Race Report

Race Report- Kona, Havai’i  2017

(Hawaiians pronounce the ‘W’ as ‘V’)

On an island where you are either in the shadow of the great active Kilauea Volcano or standing on the toes of your own shadow doppelganger, my Uber driver from the airport, after hearing me mutter about the heat and inexplicable humidity, dutifully explained that traditional Hawaiians used to live by a set of life rules called ‘kappa’. One of these rules was that no common person could let their shadow touch the shadow of the upper class. For the next ten minutes of the drive I dreamed about skipping around the shadows of Jan Frodeno, Sebastien Kienle and Lionel Sanders as I chased them up and down Ali’I Drive on Saturday.

I’ve never raced Kona, my first Ironman was just over a year ago. Everything still feels new and exciting.

I’ve never written a race report, so not unlike high school, I thought it best to peek over the shoulder of some other Kona triathletes to see how they were doing it. What I saw was a lot of race reports that spoke of reasons for not succeeding, things that went wrong and feelings of letting people down. Not this guy! I will only speak of how not achieving my race goal still feels like a win and one of life’s greatest accomplishments. A nostalgic experience on a magical island.

It had been a great year, I was rolling into this race fit and strong. There'd been a few speed humps including the theft of my race bike 3 weeks out and a dodgy rib that kept me out of the pool for a while. Training through a winter block builds resilience and a strong mental game. My coach had me focusing on specific indoor bike sessions under heat and sauna sessions. I was ready.

Race Week- I settled quickly into Kona life, dodgy coffee but fantastic fresh tropical fruit. A few arm looseners out to the coffee boat for a thick & chewy espresso with warm cream and a chat to the internationals. My luck with bikes continued, with 2 punctures to complete the 'bad luck in 3's scenario'. You could imagine my face when the gentleman from Zipp wheels explained that the island was out of tubular tyres. He was very wrong, and I let him know the next day when I walked past. I met Scotty for Parade of Nations and we marched proudly through town with big cheesy grins and bright green n' gold T-shirts. This meant a lot to Scotty and I could see it. Check-in one day, Bike check-in next day after a one hour roll on the Queen K highway. Then all of a sudden, not by chance, it was race day.

Race Day-

The Hawaiian Islands are steeped in ancient legend.  Madame Pele who is the goddess of fire, lava, wind and volcanoes is still hugely respected as being both the creator and destroyer on the island. As I wake at 4am, I peek out at the darkness and say a little prayer to this mysterious goddess. Be kind please. It reminded me of a tour I did underground in the Silver mines of Bolivia. Our guide explained that, outside of the mines, the men are devout Catholics who go to church and pray to God. But underground, no one seeks the assistance of heaven. The underground is the devil’s domain, so offerings and prayers are made to El Tío who was a representation of Satan. The miners would light a cigarette and put it in the mouth of the statue. If the cigarette burnt all the way to the base, they would swiftly get to work. If it didn't, the miners would leave and come back the next day. I searched for a cigarette in the room. I had none.

My Uber driver is at the gate at 4.15am ready for the 7km drive into town. Her name was Aunty Fern and I'll never forget her calming nature and strong 'get your feet off the seat' attitude.

After body marking (number tattoos on the arm), a quick check of the bike in transition and as we get ready in Scotty's hotel room, "BOOM' the large canon goes off, signifying the start of the race for the Pro's. Shit just got real.

Swim- 

With 1100 competitors, the Men's Age Group mass start at Kona is famous for politeness, gentlemanly behaviour, lot's of open space and plenty of swim etiquette. So I was shocked. The first 5oo mtrs was a free for all. I didn't even know what direction I was heading in or where my arms were going or what I was touching. By the time I got to the turnaround yacht I'd found my own rythym and some steady feet to follow. I distinctly remember being on the feet of an older gentleman with very coarse and leathery feet and deciding to hunt down some smoother feet to hold on to. It's important to stay comfortable and stay focused. This helped. The waters of Keauhou Bay are pristine and the swim course takes you over coral reefs, tropical fish and it's so clear, you can see the plankton throughout the water. This was all quite enjoyable until I noticed some serious chaffing going on under my arms. I'd never worn a swim skin over my race suit before and was currently being reminded why you should test ALL equipment and clothing. The sound of the crowd and cow bells on the pier signify that the 3.8km swim is nearly complete. I peek at my watch as I climb the steps onto the pier and into T1. 1:08. Not great but controlled and still a long day to come.

Transition 1- Nudity & Nerves. There were more volunteers than athletes in the tent helping to take your swim skin off, paint you in sunscreen and point you towards industrial sized tubs of Vaseline. It was crowded. I banged arse cheek to arse cheek plenty of times as I attempt to put dry socks on wet feet. Various languages bounce around the humid tent.

Bike- I've watched this race so many times on TV. Memories all the way back to the early 90's with Dad on the couch, when it was broadcast on Wide World of Sports, so I feel like I know what's coming and what to expect. 
I knew (and my gf's dad consistently reminded me) that I probably needed a haircut before the race and this was confirmed 1km into the ride when I notice a pesky chunk of Justin Bieber like hair pasted across the inside of my visor allowing me to only see half the road. I attempt to blow it away unsuccessfully. I'll let the heat and wind deal with it. My first sip of water feels like a cup of tea without a teabag. 9am. 32degrees already.

The first 20km's is a hilly, punchy and fast roll out of town and back. I remember my coach saying that this is the section that athletes like to get their d!@k out and do the windmill, it's easy to see why. The crowds line the road. It's noisy. It's fast. You're surrounded by the best in the world and you want to feel like you deserve to be there too. I put it back into my pants, stare back down at my power meter and settle in. Out onto the lonely Queen K highway. I do I system check. Steady watts, eat, drink, cadence, draft zone, SMILE. Life's good, I'm here, I'm doing it.

The first notorious Kona train rolls past about 50km in. About 30 blokes working and hunting in a pack. They are risking 5 minute draft penalties and I notice a few of them in the penalty tents throughout my entire ride. No doubt feeling harshly penalized. I see my first crash at the end of an aid station. The side wind had picked up and the empty bottles were blowing back across the road, the poor bugger was taking a drink out of his nutrition when his wheel hit a bottle. I take note of the mistake and roll on. I start to keep one eye on the other side of the road in anticipation of the Professional men on the way back into town. They fly past and give me a nervous wave as we begin the climb up to Hawi. Average power at 224, nutrition going down, plenty of water, legs fine, brain on, stay in it- no emotions. 

The Kona side of the island is one of the driest on the planet, yet the other side is the wettest place on this earth, I look up at the clouds and try to will them across for some shade. There is no shade, it's a very exposed course and relentless. The road temperature get's up to 60 degrees which makes tyre selection important. Fast and puncture happy wheels are the most common here which increasingly becomes evident with frequent sightings of frustrated cyclists working frantically on their bikes on the side of the road.

When I hit 150km I get my first twitches of cramp sneaking into my quads. I rapidly start taking in more nutrition and a couple of salt tablets. I stand up to peddle in an attempt to stretch the legs out. The cramps shoot through my thighs again. Ouch. I stay seated and low for the rest of the roll into town. This is where I should be with the headwind anyways. 5:13hrs. 42°C. 2PM.

T2- Happy gooch. It's always an awesome feeling getting off your bike after 5 hours. The red carpet in transition feels like a sofa bed and it feels great to stretch the back out. I hit the changing tent for more bare cheek to cheek action, 4 finger scoops of Vaseline and a shot of anti cramp, which is handed out by Craig Alexander (Ironman legend). I see that there's a urinal on the side of the tent, so jog over to try and pee. I can hear a steady stream hitting the trough but looking down I realise that it's just sweat running off the old fella. Nothing coming out. Oh boy. Race belt on, double espresso coffee flavoured gel and off I go back into the oven for my favourite leg. The marathon.

Run-

I remember Kooksy's words the day before, 'don't you dare run past without saying hello and smiling'. I search them out in the crowd on the run out of town, give her a big sweaty smooch and ask how far ahead Scotty is. They give that look and point of the finger that feels like "down the river, over the mountains, across the sea and halfway to the moon". I thank them and gallop on down Ali'i drive, the most famous chalk covered bitumen in world triathlon. The Aid stations are every 2km and are set up in this order. Ice cold sponge (heaven)- water- ice- gatorade- cola- red bull- food-/fruit/gels- ice- water- ice cold sponge (heaven again). By the 4th Aid station I knew I was in for a real slog. I have never run to heart rate before, usually only pace and feel. When my km splits start to slide I flick my watch over to Heart Rate and see the ticker up at 172. It was from this point that I made the decision to walk the aid stations, get extra liquids in, run to heart rate and prepare to dig real deep. 

All the residents are on the street hosing people down with their garden hoses, it's awesome! I pass dance parties, bbq's and drunk folk. I finally catch sight of my training partner Scotty coming towards me. He looks strong, but probably lifted the knees and swung the arms a little more when he saw me, like I did. Big high 5 and charge on to the next Aid station to reward myself with a Cliffy Young shuffle.

I'd now been exposed to the sun & heat for 8 hours. You can feel the energy being sucked out of you, the shade of a tree feels like a refrigerator and the garden hose water feels like a hot shower. This is livin'. Jan Frodeno rolls past looking like death. He won it the last two years but looks like he's just trying to survive this year. Even the great fall. He also appears to speed up a little when he spots me. 
For this race reports sake, the km's roll by (realistically each km feels like it's taking longer than passing kidney stones) until I enter the famous Energy Lab at about 30km's. This is where peoples days are made or broken. It's like a mirage when you are lost in a desert, yet without reward. It's hazy, hot and unforgiving. I see Scotty again, he looks like a roasted cherry tomato. We aim for a high five but end up with a sloppy low five and I head towards the turnaround at the end of the lava field. The solar panels feel like they are chasing you down the road with heat and glare. 
The 10km back into town for me was the most important of the day. Alex Price my coach said if you run this 10km, then you have had a day to be proud of. I visualize this in nearly every Sunday long run. 
I get to the end of the energy lab and throw 40 sponges at my face and 20 cups of ice down my top and shorts. I notice they are serving chicken broth at the aid station. I remembered seeing that on the athlete information booklet and laughing to myself. Who would sip on chicken soup in a marathon! But right here at this point, it looked and tasted like the best thing ever! and hey, the body craves what the body needs right? 
At the turn onto Palani drive I hear the familiar voice of Pete Murray- the famous Australian Ironman Commentator and he gives a big AP10 shoutout and tells me it's 2km home. I realise I'm grimacing and dribbling at the same time. Time to get pretty for the finishing photo.
The turn onto Ali'i drive and the run down the long red Ironman carpet is something I will never forget. 10 hours & 19 minutes of pure, honest racing. The guy that finishes in front of me is drinking a beer out of his urine soaked shoe. Legend. What a finish to a hellova day.

Finish- Reflect. Although not my quickest time or best performance, it is the race I am most proud of. I physically dug deeper than I've ever been before and pushed myself further both emotionally and mentally. Beyond what I thought capable. Things do go wrong in Ironman racing, but with great fitness and a positive attitude, you will always stay within the margins of a good day. 
I can't thank the people around me enough for all their support. Without them, I chase this dream alone. Special mention to my Coach Alex Price. He got me to believe in myself and pushed me from strength to strength. Most importantly to Steph, who pushes & drives me and supports this selfish, couple time consuming passion which I know is not easy sometimes. Thanks for being my rock.

"The Island, the atmosphere, the course and the conditions did not disappoint. It was windy and brutally hot but so rewarding"

Till next time....maybe....."Mahalo Hawaii"