Baja Half Ironman, Ensenada, Mexico – May 21st, 2006

Traveling to various cities around the world for triathlon races has made me all the more appreciative of what I have here at home, not only in Vancouver but also in Canada. My recent trip to Ensenada, Mexico, a city just 70 miles south of San Diego, was a good reminder of how fortunate we are to have clean streets, smooth road surfaces, trustworthy drinking water (for the most part), space in our backyards and roofs over our heads.

The purpose of my trip to Baja was to launch my racing season. Even though I tested my fitness in a half marathon in February, a half Ironman in March, a 10km running race in April, and a cycling time trial and a duathlon in mid-May, this was the first time I would rest and put on my race face. The Baja Half Ironman is part of the new 70.3 (a half Ironman distance in miles) Race Series, owned by Ironman North America. Each 70.3 race is a qualifier for the 70.3 world championships on November 11th in Clearwater, Florida. Fortunately, I qualified at the half IM in March, so the pressure to earn a spot was off at Baja.

Race day was Sunday and I traveled down on Wednesday night. I arrived at the San Diego Airport hopeful that someone from the race organization would be there to pick me up and take me through the border to Mexico (something my mother was dreading). No one from the race had returned my calls or emails in the three weeks prior to the race. All I had to rely on was one brief conversation a month earlier with the race director, who said, “Yes, no problem, someone will be at the airport to pick you up.” As I discovered, Mexicans always say, “Yes, no problem, everything is wonderful,” even if the world is crashing down around them. It’s a commendably positive attitude, but you can’t always rely on truth behind the sentiment!

Five minutes after deplaning, I spotted a man holding a sign that said “Christine Fletcher.” I made a quick phone call to my parents to tell them everything was okay and a few more phone calls to tie up loose ends, since my cellular access would end for five days as soon as we crossed the border. My driver took me to my quaint motel, called Villa Fontana, located in the heart of Ensenada. The only thing that looked familiar to me in town were the golden arches of McDonalds, which ended up being my fine-dining destination that first night. I figured I could trust Ronald.

Brian’s first email to me emphasized the importance of figuring out my food situation. He told me to find out where my food was coming from. Where were the grocery stores? Where could I buy bottled water? Were there reliable restaurants in which to eat dinner? Where was a coffee shop? I tried to address this priority but the grocery stores are not like ours and, of course, neither are the food choices. A normal loaf of bread just didn’t seem to exist. I found some bananas, yogurt and bottled water to store in my room. Outside of dinners, I relied on the snacks I brought from home.

On Thursday, I was happy to meet up with friends from Vancouver: Stephen Holmes, president of Triathlon Canada, and Cullen Goodyear, an avid Ironman athlete in the 60-65-age category. As we discovered, it was impossible to “train” in Ensenada. The road surface is horrendous, there are no public pools for swimming, and there are very few routes to run without traffic lights, big trucks and exhaust fumes. I did the bare minimum, which also ensured I was rested on race day.

On Friday the three of us, and every other competitor, took on the daunting task of learning the recently modified racecourse, following protocol to get registered, identifying the two transitions and coming to the realization that this was a first-year event with many overlooked logistical details. The biggest lesson of the day came as we drove the new 90-kilometre bike course (changed without warning to the competitors) from the town of Ensenada to a derelict town called Las Mision. The outgoing route consisted of a huge climb to 3,000 feet, rolling hills and a steep descent with tight switchbacks and dangerous cliffs. We would turn 180 degrees around an orange cone and come back the same route in reverse. No one could have anticipated such an epic course for a first-year event.

By Saturday I was beginning to feel like I had been there a bit long. I was missing my cell phone and email communication. Without distractions, however, I had plenty of time to rest, stretch and write my race plan. The day revolved around checking in our gear bags to the swim-to-bike transition and the bike-to-run transition, attending the pre-race meeting and getting to bed early. With the best intentions, the organizers began the meeting on time, even though hundreds of people were still upstairs in line to register. Much to the organizers’ dismay, the competitors had many more questions than could have been anticipated. What was supposed to be a brief 45-minute meeting turned into a 3-hour barrage of questions. What is being served on the course? Will there be transportation in the morning? Where do we pick up our bikes after the race? Do we wear our race number during the bike? What are the cut-off times? Must we check our bikes in today? Will the water be bottled on the course? How many aid stations? The questions were endless. The organizers were quick to reassure but knew they had some work to do before 5 a.m. the next morning.

I was feeling good. My body was rested and I was emotionally ready to race. I also noticed that every top female pro triathlete from San Diego had jumped in her car to come race. This would be a wonderfully challenging field and an excellent test of my current fitness. I knew I had no excuse to race well.

Race morning began at 4:30 a.m. Still full from dinner the night before, I stuffed down half a bagel, a banana with peanut butter, coffee and a bottle of water. Later in the morning I tried to eat a yogurt, but it held no appeal at all. My main concerns were ensuring that my tubular tires on my Specialized rocket were pumped up properly by the race mechanic, performing a decent warm-up and getting into my wetsuit early so I could adjust to the temperature of the ocean. Our bikes hung on dilapidated railings that sagged in the middle. The first four racks were dedicated to the pros’ bikes. This was the only sense of organization the transitions had, otherwise it was a multimillion-dollar-equipment free-for-all. With my tires pumped to 170 psi and my helmet, shoes and fuel placed to perfection, I headed out for a 15-minute jog. The highway was the only access road from transition. Within 5 minutes I ran into a vicious dog showing me his sharp teeth and threatening to taste my ankles. Since my girlfriend, Tara Norton, had just been bitten by a dog during her training run in St. Croix, I decided to turn on my heel and forgo a lengthy warm-up.

The athletes began to funnel to the waterfront with about 15 minutes left before the race started. The pro men were to start at 7:00 a.m. and the pro women at 7:02 a.m. The age group athletes would follow our lead. At 6:50 a.m. the announcer informed us that many athletes were just arriving due to the lack of transportation from town. This upset delayed the race by 45 minutes. The wait felt like a lifetime of standing in anticipation of the start gun.

Once the race got underway, I quickly found some feet to draft off of—those of Kate Major, who has twice finished third2-time at the World Ironman championships. With only four buoys to guide us around a 2-kilometre swim course, I knew I needed someone with experience to rely on for sighting the course, and she was a good choice. I was so excited to exit the water with Kate in just over 28 minutes. My best swim ever.

Kate was quick to exit transition but I caught up to her 10 kilometres into the ride and held strong for the outgoing portion of the ride. As we returned, she slowly pulled away from me. My legs felt so strong during the ride. I lost some momentum and concentration during the return due to the head winds and my unappetizing nutrition, but I kept repeating the word “strong” to refocus. I was 8th pro female coming into T2. This was the same position I held until the end of the race.

The double-loop run began at the port of Ensenada. My stomach immediately began to slosh as I headed out on the run, a signal that I was sodium deprived. I needed some electrolytes, to help me absorb the fluids into my cells. The volunteers handed out water and Coke in baggies and Gatorade in cups, but there was no gel or salt to be found. I held my modest pace but could not muster more speed in fear of upsetting my stomach. At this point, I wanted to hold onto a top 10 finish and sub 5-hour half Ironman. I achieved both goals, and best of all, I was only a few minutes behind Kate. I only found out my finishing time after the race, because the organizers forgot to install a finish-line clock! Surely they will hear about this oversight from every obsessive-compulsive type A triathlete who was gunning for a personal best and can’t wait to find out the results.

I was ready for a shower and a change of clothes within minutes of finishing. My motel was a mere two blocks from the finish area. I walked over to the bike depot to collect my Specialized rocket. I was confronted with 1,000 bikes lined up next to each other in ten rows—no system, no numbers, nothing to indicate which bike was yours. The volunteer monitor asked me, “What colour is your bike?” I laughed as I said red—as if mine was the only red bike there! So we walked up and down each aisle looking for my red bike, only to find it in the last row, tucked in between two other red bikes.

Stephen and Cullen had their own adventures. Stephen’s tri bars loosened due to the rattling from the poor road surface and Cullen missed getting her finish line t-shirt and medal. She raised hell about that. Together we laughed, cursed, and commiserated about our experiences. Personally, I have never appreciated the comforts of my bed more than after I returned from the so-called resort destination of Baja.

Next on my schedule is a sprint triathlon in Oliver, BC on June 18th and Ironman Coeur D’Alene on June 25th.

Christine

Sponsored by:
Innovative Fitness
John Henry Bikes
Specialized
Pearl Izumi
Aquaman Wetsuits

California Ford Half Ironman, March 18th, 2006

March brings with it cherry blossoms, chocolate bunnies in the stores, and the start of the racing season for triathletes. In New Zealand, violent winds two weeks ago forced the Ironman organizers to cancel the swim and slash the bike and run distances in half. The following weekend, our local triathletes braved cool temperatures at the UBC triathlon. March 18th marked the race date for the Commonwealth Triathlon event in Melbourne as well as the California Ford Half Ironman in Oceanside (25 miles north of San Diego). Ready, set, go!

My season started, for the second year in a row, with the Half Ironman in California. There are some who poke fun at athletes who peak for this early season race, claiming that those who peak in March will be suffering by October. Yet who really knows how everyone’s season will play out? The winners of the event, Luke Bell and Michellie Jones, are both likely to have the last laugh as they master multiple peaks throughout the year. They are simply far superior performers to the rest of the field, and can win races even at sub-peak fitness.

I had three goals for this race. First, this event marked the beginning of my race season and would fire up my race muscles. Second, this event was intended to test my run fitness. Third, I was hoping to qualify for the 70.3 World Championship event, held for the first time in November in Clearwater, Florida.

I accomplished two of my three goals. My eagerness to race is stronger than ever and my eagerness to train smartly has been reinforced. I qualified to the World Championships, as did my training partners, Paul Krochuk and Michael Simpson. I was unable, however, to test my run fitness, since my digestive system did not cooperate and I was forced to take a few breaks.

The trip itself was exceptional. I traveled and bunked with Paul at the Days Inn Oceanside, which was a five-minute walk to the race start at Oceanside Harbour Pier. We both loved drinking coffee, eating well and watching Will & Grace repeats. Nothing beats Karen’s (rich snobby co-star) humor to take the edge off an upcoming race. Brian, my coach, was very much a part of the race organization and was appointed the Run Race Director. He worked day and night, along with hundreds of others, setting up the course and attending to race details. This was a bonus and a burden. While he would constantly provide updates on race day changes or athlete gossip, he was far too busy to have much face time for race strategy discussion. Eighteen hours before the start of the race, we found a Starbucks to review the Plan.

The Plan was as follows:
Swim fast. Swim as fast as my arms and legs could churn and kick with one objective in mind—stay warm. The water temperature was all of 55 degrees Fahrenheit. It was so cold, in fact, that the organizers were offering age grouper athletes the option to swim only 700 meters instead of the full 2.0 kilometers. I had my best swim ever and exited with some of the top swimmers.

Bike conservatively. Break the ride down into four quarters with a different focus on each. Cadence, Muscle Recruitment, Effort, Race. My goal was to conserve some energy for the run. The ride was grueling so I consciously conserved energy. In hindsight, I feel I could have given this ride more than I did but my focus was the run, so I kept my eye on the ball.

Run to my potential. That meant running an effort I am trained to exert. It also meant staying mentally focused on keeping a fast, smooth foot cadence, hips forward and relaxed shoulders. It was all supposed to come down to my last 15 kilometers (the first five kilometers were dedicated to adjusting to the run and to setting the pace). Sadly, just as I was catching a few girls ahead, I had to make a detour to the seaside bushes of a residential road. Did these stops cost me in time and a compromised pace for fear of churning my insides? Likely. For this reason alone, I was sad not to have run to my potential. On the other hand, my competitive juices are fired up in great anticipation of the season ahead.

Brian and I had agreed ahead of time that the only way I could upset my race was to ride too hard in the bike leg. What we failed to discuss was gastric distress, an all-too-common occurrence in triathlon and the number one cause for DNFs. Fortunately, I know what caused this distress and in the future I will definitely avoid the foods I ate to bring these symptoms on. Better to know the answer than to wonder why it happened!

Having earned my spot at the World 70.3 Championships (see http://www.ironmanlive.com/ for more info) and with my racing season officially launched, my trip to California was a success. For those of you who raced in the UBC triathlon, I applaud you. If you plan to carry on racing this season or if you are kicking off your season in the next few weeks or months, I have a word of advice: avoid fiber for 48 hours leading up to a race and definitely avoid bran muffins the morning of a race!

Christine