Muncie 70.3 - DNF

I went into Muncie, my second 70.3, with a great mindset. I only started getting nervous the day before, but having such an epic race three weeks prior at Tri Louisville, I felt really confident. Besides, this was the same half IM I had done last year so I knew the course and what to expect – no surprises.

Jen and I got into town, went straight to the expo and got all checked in, put the bike on the rack, bought some swag, then made our way to the hotel. I was getting really excited at this point as we drove up to the expo on the running course, which I remembered from last year – this made it real!

After we got all checked into the hotel we decided to go ahead and grab some dinner, opting out of the Landshark dinner I had originally RSVP’d to. Since we were just down the street from the same Italian place I ate last year, and it was still fairly early, I figured we could beat the crowds and take some leftovers with us for later if we got hungry again. Dinner was a pleasant mix of chicken parmesan, salad, mozzarella sticks and a cold beer topped off with a trio of mini desserts. I definitely felt fueled up for the race.

Later that evening in the hotel room I popped some melatonin to try and ensure a decent nights sleep. Taking these at 7:30 meant I was drowsy and ready to nod off about 9:30. I put on a meditation geared towards lessening anxiety, and tried to focus on relaxing so that I could sleep peacefully. I also needed to calm a little bit of nerves I was now getting about the race itself.

The 3:30 wake-up call wasn’t too bad and after a breakfast of oatmeal and some fluids I was ready to go by 4:00. The transition area opened at 5:00, and I knew from last year that the line of cars to park tends to get a bit long, which means less of a chance for ample parking if you get there much later. We pulled in, went straight to transition to get my body marked, set up my spot and meander around the reservoir killing time as we basically had three hours until my swim went off. They announced that the race would not be wetsuit legal, which meant all of us who opted to wear the suit were to start in the very back, going off in the last wave at 8:18. My original swim was 7:59 so this wasn’t much later. Jen and I made our way back to the car to drop off the things I would no longer need for the race and relaxed a bit. I decided to do another meditation in the car just to keep the nerves at bay, and we even napped a little before getting back out about 6:30 a.m.

I grabbed my wetsuit from transition, as the area would soon be closed off, and we made our way to a LONG restroom line. Unfortunately, my urge to go had passed since we waited so long, and I only got a chance to go #1. Because we still had over an hour before my swim wave however, I was eventually able to get some relief about thirty minutes prior to the race, which was a huge weight off my shoulders.

Waiting around usually gets me really anxious before a race. I remember last year at Muncie, the pre-race wait seemed to be the worst for my anxiety and nerves. So much so that I teared up and cried a bit as my wave walked to the swim start. This year, however, I was cool as a cucumber. I would say on a 1-10 scale my anxiety never got above a 2 – it was more the excitement and anticipation of getting ready for a race that I felt great about. I was in a much better headspace this year than last, and I planned to just go out there and do it – no expectations. Of course, my goal was always to beat last years time, but the ultimate is always to “just finish.”

Each swim wave had approximately 30-50 people each. By the time they got to mine however, so many people had opted to wear the wetsuit that we had over 100. This meant a very crowded start. I made my way down to the banks of the lake and was able to relieve myself, once more, before getting into the water (sorry, but I just couldn’t hold it any longer and I REALLY had to go - plus I can't pee WHILE swimming).

The gun went off and I had to walk a few yards before I could completely submerge into the water and get going. That first 300-400 yards were tough as there were so many athletes that I was either passing people (WHAT? I was actually PASSING people on a swim?) or they were mowing me over. I got over to the right side of the buoys to get away from the crowd which seemed to help immensely, but this also meant that my ability to keep a straight line also suffered, and it felt like I was constantly having to pull myself back over to the left to keep from getting too far off course.

I finally got into a good groove although there was a bit of bottle-necking around the first turn, but then it was fairly smooth sailing from that point. I could already tell that the extra body glide I used was helping to keep my arms from chafing from the wetsuit – a huge problem for me last year. I rounded the last turn and headed back to shore, but this proved to be a bit of a pain as this direction takes you right into the sun and it’s hard to gauge where you are at all. I could distinguish direction by only the athletes around me until I could see the outline of a buoy up ahead. I muddled along and was ready to be done with the swim until, finally, I made my way to shore and out of the water. I opted not to have my wetsuit stripped as they had athletes lay on the grass last year and my tri suit got muddy. Since my wetsuit is a little big to begin with, it’s not a problem stripping it off solo anyway, so I just began to take it down as I made my way to T1. I looked down to hit the button on my Garmin to signal that I was done with the swim portion, but something was amiss. According to my watch I had only swam 650 yards, which was obviously not right. “Oh well,” I thought, “I know I swam the full 1.2 and I’ll find out the time later. I’ll just pick it back up on the bike.”

Jen was standing at the sidelines and yelled out that she had Karen and Ericka on Facetime. I was so surprised and excited at this I yelled out “Hi Karen and Ericka, I feel great! I had such a good swim!” I was really feeling some positive adrenaline at that point and the confidence will still high. I had just over a two-minute T1 where I dried off a bit, donned the cycling shoes, gloves and helmet, grabbed and downed a Honey Stinger wafer, and out I went. Again, there was Jen cheering me on! It was so great having a friend there with me this year.

As I made my way to the line to mount my bike a volunteer says, “Hey Landshark.” Attempting to recognize him but unable to place the face I said, “Hey there, how are you?” He says, “Great, how’re you?” “I am fantastic. Really fantastic!” I'm never this cheerful during a race - another sign of my optimistic mindset on this day. Clipped in, I went to hit the Garmin once more to signal the start of the cycling portion but, again, something wasn’t right. I’m not sure if the swim snafu threw me off or what, but I must’ve hit the wrong button as the only screen that came up was one that shows Distance and Time – not the normal cycling screen where I’m able to see my speed. Not wanting to spend any more time in T1 however, I just let it go and went on from there. I think this is where I made my first mistake.

Going along on the bike I determined that, even though I wasn’t going to be able to tell my exact speed, if I hit the mile markers (every 5 miles) in under 20 minutes I was going at least 15mph, which was fine by me. This was possible mistake #2. Since I had little more to go by than feel (and I was feeling so great) I went out too hard and too fast at an 18.2 mph average – something I have never achieved before, and is way too fast for me to maintain for 56 miles. Regardless, I was moving right along on this beautiful and sunny day, which wasn’t shaping up to be too terribly hot with a high of only 82 degrees. If you’re going to do a triathlon in July, 82 degrees is just about the best you can hope for. This was comparable to the weather from last year's race so, again, my continued goal of a possible PR loomed nearby.

I made my way to the portion of the race where you do the two loops and came up on mile marker 10. I remembered from last year that it took a little over 10 miles to get from one end of the loop the other before the turnaround, as I made a note of my mileage. I also remember that at the turnaround, there is a slight downhill, which I was really looking forward to. Being in the last wave of swimmers meant that a lot of folks were already on their second loop as I was beginning my first. Because I was moving right along and even passing some people, I didn’t concern myself with being too far in the back of the pack - another mental game that can creep up on you if you allow it. Up ahead I noticed the cones for the turnaround and was thankful to be about 1/3 of the way done with the bike. That is, until, I hit that turn and the headwind proved to be more brutal than I could have imagined. I didn’t think much of the wind on the way out as it felt like more of a crosswind, and nothing as severe as this. I guess my internal wind sock was off because it was definitely coming straight at me for the second part of the first loop and I felt like I was cycling through mud. I was still going at least 15mph according to the mile markers, but I could also feel myself slowing WAY DOWN from that first 20 miles or so.

At around 25 miles in it began to hit me. Fatigue set in, some slight dizziness began, and my legs were cramping a bit. I re-evaluated my nutrition and realized that I probably wasn’t taking in as much as I should have (mistake #3). I had Infinit in the torpedo, along with two bottles of water and some sport beans. I had been using sport beans during training rides, but always consumed them during a stop, never while riding. I tore open a bag and poured some into my mouth, but between the slightly heavy breathing, exertion and fatigue I found it hard to chew and continue peddling simultaneously. Mental note: consider going back to Gu’s during the cycling portion of the race.

Everything combined, I had to have a bit of a pep talk with myself and say, “Okay, at the next turnaround that headwind is going to go away and you’ll have a bit of a break at that point. Then, when you get to the last turnaround point, you just have to make your way back to transition. At that point you’ll only have 18 miles or so left. You can do this.” I continued along, made another left to begin that second loop and still, my speed remained slower than it had before despite no longer having that headwind. At this point I began wondering if I could even make it that that last turn around, and seriously considered calling it a day right then. The dizziness persisted and I was now having stomach issues. I felt bloated, despite taking only small sips at a time, and when I would bend over into the aero position it made it worse. The legs were still cramping as well. Alas, I did make it to that last turn around and tried as hard as I could to find my way back to T2.

I think I was about 38 miles in when I decided that I couldn’t go on. Even if I finish out the bike, I thought, there is no way I’m going to be able to do that 13.1 mile run with the way I feel. I didn’t want to have the dizziness get worse to the point that I would wreck and really hurt myself, so at the aid station at mile 40 I called it a day. I pulled over and asked the volunteers, “If I decide to DNF is there someone to come pick me up and take me back?” They sprang into action and called SAG support to come and get me. The volunteers were great, making sure I was okay physically, getting me some cold water, and chatting a bit about the race itself before Bob finally came along with his Stranger Danger van and swept me away back to transition, where I spent just a small amount of time in medical sipping on some Gatorade and having my vitals taken by a not-too-shabby looking doctor. Perk!

Unlike last year, when I was having knee pain 6 miles into the run and considering a DNF (managing to finish the race anyway), I was really okay with making the decision to pull out this year. I knew that I had put in the time and effort to train, that my head was in the best place that it could have possibly been, and that a DNF wasn’t the end of the world. My biggest concern after leaving the med tent was finding Jen to let her know that I was okay. When we finally did meet up where she was waiting for me at Bike-In, she said that she had been keeping track of me and talking with race officials about my progress - or lack thereof. The time cut off to finish the bike was coming up, and she was worried that I had gotten a flat or had wrecked and wouldn't make it in time. The last she heard, I was still on the course being escorted in and was 4 miles out. Somewhere along the way I guess wires got crossed because I had been at the race area for probably 20-30 minutes searching for her, not 4 miles out getting escorted in. Luckily my situation wasn’t emergent so it wasn’t that big of a deal, but this is something IM should probably look into in case there is something more important happening in regards to DNF’s or injuries.

I explained to Jen everything that had happened and did so with a calm and positive demeanor. I think I surprised myself with how okay I was with my DNF. This just reiterates to me that it was the right decision, and that listening to my body rather that pushing myself to the point of possible injury was the best call.

On the drive home I pondered whether or not I would toe the line in Ohio in 6 weeks. With the physical discomfort still fresh in my mind, and recalling my ride on the struggle bus in 2015, I had myself convinced for a time that I don’t enjoy this distance and that life is too short to do things you don’t enjoy. By the time I was relaxing and soaking in some recovery sun at the pool the next morning, however, I had already decided that I would compete in the race. Besides it already being paid for, and the hotel room set up, and Sherpas booked, I really want to give the half IM at least one last try and have a really great race before I possibly retire to the sprint and olympic distance. Muncie in 2015 was a milestone as it was my first 70.3 finish, even though I was in a bad place mentally. Muncie in 2016 was one of the best races I’ve ever competed in as far as my mental and emotional state – my body just wasn’t having it. So Ohio….. well, hopefully Ohio will be a combination of a fully trained and cooperative body along with a great mindset that will equal a stellar race.