final mile into the finish straight and finish strong.

I went on in this broken state all the way until about mile 20. It was a long 4 miles of alternating running until my calves completely locked up, then walking until they released, and then running again. I poured as many gels, electrolytes, sodium, and water into my body as I thought my stomach could handle.

I reunited with the entire cheer squad with the best cheer signs I’ve ever seen in my entire life at the final hill before dropping into downtown Sacramento, where the run concluded with two 2 mile loops into the finish. With fully locked-out calves, I had to walk that climb up to the cheer squad. It was mortifying, depressing, and concerning.

I made it to the top, and motivated by all my friends, forced my legs to keep running. By that time, I think all the fuel I had put into my body finally started to take effect and the closeness of the finish generated a second wind.

I was able to run a full mile without slowing down. I stopped at the aid station and throttled a full cup of Red Bull and a gel. With only about 4 miles left, I told myself that I was going to finish this race and I was going to do it running into the finish.

I was actually able to begin picking up the pace. My calves stopped tingling and I was able to get into a stride again. I began running faster than I was around that mile 4 mark. I passed my parents, my brother, and my friends multiple times. I did the two loops having to pass the announcers proclaiming each new finisher and Ironman. Then it was finally my turn.

I came through the finish running as fast as I could with all that I had left in me. I finally reached the Ironman carpet. I crossed the threshold. I was in the moment I had thought about for years. I was in the place I never thought I would have what it would take to make it to. I was officially an Ironman.

Post Race Reflections:

The Support

For me, the best part of this entire sport and these races is the support of friends, family, and strangers. What was crazier than the actual distances was the fact that so many people were invested in my success and my journey through this race. The only thing I wanted out of this race was to make all of those people proud and I knew no matter my actual result, that would happen if I didn’t give up. These feelings are what got me through all of those darkest and most negative points in the race. It made it worth pushing through the pain and honestly the only thing that made the entire experience worth doing.

The Result

My marathon time was not what I expected. I’m embarrassed that I had to walk at all, let alone alternating for 4 whole miles. I feel like there is so much to improve on when it comes to the run section of my races, especially because I know I can do better.

That said, I am really happy with the end result. I wanted to go under 11 hours for my first Ironman, and I did it. I was able to hit my bike goals dead on, and my swim time was much better than I could’ve hoped for.

I am most proud that I was able to recover on the run, finish the race in a strong position, and run it in through the carpet. I am proud of what I was able to learn about myself and how I coped with and adapted to the physical and mental brutality this race generates.

Way harder than I thought

I felt I had a large quantity of prep for this race. I had a high volume of miles on the bike and the run and did the assigned brick workouts. I don’t think anything can really prepare you for the feeling of those first few miles of the marathon after the hours on a bike. I think this race was mentally more difficult to overcome than physically. Training mentally for pain and how to break out of dangerous negative cycles are the most important components of training for an Ironman race.

What’s Next?

The above isn’t rhetorical. I talked about above how my getting to the Ironman was constantly pushing through limits and seeing what was possible. I’m not sure what the next level is after Ironman. There are goals like getting faster or potentially focusing more heavily on one discipline. At this moment, I’m really not sure what my next goal will be. I know this isn’t the peak, and I’m excited to start setting some new goals.