Boulder 70.3 Relay Race Report: Finding My Way Back from Burnout

Before this weekend, Boulder 70.3 in 2017 was the last triathlon I raced. I didn't even write a race report about it. I started a draft, but a couple of weeks later I crewed at Leadville, started running trails and dreaming of ultras, and basically quit triathlon. After my tri bike spent a year collecting dust, I sold it. I thought I had moved on, I thought I was forever burned out on triathlon. Note: If you find yourself feeling this way, think really hard before you sell your bike and beautiful, fast race wheels! (That's foreshadowing, of course.)

In January, a couple of my Big Sexy Racing teammates brought up the idea of a relay at Boulder 70.3. Both ladies were traveling from out of town and weren't excited about swimming at altitude, so I happily agreed to be the swimmer for their relay. Then, a few months ago, our runner dropped out due to injury, so I asked my friend Laura to step in and she agreed. Laura is a fairly new runner who's been toying with the idea of doing a triathlon, so I thought this would be the perfect first step (that might be foreshadowing too).

Exactly one month ago, my parents suggested coming down to Texas to race the Kerrville triathlon in September. I put it on the calendar and pulled my road bike out of the closet. After not riding my bike for nearly a year and a half, I immediately rediscovered the joy of riding. My coach agreed that the Kerrville tri would be a fine idea and that a little bit of biking would only help me towards my marathon goal at CIM in December. I found myself looking forward to the bike rides on my plan more than anything else. In the last month I've joyfully discovered some of the great roads to ride around Lafayette and Boulder. It's literally the only thing I want to do right now. I love riding my bike!

It should be no surprise, then, that when our cyclist for the relay dropped out due to injury two weeks ago, I jumped at the chance to do the bike leg of the relay in addition to the swim. I was not happy that Nina is hurt, but I was really excited that the opportunity to ride a bike in a race had just fallen into my lap.

On race morning as I was setting up my bike and equipment in the transition area, Whiting, who was doing the swim on a relay team of her own, pointed at the running shoes and hat that I'd laid out and asked me if I was intending to run too. "I don't know," I said, "I might be crippled after riding my bike for 56 miles." I had a 4-mile run on my training plan that I'd missed earlier in the week, so if I was able, I intended to at least run to the Big Sexy tent that was about 3 miles away from the transition on the run course. I secretly dreamed of being able to complete the entire race - a relay of one. As someone I admire very much recently said, I like to do stupid things. But we'd see what the day would bring.

The water was barely wetsuit legal and I headed to the beach in my sleeveless wetsuit, accompanied by Laura who was soaking in the experience of the day as she waited to run hours later. Although I'd been worried about time when we entered the transition close to 6:30 and stood in a porta-potty line until 7, the race didn't start until 7:15ish and I found myself standing happily in a pack of five or six Big Sexy teammates on the beach with plenty of time to get in the water for the rolling start. We'd seeded ourselves with the 37-40 minute pack for the 1.2 mile swim.

It was the perfect way to start a race. We laughed and chatted our way to the water's edge and then lined up in chutes to start the swim four at a time, with five seconds between each pack of starters. Although my plan had been to swim on my teammate Tony's feet, I lost him as soon as he started the race and instead I swam off by myself to swim far to the left of the buoys. I think if I ever want to be competitive in one of these things, I'll need to re-learn how to swim in close proximity to others, but today was not that day.

The swim was peaceful and my lats, arms, and hands felt strong as I pulled myself through the water. I did feel like I was drifting to the left, but I sighted enough to correct it before I went too far off course. I felt my Garmin buzz each time 500 yards passed, and when it buzzed a third time on my way back to shore, I thought to myself, "okay, get to the finish before it buzzes again." This would not be the case and I finished the swim in 37:30 with 2214 yards recorded on the Garmin. Everyone says the swim was long. I don't really know if it was, but I do know that I was very happy to be on my feet, running to the wetsuit strippers.

I saw Whiting as I approached the transition; she had finished a couple minutes before me. She'd already handed her chip off to her relay cyclist, and she cheered at me to hurry. I laughed as I immediately stopped at a porta-potty before even reaching my bike. I'm not considering this to be a race; I'm going to take the time to stop and pee. Then I ran to my bike where Laura and Whiting were waiting. I put on my aero helmet, gloves (it takes a long time to put on gloves when your hands are wet), sunglasses, and race belt with bib (which was not necessary on the bike! Whoops). I put a few packs of honey stinger chews in the back pocket of my kit. Pulled on my socks and shoes, started the Garmin on the bike, and ran out of transition.

Based on previous races, I assumed my split would be around 3 hours. I know I'm slower on my road bike than on a tri bike, and I didn't have aero bars or race wheels. I did have my aero helmet, which made me laugh. My bike split at this race two years ago was 2:45, but the course was two miles short and, more importantly, I had actually trained for the bike portion of the race. For this race I had ridden a total of 135 miles distributed among seven rides, all within the past month. My longest ride before the race was 38 miles. There was really no telling what would happen.

For the first 10 miles on the Diagonal Highway, I felt really strong. I got in my drops, got as aero as possible, and rode my way to a zone 3 heart rate. My teammates cheered as they passed by one by one. The first part of the bike is a really fast section of the course and I was feeling great. But around 15 miles into the ride, my back started to hurt. This is normal because I'm just getting used to riding my bike again, and being in the drops wasn't helping. I started to wonder not only if I'd be able to run off the bike, but if I'd even be able to complete the entire bike race.

I stood up on the pedals to stretch my back frequently. I backed off the level of effort. I took advantage of spinning up the hills. On my road bike, I'm more confident handling the bike on the downhills, so I took advantage of those too. All things considered, it was a good ride, but it didn't feel good to be passed by literally 1000 people. As a relatively strong swimmer, I'm used to being passed on the bike, but the effect was multiplied at this race by my lack of an awesome aero setup and, again, my lack of bike fitness. I did take the time to look around and take in the awesome views of the mountains that still have snow on their peaks in August.

Road bike, aero helmet, and unbeatable scenery around me.

With numb hands and an aching back, I was happy to roll into transition when it finally came. I posted my slowest half ironman bike split ever: 3:13. Even my first race in Austin was faster than that by nearly five minutes! But today was a day where I was just happy to be out there. I wondered what my back would feel like once I put on my running shoes.

As I jogged through the transition, I spotted Laura immediately; she was dancing a little bit next to the bike rack, looking happy to run. We transferred the chip to her leg, I changed my shoes, and we ran out of the transition area together. She asked if I was planning to run the whole thing with her, peppered me with questions about my day, and chattered about hers as I struggled to breathe. I looked at my watch, saw a 9:30 pace, and warned her, "you have to pace us. I always run too fast off the bike." She agreed and we tried to slow down.

Pretty much as soon as we started running I knew that I wanted to run the whole half marathon with her. I know that I was bending (okay breaking) rules by running on the run course with my relay partner, but I felt like this was a forgivable offense; I wasn't pacing her to a win or anything like that. I don't know. Judge me if you want to. I'm normally a strict rule-follower and I do feel guilty about it.

The first of two loops was relatively easy for Laura and harder for me. It took time to get into a groove running off the bike. Once I got there though, I became insanely happy. Starting at mile six, I chattered at Laura and to all the runners around us. As the temperature rose on the exposed, mostly gravel run course (it was reported to be 97 degrees but I'm not sure how accurate that is; it did feel like we were on the surface of the sun at times), it seemed like everyone was suffering except me. This only made me happier; I felt proud that I have the fitness to fake my way through a half ironman, albeit at a much slower pace than I've ever biked or run during one of these things before.

We ran to the aid stations and walked through them with purpose. I was unstoppably positive and managed to even annoy myself with it. I was just so happy to be out there. At one point I jogged ahead, bursting with joy and the realization that this is what I love to do! This is my favorite thing in the world! My heart was screaming with happiness and it started to overflow into tears. I forced myself to control my breathing and I turned excitedly to Laura to report to her what I'd just learned.

Laura had slowed to a walk, and I jogged back on the jeep path towards her. She made a little sound and I tentatively asked her if she was laughing. When she said no, I realized that Laura was crying too, but for the opposite reason. She hated it. She felt sick and she wasn't having any fun at all. I dialed back my enthusiasm and talked her through the rest of the run, walking when she needed to walk and running when she could. I was proud to see her run from aid station to aid station, refusing to walk until she really needed to.

After the race, we talked quite a bit about mental toughness, and although she thinks she doesn't have it, I saw it many times during the last five miles of the race. She didn't quit. She kept moving forward. She doesn't know how important that is, but one day she'll look back and I know she'll be proud. I hope she decides to continue with her plan to try a triathlon, because now she's already done the hardest part of one.

When we approached the finish line, she ran ahead and I jogged around to the other side of the fence to cheer her across the line. Whiting and the rest of our friends were there; they'd been finished with their relay for probably hours and had come in 7th place in the relay division! With a 6:51 total time, I don't even know where we placed, but of course it doesn't really matter, our day was never supposed to be about speed.

Talking to my coach, Nell Rojas, afterwards, I admitted that there were times during the swim and the bike where I asked myself, do I really like this? Those thoughts never came up during the run. "Maybe I just really love running," I told her. "No," she laughed, "if you were that happy during the run, I think you really love triathlon." She's right. The next one is in seven weeks in Kerrville. I can't wait!

My first relay finisher's medal. And the t-shirt has a PRAIRIE DOG ON IT!

The entire weekend was a super fun Big Sexy celebration. Teammates had come from as far as Australia to compete in this half ironman. The pre- and post-race team activities added a layer of joy to the event, and their cheering on the run course was second to none.

At bike check-in with Laura and Whiting.

Ironman Boulder Race Report 2017: Pity Party and a Silver Lining

“Surprisingly disappointing” is the phrase I’d use to describe my race at Ironman Boulder. With five years of full distance racing under my belt, I thought I was prepared for anything. As predictably unpredictable as ironman racing can be, I should have known better.

My plan going into the day was the same as always – smile and be patient. Focus on the process. If there’s one thing I’m keenly aware of when racing Ironman, it’s that the way you feel now is not going to be the way you feel in a few minutes, or in an hour: whether you’re feeling good or bad, it will change.

I once saw a video of Andy Potts that stuck with me, where he talked about the power of staying positive. To paraphrase, he said: “If the swim is crappy, who cares? Now it’s time to crush the bike! If the bike isn’t going well, that’s ok; you’re going to do great on the run! The first half of the run isn’t going your way? That’s ok, negative split it! Just stay positive.” What great advice for a long day of racing. I was determined to follow it.

Me and Whiting pre-race, excited to see what the day would bring.

Which is why I wasn’t worried when Trent swam around me 400 meters into the swim. We’ve always joked that no matter the distance of the race, I’ll beat him on the swim by 2 minutes. He was planning to swim on my feet, so when he went around, I was a little surprised, but felt confident that I was pacing my swim well. I felt a little “off,” but I was in Andy Potts mode (meaning that I was staying positive, not that I was winning the swim as he always does!) and I just kept racing my own race. I came out of the water 45 seconds behind Trent. (He’s not going to let me forget about that anytime soon!)

I noticed that I was gasping for breath as I ran out of the water, and I continued to do so for several minutes on the bike. My loud breathing even caused a spectator to tell me, “settle down, it’s a long day,” so I made a concerted effort to chill out. The bike course was three loops of a course I have ridden countless times in practice. I was confident that I’d pace it well. But, I couldn’t push the watts that I normally do in training. I backed off the pace and tried to stay positive – this would turn around! But it didn’t. I never really felt great on the bike, but I didn’t really feel that bad either.

My prairie dog cheerleaders never showed their little faces on race day but I still love them - peep peep!

Winston the famous neighborhood pig was there for 2 out of 3 bike laps, though.

I made some mistakes with nutrition that would cost me later – I had a headache and I figured I was dehydrated, so along with a couple of Motrin, I started drinking lots of water, instead of the Gatorade that I usually pick up at aid stations. By the time I was on my second loop, I was hungry, which is never a good sign. I stopped at Bike Special Needs, which I had previously declared is for emergency purposes only, and grabbed my Snickers and Red Bull that I had stashed there. It was like Ironman Texas 2013 and that damn donut all over again.

Bike Special Needs was a bright spot in my day, because my friend Ariana was there, and she was overflowing with positivity. I remember telling her “My legs have no watts today!” and she said, “That’s nonsense, your legs have ALL THE WATTS!” which made me laugh. Six and a half hours later, I was running through T2, still thinking about Andy Potts. If my swim and bike had been this lackluster, this run was going to be freaking awesome!

Ariana snapped a pic of me stuffing my face with Snickers and Red Bull at Bike Special Needs.

As always, my plan was to ease into the run, but I was so excited to be turning my legs over at a 9:30 pace that it was really hard to hold back. I forced myself to slow down and save some energy for later. Everything was great! Boulder is the home base for our Big Sexy Racing team, and we had a cheering crew out in full force, led by Chris and Erika McDonald themselves. We had tons of teammates out there cheering who had come in from all over the country, including our friends Mike and Jenna who had come up from Brownsville to Sherpa for Trent and me. I loved running past my BSR team members who were cheering so loudly in the first mile. A few minutes later, I recognized famous coach Siri Lindley standing with her bike on the side of the path, and she yelled at me “You are winning the race with that smile!” I was feeling pretty good for about half an hour.

I was not actually happy here, but Jenn made me laugh by overtaking me and snapping some totally posed photos. Those signs on the left...

...one of them was created by our fabulous Sherpa, Jenna!

Then I took my first gu, and everything went downhill. Analyzing the day after the fact, I know that I made the nutrition mistake that pretty much every newbie who is walking on an ironman run course makes. The lack of Gatorade on the bike caused a calorie deficit that I couldn’t dig myself out of, and as soon as I put that first gu in on the run, my stomach couldn’t process it. I started to feel nauseated, so I switched to bananas and water. It didn’t work. The waves of nausea washed over me, and I started to slow down. Finally, I was one of the walking dead. I had more than half a marathon left to do, and I have never felt sick like that in a race before. I’ve had stomach pain on the bike, and I’ve been very uncomfortable, but I haven’t felt sick.

Pity Party 
In 8 ironman starts, this was a new experience for me. I soon learned that none of my “stay positive, mind over matter” techniques work when I’m sick to my stomach. I can run through all kinds of pain, but I couldn’t run through that. I began to wallow in the disappointment that the day never turned around for me. At some point during the first loop of the run, I walked up to a family of spectators with kids holding their hands out for a high five. This has always been magic in the past, and as I approached them, the mom leaned down and said to her daughter, “oh, this one really needs us.” I gave the little girl a high five and then burst into tears of self pity. How could my day be going this badly?

Luckily (?!), I have DNFed an ironman before, and I knew the only thing that would feel worse than this walk would be to not finish the race. So I kept going. I was a jerk the second time I came through the BSR cheering section, where everyone was shouting encouragement until the look on my face silenced them. Trent was there, finished with his race, looking at me with a worried expression on his face and asking me what was wrong. I was so ashamed about walking that I couldn’t even make eye contact. (I’d hear about that later, too.)

Every friend I saw on the course from that point on asked me with concern in their eyes if I was doing okay, and urged me to keep moving to the finish line. Finally, after 14 hours and 5 minutes, it appeared, and Trent was standing there waiting for me just before the chute. I stopped to talk to him and told him how sick I felt and that I needed a break from Ironman. Then I jogged down the chute, gave high fives to the people who were offering them, got my medal, and immediately curled up in the fetal position underneath a space blanket in the grass next to the finish line.

Whiting's hubby, Doug, snapped this pic in the chute. I'm still calling this a daylight finish. ;)

Silver Lining 
Trent and I talked about how Ironman Boulder would be a “hometown” race for us. It was the first ironman race where we’ve been able to sleep in our own bed the night before. We were happy about the idea of training on the course and in the conditions that we’d be racing in, but that’s not what ended up making it a “hometown” race. Of course, as always, it was the people! Of all the folks cheering and providing encouragement, many were from our BSR team and had come in from all over the country. But most were friends that we’ve made here in Denver/Boulder, through the triathlon community. I’m proud that Trent and I have developed relationships and started to build our new tribe here in a place we’ve only lived for a short time. That’s what made it feel like home. And that’s why, two weeks later, I’m filled with a warm fuzzy feeling about it instead of the gnawing disappointment that I expected to feel after a sub-par race. It's not just a silver lining. It's a huge, glorious sunrise!

And Of Course, the Lesson 
Through this experience, I’ve learned that you can’t just pick a race because it’s convenient, and that’s what we did. There has to be some driving desire to do it, whether it’s the location, the terrain, or just the allure of a particular race. That’s not to say I won’t do this race again: the allure next year might be to get redemption on this course. But two weeks later, I’m fairly certain that what I said to Trent in the chute was true - I do need a break from full ironman training. When you find yourself saying regularly in the months leading up to a race, “I can’t wait to get this Ironman over with, so we can do X, Y, Z,” you know you need a break. Although the experience of walking the marathon was unpleasant, it was a great reminder that you have to respect the distance. You must put in the training and passion that’s necessary to turn out a solid result. I need to get that passion back before I consider training for another full distance race. I’m putting this here to keep myself honest.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to training for shorter distances and taking our bikes on the scenic route up every mountain we can find (there’s lots of them here). But first, a spontaneous trip down to Texas this weekend for a joyride around the Buffalo Springs course!

Thank You
As always, thank you for the cheers and support from near and far. I am continually grateful for the friendships I’ve gained through this sport, for the lessons it keeps teaching me, and for being part of a community that makes the world seem small and warm at a time when that’s exactly what we seem to need most. Thank you for reading! xoxo

A little post-race fun touring the Coors Plant in Golden with our awesome Sherpas, Mike and Jenna.