Longhorn Race Report

I had stated that my goal for this race was to run the hardest last 5K of my life. However, the weather forecast called for 89 degrees; and the night before the race I made my #1 race day priority to not get heat exhaustion/heat stroke. The difference between heat exhaustion and heat stroke is (among other things) about an 80% mortality rate for the latter. I think I pushed heat exhaustion just about up to the heat stroke line at Eagleman by having mental status changes. Also, once you have heat stroke you are more susceptable to it in the future. I looked upon all these facts emotionlessly and came up with a plan to pour an entire water bottle on my head (no brain-baking aero helmet!) at every aid station and back off watts and pace by 25% if I began to feel overheated.

"Masters must be paying off!"
The water temp was 78 degrees--the same as the Nazareth pool where I swim. I planned on no wetsuit so as to not overheat. I also mentally prepared myself to have a slow swim without the wetsuit and not get completely locked into making up that time on the bike. The water was calm and lovely. I started on the outside and in the front, aiming straight for the first turn buoy. For just about most of the swim, I had someone to draft and happily settled into a rhythm that required me to exert slightly more than a casual pace. Upon exiting the water, I looked down at my watch and saw 34 minutes. No freaking way! I couldn't have missed a buoy because I was surrounded by my fellow age groupers. Did my entire swim wave miss a buoy?
No wetsuit means no wetsuit to wrestle off. How nice to not have to do reenact that WWF match of Hulk Hogan vs. Andre the Giant with my wetsuit in transition.

Triathletes on tri bikes = bad cornering
The bike course wound through the rolling hills of east Texas. The sky was mercifully overcast; and the pavement had only a few bumps thoughtfully marked in bright yellow by the race organizers. The first aid station had a lingerie theme as I almost rode my bike off course trying to grab a water bottle from a well-endowed volunteer in black lace negligee. I took it easy for the first 25 minutes and rode within my planned watts, feeling like I was holding back the entire ride. I took all my calories and salt on schedule, peed at mile 30, and waited for Kevin to pass me (his wave was 12 minutes behind mine). The aid stations themes were 70's aerobics class, cowboys, disco which made for great entertainment every 12 miles.
About every 20 minutes, a peloton of 20-40 guys in the 30-34, 35-40 age group would ride through either in a double pace line or 4 abreast. I take the whole drafting rule seriously even though I've never been in contention for a Kona spot or age group win---there's simply no victory in cheating. However, being surrounded by the packs of riders there was nowhere to go to avoid the drafting. Even slowing down to fall back was not an option as I was completely surrounded. The only way to not draft would have been to be riding my mountain bike off the pavement. At mile 40, my CO2 cartridge fell off and hit the magnet for my bike computer. With every revolution of my rear wheel, there was a ping! of the magnet hitting the sensor on the chainstay. I didn't want to stop and fix it with only 16 miles to go; and the annoying pingpingping! made the drafting packs ride faster away from me.
The course had a few sharp turns. I seemed to find myself going through most of them with nervous cyclists riding the brakes through the entire corner. The unnecessary loss of free speed was frustrating, but the potential for eating pavement seemed quite high. I was grateful for my mountain bike rides on twisty technical trails and cornering in loose dirt and gravel and vowed to do more of it during the off-season.
I finished my 700 Calories by mile 40 and felt hungry at mile 47. I grabbed a Gatorade Endurance at the last aid station thereby missing out on the water to pour over my head. There was a bit of a head wind for the last half of the ride and I was beginning to feel warm. However, I was holding my watts without a problem.

Focused suffering
For the first 4 miles of the run, my legs were leaden, my gut queasy, and my head swimming. I figured I would feel this way because it's been my routine for the last 4 HIM. I knew I would have to walk every aid station (quickly walk!) in order to pour cups of water, wring sponges and wet towels over my head, and drink. I accepted that it would slow me down, but was essential to ward off the heat stroke demons. There were 8 aid stations for each loop--16 total, each well stocked with wonderful volunteers. Keith Jordan really organized this race perfectly for the conditions.
Between the aid stations were bands: a rock band, a high school marching band that played "Ironman" with an off key trumpet and trombone section (I had never heard Black Sabbath in marching band form before!), a troupe of xylophonists, a man playing his guitar and harmonica at the same time. Following suit, the run course aid stations were themed as well. The most memorable one was the Superheroes at the bottom of the Quadzilla climb. Batman was in full black cape, tights, utility belt, and heavy black leather gloves.
Part of the run course went through uneven grassy trails with rolling hills and the infamous Quadzilla climb which was dotted with signs that read: Red meat isn't bad for you. Green, fuzzy meat is bad for you. The heat was constant on pavement and on trail--there really wasn't any shade at all. I basically clawed my way from aid station to aid station, clinging to the hope of cold, wet sponges. I felt really hungry twice on the run, took a gel with water each time, and felt bloated until the next aid station. I really wanted to eat something solid but knew I wasn't emptying my stomach because I was belching loudly--like Barney from the Simpsons--every 5-10 minutes. I think I was really at my physical limit to run, keep cool, and process calories. A few really fresh looking runners passed me and before I could curse my lack of acclimatization I realized that they were on relay teams. On the second climb of Quadzilla, one of those runners said to me, "Pain is weakness leaving your body." I let out the mother of all belches and said, "Burping is gas leaving my stomach."
At mile 10 I said,"Kitima, it's time to start hurting yourself." I stopped looking at my Garmin and pushed my effort until I could feel myself overheating. I knew I was going slow as I was on the grassy trail part and the last 0.6 miles was a cruel uphill to the finish line. I crossed the finish close to barfing and a bit dizzy, but conscious enough to ask for 2 race towels (I covet race towels).
Overall, I'm happy with my effort. My results are a bit disappointing but consistent with my inconsistent training this season--so it's really an issue of having realistic expectations. I have 4 weeks of off-season to process and learn from this season and make plans for the next. The race organization and the enthusiasm of the volunteers was one of the best I've ever experienced.