Now, more than 2 hours into the race, the sun was high in the sky, radiation beating down on anything left in the open. Cool patches of water acted like intermittent sprinklers, helping to gradually bring down my body's temperature.
Get to the draft, I told myself, but don't spend it too early. There was still plenty of time to lose control and let the race get away from me. Focus.
Many people, after the race, said that the swim was their least favorite part of the event. Not because of the physical aspect of it, but because of the "Mind F@*#" that plagues many people. Looking down through crystal clear water, shadows from clouds or other objects are easily visible. Shadows, however, can be easily bent by the mind to resemble images of notorious fear. Add to this elixir idle time for the brain, and a front page picture of a 2.3metre Great White Shark from yesterday's paper, and the mind can play daunting tricks on you. (A juvenile great white shark was caught in the drum lines on Friday afternoon at Mermaid Beach.)
The space between the stand-up and myself was shrinking with surprising speed. A splash from someone's kick became visible behind me. Now past the stand-up and its respective swimmer, I scanned for a new target, a new draft. Two swimmers, 5 metres between them, swam side by side. Close the Gap. The splash behind me was now coming up on my left with frustrating speed. The sight of a White singlet gave slight piece of mind.
The relays were starting to catch up. Every category had its own colored singlet: Open Men, Gold; Open Women, Red; Masters Men, Blue; Relay Teams, White; and so on.
As we made our way past the first tall can, a 3-meter-high inflated vinyl cone, the first white singlet began pulling me along. One third of the swim now behind me, I worked the draft until I felt him up the pace. Another White singlet was moving up as well. Onto his wash. We worked past a few more swimmers before I fell off of his pace as well - but not before we passed the next tall can. Two-Thirds down. Let it roll. Hop-scotching my way from wash to wash (even passing a white jersey that had passed me earlier), I made my way to the final turn can. A left shoulder turn and in to shore.
Please be a wave. Any break is a welcome one. A small push, a burst of speed through the gutter, fall off the back. come-onnnnn, gimme somethin'! Another burst; a Quick breath in. Down the face I slid, briefly over-joyed by the small comforts of bodysurfing. Head back down; stroking the right arm, then the left and back to a streamline - not wanting to lose the wave and have to swim the rest of the way in.
3.5 km of swimming behind me, it was time to get back onto the legs. A water bottle's rinse. Some quick nutrition through the transition. Sunglasses and TYR Singlet back on, and I was into the "short run" - 4km.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
The Coolangatta Gold Part II
The sun was steadily climbing higher to our left as the light wind angled steadily into our faces. keep sipping fluids - even if you are not thirsty.
Fifteen minutes into the ski I began sipping my electrolyte drink from my pack. Five minutes later, I was questioning my pre-race meal. Nausea started to creep in in subtle doses; not enough to vomit - but enough to make me want to. This made for a difficult time in staying on top of hydrating when not thirsty.
Racing in any competition of any distance requires particular mental states. The longer the race - the more paramount the state. In a race of this distance a poor mental state, or simply the loss of focus, can literally end your race. It is a culminating effect of training, and just living, that we learn how to cope with different situations. We form mental models* from trial and error, and use these to move through future events in a (hopefully) successful manner.
Compartmentalizing nausea and increments of pain, I focused on simply following the wash of a ski in front of me. This is where my fears of preparation rung alarmingly true. I jumped onto the wash in front of me, focusing on good ski technique - drive from the leg, twist through the core, hands eye-level. i managed to stay in a train of 10 or so skis for a few minutes before they pulled away, and the gap, where I once was located, had closed without me. I would then grind for a few minutes until another small group moved up to me, and I would jump on their wash - only to be dropped again a few minutes later.
When we hit Burleigh Head (~10k from Surfers) we rounded a can to our left and continued Southeast toward Coolangatta. I gauged this to be approximately halfway and noted the time on my watch, 0750. (I would later fall prey to this false assumption). At this point I had managed to line up on someone's wash who I felt I could hold onto for a while.
A sip here. Some nausea there. A knot in my left Glute, that felt like sitting on a golf ball, started to form. At the 1-hour-45 mark I began looking for a turn can at the end of the ski leg. Scanning the horizon I found what I wanted - a white 3meter high buoy, red shirts of the event on shore. Rejuvenated by the thought of getting off the ski, we closed in on the can - only to turn left and continue to some foreign point that I couldn't fathom. My mental model had fallen apart at the seams, and my mental state went, in the words of one of my Welsh teammates: "Down da shittah!" I was gutted. Gapped and dropped again.
I closed in on a surfboat I had seen earlier. They were dressed in the white singlets of the relay teams. As I settled into pace next to them, the noise of their oars cracking rhythmically in the locks provided a comfortable distraction to my ears, one boatie shouted over to me, "you're doin' a'right mate. Keep it up. Just a bit more to go."
Fifteen minutes into the ski I began sipping my electrolyte drink from my pack. Five minutes later, I was questioning my pre-race meal. Nausea started to creep in in subtle doses; not enough to vomit - but enough to make me want to. This made for a difficult time in staying on top of hydrating when not thirsty.
Racing in any competition of any distance requires particular mental states. The longer the race - the more paramount the state. In a race of this distance a poor mental state, or simply the loss of focus, can literally end your race. It is a culminating effect of training, and just living, that we learn how to cope with different situations. We form mental models* from trial and error, and use these to move through future events in a (hopefully) successful manner.
Compartmentalizing nausea and increments of pain, I focused on simply following the wash of a ski in front of me. This is where my fears of preparation rung alarmingly true. I jumped onto the wash in front of me, focusing on good ski technique - drive from the leg, twist through the core, hands eye-level. i managed to stay in a train of 10 or so skis for a few minutes before they pulled away, and the gap, where I once was located, had closed without me. I would then grind for a few minutes until another small group moved up to me, and I would jump on their wash - only to be dropped again a few minutes later.
When we hit Burleigh Head (~10k from Surfers) we rounded a can to our left and continued Southeast toward Coolangatta. I gauged this to be approximately halfway and noted the time on my watch, 0750. (I would later fall prey to this false assumption). At this point I had managed to line up on someone's wash who I felt I could hold onto for a while.
A sip here. Some nausea there. A knot in my left Glute, that felt like sitting on a golf ball, started to form. At the 1-hour-45 mark I began looking for a turn can at the end of the ski leg. Scanning the horizon I found what I wanted - a white 3meter high buoy, red shirts of the event on shore. Rejuvenated by the thought of getting off the ski, we closed in on the can - only to turn left and continue to some foreign point that I couldn't fathom. My mental model had fallen apart at the seams, and my mental state went, in the words of one of my Welsh teammates: "Down da shittah!" I was gutted. Gapped and dropped again.
I closed in on a surfboat I had seen earlier. They were dressed in the white singlets of the relay teams. As I settled into pace next to them, the noise of their oars cracking rhythmically in the locks provided a comfortable distraction to my ears, one boatie shouted over to me, "you're doin' a'right mate. Keep it up. Just a bit more to go."
Mentally gutted - get me off this F*%#ing ski, were the words that came to mind. Finally, the red final turn can came into sight. Thank you God! Rounding the can and heading to shore, a wave was the only thing I had on my mind.
Onto a wave. Off of the ski. Into the first of three (progressively longer) runs. Into the water for the 3.5km swim.
Already around the can on the swim was a man with a standup paddle-boarder for a paddler - A TARGET.
*Note: The concpets of "Mental Models" and their nature were taken from works by Lawrence Gonzales
Monday, October 20, 2008
The Coolangatta Gold Part One
The Morning started off at about 0400am. Too nervous that i would oversleep an alarm if i went back to bed, I begin preparing for the days' torture test that was to come. A couple bites of protein bar, gatorade, banana, water.
Suit. Goggles. TYR Singlet. Watermans Sunscreen. Gels. CamelPak. Everything was set.
We left for Surfer's Paradise for the race. At 0530 in the morning, the streets near the beach already started to hum with the traffic of competitors, officials and support crew. The venue was up and waiting - Sponsors' banners rippling in the southerly breeze that began to rise.
A light warm up, numbers stamped onto both arms and legs, and it was time to GO.
As we lined up our craft, music began to creap out of the PA while Phil McGibbon announced our names. A long list of accomplished Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans, and one stupid American.
When they said the race would start at 7am sharp, they meant AT 7am. The Ski's were being handled by the handlers at the water's edge, while we waited - for what seemed an hour. It has been said that in times of great preasure we fall back into our most natural (primal) state of being. So, with music in the background, and adrenaline starting to creep in, my feet started moving. A high step here and a twist there, and the mood started to lighten up - even if only for myself, for a brief moment.
A call to the line. The starter with gun raised in the middle of the lineup.
The feelings of unpreparedness had all but vanished. Yet, there was no shaking this feeling of an unknown... !!!CRACK!!!
It seems slightly odd that 56 men would start out a 46.65km race with a flat-out sprint into the water to jump onto their skis. But that is exactly what we did. Into knee-deep water, ski's awaited. A jump-start on the run and we were away in, what I would reflect upon later as, probably my cleanest start to date.
Drive the legs, relax the arms. Don't want to blow your arms at the start of a 23km ski.
The words of Phil rang loud and clear in my head as we rounded the first can and headed south towards Coolangatta.
Suit. Goggles. TYR Singlet. Watermans Sunscreen. Gels. CamelPak. Everything was set.
We left for Surfer's Paradise for the race. At 0530 in the morning, the streets near the beach already started to hum with the traffic of competitors, officials and support crew. The venue was up and waiting - Sponsors' banners rippling in the southerly breeze that began to rise.
A light warm up, numbers stamped onto both arms and legs, and it was time to GO.
As we lined up our craft, music began to creap out of the PA while Phil McGibbon announced our names. A long list of accomplished Australians, New Zealanders, South Africans, and one stupid American.
When they said the race would start at 7am sharp, they meant AT 7am. The Ski's were being handled by the handlers at the water's edge, while we waited - for what seemed an hour. It has been said that in times of great preasure we fall back into our most natural (primal) state of being. So, with music in the background, and adrenaline starting to creep in, my feet started moving. A high step here and a twist there, and the mood started to lighten up - even if only for myself, for a brief moment.
A call to the line. The starter with gun raised in the middle of the lineup.
The feelings of unpreparedness had all but vanished. Yet, there was no shaking this feeling of an unknown... !!!CRACK!!!
It seems slightly odd that 56 men would start out a 46.65km race with a flat-out sprint into the water to jump onto their skis. But that is exactly what we did. Into knee-deep water, ski's awaited. A jump-start on the run and we were away in, what I would reflect upon later as, probably my cleanest start to date.
Drive the legs, relax the arms. Don't want to blow your arms at the start of a 23km ski.
The words of Phil rang loud and clear in my head as we rounded the first can and headed south towards Coolangatta.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
The Day Before the Gold
Less than 24 hours before the race and things started to come together. After having Friday off from any training, muscles were itching to do something. We headed down to the Club to have a light run-through session.
One of the adventures of travelling and couch hopping is transportation - or lack thereof. So, being at the mercy of other people's schedules, I got to the club a good couple of hours before i needed to be there. NOTE: The more idle time on your hands before a big event, the more time you have to think about it, the more likely you are to sit and watch your nerves run out of control - Not Recommended.
Nerves started to show, and I had to fight with all my might to keep from going outwardly crazy with a debilitating mix of nerve, excitement, fear, hope, and adrenaline.
Before our last session Phil [Clayton] had the five of us (Mike & Dan Janes, Mark from RSA, and myself) sit down around a table, upstairs at the club. He handed out a small packet of paper which outlined the race. We went over where our handlers should be, and - more importantly - what they should be giving us along the way. 1 Gel here, 2 there, only water here. A gameplan was absolutely essential to one's finishing the race successfully.
As we went down to the water's edge with our gear, Mark, the gentleman from South Africa, told Phil he was going to sit this one out; save it for the race. Reality was, he was knackered earlier in the week from 2 sessions, and did want to risk it before Sunday's race - Working on an oil rig doesn't allow for absolute training for an event like this.
We did a brief Ironman session and began preparing our gear for Sunday, applying decals and stickers to boards and ski's. Then he headed to the event briefing, to relearn everything we already knew about the race.
The Countdown begins.
One of the adventures of travelling and couch hopping is transportation - or lack thereof. So, being at the mercy of other people's schedules, I got to the club a good couple of hours before i needed to be there. NOTE: The more idle time on your hands before a big event, the more time you have to think about it, the more likely you are to sit and watch your nerves run out of control - Not Recommended.
Nerves started to show, and I had to fight with all my might to keep from going outwardly crazy with a debilitating mix of nerve, excitement, fear, hope, and adrenaline.
Before our last session Phil [Clayton] had the five of us (Mike & Dan Janes, Mark from RSA, and myself) sit down around a table, upstairs at the club. He handed out a small packet of paper which outlined the race. We went over where our handlers should be, and - more importantly - what they should be giving us along the way. 1 Gel here, 2 there, only water here. A gameplan was absolutely essential to one's finishing the race successfully.
As we went down to the water's edge with our gear, Mark, the gentleman from South Africa, told Phil he was going to sit this one out; save it for the race. Reality was, he was knackered earlier in the week from 2 sessions, and did want to risk it before Sunday's race - Working on an oil rig doesn't allow for absolute training for an event like this.
We did a brief Ironman session and began preparing our gear for Sunday, applying decals and stickers to boards and ski's. Then he headed to the event briefing, to relearn everything we already knew about the race.
The Countdown begins.
Leading up
In the days leading up to the NIB Coolangatta Gold I joined a small group of individuals also preparing for the torture test. Like in other sports' training programs, this final week was designed as a taper. And while The Boys (Nick & Dan Janes) and Hayley (Bateup) had been putting in serious work for the past 4 months, I could not help but wonder how my improv training along the way would stack up.
The first workout with the Kurrawa team was a running session on the grass-track at Pizzy-park. I was pleasantly surpised to see how my running fitness stacked up in comparison. Six 400's flat out on 2min's per. A true fitness test - give it a try the next time your at the track and see how you hold out. The next test came with the first evening session at Kurrawa beach.
A mellow, true taper-like, ski session had us in and out of the water in less than an hour. Things were seeming to look ok.
A mix of speed and active recovery sessions in the pool, on the run, and in the ocean, continued through the week. Throughout the sessions, I could only wonder, while looking at the others' form and my own, how would my fitness - more importantly, how would my mind - hold up.
The first workout with the Kurrawa team was a running session on the grass-track at Pizzy-park. I was pleasantly surpised to see how my running fitness stacked up in comparison. Six 400's flat out on 2min's per. A true fitness test - give it a try the next time your at the track and see how you hold out. The next test came with the first evening session at Kurrawa beach.
A mellow, true taper-like, ski session had us in and out of the water in less than an hour. Things were seeming to look ok.
A mix of speed and active recovery sessions in the pool, on the run, and in the ocean, continued through the week. Throughout the sessions, I could only wonder, while looking at the others' form and my own, how would my fitness - more importantly, how would my mind - hold up.
Tuesday, October 14, 2008
The Gold
It is Wednesday midday here on the Gold Coast of Australia (3rd full day) and I am still adjusting my sleeping patterns, but things are good. In 4 days i will be competing in the Coolangatta Gold. Big deal, whats that? The Gold is a lifesaving Ironman spanning the length of the Gold Coast, twice. Totaling over 46 and a half kilometers, this race has seen the best of the best struggle to conquer it. And so, here I sit, a lone American in a field of national and world title winners, looking to conquer this race, and test my own limits with a bat-to-the-head type of litmus test.
Training since i have arrived has gone well thus far, but, I am constantly reminded of how far behind we are as a country in training and organization of sport. Nevertheless, I am trying to absorb as much as possible, and incorporate these last minute sessions into my base for Sunday's endeavour.
With new adventures come new toys. A new ski and board have been waiting here for me--the board is phenominal, havent had a ski session yet--so a thank you is due to Mark and Wally and the crew at DOLPHIN surfcraft. Also on the sheet were some good luck tokens from my boys at WATERMANS Sunscreen, so thank you Pete and Macon; and some discounted threads from TYR thanks to Erin Howarth.
Things are looking ok for sunday's race. Weather should be fine with light southerly winds building up throughout the race. The tide, however, is doing any of us any favors. With a high tide scheduled for 1130am, the 10k run to the finish is looking like it will be all soft sand. The first 4k run earlier in the race might have a chance of running hard pack with shoes, but we'll see.
more to come...
Training since i have arrived has gone well thus far, but, I am constantly reminded of how far behind we are as a country in training and organization of sport. Nevertheless, I am trying to absorb as much as possible, and incorporate these last minute sessions into my base for Sunday's endeavour.
With new adventures come new toys. A new ski and board have been waiting here for me--the board is phenominal, havent had a ski session yet--so a thank you is due to Mark and Wally and the crew at DOLPHIN surfcraft. Also on the sheet were some good luck tokens from my boys at WATERMANS Sunscreen, so thank you Pete and Macon; and some discounted threads from TYR thanks to Erin Howarth.
Things are looking ok for sunday's race. Weather should be fine with light southerly winds building up throughout the race. The tide, however, is doing any of us any favors. With a high tide scheduled for 1130am, the 10k run to the finish is looking like it will be all soft sand. The first 4k run earlier in the race might have a chance of running hard pack with shoes, but we'll see.
more to come...
In the meantime/ Back to Japan
So, things have been a bit hectic between work and training for the Coolangatta Gold, and thus, i have not had the extra time to write as much as i would have liked to. But, since i have a free moment i will try to knock a few of these things out.
A quick throwback to the Japan trip:
on our last night in Japan (the evening immediately following the competition) we had the absolutely amazing privilege of witnessing nature in one of its rawest forms. As the sun set and darkness settled over the sand, a group of small lights could be seen gathering in one spot on the beach. Locals and visitors were gathering around a cordoned off area (about 5'x5') where two months earlier a sea turtle had laid her eggs.
At approximately 8:30 in the evening, the sand started to shift. A hole formed, out of which the first endangered sea turtle emerged. Not to be left alone, the first turtle was quickly joined by 150 (+/-) of his siblings. As they made their way toward the water's edge many would become disoriented and wander off course. We gently raised sand near the turtles to help guide them back on-course. The question was posed, 'why not simply pick up the turtles and carry them to the water?'. The answer is that, the infant turtles need the journey across the sand to build up strength for the swim to come; carrying them to the water would only allow them drown. So we helped to guide them to the water. I took special attention to one little guy whom i named Turbo. His progress was made in bursts of speed and rest. Brian joined in helping guide Turbo to the water.
While there is no way of knowing how many of Turbo's siblings will survive their journey, it was a blessing nonetheless for all of us to bear witness to the start of their trials of life.
A quick throwback to the Japan trip:
on our last night in Japan (the evening immediately following the competition) we had the absolutely amazing privilege of witnessing nature in one of its rawest forms. As the sun set and darkness settled over the sand, a group of small lights could be seen gathering in one spot on the beach. Locals and visitors were gathering around a cordoned off area (about 5'x5') where two months earlier a sea turtle had laid her eggs.
At approximately 8:30 in the evening, the sand started to shift. A hole formed, out of which the first endangered sea turtle emerged. Not to be left alone, the first turtle was quickly joined by 150 (+/-) of his siblings. As they made their way toward the water's edge many would become disoriented and wander off course. We gently raised sand near the turtles to help guide them back on-course. The question was posed, 'why not simply pick up the turtles and carry them to the water?'. The answer is that, the infant turtles need the journey across the sand to build up strength for the swim to come; carrying them to the water would only allow them drown. So we helped to guide them to the water. I took special attention to one little guy whom i named Turbo. His progress was made in bursts of speed and rest. Brian joined in helping guide Turbo to the water.
While there is no way of knowing how many of Turbo's siblings will survive their journey, it was a blessing nonetheless for all of us to bear witness to the start of their trials of life.
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