A sharp, stinging pain coursed through my wrist as it seemed to get tangled in a long hair. As my arm pulled my body through the warm water it swatted what had to be a jellyfish tentacle across the tip of my nose and down my torso. The pain continued on the back of my right leg and ankle.
I was only about 200m out from shore in Langkawi, the day before the full Ironman. The sun had just risen and although the sky was threatening rain, the water was calm and conditions looked good. I was doing a warm-up swim just to check the conditions and prepare myself for the race the next day.
90 minutes later, I felt considerable abdominal pain, but whatever, these thing can come and go. There's no way that could be connected to the stings. They still burned, too, but I knew those would eventually go away. I was on my bike, doing an hour-long ride.
After the ride, I returned to my hotel room and Googled "jellyfish sting treatment" and "jellyfish sting symptoms." I had already poured vinegar on the wounds, but was surprised to see that abdominal pain (along with death) could be attributed to the stings.
Soon after, I was in a van with seven other guys from Singapore, Terai Melayu. We were checking in our run bags and later would be racking our bikes. But by then, the pain had become so bad I let them know I thought I should go to a doctor.
All the clinics were closed from about Noon to 3. One of the guys called one and when told they were closed, he said, "What happens in an emergency?" "Just wait," he was told.
My bones ached and it felt like I had a severe fever and influenza.
So we made our way to the only hospital on the island, and they checked me in at the emergency room. Within 10 minutes a doctor was asking me questions and within no more than 15, I had my pants down with a needle full of Voltaren being injected into my right-rear. 30 minutes later, I felt 50% better and was waiting to pick up my medicine from the pharmacist.
My mind was more at ease than usual as I had a thorough packing list and my gear was well-organized. I wouldn't forget a thing. The hilariously-huge hotel room gave me plenty of space to get organized.
Most dominating, however, wasn't any pre-race jitters but the incessant shooting pain in my toes especially. It was 4 am and I don't think I had slept for more than 15 minutes straight the entire night. Each pain felt like a fire ant or maybe a quarter-bee-sting. I kept putting hydrocortisone on the jellyfish stings until I realized the pains were coming from within, not from the skin.
"Don't worry," I told my half-sleeping wife. "If it gets too bad I'll just quit. I have nothing to prove. I've done this race before. Let me see how it goes."
Throughout the night I was 50-50 on whether or not I'd even start. But this sport is all about taking tiny steps, one-by-one, and moving forward. Don't ever think too far ahead.
But 100% of the groundwork had been done for me: The training, the logistics, the check-in, everything. It would be insane to throw in the towel now.
The electric environment at the beach had dramatically lifted my spirits. Pete Murray's voice accompanied by Chirs McCormack's worked the crowd into a near frenzy as Javier Gomez, Andy Potts, and other pros started their swims. I was feeling great, and there was no way I was going to back out now, despite those annoying pains in my body. But if I felt the pain worsen or become a danger, I'd have no qualms doing my first DNF.
It was only 38 min and a few seconds before I had finished the first lap of 1.9 km - my goal was 38. So now I only had to do it again. All the swim squad training I had done for the past nine months had really taught me the meaning of speed. I used to think speed would come from a stronger but fewer pulls (lower cadence). Wouldn't this be necessary to save energy over 3.8 km?
Except I knew my coach had been telling me the opposite for years. I just must not have believed it would be the case for an unconditioned beginner like me.
But then my friend Andrew had been telling me the same thing since March. He had just done the Roth swim in 56 min I believe, Norseman in 52, and Kona in 57 - all in the last four months. "Don't make this like some Sunday swim. Put some aggression into it," he kept saying.
In the swim squad many of the sprints we do end up being races. And that's where I figured out that the #1 way to be faster for me was just to crank up the cadence. So I remained mindful about this most of the time, not letting my thoughts wander. Cadence up!
As expected, I came out of the water in 1:18-something, just a few seconds over what I wanted.
I was far more comfortable on the bike, and very much more in control. I pretty much knew what to expect, having done this course the year before, despite minor route changes. I was hoping for an Intensity Factor (IF) of 72-73 (% of FTP). I kept it near this figure up to about the 45th km, but then it started slipping.
By the second lap, I noticed my wattage was down to around 64% - very low - yet my average speed was around 31-32 km/h, which was my target. So no point expending unnecessarily energy. I needed to save my legs for the run, and if my IF was to be so low, so be it, if my speed was acceptable.
However, I did get spooked by a Variability Index reading of 1.09. That meant my Normalized Power had a 9% variance over my Average Power - too many spikes, too many matches burned. 1.05 is usually regarded the limit, but with such a hilly course it's understandable that it could exceed this.
I was nicely fueled up, though. My wife had mixed up a veritable gravy of nutrition. 1,452 calories, 308 carbs, and 5,340 mg of sodium (the recommended daily allowance of sodium for adults is 1,500 mg) in a single bottle. The stuff was so thick and rich it burned going down. The consistency of pancake batter.
It's absolutely essential that you chase it with copious amounts of water or else it will dehydrate you quickly by pulling water out of your cells into that solution in your stomach as the tonicity concentrates homogenize. Drinking water makes it isotonic - meaning the same concentration as your cells.
Plus another 8 Hammer gels, or another 720 calories, for good measure.
It had rained a few times a day for the past week or so, and we were all hoping for some afternoon showers to cool us off. It never came. The ride just got hotter and hotter.
It was otherwise rather uneventful. We passed through a small wedding happening on both sides of the road, in front of villages and kampungs with kids running wild asking for water bottles, and across intersections dutifully manned by local police in the scorching sun.
I normally am quite social on the bike and the run, but this time chose to focus more on my own race, and keep to myself. I saw Vignesh again, the same guy I met at the same time and same place and same race as last year. A while later I met a fellow-Oregonian, Bryce, too. Funny we were all three on Canyon Speedmaxes.
But I largely kept to myself, trying to focus. "Race smart," my arm read.
At about 173 km there was a poorly-marked right turn which I almost didn't see. I looked forward and noticed two course attendants suddenly jump up when they saw me and the guy in front of me arrive. They quickly indicated the direction they wanted us to go.
The cyclist in front swerved hard at speed, causing him to flip and face-plant. The road was especially rough at that point. This would have been disastrous for him, but I didn't stop as there were guys there with radios and a vehicle. Anything can happen.
I was happy to get off the bike. The new Hoka Bondi 6 shoes I was wearing were a true luxury. It felt like I was walking on pillows. As usual, the first few kilometers were easy. 3 1/2 loops from the exhibition centre to the Meritus is all we had to do.
At about my third or fourth kilometer I saw Javier Gomez running the other way. He must have had about 12-14 more to go. I had wished him 'buena suerte' at T1 before the swim, and he was friendly enough. I thought I'd keep my mouth shut this time and let him do his job, even though second place was so far back it was at least five minutes before I saw him.
The road we were on which followed the airport runway was so similar and boring that it really got old fast. No variety. Total monotony. But in a way that also made it seem shorter, because we saw fewer things.
My first dozen km were okay, to plan. Then things started falling apart. The usual boost of seeing my family helped a bit, but on the second loop I actually stopped to hug them. I was slowing down.
We'd pass by the finisher chute two times before entering it (so a total of three). My first time, I faked like I was about to finish, which would have placed my among the pros. People laughed as I pretended to head in, but took a sudden left turn down the 'next lap' route. If only.
My training runs were solid. I was able to do 20 km bricks in 1:45 after 150 km rides. I nailed some good long 30 and 32 km runs. But just like last year, I wasn't able to hold it together at the race.
Well why not? I didn't overdo the bike. I had a new nutrition plan, and felt satiated and hydrated. I had tons of sodium. I was drinking about 200 ml of water at every aid station. I wasn't cramping. My mind was clear.
I could feel the run slipping away, and wanted to quit. Kilometers 19 to 37 were a real horrorshow. But then I had had enough. I was mad at myself. Why did I let this happen? What happened to "race smart"? I looked down at my arm to see that the permanent marker had worn off.
"Just run, that's what you do," I convinced myself, and I resolved not to finish until it was over. And so I did.
The best feeling, as usual, was my wife and kids' cheer at the finish line. That was tempered by my realization that the time I had 'achieved' was worse than last year's, despite my superior training and planning. But still, I had done it.
Jellyfish woes long behind me, I had other aches and pains that would be easily solved by a nice cheeseburger and a long night's sleep.
I was only about 200m out from shore in Langkawi, the day before the full Ironman. The sun had just risen and although the sky was threatening rain, the water was calm and conditions looked good. I was doing a warm-up swim just to check the conditions and prepare myself for the race the next day.
90 minutes later, I felt considerable abdominal pain, but whatever, these thing can come and go. There's no way that could be connected to the stings. They still burned, too, but I knew those would eventually go away. I was on my bike, doing an hour-long ride.
After the ride, I returned to my hotel room and Googled "jellyfish sting treatment" and "jellyfish sting symptoms." I had already poured vinegar on the wounds, but was surprised to see that abdominal pain (along with death) could be attributed to the stings.
Soon after, I was in a van with seven other guys from Singapore, Terai Melayu. We were checking in our run bags and later would be racking our bikes. But by then, the pain had become so bad I let them know I thought I should go to a doctor.
All the clinics were closed from about Noon to 3. One of the guys called one and when told they were closed, he said, "What happens in an emergency?" "Just wait," he was told.
My bones ached and it felt like I had a severe fever and influenza.
So we made our way to the only hospital on the island, and they checked me in at the emergency room. Within 10 minutes a doctor was asking me questions and within no more than 15, I had my pants down with a needle full of Voltaren being injected into my right-rear. 30 minutes later, I felt 50% better and was waiting to pick up my medicine from the pharmacist.
---
My mind was more at ease than usual as I had a thorough packing list and my gear was well-organized. I wouldn't forget a thing. The hilariously-huge hotel room gave me plenty of space to get organized.
 |
| I would have run laps in this room, but my training was over. |
"Don't worry," I told my half-sleeping wife. "If it gets too bad I'll just quit. I have nothing to prove. I've done this race before. Let me see how it goes."
Throughout the night I was 50-50 on whether or not I'd even start. But this sport is all about taking tiny steps, one-by-one, and moving forward. Don't ever think too far ahead.
But 100% of the groundwork had been done for me: The training, the logistics, the check-in, everything. It would be insane to throw in the towel now.
The electric environment at the beach had dramatically lifted my spirits. Pete Murray's voice accompanied by Chirs McCormack's worked the crowd into a near frenzy as Javier Gomez, Andy Potts, and other pros started their swims. I was feeling great, and there was no way I was going to back out now, despite those annoying pains in my body. But if I felt the pain worsen or become a danger, I'd have no qualms doing my first DNF.
It was only 38 min and a few seconds before I had finished the first lap of 1.9 km - my goal was 38. So now I only had to do it again. All the swim squad training I had done for the past nine months had really taught me the meaning of speed. I used to think speed would come from a stronger but fewer pulls (lower cadence). Wouldn't this be necessary to save energy over 3.8 km?
Except I knew my coach had been telling me the opposite for years. I just must not have believed it would be the case for an unconditioned beginner like me.
But then my friend Andrew had been telling me the same thing since March. He had just done the Roth swim in 56 min I believe, Norseman in 52, and Kona in 57 - all in the last four months. "Don't make this like some Sunday swim. Put some aggression into it," he kept saying.
In the swim squad many of the sprints we do end up being races. And that's where I figured out that the #1 way to be faster for me was just to crank up the cadence. So I remained mindful about this most of the time, not letting my thoughts wander. Cadence up!
As expected, I came out of the water in 1:18-something, just a few seconds over what I wanted.
 |
| "You've done this race before. You know what to expect. Race smart - write it on your arm," Andrew told me. |
By the second lap, I noticed my wattage was down to around 64% - very low - yet my average speed was around 31-32 km/h, which was my target. So no point expending unnecessarily energy. I needed to save my legs for the run, and if my IF was to be so low, so be it, if my speed was acceptable.
However, I did get spooked by a Variability Index reading of 1.09. That meant my Normalized Power had a 9% variance over my Average Power - too many spikes, too many matches burned. 1.05 is usually regarded the limit, but with such a hilly course it's understandable that it could exceed this.
I was nicely fueled up, though. My wife had mixed up a veritable gravy of nutrition. 1,452 calories, 308 carbs, and 5,340 mg of sodium (the recommended daily allowance of sodium for adults is 1,500 mg) in a single bottle. The stuff was so thick and rich it burned going down. The consistency of pancake batter.
It's absolutely essential that you chase it with copious amounts of water or else it will dehydrate you quickly by pulling water out of your cells into that solution in your stomach as the tonicity concentrates homogenize. Drinking water makes it isotonic - meaning the same concentration as your cells.
Plus another 8 Hammer gels, or another 720 calories, for good measure.
It had rained a few times a day for the past week or so, and we were all hoping for some afternoon showers to cool us off. It never came. The ride just got hotter and hotter.
It was otherwise rather uneventful. We passed through a small wedding happening on both sides of the road, in front of villages and kampungs with kids running wild asking for water bottles, and across intersections dutifully manned by local police in the scorching sun.
 |
| Thanks for the photo, Nik. |
But I largely kept to myself, trying to focus. "Race smart," my arm read.
At about 173 km there was a poorly-marked right turn which I almost didn't see. I looked forward and noticed two course attendants suddenly jump up when they saw me and the guy in front of me arrive. They quickly indicated the direction they wanted us to go.
The cyclist in front swerved hard at speed, causing him to flip and face-plant. The road was especially rough at that point. This would have been disastrous for him, but I didn't stop as there were guys there with radios and a vehicle. Anything can happen.
I was happy to get off the bike. The new Hoka Bondi 6 shoes I was wearing were a true luxury. It felt like I was walking on pillows. As usual, the first few kilometers were easy. 3 1/2 loops from the exhibition centre to the Meritus is all we had to do.
At about my third or fourth kilometer I saw Javier Gomez running the other way. He must have had about 12-14 more to go. I had wished him 'buena suerte' at T1 before the swim, and he was friendly enough. I thought I'd keep my mouth shut this time and let him do his job, even though second place was so far back it was at least five minutes before I saw him.
The road we were on which followed the airport runway was so similar and boring that it really got old fast. No variety. Total monotony. But in a way that also made it seem shorter, because we saw fewer things.
My first dozen km were okay, to plan. Then things started falling apart. The usual boost of seeing my family helped a bit, but on the second loop I actually stopped to hug them. I was slowing down.
We'd pass by the finisher chute two times before entering it (so a total of three). My first time, I faked like I was about to finish, which would have placed my among the pros. People laughed as I pretended to head in, but took a sudden left turn down the 'next lap' route. If only.
 |
| The blue wristband shows I was on my second lap. |
My training runs were solid. I was able to do 20 km bricks in 1:45 after 150 km rides. I nailed some good long 30 and 32 km runs. But just like last year, I wasn't able to hold it together at the race.
Well why not? I didn't overdo the bike. I had a new nutrition plan, and felt satiated and hydrated. I had tons of sodium. I was drinking about 200 ml of water at every aid station. I wasn't cramping. My mind was clear.
I could feel the run slipping away, and wanted to quit. Kilometers 19 to 37 were a real horrorshow. But then I had had enough. I was mad at myself. Why did I let this happen? What happened to "race smart"? I looked down at my arm to see that the permanent marker had worn off.
"Just run, that's what you do," I convinced myself, and I resolved not to finish until it was over. And so I did.
The best feeling, as usual, was my wife and kids' cheer at the finish line. That was tempered by my realization that the time I had 'achieved' was worse than last year's, despite my superior training and planning. But still, I had done it.
Jellyfish woes long behind me, I had other aches and pains that would be easily solved by a nice cheeseburger and a long night's sleep.
1 comments:
Dont be too hard on yourself. I believe 2019 in Langkawi was a lot harder than 2018
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