On Your Left Cycling

Ironman Post Race Report

3.8KM Swim... 180KM Bike... 42.2KM Run

“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.”

All of my race gear

My loyal steed equipped with my trusty
3SIXTY5 Cycling 50/88MM clinchers

Prepping my race day bags, hoping I remembered everything!

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.

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.

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.

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 2^nd 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 6^th 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

**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.

The shenanigans we got into...

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.

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.