What is it like to make the transformation from amateur racing to being competitive in the pro field?

It's a lot of fun and completely different from what I expected. For me, the best part of training for Ironman is seeing how "good" I can be. The event offers so many areas where we can test ourselves -- mental preparation, physical training, nutrition, technical skills and recovery strategies. Everything that we do is a compromise and we are constantly juggling the demands of the different aspects of our lives.

For most of this year, I tried to "train like a pro". I pushed my volume up and consulted all my fast pals. I had some success but could see that there was a big gap between myself and the other pros. After a disappointing race at the Half Vineman, I decided to go back to the type of training that I think works best for me. I dropped my volume and cranked my intensity. Nearly every session was done faster than goal IM pace -- lots of fast riding and running.

Two weeks out from Canada, I finished second in a local race. It was a tough course and that gave my confidence a boost. Unfortunately, I also tore my calf so was nursing an injury when I arrived in Penticton a week before the race. I seem to heal quickly and wasn't too concerned -- either the calf would be OK or it would be a problem. I just accepted that fact and did a lot of stretching. As it turned out, I didn't even think about my calf on race day. It never crossed my mind and wasn't an issue.

Athletes are my favorite people and whenever I ventured out into the expo, I was showered with lots of positive feedback. I work hard at being positive and certainly reaped some of the results of that during race week. Many thanks to my new and old friends.

A pleasant surprise to come

Race morning dawned and the lack of clouds told me that it was going to be a hot one. I had mentally prepared for this and knew that I race well in the heat. Sitting alone in my car before the start, I amused myself by watching my HR bounce between 50 and 110 beats per minute. I think my body was dropping little bits of adrenaline into my system. I felt calm and the heart rate spikes told me that I was ready to go.

A wide start line is great if you want to avoid getting smoked by other swimmers. However, it does reduce the drafting opportunities that one has. My plan had been to line up with the other strong swimmers, however, I couldn't find them! I ended up standing alone wondering about a 6' 3" buff dude about five meters behind me. Hmmm, did he plan on clocking me?

The gun went off and I was clear of everyone. A little too clear and there really wasn't anybody to draft at my speed. I slowed down and dropped behind another swimmer. It was a heavenly draft and I kept getting sucked into his feet. There was the usual bumping and jostling for a draft, but there weren't enough people for things to get really ugly.

Coming into the first turn, things became a little interesting. I lost my ride in the melee and a lady booted me in the face. I'm not sure what happened at that stage, but I had all my motivation drain out of me and could see that I was getting dropped. I felt like I was about to chunder and switched to survival mode. Checking my heart rate data later, I was barely swimming -- my heart rate was about 100 beats per minute coming back to the beach. It was higher than that standing at the start!

Riding strong

Nearing the end of the swim, I kept repeating, "the swim doesn't matter" and "there is lots of racing to go". So, I was pleasantly surprised when I stood up and my watch said 56:40. I fully expected to see something in the low to mid-sixties. I perked up and sped through transition.

My strategy on the bike was to cruise the first 60 miles and then ratchet up my effort. On my bike, I had a piece of paper that showed ten-mile splits for a 5:00 and a 5:15 ride. These splits didn't take into account terrain, but I wanted to know where I was at any given time. Heading towards the base of Richter, I crept further and further ahead of the five-hour split. Knowing that I had time in the bank took a lot of pressure off and I slowed down even further.

I rode moderate tempo up Richter and was able to eat and drink the whole way. Approaching the top, some friends told me that I was in 30th place. By the top, I had dropped another two spots and was in 32nd spot when I started my decent. That was the last time someone passed me for the rest of the day.

Heading into the rollers

In order to run myself into the podium, I guessed that I needed to be in 20th position at the end of the bike. Remembering last year, where I dropped 15 minutes in the last 30 miles of the bike, I figured that I could catch a few folks and decided to wait and see where I was on my five-hour game plan. Passing the 50-mile marker, I could see that I had held my split. This cheered me up as my ride over Richter seemed very slow. I decided to keep holding back. If I could easily ride five hours, then I didn't see the point in trying for a faster time.

I turned into the out and back still feeling very good. We were blessed by a complete absence of wind. Even the bees were cooperating -- two flew into my helmet, walked around for a while and then flew away. By the 70-mile mark I had started to fall off the five-hour pace, but continued to hold back. I was within five minutes of several riders and I could see that some of them were starting to labor. I did notice quite of a bit of "paired riding" with the following rider frequently looking over his shoulder. Not being sure what this meant, I tried not to give it any energy. ;-)

Pumped at 111 miles

Arriving at 80 miles without having a bad patch, I decided to ramp it up and rode moderate tempo for the rest of the ride. For the technically minded, that's 15 beats per minute below threshold on the flats and 10 beats per minute on the climbs. I had to back off a couple of times on the climbs to keep my heart rate down.

I went over Yellow Lake in 20th and arrived in transition in 15th. Along the way, I passed some excellent athletes -- athletes that have won triathlons. I knew that I was having a good day and continued to keep my head down with total focus.

Pre-race, I had spent hours thinking about ways to shave seconds off my transition time. My strategy worked well and my transition was good enough to recover two seconds of the 35 minutes that Peter put into me on the bike!

High-5s to my Crew -- Chris and Heather

Passing a guy in the tent, I started the run in 14th. I heard that I was eight minutes down on 10th spot, but didn't know how many age group athletes were at the front of the field.

In hindsight, I ran the first five miles far, far too fast holding an average of 6:30 pace. I passed one pro and then slowly caught three athletes. They were all amateurs so, passing Mile 10, I was in 11th as well as being the 11th pro. Around this time Peter cruised past, then Olivier, then third to seventh. They were all moving very well, looking strong and at least a mile up on me. Luckily, there was a long gap between seventh and eighth. I might be able to bridge into the money.

Lori was covering the men's race and shouted a few words of encouragement when she drove by a couple of times. It was a funny because she would say something on her way past. It would take me a minute to process and then I would wave thanks. By then she would be a half-mile up the road. It made me smile (on the inside). Her message was to hang tough and the race would come back to me. Knowing that strategy has enabled her to win many races, I continued to plug away.

Oops, heel striking!

Sure enough, Lori was right and the race started to come back to me. By Mile 18, I was in eighth and starting to get an indication that my day was about to get tough. One thing Lori didn't mention was that after the race comes back to you, life gets evil and you will be filled with moments of self-doubt and suffering. I was thankful that I was in eighth and had two "insurance spots" between me and my Subaru jacket.

My race was coming apart at the seams as I searched for my running form. Soon I was struggling to maintain any pace at all. I leaned forward and focused completely on turning my legs over. Passing through aid stations, I grabbed cups of cola and started to dry heave at the first sip. Knowing that I needed to get calories in me, I dumped the rest down my front. Don't ask me why, but I thought this might help!

Decent form at Mile Two

I was thinking backwards -- whispering, "Can you see anyone?" and "How far back is he?" The replies ranged from 300 yards to half a mile. I wondered who it was. Was it the strong runner that I saw closing at the turnaround? Was it one of the guys that I passed? I was running scared -- it is so much easier to chase.

With three miles to go, I started to hide behind the runners going the other way. If he was closing then I didn't want him to be able to see me. With two miles to go, I decided to spend what little I had left. I ran as hard as I could. I was pretty out of it. I turned a block early and started running off the course. Fortunately, somebody sorted me out and I was back on course reasonably quickly. People were cheering and shouting. It was just color, noise and energy. I remember thinking what a beautiful day it was and how hot I felt.

Turning the corner into Westminster Street -- I was swept with emotion and tears started to well in my eyes. Feeling seriously dizzy, I backed off a little when someone shouted that I was safe. Turning onto Lakeshore Drive, I knew that I was going to meet all my goals for the race and therefore my season.

Just like last year, Bob Marley was playing at the Sicamous. Everything gunna be alright! As I hit the turnaround I could see that there was no one around. I backed right off and probably ran a six-minute final kilometer. A few high fives and soon I was on the bright blue finishers mat. I walked across the line, utterly destroyed.

Payday and a new PR.

Heat exhaustion, combined with bonking and dehydration, was enough to send me into a case of mild shock. Dr. Frank and his team were kind enough to spend 90 minutes bringing me back from the brink. I tried to maintain my IV virginity, but when the bottom disappeared from my blood pressure and mild nausea turned into a panic attack -- I relented. One bag later, I was just another dazed triathlete staggering around the finish area.

So what's next? Well, I let a Kona slot roll past me and I think my next Ironman race will be IMC 2002. In order to jump to the next level, I want to make some changes to my training. Ironman racing is fun, but I've found that the endurance aspects tend to train the speed out of my legs. I'm going to spend my early season building my speed. I have a hunch that the pro field will be tougher next year and I want to give myself the best chance possible for a second Subaru jacket.

See you at the races,
gordo