COZUMEL RACE REPORT

Having returned to Toronto feels bittersweet; good to be home, sad about leaving Cozumel behind. It was a beautfiul place, and really the most I have ever felt like I was on vacation during an Ironman week. I feel the same kind of bittersweet feeling about the race itself. I enjoyed most of it. It started out really well, then it turned on me, became dangerous even, and then sour, and finally, ended on a pleasant note once again. 

LA ISLA COZUMELA

It seems as though every time you turn on the news these days, another Canadian tourist is being murdered in Mexico. One colleague at work commented on how brave I must be for venturing there with my family.

I guess that having Island status really gives Cozumel its own personality: a pleasant place where the people are friendly and warm. I felt more as though I was in the Caribbean than Mexico, if that makes any sense.

Physically, the island reminds me a bit of a cross between Aruba and Grand Cayman. Small and flat, with one town, and a wild windy side where the ocean crashes into rocks or rolls onto pristine sand on small, private beaches where all you find is one, Ma and Pa beach bar or restaurant to civilize the landscape in the most pleasant, desert island kind of way.

During the ten days we spent there, an "el Norte" struck; a mighty wind from the North,  which came and ravaged the island with fits of rain, gusty wind, and lower than normal temperatures. During this time, the ocean was not swimmable. But, being Canadians, we were still able to enjoy the beach, albeit covered in blankets and wearing wind-breakers. If the race ever happened to be on one such day, it would be epic indeed, and most probably without a swim. 

We stayed at the Occidental Grand Cozumel, an all inclusive resort. This kind of holiday was a concept that I had written off, in my petite bourgousie fashion, as being generally sub-standard, and intended for "the masses". However, as with so many other things, marriage, and parenthood, had me re-considering its merits and living it as a reality.  All things considered, I have absolutely nothing to complain about. The grounds were gorgeous, neslted in a tropical rain forest setting with a stunning beach; we saw plenty of fish, igaunas as big as dinosaurs, a snake, and even wild pigs running through the woods at night while we strolled home from dinner. The buildings were attractive white and yellow mezo/arabesque structures with white domes that rose above the trees and when lit up at night gave off an almost space age yet ancient kind of feel that made me feel like I was living in the setting of an Isaac Asimov novel.

the beachside pool at our ironman digs

RACE ORGANIZATION

Philosophically speaking, I tend to see most dichotomies as false at worst, or gross over-simplifications at best. Having said that, there are two kinds of people in this world: those who continually bitch and complain about the organization at just about any event they attend, and those who go with the flow, are more adaptable, and thus tend to be happy with the organization just about anywhere they race. I put myself in the latter camp, so let the reader judge what follows in that context. 

The race has been running for five years, and sold out this year. I think those facts say a lot on their own. I have no major complaints. Yes, they hit everyone for an extra ten bucks at registration. Was this a transparent manoeuvre to lube the piggy banks of the local triathlon association (or whomever that 10 bucks went to?), yes, of course. I didn't let it ruin my day. 

There was one glitch in organization that I think is worth mentioning because it made the process of checking your equipment more cumbersome than need be. The race web-site, and, indeed, even Michael Lovato announced at the briefing that we would be able to check our run bag in T-1 along with everything else, and then it would be transported to T-2 for us. Perfect sense. However, this did not materialize, and everyone had to schlepp to two transition zones the day before the race, making and extra trip downtown to deposit our run gear bags. I won't go as far as to put my worst conspiracy theory into writing, but I am sure that this had the net effect of raising somewhere between 10 and 20, 000 dollars for the local cab company. Not bad…and no-one was hurt. 

The organizers were challenged by several days of extremely choppy waters and high winds in the days coming into the race.  This led to cancellation of the scheduled swim practices, and as most will know, a changed and shortened course on race day. All things being equal, I might have preferred if they found some way to add 700 meters, but I think they did an excellent job of getting 2400 athletes to the new start, at the Intercontinental Hotel beach, in short time, and that they made a safe decision, that allowed everyone to finish (there were close to 1000 first timers or so i heard) and the day still felt every bit an Ironman. The swim itself was quite beautiful, in shallow waters, and at one point, you swim over divers who are there giving everyone a thumbs up, very, very cool. The whole thing went off so well, I would seriously consider keeping this new course, with maybe a loop at the start or finish to add the extra distance. 

The venue is quite beautiful. I was surprised that there was a relative lack of drafting (one or two exceptions), aid stations were plentiful on both the bike and the run, they were well stocked, and the volunteers were really helpful and, at times, quite cute (5 year old kids offering me "gitorayeed" in diminutive mexican accents).  The bike course can be lonely for long stretches, especially on the back side of the island, where there are strong, incessant cross winds. But passing through town, the atmosphere is festive, and really picks up your spirits. Out on the run, you are never really alone, passing cheering people drinking beer in local cafes, the usual aid stations with loud speakers playing "eye of the tiger" and, even a live band, who did a pretty decent cover of "sweet child o'mine".  The finish line has a proper, Ironman grandiosity about it and certainly trumps IMAZ in my mind (which is rather low key by comparison). All in all, I thought this was a well organized, fun and exciting venue for a race, and I am sure it will be here to stay. Will I return to race here? I most certainly hope so. 

a more beautiful swim course there is  not

MY RACE

Sometimes, a picture really does say a thousand words, so I will start with a pic of me at the finish line and the rest should be pretty short.

What is that expression? A kind of pissed of relief? Why is my tongue in my cheek? No arms over head exaltation like last year, or the year before.

Here is another one. Just to drive things home…(and because I love myself)

Same kind of expression. But from this angle it is clear to me that this is the kind of face I often have when I am a bit sheepish, like something is wrong and I want to conceal it, or when I think I just got away with something…

I already mentioned how beautiful the swim course was. There was the usual assault and battery in the first few hundred meters; one person trying to dunk me by pushing my back straight down, a punch in the eye, a few near kicks to the head. Once things settled in, I swam steady and felt strong. No leaky goggles, found feet a few times.  I was stoked to get out and see 8 o'clock on my watch. Wow, the Ironman swim time I always wanted! 59minutes. And all they had to do was shorten the swim by 700 meters and put a current behind me.

Out on the bike, things started really strong for me. I started to feel convinced that this might be a day for me to make a big breakthrough. I felt fresh, strong. My legs were moving nicely. My gut was good. I was having fun. One lap went by and I was averaging 34 kilometres per hour, 190 watts. Right on target for a sub 5:15 time. Lap two went by in similar vein, although the winds picked up and so I was a little slower, but the power numbers were still great. I started to worry that I was feeling too good.

Then it happened. The bad patch Gremlin got on my back and I started to feel a bit shitty at the 130 k mark. No problem. I come expecting bad patches. I ate salt, a cliff bar, hydrated and things came back around a bit. My pace had slowed, but I was still heading for something close to 5:15, and I felt like I still had running legs. In fact, for most of the last lap I didn't look at my computer too much, I just paced myself in a rhythm that felt right and that I could run off.

A righteous anger was stoked at 140k when a blatant drafter was so close to my wheel that I could hear his breath.  This was on the extremely windy side of the island, making me even more resentful that someone was getting a free ride off my efforts into the wind. I waved him off and he stuck like glue. I swerved around and he stuck to me like glue. Finally, I lost it and screamed at him, in my most booming voice "GET THE FUCK OFF MY WHEEL YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE", I think I added some other homicidal sentiments, but nothing that would hold up in a court of law. I guess he figured out that I wasn't o.k. with him drafting and he disappeared.

A few k down the road and a peleton of 8 riders approached me and passed. I held my tongue but was glad to watch them split up as the winds howled.

At 150k, I glanced down at my power meter for a few seconds and looked up, to my horror, to see a rider who had stopped and dismounted and was standing right in in my lane, picking up a stray bottle or something. By the time I reacted, I could neither steer clear, nor brake in time, and went smashing head on into him. The whole thing was a bit traumatic; I went flying head over heels and landed on my head.

The other rider had the worst of it, he was alert, up, moving all limbs, but a bit dazed and maybe had a fractured rib. It took a while to get settled, assess the damage to self, bike, other rider and think about what to do. Eventually, I decided that I could still race, even though my friend didn't think he could go on. I checked in with him, apologized profusely, and got back on my bike, which, other than some out of whack aero extensions, seemed pretty ok.

I rode several minutes with a weird noise and realized that my rear brake was rubbing. I stopped again, adjusted my brake, and rear derailleur and kept going. My neck was too sore to look up from aero, so I rode the rest of the ride, more or less, upright, in the drops. It never occurred to me not to finish as long as I was able, but, in retrospect, I was a bit dazed.

I think that I realistically lost any time gains that the swim brought. About 15 minutes.

some time before i kissed the pavement

I started my run rather well, all things considered. I ran my first k in 4:40 and had to hold myself in to run my target pace of 5:05's. The heat was building. My knee was throbbing from the crash. And suddenly, at about 10k,  it happened, that dreaded physical depression, that mental head space where your body wants to slow down, to stop, where the thought of being out there, doing what you are doing for the next three hours, seems to be the last thing on earth you want to do. 

I spent a year trying to avoid this feeling. Or trying to think about how I would manage it when it came. How I would continue to run and not do the Ironman trot. I had visualized this moment on every long run. And here I was, helpless in it's pull. Fuck. Me. 

I slowed…a lot. I had to pee. I was hot. I took a port-o-potty break at the end of the first lap and then it started to rain, to pour. The course was a giant puddle. My feet were soaked, water logged, as trotted across small ponds that were at least six inches deep. 

To say I felt a bit discouraged and pissed off would be an understatement. The day had started great. I was headed for something close to 10 hours, let's say 10:15 to make up for the lesser swim. It was all happening. Then…it was all slipping away as I trotted in some listless, a-motivational buzz space through the rain. 

But…I kept on keeping and a few cups of Pepsi later, at the turn around into the final stretch back, my legs came back, I had some turn over, and I set myself to finish as well as I could, and, once again, a sub-4 marathon became my goal;  not what I had hoped or trained for, but my reality nevertheless.

the heat starting to kick in

My final memories of the race are of feeling the joy of running, as the sun went down, along the promenade, which was beautifully lit up, breathing in the humid air, eyeing an argentinian steak house with longing, and feeling complete joy at the simple act of running, on destroyed legs, and swollen, water logged feet, in the mexican dusk. It was a nice finish to a long and (of course, this is Ironman) unexpected kind of day.

I finished in 10:42. Probably a very real time considering the trade between the swim and the crash. I make no excuses. There are no rationalizations. It was was it was. It was not what I had envisioned as my best possible scenario. It was not a huge breakthrough. On the other hand, I need to stop whining. I finished an Ironman, on a day when I could equally well have ended up in the Cat Scanner at the local hospital.

So. No….I did not feel exultant, but I did feel a deep inner gladness at finishing, and a sense of pride at having pushed through some bad circumstances. To be honest, the second the race was over, it just disappeared. It was just another triathlon, another long training day, another challenge. But  all I could think about was finding my wife and daughter in the crowd and spending the rest of the night with them.