Ironman Los Cabos 2013

Back to Mexico

On November 25th, 2012, when I pulled into T2 at Ironman Cozumel after 112 miles of biking without being able to keep down food or liquid, I quit without even attempting the run. Returning to Mexico was the very last thing on my mind.

I'd had a very long season with pretty much no break since my first Ironman in July 2011. I'd planned to qualify for Kona at Coeur d'Alene in 2012, but was hit by a car five weeks before, breaking two ribs. I still gave it a shot but missed a slot by 15 minutes. Cozumel was meant to be my redemption race. I flew to Mexico in the best shape of my life, then got slammed by a virus the night before.

Within a few days of that DNF, I found myself online, booking Ironman Los Cabos. I christened it my "Mexican Revenge."

This time I would spend as little time in Mexico as possible. I took all my own food, drank only bottled water, and lived like a hermit in our condo. In retrospect it was all overkill. San Jose del Cabo is basically an extension of California, complete with Starbucks and a grocery store called "Mega" that's larger than most US supermarkets.

The Night Before

I've never been nervous before an Ironman, not even on race day. But Friday night, I was. I'd invested so much in my past two races, made so many sacrifices, and put so much on the line. I couldn't face a third "unlucky day."

That night I dreamed someone stole my running shoes from T2 and I had to run the marathon barefoot. I duly instructed Michelle to bring my extra pair in the stroller on race day, just in case.

Swim: 1:09

I had zero contact over the first 500 meters. At some point it got congested. A guy on my left got fed up with the contact, stopped swimming, turned around, and physically pushed my head underwater. Having played water polo in school, my first reaction was to pull his leg back and punch him in the face. I calmly just let it go.

Secretly I hoped he had a really tough day.

I was shocked to see 1:09 on the clock. I'd expected 1:00, maybe 1:05 if something went wrong. To give you an idea, I do my slow cool-down set in the pool, without a wetsuit, faster than that.

Bike: 5:07 at 243 Watts

The bike course is relentless: continually rolling with some short steep sections and no flat anywhere. The elevation debate before the race ranged from 3,900 to 7,400 feet. I'm glad I trained for 7,400.

I came out of the swim in 223rd place, so I had catching up to do. At the first turnaround I was 103rd. I passed another 20 and was alone for a long time. On lap 2, I was flying, tucked into a very aero position, cranking 260-275 watts on the short hills.

The wind picked up significantly on lap 2. At the far turnaround, I almost came to a complete stop. The wind was so strong I had to get out of the saddle and stomp just to get going. I saw backmarkers still on lap 1 drafting each other. I don't think it was malicious, just survival.

T2 Panic

When I arrived in T2 it was like a ghost town. Nobody in the change tent, run bag racks full, which meant I'd made up good time. Unfortunately, the volunteers couldn't find my run gear bag. My Friday night dream was coming true.

After about 90 seconds of me mentally preparing for a barefoot marathon, the manager found my bag. Seven little Mexican kids jumped in to help: one on each shoe, another sorting my water bottle, another getting my number belt ready.

Run: 3:19

Starting the run high up the field was a strange experience. The road was empty, and the crowd had all this pent-up excitement that got unleashed on me. Then my Garmin died. No pace data. I decided to run by feel and manually hit the lap button at mile markers.

At mile 3 I was averaging 6:40 per mile, too fast. I immediately slowed down. After 6 miles I passed a guy who was now walking, and soon after, Michelle told me I was 2nd in my age group. Since I'd just passed that other guy, I thought I might be leading.

My strategy changed immediately. I eased up and stopped pushing. The only thing now standing between me and my Kona slot would be cramping, seizing quads, or running too hard. I focused on steady fluids, salt, and keeping cool.

The aid stations at this race were phenomenal. By far the best I've ever seen. Every kilometer, fully stocked with ice-cold water, pepsi, gels, bananas. I threw about 5 buckets of ice down my tri suit.

About a mile from the end, a guy in my age group came past me. This woke me out of my daze and I put my foot on the gas, accelerating past him and finishing the last mile in about 6:40. He must have been on a different lap. 3rd place was more than 10 minutes behind me.

The Finish

I was elated. After the DNF in Cozumel, the hit-by-a-car setback, and the missed slot at Coeur d'Alene, I had finally nailed my Kona qualification with a PR on the toughest course I'd raced.

In the massage tent, I had two therapists working on me for 40 minutes. Some Mexican kids all wanted my autograph and photos. Another possibility is that they'd already heard I would become Age Grouper of the Week on IMTalk, the world's premier Ironman podcast.

See you in Kona.