Post by Ed Slovenkay on Jul 27, 2011 18:50:29 GMT -5
Ironman Lake Placid, July 24th 2011. 364 days ago I was one of the lucky few that got into the race by signing up online. I had only one iron distance race under my belt with the second one coming up at the Rev 3 full. The year 2011 would have me entering my 40th year of existence and what better way to thumb my nose at that milestone by doing well at one of the most difficult Ironman races on the planet. Doing well according to me had been defined as finishing at the top of my AG and securing one of the coveted Kona slots that are offered to only the elite, or at least the ones that have an elite day. Making a commitment of this magnitude a year in advance can be a pretty overwhelming thing. Full time job, full time step parent, full time spouse, part time athlete… Something’s gotta give..
I entered the swim start through the gate for non-wetsuit participants. The water temperature of Mirror Lake was 77 degrees which meant that wesuits were optional. Wear one and you aren’t eligible for AG awards or Kona slots. The announcement was made that over 2,500 were about to begin the race. Over 2,500 different reasons for being here. Over 2,500 different stories of ups and downs over the last 364 days. Over 2,500 sacrifices made by participants and their families. Over 2,500 people about to swim two loops in a very narrow swim venue. For 364 days the mass swim start was probably the biggest cloud hanging over my head. Over the last few years I’ve improved my swimming abilities quite a bit, in the comfort of an indoor pool. I know that I’m not a very good open water swimmer and hardly did any open water swims leading up to today. What a shame considering I live thirty minutes from a large body of fresh water and there happens to be groups of local tri club folks that swim there regularly.
While treading water I found my fellow teammate and neighbor, Jeanne DeBonis, who suggested I start the race in the middle and front of the pack as she helped me strategize the swim start. We joked about who would ride who’s feet to begin, wished each other luck, and heard the “boom” of the start cannon. The first hundred yards were about the most comfortable of the entire swim. After a hundred yards the faster people in wetsuits converged on me like hungry sharks after the same prey which took away my comfortable swim lane. I turned to the right for air, there was a body, I turned to the left for air, there was a body, bumping into each other, trying not to get kicked and trying to swim fast. I never relaxed but quickly saw the big red turn buoy and stayed wide of it. Things thinned out a bit and I managed to get on some feet and calm down. I really didn’t feel like I was swimming hard and knew it was time to pick up the pace. I attempted to make a move on a pack of wetsuits and got kicked hard in the nose. I heard a crack and thought for sure I’d come out of the first loop with a bloody nose. I bailed on that idea and just stayed the course with little or no sighting required. I got out of the water and crossed the timing mat at 33 minutes and without a bloody nose.
Disappointed and not breathing hard I began the second loop with a much thinner group. The consensus seemed to be find the cable under water and use that as your guide on the second loop. That worked for about 5 minutes as the faster wetsuits had the same idea. As they swam by me I kept getting wedged out further and further from the cable and buoys. At one point the kayaker paddled up to me and slapped the water to indicate that I needed to swim closer to the buoys. Still basically blocked from making any moves I tried my best to hold on to a comfortable pace, swim straight and not get my goggles kicked off. I exited the water at 1:08 on the clock which meant my second loop was 35 minutes. One hour and eight minutes of the most frustrating swim I’ve ever encountered. My goal was to be closer to an hour but I was happy to be out of the water and ran by other swimmers who were getting their wetsuits peeled. I uttered a few choice words in protest of a mass swim start that allowed some to be in wetsuits and others to not be. The quarter mile run to get to T1 was lined with spectators and high fives from those in celebration that they survived the human washing machine of the first leg of this race. The change tent was more organized chaos, not an empty seat and not enough volunteers. I was jogging somewhere, anywhere when a seat opened up. I quickly transitioned to the bike helmet, shoes and tri top as the volunteers were shouting just leave your stuff there and they would get it. As I ran out to my bike a volunteer was waiting there with it. I mounted the bike and headed out of town.
The air was cool but the sun was out for the beginning of my favorite part of the race. Once I settled into the correct gear and grabbed a few sips of water I realized that I totally missed the sunscreen volunteer. Ouch, that’s going to leave a mark. It was now time to focus on what I consider my strength, pacing. Prior to investing in a computrainer I was awful at pacing. I always went out waaay to hard on the bike and suffered dearly on the run. Every credible source I read about this course all drew the same conclusion, pace yourself properly because this race is won or lost on the run. I suppose you can say that for any iron distance race but here I was and in my mind had 8 minutes to make up from a less than ideal swim. Since the bike is the largest leg of the race and I have limited hours to train, I spent the largest amount of my time on the bike, on the computrainer. It simply is the best way to get very focused work done in a short period of time. So based on my off season computrainer work I knew that I can comfortably run my race pace after averaging 210-220 watts. However, you can’t take the computrainer out on the race course which meant that I would need a power meter if I was going to even come close to my goal here.
I spent the spring and early summer learning how to use power out on the road with my new purchase. Prior to training with a power meter, it was RPE and HR that I used to gage my effort. On long rides followed by brick runs I discovered what it felt like to run after averaging 210, 220, even 230 watts. I also learned that I could pedal real hard on climbs, spike the watts and would have to coast down the other side. My bike strategy today was to spin easy on the climbs and hammer on the descents. I watched countless hammerheads grinding their way up the climbs only to coast the descents as I hammered past them. The Lake Placid course features 5,400 feet or so of climbing throughout the entire 112 miles so after the first loop, the show offs were nowhere to be found. I returned after the first loop averaging 221 watts, 21 mph and HR in zone 3, flawlessly executing my race strategy and feeling great. The wind seemed as though it picked up so the second descent into Keane felt much slower. Once out of Keane, the stressful part of the race was over. I was settling in nicely, fueling perfectly and passing a lot of people. Next to not being able to pee on the bike, the most difficult part of the course in my opinion was from Jay to Wilmington, the second time. It was about mile 90 or so and it was here that I first began to feel the fatigue in my quads. The course began to take back all the speed it gave and really makes you work if you want to have a good bike split. As my average speed began to fall I tried not to stress about it, I knew it was coming.
Instead I caught a glimpse of fellow Clevelanders Matt Batzel and Dave Duecker. In true Tour de France fashion, they were on a stretch of climb wearing only speedos and cheering on racers like you see on TV. I wish I had a camera for that, it was priceless.. There were some classic signs on the course as well. My favorites were “smile if you peed” and a female holding a sign “single and supportive.” Once back into town the energy was electric. There had to be at least ten thousand spectators all over the place cheering for all of us as we wound back into T2, bike time 5:31. This time there were plenty of seats and 2 volunteers to help. I shouted for sunscreen, changed my shoes and looked for the toilets. Somehow I missed them but it didn’t matter. I was running, there was a huge crowd and I was close to my goal time. I exited T2 somewhere around 6 hours and 45 minutes and I was feeling fantastic.
I had been warned not to light it up at the start of the run, again that pacing thing. It is downhill for the first 2.5 miles and very easy to cook the quads here. Instead I found a toilet and short stepped it all the way down past the horse farm. From here the course is an out and back, mostly flat to rolling and not too difficult. I was maintaining an average run pace of 7:44/mile when it was time to head back into town. I think it’s about 3 miles or so, net uphill before you begin the second loop. By now my pace had slowed a little, I was no longer smiling and wanted to get this thing over with. Down the hill, out and back, average pace was 8:00/mile, not too bad with 5 miles to go, except the last miles were all uphill. I spent the majority of that second loop thinking about going back uphill to finish the race. It messed with me pretty bad to the point that I think I slowed down in order to save something in the tank in order to push through it. I pushed and pushed and watched the 10 hour mark come and go. I still had a couple miles to go and quietly knew that I was not going to do well as defined by my original standards. My goal simply exceeded my abilities today and all that was left to do was take it in strong and savor the finish line from one of the toughest Ironman races out there. Run time 3:35.
After 10 hours 24 minutes and 47 seconds, Mike Riley announced once again “Edward Slovenkay from Brecksville Ohio, you are an Ironman.” It was such a relief to complete the race. 364 days of anticipation, sacrificing, focusing, planning, training, thinking, compromising, negotiating, working, recovering, helping, arguing, pacing. I just stood there all alone at the finish line quietly analyzing what had just happened and tried to absorb the magnitude of such an accomplishment, wondering if I would ever have the chance to be here again. It was then that I began to ask myself why. Why do I put my body through so much? Why do I spend time training when it seems so unpopular to those closest to me? Why do I enjoy doing what those on the outside say is crazy? Why did I set such a huge goal for myself? What do I have to prove?
I eventually wandered over to the other finishers who were eating pizza and working to keep down refreshments. As I sipped on water and cola I overheard a young guy tell his story to another finisher. He returned from Iraq and turned to alcohol to occupy his time and he became someone he was not proud of and didn’t want to be. He had turned his life around, finishing the Ironman in the hopes that he can inspire his brother, also struggling with alcohol, to do the same. I realized that there are probably 2,500 other stories with similar objectives, just from today’s race.
I think for me training for the Ironman emulates life in a way. The reason I am drawn to this lifestyle is to prove to myself and those around me that you can do anything you set your mind to. Setting a goal, and then sticking to it with persistence and determination, through triumphs and failures, through times of self doubt, and being mentally strong when the temptation to quit looms large, prepares you for whatever cards life has dealt or has yet to deal you. I missed reaching my goal by about 20 minutes. I am satisfied though because I raced to my abilities on this day and just fell a bit short. There will always be more races, more opportunities, more challenges and more fulfillment as a result of my efforts to maintain a healthy lifestyle.
I entered the swim start through the gate for non-wetsuit participants. The water temperature of Mirror Lake was 77 degrees which meant that wesuits were optional. Wear one and you aren’t eligible for AG awards or Kona slots. The announcement was made that over 2,500 were about to begin the race. Over 2,500 different reasons for being here. Over 2,500 different stories of ups and downs over the last 364 days. Over 2,500 sacrifices made by participants and their families. Over 2,500 people about to swim two loops in a very narrow swim venue. For 364 days the mass swim start was probably the biggest cloud hanging over my head. Over the last few years I’ve improved my swimming abilities quite a bit, in the comfort of an indoor pool. I know that I’m not a very good open water swimmer and hardly did any open water swims leading up to today. What a shame considering I live thirty minutes from a large body of fresh water and there happens to be groups of local tri club folks that swim there regularly.
While treading water I found my fellow teammate and neighbor, Jeanne DeBonis, who suggested I start the race in the middle and front of the pack as she helped me strategize the swim start. We joked about who would ride who’s feet to begin, wished each other luck, and heard the “boom” of the start cannon. The first hundred yards were about the most comfortable of the entire swim. After a hundred yards the faster people in wetsuits converged on me like hungry sharks after the same prey which took away my comfortable swim lane. I turned to the right for air, there was a body, I turned to the left for air, there was a body, bumping into each other, trying not to get kicked and trying to swim fast. I never relaxed but quickly saw the big red turn buoy and stayed wide of it. Things thinned out a bit and I managed to get on some feet and calm down. I really didn’t feel like I was swimming hard and knew it was time to pick up the pace. I attempted to make a move on a pack of wetsuits and got kicked hard in the nose. I heard a crack and thought for sure I’d come out of the first loop with a bloody nose. I bailed on that idea and just stayed the course with little or no sighting required. I got out of the water and crossed the timing mat at 33 minutes and without a bloody nose.
Disappointed and not breathing hard I began the second loop with a much thinner group. The consensus seemed to be find the cable under water and use that as your guide on the second loop. That worked for about 5 minutes as the faster wetsuits had the same idea. As they swam by me I kept getting wedged out further and further from the cable and buoys. At one point the kayaker paddled up to me and slapped the water to indicate that I needed to swim closer to the buoys. Still basically blocked from making any moves I tried my best to hold on to a comfortable pace, swim straight and not get my goggles kicked off. I exited the water at 1:08 on the clock which meant my second loop was 35 minutes. One hour and eight minutes of the most frustrating swim I’ve ever encountered. My goal was to be closer to an hour but I was happy to be out of the water and ran by other swimmers who were getting their wetsuits peeled. I uttered a few choice words in protest of a mass swim start that allowed some to be in wetsuits and others to not be. The quarter mile run to get to T1 was lined with spectators and high fives from those in celebration that they survived the human washing machine of the first leg of this race. The change tent was more organized chaos, not an empty seat and not enough volunteers. I was jogging somewhere, anywhere when a seat opened up. I quickly transitioned to the bike helmet, shoes and tri top as the volunteers were shouting just leave your stuff there and they would get it. As I ran out to my bike a volunteer was waiting there with it. I mounted the bike and headed out of town.
The air was cool but the sun was out for the beginning of my favorite part of the race. Once I settled into the correct gear and grabbed a few sips of water I realized that I totally missed the sunscreen volunteer. Ouch, that’s going to leave a mark. It was now time to focus on what I consider my strength, pacing. Prior to investing in a computrainer I was awful at pacing. I always went out waaay to hard on the bike and suffered dearly on the run. Every credible source I read about this course all drew the same conclusion, pace yourself properly because this race is won or lost on the run. I suppose you can say that for any iron distance race but here I was and in my mind had 8 minutes to make up from a less than ideal swim. Since the bike is the largest leg of the race and I have limited hours to train, I spent the largest amount of my time on the bike, on the computrainer. It simply is the best way to get very focused work done in a short period of time. So based on my off season computrainer work I knew that I can comfortably run my race pace after averaging 210-220 watts. However, you can’t take the computrainer out on the race course which meant that I would need a power meter if I was going to even come close to my goal here.
I spent the spring and early summer learning how to use power out on the road with my new purchase. Prior to training with a power meter, it was RPE and HR that I used to gage my effort. On long rides followed by brick runs I discovered what it felt like to run after averaging 210, 220, even 230 watts. I also learned that I could pedal real hard on climbs, spike the watts and would have to coast down the other side. My bike strategy today was to spin easy on the climbs and hammer on the descents. I watched countless hammerheads grinding their way up the climbs only to coast the descents as I hammered past them. The Lake Placid course features 5,400 feet or so of climbing throughout the entire 112 miles so after the first loop, the show offs were nowhere to be found. I returned after the first loop averaging 221 watts, 21 mph and HR in zone 3, flawlessly executing my race strategy and feeling great. The wind seemed as though it picked up so the second descent into Keane felt much slower. Once out of Keane, the stressful part of the race was over. I was settling in nicely, fueling perfectly and passing a lot of people. Next to not being able to pee on the bike, the most difficult part of the course in my opinion was from Jay to Wilmington, the second time. It was about mile 90 or so and it was here that I first began to feel the fatigue in my quads. The course began to take back all the speed it gave and really makes you work if you want to have a good bike split. As my average speed began to fall I tried not to stress about it, I knew it was coming.
Instead I caught a glimpse of fellow Clevelanders Matt Batzel and Dave Duecker. In true Tour de France fashion, they were on a stretch of climb wearing only speedos and cheering on racers like you see on TV. I wish I had a camera for that, it was priceless.. There were some classic signs on the course as well. My favorites were “smile if you peed” and a female holding a sign “single and supportive.” Once back into town the energy was electric. There had to be at least ten thousand spectators all over the place cheering for all of us as we wound back into T2, bike time 5:31. This time there were plenty of seats and 2 volunteers to help. I shouted for sunscreen, changed my shoes and looked for the toilets. Somehow I missed them but it didn’t matter. I was running, there was a huge crowd and I was close to my goal time. I exited T2 somewhere around 6 hours and 45 minutes and I was feeling fantastic.
I had been warned not to light it up at the start of the run, again that pacing thing. It is downhill for the first 2.5 miles and very easy to cook the quads here. Instead I found a toilet and short stepped it all the way down past the horse farm. From here the course is an out and back, mostly flat to rolling and not too difficult. I was maintaining an average run pace of 7:44/mile when it was time to head back into town. I think it’s about 3 miles or so, net uphill before you begin the second loop. By now my pace had slowed a little, I was no longer smiling and wanted to get this thing over with. Down the hill, out and back, average pace was 8:00/mile, not too bad with 5 miles to go, except the last miles were all uphill. I spent the majority of that second loop thinking about going back uphill to finish the race. It messed with me pretty bad to the point that I think I slowed down in order to save something in the tank in order to push through it. I pushed and pushed and watched the 10 hour mark come and go. I still had a couple miles to go and quietly knew that I was not going to do well as defined by my original standards. My goal simply exceeded my abilities today and all that was left to do was take it in strong and savor the finish line from one of the toughest Ironman races out there. Run time 3:35.
After 10 hours 24 minutes and 47 seconds, Mike Riley announced once again “Edward Slovenkay from Brecksville Ohio, you are an Ironman.” It was such a relief to complete the race. 364 days of anticipation, sacrificing, focusing, planning, training, thinking, compromising, negotiating, working, recovering, helping, arguing, pacing. I just stood there all alone at the finish line quietly analyzing what had just happened and tried to absorb the magnitude of such an accomplishment, wondering if I would ever have the chance to be here again. It was then that I began to ask myself why. Why do I put my body through so much? Why do I spend time training when it seems so unpopular to those closest to me? Why do I enjoy doing what those on the outside say is crazy? Why did I set such a huge goal for myself? What do I have to prove?
I eventually wandered over to the other finishers who were eating pizza and working to keep down refreshments. As I sipped on water and cola I overheard a young guy tell his story to another finisher. He returned from Iraq and turned to alcohol to occupy his time and he became someone he was not proud of and didn’t want to be. He had turned his life around, finishing the Ironman in the hopes that he can inspire his brother, also struggling with alcohol, to do the same. I realized that there are probably 2,500 other stories with similar objectives, just from today’s race.
I think for me training for the Ironman emulates life in a way. The reason I am drawn to this lifestyle is to prove to myself and those around me that you can do anything you set your mind to. Setting a goal, and then sticking to it with persistence and determination, through triumphs and failures, through times of self doubt, and being mentally strong when the temptation to quit looms large, prepares you for whatever cards life has dealt or has yet to deal you. I missed reaching my goal by about 20 minutes. I am satisfied though because I raced to my abilities on this day and just fell a bit short. There will always be more races, more opportunities, more challenges and more fulfillment as a result of my efforts to maintain a healthy lifestyle.
Your ability to deal with the disappointment is such a reflection of your character, and you are a true role model for all of us, and your kids as well. You may not have met your goal for that race, but you gave 100% on that day and kept focused, continued to push. You didn't quit. You had a super impressive race and you emerged uninjured!! There are very few of us that could ever hope to have such an amazing time, such a focused, and well-executed race. You worked hard and earned it! It IS impressive! You ARE amazing!
