2009: A review and some stats

I've been keeping a workout logbook consistently for over five years now, but 2009 marks the first full year I logged my training with the GPS-based programme SportTracks. By using a Garmin device in nearly every training session, I've been able to track my performance, analyse my statistics, and keep course maps of every outdoor run, ride and swim like the true geek that I am.


Where in the world I trained this year.

Firstly, let me say that 2009 was a breakthrough year for me in that I ran and rode for more hours and more miles faster and more consistently than ever before. Even my swimming -- which I admittedly ignored quite a bit -- managed to improve. I credit losing over 5kg between January and May for a lot of the increased speed in all three sports, but mostly I managed for the first time ever to train week after week with consistency, keep myself motivated, and stay injury-free.

2009 Totals:
13,611km (avg 1134km/month or 262km/week)
591 hours (avg 49:18/month or 11:22/week)

Cycling:
12,026km
436 hours
avg speed 27.6km/h
73,500m total climbing

Running:
1503km
121 hours
avg speed 4:51min/km or 12.4km/h
6,000m total climbing

Swimming:
81,600m
23.5 hours
avg speed 1:43/100m or 3.5km/h

Other (weights, core, ice hockey):
10.5 hours


2009 totals for all activities by month.


SportTracks gives me nearly endless ways to mess with my stats, so with a few clicks of the mouse I can see that my biggest training week on the bike wasn't my January training week in Lanzarote but the week of April 20-26 -- coincidentally my first week with a powermeter -- when I rode 22 hours and 602km. The fastest ride I did was my 10 mile time trial in September, done at a speed of 43.2km/h (though I could only maintain that for 22.5 minutes!) I did four rides over 160km long (aka the imperial "century" distance), but no ride more than six hours.

Running-wise, my biggest month by far was September when I ran 186km. My slowest run with the exception of a brutal trail run/walk/stumble in the Belgian Ardennes was Ironman Hawaii, done at 6:33/km. Highest average heart rate for a run longer than 5km was the Wokingham half-marathon where I averaged 173bpm or 83% of max for over 90 minutes, maxing out at 191 at the end. Toughest run was the Tadworth 10 mile race in January, which I rated an 8 out of 10 "very hard" for its 200m of climbing (and descending!) through the frozen Epsom Downs. It'll be a long time before I attempt that race again!

Some other notable or not so notable numbers....
-- 4:15 spent on the turbo trainer, a number I'll have to increase this year if I want to improve my top-end power and VO2max. Not a single minute run on a treadmill!
-- over 34,000m open water swimming in oceans and lakes in Holland, England, Spain and the USA
-- 36 cycling races: 8 open road, 8 time trial, 16 circuit, and 4 cyclocross
-- 315km on my fixed gear bike at an average cadence of 82.6rpm
-- 3 DNFs: one cycling road race, one 10k running race, and one marathon
-- and 3 wins: one cycle race, one time trial, and one Ironman.

... and a few graphs for those who are still reading:


Injury-free thanks in big part to tons of trail running.



Average time spent per type of bike ride, skewed greatly by my long distance triathlon races.



How my average HR becomes more and more depressed as my training ramps up, and then rockets once I'm rested again (taken from runs over 1 hour 45 min). Note the very low HR in October due to walking a lot of the Kona marathon.

Bring on 2010! :)

Cyclocross

I had been planning to post a little retrospective of my 2009 season -- which, as I've been reminded, was a pretty successful one -- but in the meantime, I thought I'd write a bit about my latest adventure in cycle racing: cyclocross, aka off-road riding on a road bike with knobby tires. This winter, what with the unusual cold weather creating icy roads and freezing windchills, cyclocross has been my saving grace to get outside on otherwise snowy and unrideable days, not to mention a welcome escape from the indoor turbo trainer.


Snowy conditions can't stop the cyclocrosser! (photo Roger Merriman)

My off-road skills have never been awesome (something I'd like to work on once I buy a good mountain bike), but cyclocross doesn't tend to have much in the way of technical climbs or descents. It's just good old-fashioned mud, grass, short sharp run-ups, off-camber corners, and the occasional unjumpable barrier thrown in for fun. In fact, it's become such a popular sport the past few years that even the BBC sent a sports reporter out to investigate, who filmed this video (watch for me to overtake him at 30 seconds in, ha ha).


What goes up... (photo Jim Ley)


Enjoys the ride down! (photo Jim Ley)

Having both the outer path of Richmond Park (my favourite running loop in dry weather) and Esher Common/Oxshott Heath close by means I can be out practising my riding skills on wooded trails and open fields within 15 minutes of leaving home. And whereas a similar park area in Canada might have a few trails here and there, wonderfully old heavily populated England means dozens of criss-crossing paths in every direction. I can easily spend two hours playing in a few hundred acres and never ride the same path twice. The same goes for races: a small bit of single-track and a football field can make up a course that takes 10 minutes to traverse!


A mile-long course in the space of a few acres.

As for race skills, years of riding a city bike around the Netherlands had already perfected my coasting dismount, and triathlon transitions meant I was good at jumping on the bike at speed too (though in cyclocross you already have your shoes on!) Running up hills: no problem, in fact the more running in a race, the better I am relative to other riders. But the wet grassy corners and giant ruts of mud everywhere have required me to up my game lest I crash more often than not, or worse yet, take someone else out. Thankfully taking a tumble in cyclocross usually means a soft landing, though embarrassingly often in front of a crowd of cheering fans.


Not so gracefully negotiating a corner. (photo Jim Ley)


The imfamous Herne Hill "hurdy-gurdies". (photo Jim Ley)

The races last about an hour with anywhere from five to ten laps of the course to complete. Add in a mass start with up to 100 riders and the first couple of laps are usually quite chaotic. But as a flat-out 60-minute training session, you couldn't ask for a better workout. By the end my quads are burning and my lungs bursting, but I always finish with a smile on my face.


A typical race start. (photo LondonCycleSport)


Jumping on and off the bike. (photo LondonCycleSport)


The mud flies! (photo LondonCycleSport)

Surprisingly, I've managed to pull off some good finishes in my London Cyclocross League races so far, though after a disappointing 4th place last race -- 38 seconds behind 3rd place and all of that lost in the first lap -- I can see I need to work on my starting position and effort if I want to improve. The women usually race with the main group, so call-ups (being placed in the front few rows) are rare. It just means I need to get to the start line earlier and hold my place aggressively so the late-comers can't push their way in front of me. With a hard first 30-60 seconds to maintain my position in the group after the gun, I'm hoping to keep from getting caught behind slower folks. Starting near the front also means I can stick with some faster wheels longer to take advantage of the draft through the open parts of the course. Time will tell how this new tactic works for me!


Sometimes the bike takes a beating. (photo Jim Ley)


But often the rider does too!

Ironman Hawaii World Championships 2009 Race Report

Firstly, a few apologies for the extreme tardiness of this blog post. I've been meaning to write it for more than two months now and somehow just never got up the motivation or desire to get it done. Part of me was pretty disappointed with how my race went and was just happy to let it become a memory without much more fanfare; another part of me was looking for a long-needed break from all things triathlon-related: particularly training, analysis, race reports and retrospective navel-gazing at all the minutiae that did or didn't happen. I haven't even bothered to order any of my official race photos yet! (Rest assured a 10% e-mail rebate has kicked me into action, so I'll be replacing a few of the ones in this post with good quality digital copies in the new year.)

But people kept hounding, er, asking me when I was going to write a Kona race report. And I didn't feel I could go on blogging about the new things happening in my life until I put Kona to bed, so here it is finally. With this closure I will be getting back to more regular blog posting, for better or worse (though I admit the self-imposed hibernation has been nice!)

Without further adieu then... the Ironman World Championships 2009.

The Lead-up

The weather: sunny, humid and unbelievably hot. The wind: variable but not nearly as bad as it had been earlier in the week. The atmosphere around town: electric, overwhelming, and just the slightest bit cheesy... like this man-made event was the biggest thing people had ever experienced in their lives. Call me a cynic but as much as I was happy to be there, I just couldn't part with the sense that it was all a bit too surreal. But there I was, in the middle of it, finally experiencing the goal that had driven my training for nearly two years. It was on.

At the bike check-in, I was handed a free Cervelo t-shirt, "thanks for riding a Cervelo!" The industry and media folks lined up along the check-in chute noting down everything from bike brand and wheels to saddle and brake levers. The transition zone on the pier was nothing short of awe-inspiring; to think that 1800 people had, just as I, carefully micromanaged every last detail in the hope of setting themselves up for the race of their lives. The volunteers outnumbered the racers, some coming from further away than I had just to be a part of it all. And all of us were as ready as we'd ever be, or at least as ready as we could be. Can't really ask for much else.


Note-taking at bike check-in.


My bike is just one of many Cervelos (#1449).

The Swim

Not much of note here, except a few things:
-- all week long I'd been swimming along the official mile marker buoys with a Garmin 305 under my swimcap noting the distance and swimming 1:36/100m regularly. Race day I managed to swim nearly an extra 400m and not due to zig-zagging. The course was long! Didn't make my 1:09 feel any better, but at least it was the same for everyone.
-- my speed suit chafed the hell out of my neck and shoulders but easily bought me close to 5 minutes, well worth it!
-- I managed not to get sick on the salt water or swallow too much of it.
-- I picked a bad starting spot in the middle and got punched, kicked and swum over more than any other triathlon I've done in my life.
-- for the most part, I was pretty pleased with my swim and feeling fine for the start of the bike.


Age groupers lined up for the start.


And the cannon goes!


Pulling off the speed suit (note the calf guards!)

The Bike

It was a smoking hot day out there, 30+ degrees, and my frozen bottles on the bike were lukewarm in no time. I felt pretty good early on, surprised and pleased by how little drafting I saw, and just generally ready to take on the day. Little did I know just how hot the sun would be, how little food I would be able to get down, and how awful 5 hours and 50 minutes on my TT bike would feel. But it was much worse for the older folks and weaker cyclists; with no tailwind to aid the ride out to Hawi but a brutal headwind kicking up for the ride home, many bike splits were longer than anticipated and more than a few 70-something athletes missed the cut-off. Tough day out there for sure, and the heat didn't help.

As the hours wore on, I did my best to stay cool by dumping cold water over my body at every aid station. My white shirt helped, but my inner forearms were burnt to a crisp by the halfway mark. And I tried to take in the nutrition I had practised in training but just could not. In the end, I managed a few hundred calories in gels but that was about it. Nowhere near bonking, I was determined not to switch to Gatorade or Coke for fear of creating new stomach problems for the run. Instead, I just rode my race, kept my watts steady and did my best. 180km was a long way, but nothing I couldn't handle physically. Mentally, that last 20km was absolute agony, made better only by the people I overtook coming back to Kona, especially on the hills. I was far from the worst off out there! Thankfully my aero position and huge bike mileage in training kept me in the hunt for a top 10 AG finish, even with a time 15-20 min slower than I had hoped. With the marathon left to run, I was still in the race, or so I thought.


Looking happy early on the bike through town.


Looking less happy out in the lava fields later on.


Now just willing it to be over...


...which it finally was, nearly 6 hours after it began.

The Run

As I've done in every single triathlon race in my life -- and knowing the transition from bike hand-off to run bag on the pier was long -- I left my shoes on the bike and dismounted barefoot. And this is where it all went wrong for me. Somewhere along the pier I stepped off the green astroturf and onto something red hot. I ran with the ball of my right foot burning with pain to the tents, where I sat down and tried to take stock of the situation. Ice? Blister pad? Just grit my teeth and bear it?

In the end I chose the latter, knowing I had to get out and start running or my race would slip away quickly. So ran I did, stiffly at first but loosening up, hoping the heat would let me keep moving if I could only get enough ice to cool myself down. But within a mile my foot was in agony and I started to worry that if I ignored it now, I'd be even worse off later if the blister split open. 26 miles is a long way to run, but walking it was unbearable even to think about. Looking back, this is where the chinks in the armour started and where my mental defenses started to fall down, with reasons to walk becoming excuses not to run. Stop at an aid station and see what they could do for me? Sure! Wait while they radioed another aid station to see if anyone had blister pads? Hey, why not! Over an hour to complete the first 6 miles? Ah well, my heart wasn't in it anyway.

And that was pretty much it. I spent the first half of the marathon just wallowing in my own misery, walking a lot, running when I felt guilty for walking, then walking again when my foot hurt too much to run. Most of the 17 women in my age group who'd been ahead of me blew up on the run, one by one, as I found out later. If I could have only kept moving enough to run a conservative 5:30/km pace, I'd have finished an hour earlier and in the top 10. But mostly it dawned on me that I'd pretty much used up my quota of HTFU for the year at Lake Placid. As much as I wanted to get to Kona, I'd sort of not counted on the mental effort required to do well once I got there. And without that to drive me, I was pretty much lost. Finishing the race was never in question, but racing it was long gone.

Around the halfway mark, I met up with someone in a similar situation and we started to run/walk together. We cheered others on, joked about how the handcyclists were killing us, and shared the contents of our special needs bags. Tried to convince ourselves that it wasn't so bad to be walking the marathon at Kona -- heck, tons of people would give their right arm to be in our position, right? Then with 10km to go, we did the math and realised that if we could run the last 10km in less than an hour, we'd go under 12 hours total. And finally, with a goal in mind and a reason to pursue it, I was back on track. We ran more, walked less, focussed on the task at hand and brought it home in style. My last 10km were the fastest I'd run in the whole race. My last mile was run in 6 minutes and 37 seconds. It was dark when I crossed the finish line, but I crossed it finally feeling like I deserved the finish and the medal and all the accolades that came with it. Sure, the race had taken some chunks out of me, but I'd still beaten it. And even though a few days earlier I'd been thinking that this was my first and last Kona, I suddenly decided that I'd be back sometime for a rematch, just to see if I couldn't do it better next time.


Fresh into the run, still thinking I could make something of it.


Not long afterward, realising it just wasn't going to happen.


The Finish.


Somehow it doesn't look so fearsome the morning after.


The final numbers.

The Aftermath

Since that day, I've had a lot to think about. 2009's been a great year, I've achieved above and beyond what I ever thought I could. And every time I reached a goal, I just came up with a bigger one and got busy making that happen too. My yearly totals speak for how much I've improved, and what I've done to get where I wanted to go: over 12,000km on the bike and 1500km running, nearly 600 hours of training. Ironman has been pretty special to me, but 2009 marks the year that I retire from it -- for a while at least -- to focus on other things. Sure I'll be back in Kona someday, but only when the desire to win my age group is as strong or stronger than any desire I ever had to get there in the first place. In the meantime, the hunger can grow a little at a time until it's so great that I'll be looking to call myself an Ironman again. How about 2019?

Kona Pics

Figured I should finally get around to writing about Kona itself and my experience so far, and post some pics for people to enjoy. I feel in some ways that being here for the race and spending so much of my time and energy living Ironman that I haven't been a proper tourist so to speak. I've certainly left my camera at home more often than not! But I've still managed to see and do some things, as evidenced below. Here's a mishmash of sights seen, both triathlon and non-triathlon related.

Every day from sunrise to sunset, athletes can be seen swimming at Dig Me Beach, aka the start of the swim course at the pier. I've been there a few times myself, usually around 7am when it's the busiest. Last week it was pretty quiet; come Monday it was crowded and busy with a bag check-in, free swag and tons of glistening muscled bodies in Speedos everywhere. Speedos are nearly outnumbered by speedsuits by now, but not quite! On race morning I'm sure speedsuits will be the order of the day.


Lots of athletes gather at the beach, many leaving their $5,000 bikes unsecured in the racks nearby.


A view of the practice course, curving around the orange markers parallel to shore.


This week the floating Coffees of Kona espresso bar appeared, handing free coffee out to anyone who swam the 700m to the boat.


I tried out my new speedsuit (which is indeed speedy!) but all the coffee in the world can't take away that awful warm saltwater taste.


Afterwards, this iconic cafe is the main attraction for many people (the guy riding on the bike is one of hundreds who will pass by during the day).

Earlier in the week, we went snorkelling at Puʻuhonua o Hōnaunau National Historical Park, aka the Place of Refuge and found this little guy getting a few swim lessons of his own. At 10 weeks old, he wasn't too fond of the water!


The big dog tried to show him how, but he just wouldn't get off that rock.

Cruise ships come to Kona every few days, full of (ahem) more average-sized Americans or Australians who stand out like a sore thumb against the backdrop of 1800 fit and ripped Ironman athletes. This one was about to pull away for another night of cruising the ocean.


Like a giant floating city of its own.

The finish line isn't set up yet, but this sign stands here year round. It's right next to the swim start, but seeing as the actual sign is about 4 feet above my head, we had to photoshop this pic a bit to fit it in.


That's King Kamehameha, the first Hawaiian king, on the sign, by the way.

Jim and I finding some shade and breeze from the relentless 31 degree heat made worse by the strong sun here. One of the coolest things about Kona is how much "indoor" stuff is outside, like the airport gate waiting areas and baggage belts, and hotel check-in desks. All are covered in case of rain, but temps of 20-35 degrees year round mean outdoors is always comfortable if you're out of the sun.


Having been sunburned already, we weren't taking any more chances!

I registered today and got all my kit and wristband. Every age group gets its own colour, meaning I'm checking out the wrists of every female athlete I see, sizing up my competition. Ironically, I'm neither representing Canada nor Great Britain; instead I'm one of only threes Dutch women here, the other being last year's 2nd place pro Yvonne van Vlerken and handcyclist Monique van der Vorst.


Blue is my favourite colour, so I'm hoping this lovely blue wristband is a good omen?

And finally, my bike is primed and ready, just need to attach the number plate and put the bottles on. Aero helmet is a go after I discovered that my brains were frying under my regular helmet too. My position is so aggressive that every fast-looking guy I passed going the other way on the road the other day had a long good look at me... so apparently I must look like I'm good at least!


The mean machine ready to eat up those miles.

Postcard from Kona

In keeping with my lack of blogging myself and instead writing for other sites, my club the Kingston Wheelers has published a little blurb I wrote in a rather introspective moment in Kona (complete with a photo that's only a tiny bit photoshopped, ha ha. Those familiar with Kona will know what I mean!)

Here's what I wrote:

It's now halfway between our arrival to Kona and race day, and I actually feel normal again. Jetlag from the 24-hour trip - and along with it an 11-hour timezone shift - have passed, though we still rise every day before 6.00am: early mornings are the best part of the day here. We've been surrounded by fit, fast, and bronze-bodied triathletes since we left Heathrow, sharing our flight with over a dozen other competitors judging from all the bike boxes that were unloaded at LAX. The flight to Kona was entirely filled with people sporting Ironman finisher's shirts and M-dot tattoos, and every day more arrive here to enhance any feelings of insecurity or inadequacy I might have had about this race. That girl running 6-minute miles, is she in my age group? That guy motorpacing, surely he's a pro? TT bikes outnumber every other type of bike 10-to-1. Not a minute goes by without someone running down the road past our flat, and on the highway it's one cyclist after another, all riding alone in full aero mode. Mornings at the beach are packed with people swimming the course, followed by the required breakfast at the iconic Lava Java bistro. It's all a bit overwhelming... and it's not even race week yet!

So today instead of wrestling my bike through 40mph crosswinds, running in 30 degree heat or swimming mile after mile with the tropical fish -- all of which I've done in the past few days - we took a day just to be tourists. With a rented boogie board we headed to the beach where I tried my hand at surfing with the local kids while Jim sat in the shade with his book. It was a welcome relief from the constant reminder that everyone here for this race is just as fit and ready as you are, with the speed, body and kit to prove it.

Any training I do from now on will just be to satisfy my mind and keep my body reminded that there's a race to come. I've come to know the course, I've steeled myself for the relentless heat and wind that are hallmarks of Ironman Hawaii, and I've made sure everything I can do to prepare has been done. Now it's just a waiting game until Saturday when all of us line up at the start, eyeing each other warily and wondering who will have the race of their lives and who will be reduced to a cramping shuffling mess by the finish. Needless to say, the former is the only option for me!

More to come later, with photos I hope, as I go to town to register and check out the expo. Nothing planned but a short run today, otherwise it's IM tourist time!