Ironman Post Race Report
“Exactly
one year ago yesterday I decided to embark on the greatest journey of my life.
Sitting on my hotel bed in the middle of Manhattan at 10 a.m. running on
$20/hour WIFI with credit card in hand, I registered for the 2014 Subaru
Ironman North American Championships in Mont Tremblant. Unbeknownst to me, I
had no idea what I was signing up for.”
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| All of my race gear |
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| My loyal steed equipped with my trusty 3SIXTY5 Cycling 50/88MM clinchers |
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| Prepping my race day bags, hoping I remembered everything! |
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| Headed off to transition |
If you were to fast forward 363 days, 20
hours and 18 minutes from that moment, you would find me standing on the beach
at Lac Tremblant in my wetsuit and swim cap about to soil my speedo (urinate is
more accurate… I actually really had to pee).
The last 6 years of my competitive racing
career has all led up to this very point, from that first swim team try-out
back in grade 9. My goal was simple: finish the race and claim a title so few
people will ever attempt to achieve – one even fewer will succeed in obtaining.
The day before my race, I stepped down out
of bed and a cringe overtook my face. My posterior tibial tendinitis that had
disappeared for months has just struck again out of nowhere. I took extra care
that day to nurse my ankle and hope the pain would be gone by morning. It was
not.
As the pros took off, the white caps were
corralled through the large blue Subaru arch into the starting box. So many
emotions were flooding my head and before I knew it I was standing at the edge
of the water surrounded by 300 other athletes. Some were first-timers and some
were seasoned veterans but no doubt every single one was both excited and
nervous for the coming hours. “Less than
a minute to go”, the MC announced over the speakers. And then it hit me. I
was about to start the most difficult single day sporting event in the world -
the magnitude of which I wouldn’t fully understand nor appreciate until almost
12 hours later. I envisioned all of my training sessions, all of my supporters,
my teammates, my coaches, my training partners, my inspirations, my sponsors
and remembered how prepared for this I was. “10 seconds!” Here we go, no turning back now. You’re going to rock
it.
BOOM.
And just like that the fireworks went off
and the greatest day of my life had begun.
I had been in a mass start of a triathlon
before, but nothing like this. I had planned to take it out excruciatingly slow
but soon found that I couldn’t. Stupid me, lost in my inner thoughts, went and
stood smack dab in the middle of the wave. I had never been in a group so
crowded. For the first 500 meters at least, I was swimming on top of people,
punching heads, kicking faces – it was as if I was swimming in a sea of people
with no water even present. Did I feel bad about my dispensed abuse? Of course
not, because the same treatment was directed back at me 10x as bad by the
athletes around me. My ankle hurt for the first 15 minutes or so but the pain
subsided… for the time being. I imagine it just needed time to warm up. After
the chaos that was the mass start, it was a pretty typical swim other than the
fact that it was 3.8km. The sun was mostly hidden behind the thick clouds so
the sun in your eyes wasn’t as big a problem as I had anticipated. A way that I
combat that is to always breath away from the sun, if possible, which isn’t bad
on an out and back course because you would switch sides at the turnaround.
Since that wasn’t the case I was able to do my usual bilateral breathing and
soon got into my rhythm. I found I was swimming relatively straight with the
help of very conveniently placed buoys. I usually really zigzag along the swim
pretty bad but the buoys were the perfect distance from each other that I
didn’t have any issues. One thing I will note is that I hadn’t thought to
locate the swim exit beforehand, so as I was nearing the finish I realized I
had no idea where I was going. Every few minutes I would look up to try and
find it through my foggy goggles. Luckily with about 200 meters to go I
realized it wasn’t straight ahead near a white structure as I thought but
actually more to the left under a blue arch. I was far enough out that it
didn’t affect my trajectory too much and I made a B-line for the beach.
The top half of my suit was off by the time
I exited the water to find the race clock reading 1:15. Calculate in the 6
minute staggered start and I was clear in 1 hour and 9 minutes. That was within
my range of predicted finishing time and in fact 1 second off of my best half
ironman pace, so it was a stellar swim for me. I strolled over to the *wetsuit*
strippers who yanked the neoprene off and made my way to T1. I had never used
the strippers before at a race but it was definitely way more efficient. With
my arms like jello after the swim, I’m not sure I would have even been able to
pull the suit off of my legs by myself. It was a quick 300m jog to the big
white transition tent to grab my Swim-Bike bag, but before I made it there I
found a conveniently placed port-o-potty to relieve myself after an hour and
nine minutes of holding it in.
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| Swim run up |
For those of you who have never done an
Ironman branded event, transition is much different from a usual triathlon.
Normally, you are given a spot at the bike rack where you can set up your bike
as well as lay out your equipment on the floor for the rest of the race such as
running shoes, hat, helmet, etc. When you change from discipline to discipline,
you just run to your spot and “transition” to the next sport. I knew prior to
my arrival that transition was done a little bit differently at an Ironman, but
the process was completely foreign to me. It was much easier and faster and I
can see why they only do it at Ironman races. When you run into the big white
tent, there are aisles of transition bags lined up in numerical order according
to your bib number. You run down the aisle containing your number, grab your
bag and proceed to the changing room in the middle of the tent. Myself, being
so inexperienced, grabbed my bag and started my transition while I was stood in
the middle of the aisle! Luckily I didn’t get very far before a volunteer
guided me to the changing area. I knew what I was supposed to do, but in the
heat of the moment I was so disoriented and in the zone that I was just doing
what I thought I had to do.
I got to the changing area and got ready
for the bike. The great thing about this transition process is if you planned
everything correctly, you will have everything you need for the bike in your
bag and not forget anything. In traditional triathlons, your cycle and run gear
is all laid out in one pile at transition. It is very easy to forget to grab an
item, which could be detrimental to your race. With the bag process, you know
whatever is in your bag you need to take with you so during the race where you
are dazed and confused, it is tough to mess it up. When done with your bag, you
leave it on the floor and a volunteer retrieves it and places it in an area for
you to pick up after the race. It is fast and very athlete-oriented.
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| Run to the Bikes! |
A quick run out of the opposite side of the
tent brings you right to the bike storage. This is again different from a
traditional triathlon because where there are normally 5-6 bikes on any given
rack (spaced out due to the space on the floor needed by the race gear), since
there is no equipment, there were about 20 bikes crammed onto each rack. My
bike was placed as well as I could have hoped. We were assigned a spot on the
rack based on our bib number, and mine was on an end aisle right beside the
fence, on the side of transition closest to the bike exit. This was ideal since
it involved very little running with my bike to the mount line.
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| Insane! This is what 15 million dollars worth of bikes looks like! |
Past the mount line, I was on and off. I
quickly settled into my pace and felt no stiffness or soreness in my legs from
the swim. It felt as if getting on my bike was the first thing I had done that
morning and had not just swam nearly 4km. Going into the day I knew my cycling
numbers. I knew my maximum power output at any given point should not peak
above 300 watts and I would try as hard as I could not to let it drop below 150
watts. Taking into account the hills and the wind for the day, in order to
maintain my goal average speed, I deviated from this a little bit for the
greater good of my race.
Over the course of the 180km bike ride, my
computer picked up just over 1500 meters of climbing – far less than the
claimed 1800 meters from the official athlete guide. The conditions for the
course were not perfect, but they were manageable. On the way out in the
longest out and back section along the highway, I didn’t realize it on the way
out but it was basically a constant, gradual uphill with a mild head wind. The
temperature was pretty cool and I was wishing I had brought my arm warmers or a
jacket. Despite this, by the ~32km turnaround point, I had averaged just over
31km/h. A nice easy start. As I turned around to head home, I soon realized
just how significant that gradual uphill was. Returning to the village, on the
downhill with a tail wind, I stayed well below my peak power and maxed out my
54-11 gear ratio hitting speeds in excess of 70km/h at some points. My
improvised plan was for the second lap was to push harder on the way out, and
take advantage of the conditions by recovering on the way back.
After a quick detour into St-Jovite, we
were back on Montee Ryan and back in the village by the 70km point. This is
unfortunately where the toughest part of the course lies. Passing transition,
you head out on a 10km out and back section that is essentially a 10km climb
peaking at 15%. To make matters worse for myself, I ran into another competitor
who I noticed was in my age group on this climb. I got too caught up in an
internal competition and may have burned one too many matches trying to counter
his moves and lost him on the return decent. I took the first 15km of the 2nd
loop to recover a little bit from my foolish move, but found by the time I got
back on the highway (with the uphill/head wind) the conditions had gotten worse
and it was tougher to maintain a good average speed while staying in my power
zones. This was my first bonk. Psychologically, seeing my pace drop was a punch
in the gut. I had to keep telling myself that everyone was experiencing the
same conditions and I had to keep on truckin’. I knew staying below peak power
was more important in the long run than keeping up an average pace, so I took
this section easy instead and worked on fuelling up. I needed to save something
for the marathon. By the turn around, I felt a little better and was good to
go. I got my second wind. The only
difficult part about the way back was a pretty large hill about half way back
to Montee Ryan. The closest thing I can compare it too is a much longer,
slightly less steep 6th line hill - for those of you who know that
climb in Milton. I consider myself a pretty good climber and received a little
bit of a confidence boost when I found myself passing nearly 20 riders up that
climb whom I stayed away from for the duration of the ride.
Back when I first started riding, I was on
a 20-year-old steel frame with suicide shifters on the down tube. When I would
ride with my friends on bikes with STI shifters, when we got to a hill, they
quickly shifted to a climbing gear. They would take off up the hill and myself,
finding it too difficult to properly shift gears on the old rusty bike, would
pick a comfortable gear and ride in that gear for the whole ride like a fixie.
Eventually, my legs got strong enough to keep up with them on the hills on a
single gear when everyone else could shift to an easier gear. When I finally
got a proper road bike, with a variety of gears to choose from, I found that
the extra work I did in my early days of riding shaped me into the rider I am
today. I can keep a good cadence on a relatively heavy gear going up hills
while using very little effort.
It was a pretty routine ride for the
duration of the 180km. I started to feel a tweak in my ankle with about 50km to
go. It wasn’t too bad, but enough to make me worry about the run. I kept
fuelling according to my pre-planned schedule of 1 gel, 1 homemade carb square and
1 bottle of eLoad mix every hour. I took the last 20km out and back loop very
easy in order to give my legs a little recovery time before the run. I noticed
it was not just me taking it slower either, it seemed everyone around me pulled
off the gas a little bit and I think that is where the bulk of my average pace
dropped off for that lap.
I rode back towards transition into a sea
of spectators, and pass the dismount line, saw that I was approaching a
blockade of red shirt volunteers at full running speed. Confused, I ran over to
a volunteer who was calling me over. I looked over to some other riders and saw
that they were giving their bike over to the volunteers to carry away. I
thought they only did that for the professional triathletes, but another great
feature of the Ironman event is there are awesome volunteers to return your
bike to the bike rack for you. The event is organized so that the athletes
literally only have to swim, bike and run, nothing else. It takes a little bit
of stress and worry out of the otherwise hectic day.
From there, you jog back into the big white
tent, through the opposite side you had previously, to your bike-run bag.
Again, in a similar process as before, you change in the changing room, a
volunteer takes your bag and you’re off on the run.
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| Run out of T2 |
I found the run course to be fantastic.
There were aid stations approximately every 2km and aside from the first and
last very hilly 4 km on the out and back course, it was very flat. My ankle was
not as bad as I had anticipated. It hurt a little, enough to notice, but dull
enough I could easily ignore it. The crowd support was unreal with at least
some sort of supporters nearly every 500 meters. Right from kilometer 0, I
found a fellow athlete running at a good pace for me (around 5:15/km), and
surprisingly kept up with him until the 0km mark running at the same pace. I
didn’t drop back but dropped him! I felt unusually good which just turned out
to be the calm before the storm.
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| Just finishing my first run lap, passing within 50 meters of the finish line!!! Still feeling good at this point |
Usually in my first crack at a longer
distance, I end up walking very early in the run. For example, in my first and
second 70.3 races, I walked at 6km and 9km, respectively. Even in my first
Olympic distance I walked at 4km. Perhaps it was just good power management on
the bike (an privilege I hadn’t had in previous years) or simply just a display
of my hard training but I had planned to take a break every 12km in the run and
didn’t need one until 22km in. I finished the first half marathon in 1 hour and
53 minutes. Well within my goal and almost on par with my best 70.3 split.
Just as I was exiting the village for my
second lap, however even though I physically and mentally felt very strong,
something was wrong – very wrong. I won’t go into details here, but I ran into
a bit of a medical emergency that I had never encountered before nor had I
anticipated at all. All I will say is that the pain was excruciating and I
could barely run for 30 seconds at one point before keeling over. This was my
decision point. I could have dropped out. I could have thrown away 6 years of
training. I actually considered it. The thing that upset me the most was it
wasn’t even as if I bonked or did something to injure myself – it wasn’t even
cramps. I didn’t go out too hard and was right where I had planned to be. By
this point I was 9 and a half hours deep in this commitment, what’s another few
hours of pain right? I’m never one to give up and I was definitely going to
follow this through. After I considered all of my options, there was no way I
was going to quit. I soon began crunching numbers and calculating possible
finishing times even if I did walk the next 20km. I didn’t like it but a 14
hour finish is better than a DNF. For the next 6 or 7 km, I hobbled, struggled
and suffered through the pain. My race pace splits went from ~5min/km right
down to 11min/km at one point. My pace suffered for about 12km. But I kept
going. It was the longest, hardest 12km of my life.
At the furthest turnaround along the path
at Montee Ryan, the pain began to subside. Whether it was the adrenaline of
knowing the race was almost over or simply that I let it heal for a bit, I was
back and the extra time I has rested my legs made me feel that much better. From
the 34km mark I was running back up to my target pace (~6min/km by that point)
and ran steady until the final kilometer which I *sprinted* out in just over 5
minutes, hitting a pace of 3:30/km at one point.
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| The run turn around point at Montee Ryan |
In that final push from 34km, I ate
everything they had to offer – completely disregarding my previous GI issues
and found, despite my bingeing, had no issues whatsoever. I ate pretzels (a lot
of pretzels), chicken broth, coke and even a few shots of Red Bull at the last
aid station ;). My hypothesis is since I had been going for so long, my
digestive system shut down into a primitive state working very slowly;
something I do not have the benefit of when experimenting with foods on a short
run potentially.
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| Kick down the finishing chute, 20 meters to go! |
The finish line was bittersweet. It justified all of the sacrifices I had made. Running down the finishing chute that snaked through the village I got choked up a little bit. Running up that famous ramp and under the finishing arch hearing the voice of Mike Reilly announce, “Tyler Chuang, from Mississauga, You Are An Ironman!” near brought me to tears. This was a long time coming. All of the emotions of the day overtook me. Everything I had worked so hard to achieve all fell into place, albeit with its hardships. The first thing I did after exiting the finish corral was grab an ice cold Sleeman from the drink tub and downed it on the spot.
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| My two most prized possessions at the moment: my medal and beer |
5 years ago I had never even heard of the
Ironman. I can remember the exact place and day my best friend told me about
it. It was during a cross-country practice standing outside of the fence to the
track. We had recently just completed our first triathlons and we were keen on
continuing to one-up each other. We were discussing our future plans for the
sport when he mentioned the Ironman. A 3.8km swim, 180km bike ride followed by
a 42.2km run. I thought that was absolutely crazy and that I would never even
attempt that in a million years. An Olympic distance triathlon seemed like a
stretch for me at the time. It seemed huge then and at the time I didn’t even
comprehend just how far that would be. As my career progressed and I got better
and better, the possibility of an IM seemed more and more realistic. I am still
in awe at how far I have come in the last 5-6 years. 5 years ago I couldn’t run
3km. It makes me wonder, if I am lucky enough to be able to continue in the
sport, how far I can take myself. Only time will tell I suppose.
All in all, I finished the day in 11 hours
54 minutes and 9 seconds. I had set time goals for myself beforehand. I told
myself I would definitely have to finish in under 12:30. I would be happy by
breaking 12 hours and a perfect race would be sub-11. I broke 12 hours and I am
happy with my result.
My minimum goal for the swim was a
sub-2:00/100m or 1:20. I completed it in 1:47/100m or 1:09.
My minimum goal for the bike was at least a
30km/h average or 6:00. I completed it with a 30.8km/h average or 5:57. I feel
that I could have gone faster on the bike, but considering my inexperience and
harsh weather conditions, I rode as well as I could have.
My minimum goal for the run was simply just
4 hours. I finished the marathon in a time of 4 hours and 28 minutes.
I exceeded my goal for the swim and slightly for the bike but suffered in the run due to the medical emergency. I’d say for my very first Ironman event, it went as well as it could have. So many things could have gone wrong during the course of the race. I had a near perfect swim and a mechanical-less bike and figure I lost maybe 30 minutes on the run (assuming all else went perfect). If that’s all that went wrong, I have to call that an outstanding success. If everything went perfect in my first Ironman, what would be the fun in that? I think that would almost make the race seem too easy, which of course it is not. The distance really is humbling, but if prepared enough, as noted in my previous post, it doesn’t have to feel that bad. Up until my incident, I really was enjoying myself. Even from kilometer 22 to 34 of the run, I was enjoying myself – just in a lot of pain.
I know that I'm not the fastest, and probably never will be the fastest, but just completing the Ironman, for myself, was the biggest achievement possible. For someone who has never really excelled at anything, being able to say that I conquered the Ironman gives me so much pride and happiness. I honestly never thought it was something that I would be able to do, knowing my body, and I can still barely believe it myself.
Now, as I am writing this 3 days after the
big day, I must say I am not as sore as I thought I would be. The first 2 days
after my legs felt as though they were bruised and raw. After care with
compression socks and an ice bath (see me
take on the #ALSIceBathChallenge here: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10152642697758536&l=8575188270506933472),
I feel pretty good at the moment.
For the next week, I plan to take off any
serious training and completely binge on all of the crap I have deprived myself
of for the last 5 years. I currently have nothing to train for. For the first
time in years I have had Lucky Charms; they are magically delicious in a gross,
disgusting way. I went out yesterday and stocked up the house with cookies,
chips, soda and beer. There are no regrets this week!
Long term I am kind of puzzled. For my
entire career, it has always been about building to the next big thing.
Give-it-a-Tri to Sprint to Olympic to 70.3 to Ironman. I have reached the end
of the chain and have no sense of direction as where to go. I feel lost. I
could try to better my Ironman result, but the time commitment is much to great
to try to combat in my current situation. I was lucky enough to have been able
to commit this whole year to this one race. I will try again in a few years
hopefully. I really like 70.3 events – I find the distance is perfect for me in
terms of carrying over and maintaining my speed. I’ll do a few next year. I am
considering getting deeper into pure cycling races. I did a few this year and
enjoyed them. Other than that I will focus on the upcoming cross-country season
and perhaps a crack at Boston is in my future.
I would like to take this time to thank all of the people that have made my dream come true.
To my Dad. He has been at every single
start and every single finish of every single race I have ever competed in,
cheering me on along the way. Without his support there is no way I would be
able to achieve what I do.
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| **From Welland 2014 - will post Ironman pic when I get it** |
To my Mom. She has supported my from the
get go, giving me encouragement and motivation. She has even taken up the sport
after me.
To my main man: Kyle Xavier. He embarked on
this journey with me nearly 6 years ago, even if it was in spite of each other
;). He made entry into this sport fun and competitive which only made us
better. I wouldn’t be doing what I am today without him. Wish you could have
been there with me bud, we’ll get the next one.
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| The shenanigans we got into... |
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| Our first ever triathlon |
To my best running partners: Marc Pereira
and Justin Diep. These lads have helped to keep me motivated through the tough
times, even when I wasn’t even healthy enough to keep up with them on an easy
10k run! Those winter treks through 2 feet of snow helped me build a solid base
without which I wouldn’t be where I am today, so thank you for that.
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| It's actually something like negative 10 degrees out here |
To all of my Coaches. At every stage in my
athletic career they have been there mentoring me and keeping me on the right
path. They made the sport fun and instilled a passion in me that has continued
to burn long after we have parted ways.
To my sponsor: 3SIXTY5 Cycling. Ever since
our first encounter over 2 years ago, my racing quality has exponentially
increased. Whether it be from the
awesome products and services they supply me with, the moral support or helpful
advice, I have only seen gains. Thank you for all that you do for me and my
cycling team: On Your Left Cycling. I look forward to many more years of a
great partnership.
To all of the amazing volunteers and crowd supporters. Without whom, this awesome event would not be possible. The event was so well run and everybody was so kind and helpful.
And to all of my friends, family and
teammates. They have all affected my career in unique, special ways and I hope
that they continue to take this journey with me wherever it may take me.
I’ve heard that the Ironman is more about
the journey than the finish line. I couldn’t imagine anything better than
crossing that line, but reflecting back, the journey has been great. I’m not
sure what I would be doing if not for triathlon.
One of my new favourite quotes is:
“It’s a long road. But it's worth it. It's your road and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you".
I think this best describes the Ironman at its roots and definitely my overall experience in my journey to the race.
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| Panorama of the finish at midnight |
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| Very last official coming in at 11:57, followed by the angels |
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| Mike Reilly's closing speech |
