It has been very quiet since coming home from Los Cabos. Usually after a race, friends, colleagues and family ask to hear all about my day. Since I have improved as an athlete over the years and have managed to finish under 11 hours in my last 4 races (excluding Kona) most people know I always hope to be faster and the goal is a Kona slot or podium finish.
Looking at my results from Sunday it is obvious I didn’t have a fast race. For anyone familiar with Ironman – anyone who would look at the bike / run splits – it is also clear that there wasn’t a ‘technical’ issue that stopped me briefly and affected my time. Outside of a great swim, it is evident the entire day was ‘slow’ relative to my best.
When I know someone is capable of a certain time and the results are way off, I am reluctant to send a message right away. The race might be a sensitive topic, a scab not to be picked. With that in mind I am not surprised so few people who knew I was racing have asked about my day.
Sometimes the worst race creates the best memory. For me Los Cabos is exactly that.
Swim
The swim is in the Sea of Cortez, which can have a significant swell. There was concern in the days before that a hurricane heading for Puerta Vallarta would affect us and possibly cancel the swim. Race morning the weather was clear. The water was too warm for wetsuits and there was definitely some chop but it wasn’t worrisome. With < 1000 competitors entering the water in a rolling start it was a very civilized beginning. Outside of looking up to see a turn buoy being driven away by a Jet Ski, the swim was really enjoyable!
> The moving turn buoy was the talk of the day for a group of us swimming around the same speed: we turned away from the course and swam after the big yellow triangle like a group of Lemmings. We were all trying to abide by the rules; wanting to go around it on our left. With the inflated cone zipping past us, heading in the opposite direction, there wasn’t much you could do other than chalk it up to ‘Only in Mexico’ and carry on.
Nonetheless, I exited the water with a 1:09, good for me, especially for an ocean swim. I ran through T1 excited and feeling awesome!
Bike
The bike course is rolling hills, with no shade and potentially a good deal of wind. It’s 2 loops on decent pavement on closed roads. Coming off a great day in Muskoka, claiming to love hills, and with experience racing in the heat – Kona, Cozumel, Louisville – I have no excuse for a poor ride. My bike was running beautifully, I arrived in Mexico healthy, slept well, ate well and felt great coming out of T1. Nutrition was on and truthfully, I adjusted to the temperature just fine. Yes, it was hot – but was Mexico, anyone ill prepared for that shouldn’t be there.
No, no reason why I should be feeling awful 15 km into the ride. But I did. It is an ‘awful’ I can’t explain or define. I wasn’t nauseous. It wasn’t the flu. I simply had nothing. It was as if I had bonked before I even began. The scenery was beautiful, though I can’t say I enjoyed it! The bike leg was sheer misery from start to finish. Again, it wasn’t the course. While it isn’t easy I don’t think it is that difficult. On a perfect day I doubt it would be a PB course for me, but it should be a lot of fun.
Km over km my energy drained steadily to zero. I didn’t think I could physically complete the 180km. The IM saying: ‘the first 90 km should feel easy’ did not apply. I was 60km in and desperate to stop and lie down. Starting the 2nd lap I decided to get the bike finished and pull out of the race. I didn’t feel like a quitter, I thought a DNF was the responsible choice. This experience was so foreign to me I was really quite concerned.
I love to run, so for me to make a decision not to start the marathon, something is definitely wrong. I saw Marvin at 150 km and pulled over telling him to meet me in T2. I would grab my stuff, shower and come back to cheer on friends in the marathon. I wasn’t sour, or sulking. It just didn’t seem wise to start a marathon in 30+ degrees after feeling exhausted and powerless on the bike for 6 ½ hours.
The only thing keeping me going on those last kms of the bike was knowing I was done at T2.
Run
As I rolled into transition and handed off my bike there was a huge sense of relief. Oddly, a feeling of accomplishment – it had been that bad. Mid way through the ride, I didn’t think I would make it to T2, but I did. Yay! (?)
Marvin was there encouraging me as I moved awkwardly into the change tent. ‘Just start the run! It’s your favorite part. Give it a try! Just see how it goes – don’t quit!’ I sat down, took of my helmet. Took a few deep breaths. As if on autopilot I changed my shoes, packed my gels and headed out.
Leaving T2 I saw Rob who cheered ‘Yes! Go run, you are a runner, this is your favorite part!’ And so I went. It was slow. I was feeling terrible. The course is 3 loops. I didn’t think I could run the marathon. My intent in starting was to see how long I could go before walking – possibly to run 1 loop, walk 2? The problem was, I had started the run. It wasn’t going to be a ‘clean’ DNF anymore. A swim / bike with no run times demonstrates a conscious decision to exit early. Starting the run shows I thought I could do it, but couldn’t. Different kind of DNF, in my view. So now I had started and I couldn’t handle the second kind of DNF. Crap.
Because I was so far behind my regular times, Fiona was texting Marvin from the run course: ‘Where’s Ali?’ He had convinced me to start the marathon but I was not well and had wanted to stop in T2. Fiona would have none of that! She ran up to me at 8 km. Before I could say anything, tell her I was in rough shape, wasn’t sure if I could keep going, she held up her hand, ‘No. Don’t want to hear it. No. Not a word – You are the diesel engine. The run is your favorite part. You keep running. Forget the bike. Don’t you quit!’.
And so began the tag team encouragement … badgering? (smile) that carried on for the next 42 km. Brandon caught me at 10 km – yelling, chasing me – ‘ALI DAVIES don’t you quit! You run baby, you run! Don’t you quit!’ Fortunately … or unfortunately? (smile) … the Cabo run course is star shaped with corners athletes pass through 3x each lap. Needless to say, with a coach and friends strategically placed in these sections cheering … heckling? … loud enough that athletes 5km away could hear, you find a way to keep going.
It took two very unfun loops of the course to do it, but I managed to replace the fake smile with a real one around the 30 km mark. At that point, I knew I would run the entire marathon and I was actually feeling much better. I was sincerely grateful that Rob, Marvin, Fiona, Brandon and others were out there and had kept me in the race. Without them I would have walked away. With them, not only did I finish the race – I truly loved the last 14 km.
In that last lap I ran without discomfort, finally taking in the environment, spectators, volunteers and athletes. I was able to refocus on the amazing experience that is Ironman – whatever the pace.
The finish line in Cabo is amazing, and I was thrilled to cross it: running, smiling, happy, humbled.
Afterthought
Results never tell the full story. On paper a disappointing race. In truth, an experience I wouldn’t trade for a better time. The memory of this day, and that feeling across the finish line will carry me through many more tough races. Even when I feel terrible, I love this sport. Not only for the swim, bike, run but for the people that have made everything about it so much more than swim, bike, run.
So the season is officially done. Bring on Fat Fall!