Endurance, Heat, and Salt Tabs: Vancouver Half-Ironman Race Report

Apparently something is seriously wrong with my head now, as on July 11th I found myself driving to Vancouver to compete in my first half-ironman. My sadistic drive for self-torture through endurance is now starting to make about as much sense as a nursery rhyme.

For those of you reading this who don't know, this half-ironman was a 1.9km swim, 90km bike, and 20km run all packaged into one lengthy race that leaves your legs wondering why they have to take orders from such a exercise-crazed mine and can't just hop off and do something simple, such as play ball with a dog.

The reality of what I was about to do never really sunk in. It honestly, to me, did not seem like an insurmountable task. It was just a race I had entered for fun and I was excited to try something longer. Part of that may have stemmed from the fact I have already done some stupidly long things, such as 7km swims, biking from Jasper to Banff on a barely functioning mountain bike, and running 47km through a mountain range during a blizzard without food. A half-ironman, by comparison, seemed difficult - but it surely couldn't be the hardest thing I've done*.

*Little did I know at this point how wrong that thought was.

The days before the race slipped away until suddenly it was 4:05am on Sunday July 13th and my alarm was obnoxiously blaring in my ear like a terrible DJ. I was excited. I was nervous. But mostly, I wanted to tell that alarm to shove it and let me sleep just a little bit longer.

Transition opened at 5:15am and our race was to start at 6:30am. Fortunately, I am a morning person and we were at race site at 5:30am, rather than being left more confused by the fact I was up before sunrise during summer than visitors are after reading beach signs.

I set up transition, slathered on five pounds of sunscreen, pulled on my wetsuit, and marched off to the beach ready to start the fun.

Fun fact about myself. I don't like water. I'm actually moderately aqua-phobic and have a tendency to panic if I cannot see the bottom of where I am swimming or if where I am swimming is a large body of water. This may seem like a problem as a triathlete, but I also have this thing where I like to face my fears - because being paralyzed by fear is a stupid waste of time in my mind. I hate small spaces - so I go in caves, heights scare me - so I go cliff jumping and rock climbing, open water terrifies me - so I become a triathlete and swim every day. The thing is, in any triathlon with an open water swim - my mind is still thinking things like this:

or this:

or even this:

So the fact I was about to do a 1.9km swim in the ocean, actually freaked me out.

Fortunately, the excitement of a race leaves very little mind-power to process that fact once the start blast sounds. Warm-up swims in an ocean? Terrifying. Race in an ocean? I'm too focused on the task at hand to really comprehend the fact I am in an ocean, or what gender I am, wait - what's my name again?

The start of the race was similar to any other triathlon I have done. Lot's of splashing, punching, kicking, and sprinting. It settled down a lot faster than I am used to though, I found myself swimming in clear water in a pack well before I am used to during an Olympic distance event.

The swim went well. Aside from the fact it was 400m longer than I usually swim and was consequently a slightly slower pace, it did not really sink in to my head that I was doing a half-ironman yet. I swam my two laps smoothly, albeit a bit slowly, and then charged out of the water to head to T1.

Usually my goal for transitions is to be quick and stealthy, like a ninja. The reality of my transitions is I am often slightly disoriented and clumsy, like a really bad ninja that keeps lighting himself on fire.

This time, I decided to do my transitions a bit slower and focused to take the time to quickly hydrate before leaving transition. I also forgot to lube my wetsuit so taking it off was about as graceful as an obese giraffe attempting ballet.

Mishaps aside, I took off out of T1 and mounted my bike; my trusty stead, Vicky. Vicky and I have been through a lot in our 2 short years together. About 6 crashes, thousands of kilometers traveled, and race venues in 3 different countries. Still, she is more designed for road racing and pack riding than a time trial setting but with aero bars mounted, she got the job done.

I sometimes find some race courses to be as clear as traffic signs.

This course, however, was splendidly well marked and made the bike route very clear. It was 4 big loops to bring the course to 90km, which is a long time to ride and leads to some very unusual thoughts.

Whilst hammering up a hill, I found my mind singing 'The Colours of the Wind' from Pocahontas, for example.

By about the 75km mark, I finally realized what it was I was actually doing. It suddenly dawned on me that I was in a half-Ironman, and a half-Ironman is long. I wasn't dying yet. If I was anything, it was a bit bored. I have a very strange mind, and after about the three thousandth rendition of Pocahontas singing in my head, I found myself on the final stretch leading back to T2.

T2 went as planned, I had paced myself well as I definitely felt like I had the energy for the 20km run that still loomed, and I wasn't hungry - which was a good indication I had eaten the right amount of food on the bike*.

*Hammer Bars, you are a thing of glory.

I headed out of transition and onto the run. 

I felt fine...for about 2km. Then the heat really started taking a toll on me. By this time, it was 32 degrees Celsius, 70% humidity, trails in the blazing sun, and no wind anywhere. I work full-time, the majority of my training volume is done early or late in the day. Heat is no longer something I am accustomed too. I started fading quicker than profit from a poorly signed business.

The next 18km were the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I could not get enough water and Gatorade into myself at aide stations. I was so hot. I occasionally had to stop and walk. The end of that half-ironman was the biggest mental battle I have ever had to fight with myself. I felt like death, and I looked like something that tasted foul and hell spat back out.

By the end of the run, I had all but forgotten I had even swam and biked that day. All I wanted was shade and water. I kept myself going by fantasizing about diving into a bucket of ice until finally the finish line appeared.

I would like to say I sprinted across. I would like to say I fought with every last fiber of my being to pass someone else in the chute. I would like to say I was the epitome of endurance and power as I crossed that line. But I cannot, for I barely hobbled across that line - drenched in sweat and salt,  confused and dizzy from the heat, and with a time that is not exactly stellar.

None of it mattered, though. I had finished. My face didn't show it - but I was so happy and proud of myself. Doing that half, after the winter and health issues I have had, was the hardest thing I have ever put myself through. I proved to myself what I am made of. What I was too afraid to even do before is now a challenge I rise to. I fell in love with triathlon again during that race, but best of all - I fell in love with myself and everything I am capable of. No, I didn't charge to a new great record or a spot on the podium - but it didn't matter. I had done something I had previously thought was impossible, and it blew away the negativity and criticisms that have always been in the back of my mind limiting me. I am capable of a lot more than I have given myself credit for. I am so glad for the push from my coach to enter this race so I could realize that fact. What has been stopping me from going further has been me, and during those final 18km when I could have given up - I had to shut that voice up once and for all to finish.

Consequently, of all the race pictures ever taken of me, that finishing line photo is now my favorite. I think I will develop and frame it to remind myself when I am down of what I can do when I put my mind to something.

The rest of the trip was quite quick albeit restful. We stopped at Silver Lake, which was beautiful.

We ate enough food to cause weight gain in any normal mammal.

Then we drove home through stiffness, fatigue, and a ton of forest fire smoke before arriving back in Edmonton and collapsing into our beds.

It was an incredibly memorable trip to Vancouver. Oh, and I also qualified for 2015 Long Distance Triathlon Worlds in Sweden!

PS - be careful how you mourn dead corn.

Until next time,

Bry-Bry

National Pride & Running Shoes: Canada Day Road Race Report

Every triathlete comes from another sport, it seems. Yours truly happened to cut his teeth in Track & Field.

Before I was Bry-Bry The Tri Guy, I was Bry-Bry the Bandit,

Bry-Bry the Golden Bear,

and Bry-Bry the Thunder Athlete*.

*Evidently I really liked posing with my hands on my hips when I was a young whipper-snapper.

I got into track because my younger sisters were speedy little things running circles around me. So when it came time for me to admit I was a lazy teenager with the muscle mass of an elderly stick-bug, running was the natural choice. Of course, it was a while before I could hold a candle to the ubertastic female offspring of my distance running mother. I mean look at this picture of my sister finishing up a 400m sprint:

That is the face of an ass-kicker right there. An ass-kicker who also happens to go bonkers for kittens. Kittens are so fluffy! But I digress.

I started in sprints and gradually tried longer and longer track events before one of my best friends convinced me to give up on track and try long distance running, perhaps even this new-fangled sport that involved swimming, biking, and running! At his encouragement, I registered for a trail half-marathon in the summer of 2010. I won bronze, the first individual sports medal I had ever won in my life.

 

The next year I was racing to a spot for the 2012 Auckland Worlds Team in Kelowna, BC at the end of my first ever triathlon season. Bry-Bry The Tri Guy was born.

Road running and trail running was the first time I truly loved a sport. I will be a runner my whole life. I love triathlon, but I am always happy when I can drop all the equipment, strap on my worn-out sneakers, and just run.

Consequently, I did not need much encouragement when my friend from Calgary told me he was coming up for Canada Day and we should do the 15km road race for kicks and giggles. So two days after a hurt back and a triathlon in Saskatoon, I was at the Legislature grounds in Edmonton preparing to run a 15km road race in the valley at 7:30am whilst grinning from ear to ear.

 

I was bouncing around everywhere while doing warm-up like a cat in a room full of laser pointers.

There was a time when 15km seemed too far to run. In fact, there was a time in my past when moving from the couch to the fridge seemed too far to run. Those days are long gone. Now I will often run as long as 3 hours in a stretch once a week, and have done runs as long as 7 hours (yes, you read that correctly). I was excited, in part, because a 15km road race seemed delightfully short.

Soon, cow-town bud and I were at the start line while the Olympian, Neville Wright, counted down the start. 3...2...1...and we were off!

Now sometimes my excitement causes a level of stupidity in me only rivaled by the homo-sapiens who feel the need to comment on Youtube videos.

This time, it resulted in my crossing the 2km mark in 7:20. Now for some individuals, that is slow - for a Bryan in a 15km road race with dead legs from a recent triathlon, that was too fast. I evened out my pace and held on fine, until it came time to crest Emily Murphy hill at the 7km mark.

Now Emily Murphy hill is not like other hills. She is the mistress of broken dreams. Her unending incline has reduced many a cyclist to a crawl and many an out-of-control hamster ball to a 200mph torpedo of fuzzy fury*.

*I'm serious. Do not roll a hamster ball down this hill if you don't want to be charged for producing a weapon of adorable mass destruction.

My legs were suddenly replaced by two sacks of lead on the way up that hill. However, as this is a running race, the thought, "Why on God's Green Earth am I doing this to myself", never crossed my mind. I trudged onwards to my slowest kilometer of the whole race: 5:10!

After that, the race went by in a blur. I think that was 80% due to the sweat dripping into my eyes and blurring my vision and 20% due to the fact I was grinning like that Ice Age squirrel with his acorn.

Boom! The finish line was suddenly in front of me! I crossed in 1:05:09 and 28th out of 253 men, besting my personal best by a minute and a half, despite feeling out of shape and rather dead from my triathlon 2 days prior.

I was quite happy! So happy, in fact, I didn't shut up while physio did ART on me following the race to help ease my back pain. I'm sure the poor lady would have rather worked on a seagull after she dealt with me.

Afterwards, we gorged on the free pancake breakfast the city provides and went home to nap.

I then had the fabulously brilliant idea to go to running interval practice that night. This idea was more idiotic than the person in charge of writing subtitles to movies.

Needless to say, I didn't move very fast or far before my coach told me to chill out in the shade and rest my legs.

Later that evening, we had a team bbq - at which my room-mate and his twin proved just how ridiculously rad Canadians can be.

This was followed by a march to an ideal spot in the grass to watch the fireworks,

maniacal grinning,

and enjoying the spectacular fireworks and bridge light show the city put on to celebrate the True North Strong and Free.

It was simply one of the best Canada Day's ever. Even better than a chemist's sense of humour.

Talk to you later, folks.

Cheers!

- Bry

Adventures in Flatland: Saskatoon Race Report

Canada is a fascinating country.

It has mountains!

And grocery shopping moose!

And natural sites like this!

And then there's Saskatchewan. It's flatter than a mosquito with a bad seat at a knee slapping party.

To combat the fact most inhabitants can watch their dog run away for three days, many Saskatchewan folk do strange things. Things such as cross-country ski behind skidoos, tip cows, mine uranium, and of course host numerous athletic events. One such event is the Saskatoon Subaru Series Triathlon; which just so happened to be the very reason I found myself loading my bike into my car last Friday and departing on a 5 and a 1/2 hour road trip across vast expanses of farmer's fields and holes inhabited by adorable gophers.

My team-mates and I arrived after many a driving song at the home of our incredibly hospitable friend from Worlds in Saskatoon that evening. Now when I say hospitable, I mean she makes Martha Stewart look like a pack of angry peanuts.

Offer some snacks? You have nothing on her. Give a guest a bed? Nope, still doesn't compare. Send your brother to grandma's to free up beds, grocery shop for an army, have a spread of amazing food always available, AND stock the house with dino-sours? Okay, now you might be in the same league as her.

Our Saturday was spent volunteering with a kid's triathlon and doing various pre-race activities, such as the all important team bike clean.

In the evening, we were able to relax and watch some of the WTS Chicago race while waiting for it to be the socially appropriate time to go to bed.

It was universally agreed that 7pm was probably too early to bed down. We were all asleep by 9:30pm. Triathletes are SUCH wild night owls.

Now, as many people close to me know, I have spent the better part of the last 7 months continuously ill. I only have recently begun feeling healthy and started re-gaining my lost weight. I was ecstatic to be at this race, healthy again, and back doing what I love. The night before the race, however, I found myself shaking and dizzy on the bathroom floor at 2am with skin so white even my lips looked like Antarctica. All I remember thinking is "Oh no, not again" - not unlike the bowl of petunias that fell onto Magrathea.

I got back to bed hoping to sleep it off. 5am rolled around, my symptoms had mostly passed, and I was feeling fine and eager to race. Phew! Crisis adverted!

Saskatoon is a different style of race in that it's point-to-point. My biggest fans (the goofballs that made the mistake of procreating me) have never seen me in a point-to-point triathlon; which probably means I should briefly explain it.

In the fantastical sport of triathlon, you transition twice - from swim to bike and again from bike to run. Normally, this is all done in one zone close to where you swam and where the finish line is. Maternal Unit 1.0 likes this because she can stand in one place and see my start, finish, and multiple laps in between. In a point-to-point, there are no laps and as a result you have two transition zones. T1 by the water where you transition to the bike and T2 where you transition to the run by the finish, 40km from T1. This makes for a fun race but introduces some interesting logistical elements. Chiefly, how do athletes make sure all of there stuff is at the finish line upon completion of the race and how do they get out to the swim the morning of the race after dropping their run shoes off at T1.

This issue is solved with amazing volunteers and many cheese-wagons. Sadly, none of them were magical or driven by scientifically minded ginger women.

After setting up T1, we boarded the lizard-less yellow monstrosities of childhood memories and were dropped off about 30 minutes later at T2. There we checked on our bikes, set up that transition, put our clothes in our dry bags, loaded the dry bags into a transport truck to be taken back to the finish line, and got ready for the shenanigans to start.

Despite the cool weather that has plagued Saskatoon for June, the recent spell of sun had warmed Pike Lake to 23 degrees - rendering it a non-wet-suit swim. I was so stoked! As my team-mates know, I like wetsuits about as much as I like the idea of a dinner party with Stephen Harper and an angry alpaca (despite the fact the alpaca would actually have a personality).

Before I knew it I found myself at the start line, staring down the lake shore like it was a formidable foe that had just murdered my father's best friend's dog's pet rabbit, tuning out the thunderous roar of the media helicopter flying overhead, and preparing to dash mindlessly into the water amidst a hailstorm of flailing arms and legs which often leads one to briefly ponder the question as to why you chose to do this race in the first place.

Next thing I remember, I was swimming. Which is good, as I hate drowning. I've heard once you die from drowning you'll never swim again, so it does seem like a good thing to avoid. I felt great in the water. Out of shape, but smooth. I could barely see the buoys through the chop whipped up by the winds blasting over the race course, but fortunately I have gotten better at drafting and managed to sit on some feet and let them do the sighting for me.

Out of the water and dash to T1. Whip off cap and goggles and throw them in the wet bag (the volunteers then grab these and truck them back to the finish line for us). Swallow a gel. Grab the bike. Time to go, because somewhere, a throne is at stake.

And then I hit that head wind. It killed. 10km into the bike, I realized why it was killing so much - my damn brakes were rubbing! I quickly fixed that then pressed on. 20km into the bike, my back gave out. The rest of my bike was a combination of a few strokes and then standing in the seat to relieve pressure on my lower back. I hurt. A lot. I would have much rather been kicked in the balls. A tear may have fallen. Spock would not be pleased.

I knew right then my race was toast, finishing alone would now be a struggle. My mama didn't raise no quitters though and I was going to be damned if I had another DNF to my name, so I pushed through.

The run was not much better, but at least in an upright position the pain in my lower back was significantly less and I was able to finish, albeit slowly.

Post race, I got treated in medical and then physio. We ate food, cheered on the amazing team-mates who medalled, had fun with a milk truck, and took a group shot.

Afterwards, it was enough Advil to kill a bullfrog and a windy drive home.

I had a great weekend in Saskatoon, aside from the race. It was amazing just to be with my team-mates, travelling to race, and to be back doing what I love again. I'm already excited to race my first half in Vancouver next weekend!

PS - No one has more awesome pick-up lines than a guy in IT.

Cheers!

Bry