The last two years have been a little rough. First, in 2014, I had chronic back pain for eight months. By the time I got over it, registrations for Ironman Texas—my local race—were closed, and I didn’t get in. Then, in 2015, I did get in but had a terrible day and dropped out of the race halfway through the marathon. That was especially hard since dad passed away a few months before, and I wanted to do well.

So I had big plans for 2016: Go under 10h, from a personal best of 10h15 in 2012. To do that, I’d do two full-distance races within six weeks: HITS Ocala in early April, as a dress rehearsal, and Texas in mid May as my A race.

I drove up from Houston to Gainesville, where my coach, François, lives and used his place as a base camp, Ocala being just one hour away. HITS is a much smaller operation than the Ironman circus, and I liked it from the start. For instance, in transition, bikes are more spaced out, we have a wooden enclosure to put our stuff next to the bike, and we even have a stool each. Actually, forget the stool. The really nice touch is that they had a coffee truck parked right outside of transition—so, I had three days of proper espressos! The whole experience felt like flying business when you’re used to coach on WTC Airlines.

I had a good training block over the past three months, but the final run up to the race was a little rough: I missed a couple of hard sessions, felt tired on others, and, to top it out, there was a 100% chance of thunderstorms on race day. So François floated the idea that I bypass the race altogether. An alternative was that I use it as a training session, for instance by pushing the swim, bike, and half the run, and pull out halfway through the run to avoid the extra stress of running a full marathon off the bike six weeks before Texas. None of these ideas were appealing. I was set on slaying my demons. That meant finishing, even if it meant taking the whole day at low intensity. Besides, HITS races are smaller and some are not that competitive. So, if I performed half decently, we knew I had a fighting chance at being in the lead. So, to hell with François’s opinion, even if I knew he was the voice of reason, I know better. I mean, not listening to your coach; what can possibly go wrong?

Swim. Canceled

The plan called for a 7am send off. But the course was still quasi invisible and there were a few thunders, so it got pushed back to 7:15. And then, when the thunder subsided, 7:30 and 7:40. By then, the race director called it quits, cancelling the swim. We’d have a short run instead.

First Run. 1.6km. 7min11. 4:16min/km

The nice part is that I’m not a good swimmer, so while I was disappointed to lose my opportunity to try to go sub 10, my chances to spend some time in the lead instantly got better. The other nice part is that I got a closer look at the competition. Since competitors for both the half- and the full distance started at the same time, on the beach we couldn’t identify who was who. But now the race organization corralled us at the front line, full distance people in the front, half distance a few meters back. A quick look around showed that there were only a few of us left, maybe a dozen or so. I knew it was a small race and that quite a few people canceled their start after the swim was taken out, but I didn't expect so few racers. Okay, no matter, no swim and a small field; now it really felt that I could lead at some point in the day.

Switching to a run-bike-run configuration after the swim got canceled, the start line was a little more informal than usual

But that, of course, comes down to the quintessential rule of racing, once you stop racing yourself and start racing the pack: success depends on who shows up. Not knowing these guys, I only had that one minute before the gun went off to look around the corral and try to evaluate who was a threat. There was this one guy with tattoos who looked fit. This guy, I felt, I needed to mark. The others seemed less threatening.

Getting it underway

The gun went and we were on our way. So were the halfs, and quickly a dozen or so overtook me on the out-and-back course. No matter. I was using this as a warm up, I was marking Tats and just getting on with my day. Soon enough we passed the turn around. Tats fell a little behind and before I knew it, I was back in transition. Run gear off, bike gear on, and off I went.

Bike. 183km. 5h05min. 36 km/h average 217W NP 213W AP

The course was out and back, 45km each way. The halfs did it once. Lucky us got two loops. The early miles were the regular story: we all got sorted out—passing a few people, getting passed, shouting a couple “on your left,” staying out of the drafting envelop… With such a small field (maybe 80 people across the two distances) things got ordered quicker than usual. And then it started raining.

Starting the bike, I'm as fresh as I'll ever be today. (Photo credit: fixedfocusphotography.com)

The good news is that it wasn't cold. In fact, the temperature was ideal, but serious water was now coming down, and some of the course’s sweeping curves seemed coated in water-resistant asphalt that looked as slippery as ice. As a result, there were a couple descents from cat 4 climbs where I felt that I needed to be concentrated. But I remembered going down the col de la Madeleine during the Haute Route Alpes 2014 in similarly wet conditions and with shot brake pads. If I had managed do that, surely, I could do this. And, luckily, all went well.

We passed the first aid station, around mile 13, and continued our way north towards the first turn around. And then I started coming across riders coming back. This was my chance to gauge how much ground I’d given to the front riders. One went by, another. 3, 4… and then the turn around appeared. So, altogether I was in 9th or so. What’s more important, I was pretty confident that I was among the first riders for the full, and that those were just the halfs hammering. So I kept going at my target power—somewhere between 210 and 220 Watts—made the turn around and headed back south.

The end of the first lap was uneventful except that it stopped raining and, towards the end of the lap, as I approached the second turn around, I didn't come across any rider. So I made my U-turn at the end of the first loop, and I started my second lap, now officially—and for the first time ever—in the lead of a race! How cool is that?

Well, I’d like to report that I acted cool,  that it was not a big deal. But it was, and I didn’t. I had a large grin on my face the entire time; "I’m in the lead!" I remember Faris saying how he likes to ride in the front because that’s where the helicopter is. I looked around, no helicopter. Oh well, that’s ok. What mattered is that I was leading this thing! Iwas grinning and, at the same time, I couldn't stop thinking how pissed François would be that I was pushing maybe a little too much. Oh well, I’m doing this for fun. And I hadn’t had this much fun in a long, long time!

The second lap was uneventful except that the wind seriously picked up. On the out leg that was no problem, since it was a tail wind from the south. But I knew I’d have to pay for it on the way back. No matter, I kept on riding, one eye on the road, the other on the power meter, trying to keep the numbers in check.

At the turn around, I knew that this would be my only chance to see how far the competition was, so I glanced at the time – 3h42 of riding so far—and I headed home.

1 min passed, nobody.

2 min, still no one.

5 min, still no one.

The time kept going, and I kept screening the road, and no one was in sight. With each minute, I felt a little more relaxed: I had a comfortable lead. 9 min, 10 min, 11 min and here I saw Tats. Okay, so I knew that I probably had a 20-min lead over the second place. Good deal!

Coming home, I was getting tired, and my power dropped ever so slightly. (François would help me figure out after the race that I didn’t take enough calories on the bike.) I also had a couple close calls with some of the locals driving large trucks who, as some Texans also do, made the point that the road is theirs by brushing you with their rear-view mirrors. That gave me a chance to shout a few French expletives, and I was feeling anxious to get to the run as it was now past noon and the roads were getting ever more crowded.

As I was riding my way home, I thought about the race reports of people who actually win races when they describe the challenges associated with being in the lead (“I take all the nutrition I need on the bike with me, because when I get to aid stations, the boy scouts usually aren’t ready, they’re still setting up"). I was now in a similar situation: because we were so few on the course, and I was the first cyclist they had seen in a long while, some of the cops manning the intersections weren’t ready. In fact, a couple of times they were still sitting in their car rather than blocking the intersection. Oh well, I guess that comes with the job.

I eventually got back to transition. Dropped the bike. Changed my soaked socks for dry ones, running shoes on, number belt, cap. A quick chat with the race director, and off I went on the run.

Marathon. 41.7km. 3h45min (3h35min moving time). 5:10 min/km

The first couple of kilometers felt super easy. I was running in the 4:30/km even though I tried to take it easy. But that’s also typical with my runs. I passed the first aid station, “do you need anything?”, “no, I’m good, thanks." And then, with each kilometer, my pace dropped. I was still grinning (I’m in the front!, etc.), I was still smiling (François is going to be pissed), but I was also starting to hurt. My shoulders and neck get really stiff when I run long distances and today they started early. Most of all, though, my thinking slowly shifted from “there’s a decent chance I can win this thing” to “do not blow up.” I don’t think I’ve ever done a IM marathon without walking part of the course, and I really wanted to change that today. Soon enough, I completed the first of four laps. I hadn’t seen other fulls on the course yet, but that didn’t mean anything because we could have crossed each other at places where we couldn't see each other.

My early run had a nice pace and I felt fine. (Photo credit: fixedfocusphotography.com)

I came back to the first aid station on my second lap, “and now, do you need anything?”, “yep, now I’m ready. What do you have?” Amazing how much of a difference 55 minutes make! Those two volunteers at the first aid station were fantastic! “How far is the second guy behind?”, “Oh, you’re fine, you probably have 15 minutes.” Wow, 15 minutes. Comfortable, but closer than I thought. By now, I was running 5:15min/km or 5:30 min/km. I was doing the maths, and If he was running 4:40s, he could still catch up.

On the third second lap, I came across Tats. He was somewhere in the second half of his first lap. I was trying to do the maths, but I couldn't figure out how far back he was. All I knew was that he looked like he was moving at a decent pace. This things wasn’t over. So I concentrated on shuffling along. There were a couple of times where I cramped up. A couple more where I felt really light headed. So I concentrated on fueling well at each aid station, taking as much calories and electrolytes as I could.

At the beginning of the third lap, I asked the two fellows at the first aid station to start their timer to get a split. Later on in the lap, I came across Tats, pretty much at the same point where I had seen him the lap before. That was good news, he wasn't gaining. I relaxed a bit. Now, all I had to do was bring this home. No need to run seriously, a shuffle would get me there.

The deer-in-headlights eyes is a clear indication that I was not fresh very long. And that I had more than my share of caffeine. (Photo credit: fixedfocusphotography.com)

Between my shoulders cramping up and trying to recover some energy through hitting each aid station hard (coke, primarily, but also water, Heed, and the occasional banana and orange), the run was physically uncomfortable. But I guess this is how these things always go. At least all this was happening in the shade, under a canopy of trees and the temperature and humidity were nowhere as bad as they’d be in Texas.

On my fourth lap, the guys at the first aid station assured me that I was gaining time on Tats. A few minutes later, I came across where I had seen him the two laps before, but he wasn’t there. Had he passed by already or was he falling behind? I was trying to do the maths. By now, I was at a 5:30 pace. I couldn't quite put things together but I thought he was going to run out of real estate. This thing was mine—well, it should be mine. A couple minutes later I did come across him. So I had extended my lead. Yep, this thing was mine. Big smile. I was now just a few kilometers short of the finish line. I relaxed, enjoyed the experience and took it easier.

Just a few more steps

Soon, I finished my fourth lap and headsedto the finish chute where—would you believe it?—there was still a banner across. Picking it up was quite the experience!

And now I know how it feels to take the banner: fantastic! (Photo credit: fixedfocusphotography.com)

Although my run ended up slower than I wanted it to be (and slower than some of my previous IM runs), I think it was the most consistent of my IM runs, as I managed not to walk at all, running/shuffling on the course and taking a minute at each aid station to fuel properly.

Next step: same time WITH a swim.

I had, and still have several goals for the year: First, finishing an Ironman after my DNF last year. Second, shooting for a sub-10h finish. This race would probably have been in the 10h15 region, assuming a 1h20 swim, had that not been canceled. So I’m in the neighborhood, but not there yet. I still have five weeks before Texas. Hopefully that’s enough to continue working on the swim and, most importantly, find a better fueling strategy. And, although I still haven’t achieved yet a sub-10h finish, taking first place at Ocala was a very nice experience. Writing this five days later, I’m still grinning stupidly. Luckily, no one can tell. Dad would have been proud. Well, there you go, dad. This one is for you.

No damages were done that a good night of sleep and a pint of ice cream couldn't erase by the next day. (Photo credit: fixedfocusphotography.com)