Patriot Half Race Report

A week late, and a dollar short, story of my life.  Good thing this is only my blog, and good thing I only have 8 followers, or people would be irritated.  Without further ado.


Freetown, MA, 06/18/2011


Approaching my second half-ironman of the year, I was a lot more calm this time than I was for Oceanside, and I think it was mainly due to the confidence I had building up to this race.  I knew I could handle the distance, I did it a month and a half earlier, on a smaller training volume.  The Patriot course, in comparison to Oceanside, is 2-dimensional.  It is almost as flat as a 56 mile bike and 13.1 mile run could be.  In contrast, Oceanside had a few really challenging hills that would give any ski resort a run for their money.  My training had picked up, too.  I'm not saying that I trained anywhere near where I "should have", but to me I was feeling good about it.  In my third year of racing, I still enjoy more just swimming, biking, and running without worrying about the super-quality-hard workouts that would help me race as fast as I can.  So that is where I was heading into Patriot.

Because this race was local, I was able to spend the night at my parents, in the house I grew up in and was comfortable in.  So much nicer waking up in a bed that use to be yours, from an alarm clock that always reminded me of what I thought the devil would sound like.  Which reminds me, I need to get a new alarm clock in case I ever sleep over there for a race again!  The day before, I went for a quick ride on my whip, around the same roads that I ran on all my track days, and I felt great.  My legs were spinning smooth and they felt minty fresh.  I had all afternoon to pack up my race kit, and attach all my nutrition on my bike (not that I know anything about nutrition for a half-ironman).  After getting everything ready, and laying out my uniform for the next day, setting all necessary alarms, I was able to relax on the couch, and then I started getting a little nervous.

The transition area opened up at 5:00am for the 7:00am start time of the race, and because I had checked-in the day before, I thought if I had left my house at 5:15am I would be there with plenty of time, and would be fairly close to the race site.  There were 2 parking lots for the race, which was for racers, volunteers, and spectators.  My assumption failed, only because everyone else had the same idea, and the close parking lot was completely full by the time I got there, and the 2nd lot was filling up quite fast.  Luckily, we got there early enough that I didn't have to sweat worrying about finding a transition spot and having enough time to shake out the nerves.  Walking over to transition with all your gear is like the quiet before the storm.  It's almost like the air is getting sucked out of your lungs, and as it is happening, all the outside noise is grower fainter and fainter.  And then all of a sudden, BAM!  You turn the corner and it's like you walked into Mardi Gras (not really) and people are partying like it's 1999.  The music was loud, the DJ was obnoxious, people were running around everywhere.  The scene before a race is always exciting, and when I'm racing I never look around to appreciate what I am involved in.  There are always the people walking around with the volunteer shirts on, and being all hyped up like they were at a college orientation.  There's the kids dragging their feet behind their parents bikes, wondering why they had to miss Saturday morning cartoons.  And obviously there are those that are chewing down their final bite of their banana, squishing that last bit of energy GU into the gullets, and squirting a mouthful of water to wash it all down, before they head over to the lines at the port-o-potties.  What a circus.

15 minutes before race start, my wet suit is on, my transition area is all set up, and I start taking a few large breathes to ease my nerves and get into my racing zone.  The race director (RD) corrals all the racers towards the swim start at this point, and the National Anthem is played.  I've done so many races in the last 2+ years, and still the time when the RD starts counting down for the start of my wave, I get just as nervous as I did on that first race.  10...9...8...7...6...5...4...3...2...1...GO!

My swim training took a bit of a hit between Oceanside and now at Patriot, but I still felt I could handle the swim and finish in a decent time for myself.  I had swam 44ish minutes at Oceanside, but most of that I blame on the conditions of the Pacific Ocean, so I felt that <40 minutes was within reach for me.  The swim was rectangular in shape, with the start going straight out in Long Pond a good ways, turning left at the last buoy, swimming parallel to the shore for a bit, and then turning left again to swim straight all the way back to the beach (not at the same location as the start of the swim).  I felt great on my swim out, and really got into a rhythm that made me think I would be able to swim far under the 44ish mins I did at Oceanside.  I took turns between all my zig-zagging to swim off the heels of faster swimmers, to give me a chance to draft for a bit and save some energy.  By the time I reached the first turn buoy, I looked back and realized that I was really far out.  I could barely make out the location of the inflatable archway we were to run under when we got out of the water, let alone that there were people watching us all swim on the shore.  It started to make me a little nervous, not because I was afraid of being that far out in the open water, but because I was starting to second guess my speed, and was worrying that I wasn't going to make it in a time I would be comfortable with.  It's really difficult to guess how long you've been swimming for, and it always feels a lot longer than it actually is, but nonetheless, I was a bit on edge.  After making the turn at the final turn buoy, and during my swim back to shore, I started getting tired in my arms, and could tell I was slowing down.  But every time I looked up to site and make sure I was heading in the right direction, the shore was getting closer and closer.  Every time it got a bit closer, it gave me more confidence to just keep my head down, and continue stroking and breathing, until I heard the music playing... I got really excited, pushed a bit harder until I could see the bottom of the pond, and I threw my legs down... sand.  I knew I walked the rest of the way to the waters edge, and from video my brother took, it was an even slower walk than it felt like (I tell myself not to walk every race, but I never can seem to break the habit), but I looked down at my watch, and the time said 39:xx.  Yes!  I was so excited that I was under 40 minutes at this point.  And although I didn't finish my walk and run across the timing mat before the 40 minute mark, I was pleased that I had cut about 4 mins off my swim time from Oceanside over the same distance.  Onto the bike.

Before I go on, I forgot to mention that I was bib #25, which was ironic because I am also 25 years old.  So during the pre-race body marking, I had a good chuckle when the volunteer asked me if I were pulling his leg when I kept repeating "25" for everything.  Not so funny?  I know, but I thought it was interesting.  Anyway, because of this nice low number (I don't know how I got it), I was able to get one of the prime transition spots.  When we got out of the water, and ran into transition, bib numbers 1-24 were the first bike rack on the left, while numbers 25-50 were on the first bike rack on the right.  And each rack was specifically labeled for your race number, so I had the first spot on the right into transition, perfect!  I didn't have to run very far in my wet suit before I was at my spot, and changing into my bike gear.  Not the fastest transition on the day, but I knew I was about to be on my bike for several hours.

The bike course was a 28 mile loop, that we completed twice for a total of 56 miles.  I ride a lot in the area when I am at my parents house, and because of it, I have ridden a lot of the roads before, and knew the area well.  I knew there was 1 real big hill, but I also knew that the course took us around it, so it was going to be pretty flat.  The first few miles were spent drinking some gatorade, and spinning my legs on a lower gear to try and shake out my swimming legs before I got into a more controlled aero rhythm.  I biked the same distance in 3 hrs and 16 minutes at Oceanside, but I knew that the monster hills there slowed me down a lot.  At Oceanside, I was at 1 hr and 30 minutes for the first 28 miles.  I really wanted to break 3 hrs, and I thought,

"If I could do 1 hr and 30 minutes for the first half at Oceanside, I can do the same thing here, and then push through the flats to repeat it again for 3 hrs here."

I felt smooth, I felt strong, I felt comfortable and relaxed, and by the time I was coming through for the end of my first lap, I felt fast.  1 hr and 20 mins later, I was done with my first 28 miles, and I was 10 mins ahead of schedule.  I knew that I wouldn't be able to keep that pace up for another 28 miles, but the course was pretty flat, so I felt confident that I could keep up a decent pace enough to break 3 hrs.  I only needed to be within 20 mins of my first laps time to do it.  The second lap I focused a bit more on eating, because I didn't do it much on the first lap.  My gatorade was gone, I had finished another bottle of water, and was able to complete a bottle exchange for another water, so my fluid intake was about where it should be, I think.  Pretzels were my food of choice for this leg, because I would need salt from all I was sweating out.  I had about a small zip-lock baggie full of pretzels, and 1.5 energy GUs (the other half fell when I hit a manhole cover).  Not enough food, I would be told, but it is what it is, and I'll figure it out someday.  Coming back from my second lap, I saw my Mom, Laura and Kevin waiting by the fence near my transition spot, and they looked a bit shocked to be seeing me.  I can't blame them, because when I looked down at my watch, it said 2 hrs and 50 mins, 10 mins faster than I wanted, and 26 mins faster than Oceanside!  I don't think they were expecting me to kill it.  They should have known.

Killed that bike leg!  Not many bikes on the racks = many people still biking.

The moment my legs hit the ground was the moment I wanted to quit.  13.1 miles is scary, but throughout the 1.2 mile swim and 56 mile bike, you don't really think about it.  It's an after thought.  It's a "I'll worry about that when it comes" kind of thing.  Well, now it's time.  My legs are hurting big time from pushing those pedals so hard, and my sides are aching bad.  Mom didn't like my "I guess we'll see" response to her "How are you feeling?" question, but at that point, I wasn't too worried about pleasing her, I was just trying to focus my mind on getting my sneakers on, and away from the total body pain I was experiencing.  Sorry Mom.

Leaving transition I felt like I couldn't make it.  I ran to the street, made my way past all the spectators cheering, sported a few "C'mon, only 13 miles to go!"  Yeah, super easy, right?  Then I started walking, legs didn't like me, and they were not afraid to let me know.  Somehow I was able to focus a bit longer, I realized that if I ran the 2 hr half-marathon that I was hoping to do, I would be in the 5 hr and 40 minute range for the race, which is way under the 6 hr goal I had set for myself.  It gave me a few extra breaths in my lungs to realize that I had a 20 minute cushion, and that I had already done better than I had expected at both the other legs.  Miles 1-2 I was hurting, but I was doing good, 9:00min/mile pace.  Miles 3-4, hurting a bit more, still doing okay, 10:00min/mile pace.  Wasn't looking good, I just needed to keep up that 10 minute pace for 9 more miles... Then my lack of nutrition on the bike started hitting me.  I got light-headed real quick, and I started heating up bad.  I drank some coke at the next water station, and it seemed to help.  (The sun was completely out at this point, and it was beating down with some real heat.  There was little shade on the course).  The next 9 miles looked like this:  Jog, walk, jog, walk, stop and stretch, jog, walk, drink, etc.  Not a fun way to do the majority of a half-marathon.  During the later stages of the race, things seemed to get worse for me.  I felt dehydrated, I felt really hungry, and at one point, I was wobbling so bad that another racer stopped me for a minute and helped me lean against a tree.  She gave me a GU, told me to take my hat off to let some heat out, and drink some water and rest at the next water station.  That angel saved my life that day.  Well, at least helped me finish my race, but I am extremely grateful for her help and for the GU.  It really did help pick me up.  They say that when adrenaline takes over, you don't realize how bad you really are, and I guess I was at that point where I didn't know.  I was in a trance, I didn't think the run would ever end.  Mile 8 done.  Mile 9 done.  Mile 10 done.  And I realized I wouldn't be breaking 6 hrs unless I started running 5 min miles.  No problem, at this point, I didn't care where I finished, I just wanted to run across that line.  I love that feeling.  The change from racing to surviving.  It's the digging deep for myself and mine own accomplishments that keeps me coming back for more.  I don't think I'll ever stop.  And I didn't.  I passed the Mile 11 marker, and I picked up my pace.  I was so close.  And although I stopped to walk during the last 2 miles, they were for far less time and at far fewer frequencies than throughout the run.  Mile 12 done.  Music is playing over the loud-speaker, and I pick up my pace.

Crossing that line at this point is so emotional.  The moment I cross the line and realize I am done, is the moment my body wakes up and then realizes it has nothing left.  I collapse in a chair, and medics throw a bunch of cold clothes on my back, neck, and head.  It feels great, but it hurts.  I can feel the build-up of pain, joy, and relief creeping up on me, and by the time I go sit with my family, it all comes out.  I cried.  It's happened to me before when I've gone beyond how far my body wanted to go, and it's great.  It was the best tears I ever shed.  I scared the little boy sitting across the table from me, but I didn't care.  I wanted to cry it all out.  I loved every minute of the day.  From putting my sunglasses into my helmet before the race, to drying my feet off and struggling with my socks, to trying to focus on anything that isn't blurry after the race, and trying to put something in my stomache without throwing up.

I would not give up any second of this race for anything, and I cannot wait for my next half.