ironman zurich 2008: race report

Gosh its already more than a month after the race and I have just finished this post! Just tells you how lazy (and busy) I am now.. =P

But anyway let's get started with a little warm-up:

Preamble
If you dig deep down inside the human psyche - if you strip away the body, the bones and all physical semblance of being - if you delve beyond the mind and intellect and throw away the loose sands of knowledge and experience – all that remains of us is desire.

We are desire.

Amidst the scraps of all the rest, there is nothing but that glowing ember of desire that drives us forward. We challenge ourselves further, we drive ourselves deeper and, in turn, the ember burns hotter. What we do with that ember is up to us; either stoke the flames or douse it, the decision is our own.

When we increase our struggles, the decisions on how to handle desire become more fragile and more tentative. As we challenge the limitations of our physical being, we find ourselves balancing precariously on that ember, teetering on the edge between accomplishment and failure.

It comes as no surprise that the challenge of Ironman racing far exceeds our physical capabilities; it is fueled by nothing more than that ember and the decisions we make to support it.

Let’s face the facts, the human body was not designed to travel that distance in that manner. There has never been any study anywhere at any time that has claimed Ironman distance racing is good for the human body. It’s not. Us Ironman racers, we subject our bodies to some of the most absurd conditions. And for what? A t-shirt? A finisher’s medal? Or is it that increasingly remote feeling of accomplishment that we try so desperately to harness. Like a strung-out junkie, we push harder and deeper to relive that moment we call “success”.

We race Ironman to feel good.

We pay to compete because we believe the pain will make us feel good; it will make us feel like we’ve done something with our lives. The pain will prove that we have grown. The pain will stoke our ember of desire. The pain will set us free.

At the 2008 Ironman Zurich, there was pain. In a couple of minutes I’m going to tell you what that race was like and hopefully I can effectively relate how horrendously nonsensical it was. More importantly, hopefully I can do that in a manner that doesn’t get you bored. Yes, it is going to be long, so enough of this warm-up..

Pre Race
The advantage of living and racing in Europe is that train travel is really bike-friendly. No airport hassles and no problems with getting your bike back into how it was before you took it apart and put it in the bike box.

Didn't even feel that I was going overseas for a race, but nevermind that. =)

So anyway there was nothing that happened out of the ordinary before the race to get me overtly nervous or stressed. Sure there were some fears of leg pain, of getting sick, of the unknown, of all the usual pre-race gobbledy-gook. But there was nothing really dramatic to get me worked up except, maybe, the weather.

Just my luck, Ironman Sunday was forecasted to be a rainy one. Looking back, I thought it was crazily audacious how the sunny weather during the week could transform overnight to become a soaking wet weekend. Boy was I wrong. The rain, and correspondingly, the temperature started to come down on Friday at the athletes' welcome dinner, and it continued all the way like that until the prize presentation brunch on Monday.

Checked in my bike on a very miserable Saturday afternoon and it was not really the best morale booster to leave your bike out overnight in a thunderstorm before a race, but I had no choice.

Race day
Morning activities were pretty uneventful: cold trek to Landiwiese, the race area, followed by dumping all my barang-barang into one huge garbage bag to keep the rain out. Nobody wanted their stuff to get wet and I was no exception. The transition area, although full of activity, was a relatively quiet affair as everybody struggled to keep warm (and sane) in the rain. One last look at the still plastic-covered bike, and I went along with the rest to the swim start like neoprened cattle being herded to slaughter.

Swim
The day's challenges:
* Cold
* Kicking, fighting, pushing, shoving, biting, punching, smacking
* A dramatic inability to move in a straight line

The Ironman Zurich swim start is a mass start, which means that it is a thinly disguised excuse to mix WWE, Sea World, and the racial riots of 1965 in one sporting event. What happens is that 2,222 people dressed like seals float around in the water for a few minutes watching the morning calm and then, at the blast of a canon – KA-BLAM!! – they all start punching and kicking, crawling and clawing, shoving and biting. In triathlon lingo, that is called a “swim”.

But wait, I digress.

Knowing what I lousy swimmer I am, I entered the water only about 5 minutes to race start. Even then, I soon found myself surrounded by lots of other competitors. 2,222 athletes is simply too much for Lake Zurich. I was still trying to acclimatize myself to my new underwater environment when:

KA-BOOOOOOOOOOM, the starting gun went off.

Even there, on my second time around, the start of an Ironman is somewhat surreal. The starting gun is not merely an indicator to go, it is a symbol of the journey ahead. It is a distinct line that separates before from after; it marks the space between training and racing. It is a split second in time in which your entire history, your months of training, your heartache, sacrifice and drive, all fuse like a sub-atomic reaction, catapulting you forward with a blast of energy right smack into your destiny.

They say that Ironman is the intersection between your greatest fears and your wildest dreams - that’s what happens at the starting gun.

With the sound of the blast still ringing in my ears, I desperately tried to let go of my wacked-out philosophies on athletic firearms, put my head in the water and began moving forward. Or backward, relative to the other swimmers who were now flying by me, pummelling and swimming over me as they went by. What a frustratingly violent and slow swim for me, as I tried to hang on to some draft and avoid getting kicked in the head at the same time. Eventually I managed to draft a breast-stroker and we made it though together for the first loop.

No such luck on the second loop as I found myself swimming all alone in no man's land. Swimming being my worst discipline, I found it quite unnerving that I was all alone in the mighty Lake Zurich. Left arm, right arm, breathe, repeat; it's going to end, I told myself. The swim has to end, right? Five minutes went by. Then ten. Then thirty. But the end was nowhere in sight. I began to tire. I didn't care about my swim time anymore, all I wanted was to get out of the water! Left arm, right arm, breathe, repeat.

Somebody. Please.. Make the bad man stop.

Then soon I looked up and saw the finish sign. The last 45 minutes didn't feel that bad after all! I tried to push to the finish but eventually I fizzled out and barely clambered out of the water in 1:37.

I jogged (or at least tried to with my tofu legs) into T1 and headed towards my two garbage bags. Peeled off the wetsuit, ate a gel, found and put on my arm warmers and two jerseys, put on my shoes, donned my helmet, and "unsheathed" my bike. I took a deep breath and a long exhale.

Time to go.

BIKE
The day’s challenges:
* Rain
* Cold
* Mechanical problems
* A never ending desire to give up

The premise for the Ironman bike loop is relatively simple: 2 loops encircling the northern part of Lake Zurich, passing two major climbs - the Beast and Heartbreak Hill - on each loop in the process. I had already done a lap of the course on Thursday so I knew what to expect.

What I did not factor in though, was the cold. Apparently it was 13°C at the start of the bike leg and the sight of many multi-layered and wrapped up triathletes was a testimony to the ridiculously low temperature. In any case, the bike was supposed to be one of my stronger points and so I just put my head down and hammered away. Luckily the first part of the course was all flat and I managed to overtake quite a fair bit of the faster-swimmers-but-slow-bikers. Sweet.

It was all going according to plan when horror struck. I was going up a gentle slope when I began to lose power. Apparently I was still pedalling but somehow my crank was just not pulling my rear cog along. Got off the bike to check and to my horror I realised that my crank came loose from the bike frame and hence I was just essentially pedalling nothing. Merde. I tried signalling for help and the first people to pass by and respond was one of the film crew teams. As it turned out, they were more interested in filming my unfortunate experience rather than helping me get technical assistance. Grah. In the meantime hundreds of athletes must have passed me by wondering wtf why was this person freaking out in the rain.

Standing in the rain was a huge reality check. While I was just cursing my bad luck before, it now dawned on me that I might not be able to even finish the race if the technical assistance people were not able to fix my bike. And a loose crankset is not something that common and easy to fix during a race.

Eventually the mechanics arrived after a good half hour (there was only one van for the entire course) and fortunately enough they had the tools to put my crank back in place. What they did not have, unfortunately, was a human defroster, for I was totally frozen by then. Restarting the bike leg was a painful experience with the windchill but at least I was happy to be on the road again.

Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.

There I was, a lone figure struggling in the rain trying to go fast yet keep warm, with a sore lower back from climbing the Beast and wondering all the time at the back of my mind when will my crank give way again. That fucking sucked.

I was in pain and I was suffering.

The ride after this was pretty uneventful except for another time where my chain dropped off just at the foot Heartbreak Hill and I fell down. Damn malu-ating as there were a lot of spectators at that point but at least this time help came promptly enough and a road marshal even gave me a push start! With that, I scrambled up the hill one last time and flew back down to T2.

Bike time: 6:59 (heng just short of 7 hours -_-|||)

Pushed my bike back into my allotted rack, where the whole row was obviously already full of bikes. I looked at my watch, and I realised that I would have to run a 4 hour marathon in order to hit my target of sub-13 hours. Rummaged around for my shoes, put on my cap, and headed out. My warm-up had taken long enough; it was time to unleash the beast.

RUN
The day’s challenges:
* Humidity
* Knee pain
* Viral infection on right toe
* Ouch

It doesn't take a genius to calculate that with 4 laps to run and 4 hours to spare, I would have to run each lap in a maximum of 1 hour. With that in mind, I set about pounding the pavement with a renewed sense of mission.

From the moment I stepped out of T2, I resolved to keep running. Despite the pain or any other obstacles, I promised myself that I would run the entire race. Sure, I would walk at the aid stations, but there was to be no walking in-between. I was committed to keep moving forward.

But just because you're moving forward doesn't mean that it feels good.

My right knee, the main victim of my crash while coming down Beauvoir 3 months ago, began to protest at the stress which it was being put under. Not to be outdone, the viral infection on my right toe also began hurting as well due to water seepage in my shoes. My thighs were also tired after most of the day's proceedings.

At this point in time, most people would have been about 8-9 hours into the race. If you ask me, 9 hours is a quite a long time to be on the move. And yet, I still had a marathon to run.

As I continued through the run course, my struggles increased. It felt demotivating that everyone else had at least a scrungee on their wrists, and my legs felt increasingly like lead. I tried to focus on little goals. Break down the distances; run to the next aid station. But I couldn't help but think about the long road ahead of me. I felt overwhelmed by the power of Ironman. I struggled to keep running.

The first loop was horrendous. Although I ran the entire way, I slowed down to a walk at every aid station. And my blisters were killing me. At this rate, I would not be able to hit 4 hours! I began to despair; I was uncertain of my capabilities. So many things had gone wrong during the day, could it get any worse?

When you’re already spiralling down a hole, there is a vulture of frustration that circles the mind and wears down the soul. Each negative thought gives birth to another, until you are caught in an endless spiral of decay.

The trick is to fight the vultures. No matter how deep you fall into the darkness, your only hope is to focus on the light. You must continually struggle to climb and claw your way to survive. You must focus on the goal.

Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional.
I suffered.

As the run progressed, the distance began to dull my pain. I dug deep and found the will to keep one feet continually in front of the other. I began to be aware of my surroundings - the other athletes, the spectators, the volunteers - and that seemed to give me an invisible source of energy.

There is something mysterious about that ember of desire. Just when you think the flame has died, something ignites a spark. It may be remote, it may not even create a fire, but it gives light - and hope. And somehow it keeps you moving forward.

Halfway through the marathon at Ironman Zurich, it all started making sense to me. This pain, this suffering, this constant battle to keep moving forward… THIS is Ironman. This is exactly what I trained for. It is why I am here.

For the next 10 kilometres I started to push the pace a little. I knew I would make my sub-13 hour personal cut-off at the speed I was running, but I still had work to do. For the first time in the run I began to smile. I lifted my head, widened my eyes, straightened my back. I felt a surge jolt through my bones. By the time we got to the fourth loop, I felt renewed. I was reborn. It was as if my race had just begun. After 213.8km of suffering, I let go.

The final loop was the fastest loop for me. I stormed through the aid stations, surged through the uphills and then barrelled down the corresponding downhills. I was feeling good. I felt renewed and refreshed. This must what they call the athlete's "second wind". And all of a sudden, I was running down the final stretch.

It seemed to appear out of nowhere. One long dark straight road, then a left 180° turn and then.. Yes.

Yes, walls of people.
Yes, a thunder of applause and cheers.
Yes, a wave of emotions.
Yes.

Yes, it was surreal. There was clapping and there was cheering. I turned around to see, but there was nobody but me.
Yes they were cheering for me.

A tsunami of emotion flooded my body. I became high on joy and disbelief. Yes, I did it. Yes, I survived.

Yes!
I jumped in amazement.
Yes!
I screamed in disbelief.

YES! YES!!! YES!!!!

As I strode the last meters towards the finish, snapshots of the day came flashing across my brain. Yes the pain, yes the frustration, yes the struggles.

Somehow, someway, yes. I did it. Yes I did.

YES!!!

I cut the tape in 9:235, or 12:55, whichever you prefer.

Post Race
The conditions at Zurich on that day were absurd. It was 10°C when we started and 17°C when I ended. The race had a DNF rate of 20%, of which 2 other Singaporeans were unfortunately part of.

I am proud of myself to have finished. And although I tell myself that the race should be proof that I can withstand anything, I don’t yet believe me.

As humans, when we encounter life’s toughest obstacles, we strive to find meaning. We want to know why we’re better, how we’ve changed. We want to know in the end if it was all worth it. We want to know why. We want to believe that there is more than a t-shirt and a finisher’s medal. There has to be.

I found a piece of me during my struggles at Zurich. I don’t know what it means or where it fits, I don’t know if I’ll ever figure that out or even care. But deep down inside I believe – I have to – that I am a better man because of it all. And I suppose sometimes that’s all you can ask for.

After all, I am an Ironman. And that’s gotta count for something.

with the end in sight

As usual, photos of the race can be found here. =)
A short video of the day's proceedings on Youtube here, and a clip of my finish.