IMSA 2012 – Peter Coombe seeks redemption

Well, here are at the start of IMSA 2012, standing on the beach looking at the water, thinking that someone has really pissed off the gods of the sea, it looks ugly, never mind that, the wind is blowing like you cannot believe, so the gods of the air are also in a really, really bad mood, this is going to be epic, I came here to race, I came here knowing the wind would blow, I came here thinking that is good because I am strong. The worse the conditions, the better for me.  Be careful what you wish for.

Quick flashback. This time two years ago I stood in the same place (well actually about 100 metres further back, as I am now on the front row of the start with the “fast” swimmers) with only a small hope of actually finishing, most of you know the “shoulder story” so no need to recap.  Then last year in France, while Jo was busy qualifying for Hawaii I was hatching a plan which could only be described as bordering on the insane.  I was going to “race” an ironman, not just complete one but actually race it, push hard, get the best out of myself, end up feeling like an athlete, not just someone there to make up the numbers.  Indeed I had lost all sense of reality, surely that was not possible?

Now, in your own head, think about a video montage of me training for the last 9 months with Eye of the Tiger as the sound track, Got it?  Ok, here are the highlights to insert.

Swimming, we all know I have issues swim training.  I am so protective of my lower back I will not do any of the following.  Kick, swim butterfly, swim back stroke or in fact do anything that is not just freestyle swimming pretty much.  So what do I do?  Religious use of the theraband to keep the small shoulder muscles active and balanced AND I allow myself one gym-based indulgence to  flash back to my rugby playing iron pumping past.  Straight arm pull downs, if you don’t do them, do them, they make you strong for swimming. (Montage, me in gym pumping iron)

Riding. Yes, you guessed it, go fast round the velodrome (also prime montage material). My approach to bike training has been simple; do every session exactly as prescribed by Sean, my supercoach.  That means not racing everyone, not fanging it down beach road, not trying to do 3 repeats on Kinglake when I am just not ready to do that and then backup with a run the next day, but do 2 as suggested.  Stick to my own heart rate targets and train moderately but consistently.  This approach quickly became validated when I started keeping up with all the fast guys on training rides, getting up Kinglake three times and running the next day (only managed that once by the way).  Moderation and consistency.  Now that is hardly montage material so here is a few specifics for you to add in, me riding back from Portarlington, 110km on the freeway at 5:00am lit up like a Christmas tree. Or me on the Velodrome, with non-one to see me going fast ‘cos it is 4:30am and I have to be on a plane at 8:00am for work.  Finish that off with a “chewing nails” 20km TT in 28:30 and there you go.

Running. Ah, running, my favourite part.  Again, boring as it is, consistency and moderation.  Do what Sean tells me, without exception.  I have almost got Sean to buy into the run/walk thing I think.  In short I run (4 minutes) / walk (1 minute) anything that is going to be over an hour of constant running.  Why?  Because more than that tends to lead me into issues related to my back problems; loss of feeling and function in my legs etc, not ideal.  Am I being over-cautious? Maybe. Do I care? Not a bit.  The improvement in my running by sticking to this has been incredible, not more than a year ago, a 500 metre effort at 4:30 pace was a significant achievement, four weeks out from IMSA I ran 6 x 1km repeats at 4:10 pace. Not earth shattering, but for me unbelievable. (For montage purposes they were on the two bridges loop by the tan)

Ok, so you have the visuals you need, and the music, so shut your eyes and run it all through as I did before the race.  Video Training montage in my head while staring at the angry sea, a classic moment in sport.

So here we go.  Jo has got herself a Media pass via the witsup.com website so is able to be on the beach, in front of the mass swim start, very clever girl she is.  So I get to see here just before we head off.  Oh did I mention the two hours of pouring and freezing rain before the swim start and everyone hiding in small corners of the transitions area to try and stay warm and dry but failing?  No, never mind it was nothing compared with what was to come.

The cannon fires, a very nice small bronze number, very loud.  We are off and I am piling into the surf. Not much running, before the water is deep enough to swim in. Good, cos I hate running, have I ever mentioned that?  A soon as I am swimming I know something is not right.  The water is strange, it is moving in multiple directions, the waves over the top of me are going one way but the small particles in the water seem to be going the other way, and I am not sure which way I am going!  Anyway, heading out the first 300 metres to the first buoy, I am in a big group of people smashing themselves to get a head start.  My plan for the swim was simple, hard constant effort.  No sprint start, just even pacing.  As we approach the buoy for the hard left turn I take a line that will put me right into the heart of the rush around the buoy, not usually my style but I am here to race so in we go!  I absolutely plough round the corner, over people, round people and through people.  It was awesome, I should do it more often!  Anyway now heading down the long straight.  At this point the sea seems to suddenly take offence to us being there.  It appears that the current and the waves are going in totally different directions which make the surface of the water like 1000 whirlpools.  You would swim onto a wave, it would lift you up, turn you maybe 30 degrees then bring you back down.  This meant swimming in a straight line was just not possible.  One thing I did notice that that point was that I was almost by myself, the “Sprinters” had all died away.  Good, I like clear water to swim in so I can see where I am going, or that is usually the plan but at this stage it is not even possible to see the massive crane on the land that Jo and I had picked as a landmark to sight on this leg of the swim, the sea surface is just mental.  I make the second buoy, again hard left turn and 100m to the next buoy. Small problem, the current is pushing me back down the course so I have to swim on an angle to go in a straight line to get to this buoy. That could explain a few things! I think to myself, okay the return swim will be fast and I will make up lost time.  Or perhaps not.  The previously mentioned “rotating wave effect” is even worse swimming with the current, one wave actually turns me 90 degrees to the right!  Anyway I keep ploughing on, still alone and happy to be so.  I reach the third and final buoy and take the hard right into the beach. Again I am swimming on an angle to stay in a straight line.  I reach the beach and stand up. Look at my watch.  33mins. I am devastated. (Did I mention this was a two lap swim?) I hear Jo shouting that I am way up the field and the swim is slow, I begin to believe her when I see I am actually on the beach for the turnaround and I am in with some of the Pro females.  Ok, I was after bad conditions to get my best race so here I am I get my wish!  Back into the water and off again.  Lap 2; just like lap 1 but much much worse.  The waves are bigger, the current stronger.  I start overtaking people who were ahead of me and the conditions start to sap the strength of the technically good swimmers, I overtake some more pros.  I am going as hard as I can and at times I am going nowhere, but I seem to be going better than most.  Half way through the second lap I start catching the back end of the field, these guys are in big trouble.  I even cop a double kick in the face from someone doing breaststroke that a wave decided to dump straight in front of me.  I am back on the beach, time check 1:10. Wow.  I look back at the sea, it is only getting worse.  Jo shouts I am top 100, not too bad for a fat boy.

T1, wetsuit off, number on, shoes on, extra top on cos it is so cold and gone.  No coffee break, no happy conversation with the helpers, I am racing and I am gone.

On the bike and away, I turn out of transition and BANG, the wind gets a hold of me. Holy crap this is going to be a long day.  The bike, I split into the following section, which I have named for your reference.  “The bit through town”, is the bit through town, about 8kms long and into the wind, “The climb” is a slight uphill of about 10kms, “the freeway out” is from the top of the climb to the turn around and is about 9kms, it is followed by “the freeway back” which is 6kms before you come to “ deadmans gully” around 8kms, a section that comes off the freeway and heads towards the coast, slight downhill and SHOULD be tailwind, that is followed by “the Drop”, about 4kms but more on that later and then we have “The runway” which is along the coast, all tailwind and brings you back to the bit through town, 15kms.  Get it?

The transition area is about half way up the bit through town and the wind is blowing almost dead in my face, the buildings make it swirl around a bit so staying in a straight line is also a bit tricky.  I get to the bottom of the climb for the first time, it is a slight left turn, further into the wind.  I have done 4km, I am out of the saddle putting a fair bit of effort through the pedals and I am doing 18kph….awesome.  The climb runs for 10kms past a number of small shopping centres and follows the main road through this bit of town, so the surface is good.  There are people everywhere cheering us on huddled round cups of coffee and sheltering behind their cars to stay out of the wind.  I am tucked as much into my bike as possible and making some good headway into the wind, I am overtaking people also, I can see the conditions have got into their heads and this is just lap one.  Half way up the climb I am overtaken by a tiny Swiss lady on a cheetah, yes I was until that point ahead of Natascha.  I would have given myself a pat on the back but could not let go of the aerobars for fear of losing control of bike.  I make it to the aid station at the top of the climb and refill my powerade, after the aid station you go over the top of the climb onto the freeway out.  At this stage I am at the top of the hill with nothing sheltering me from the wind, I am almost blown to a standstill by a sudden increase in the wind but keep pushing on towards the upcoming downhill section of the freeway out hoping to get some relief, none is forthcoming, 13kms in.  It is at this stage I make a decision.  These conditions are totally screwed, my swim time was screwed, my bike time will be screwed and then I will be screwed for my run, in the light of that knowledge, pacing plan for the bike goes out of the window and it is hammer time!  I mean what the hell, this race is now just a battle to finish; it will turn out to have the highest DNF rate of any event ever.  May as well toast my legs and get this over and done with really.  So that was how it was going to be, push, push and then push some more.  So along the freeway out, dead set headwind, head down, gripping the bars to just stay on the bike, trying to time eating to when I had some shelter from a bump in the land, getting as much powerade down me as possible to allow for the higher sugar burn of my revised race “strategy” if you can call it that.  I make it to the end of the Freeway out and make the U turn, instantly I take off with the wind behind me, but no resting, no copping out, push push push to take advanatage of the tailwind.  Very fast few kms, 45-50 all the way, then off the freeway into Deadmans Gully, “Why the funny name?” I hear you say, well this is why.  This stretch of road is through some big houses with big walls and even bigger hedges, as a result is almost totally sheltered from the wind, you know the one that is now BEHIND me, nothing , nada, zilch.  I had not expected that and I am pissed.  Ok so off we go anyway, not much support out here, just push push push.

Now things get really freaky, at the end of deadmans gully you take a sharp right onto a four lane  road, this is the drop, I should be going down this at 50kms but the sides of the drop do not have trees and so the road is totally exposed to the wind and the wind is directly from the side (Right), it blows me across the road, across all four lanes before I can get control to the bike and lean enough into it to stay straight, but you cannot go above about 30kph without being so unstable as to be unsafe, so I grip hard and again stay tucked to the bike.  I make it to the bottom and turn onto the runway.  100% pure tailwind and lots of it, the hammer goes down again and we are at 55kph, the road surface is terrible but I seem to be barely touching it so all is GOOD!!  Halfway down the runway I spot a lone figure delving into her rusksack, it is Joey and I scream past her as she shouts after me.  You will note I have not talked about other riders; that is because other than at the start I have not seen any, I have been all alone, very odd I thought.  The runway again becomes the bit through town and I am down from 55 to 20kph back into the headwind, basically it is here we go again.   As I pass transition I see it is still a bit full with bikes, the drop out rate at the end of the swim must have been huge.  The wind is noticeably getting stronger, “great” I think.  Lap 2, wind on lap 1 was 40 gusting to 60, wind is now 50 gusting to 70, and I know the forecast is for it to get worse, so on we go.  Back onto the climb, wind so strong you cannot get out of your saddle to push up the sharper sections because it will blow you over, I have to stay tucked in and low just to remain upright, but the plan remains the same, the hammer is down and not coming up.  At the top of the climb I start catching backmarkers and it is carnage, they are all over the road, they are walking bikes uphill because they cannot ride into the wind, they are getting blown into hedges and falling off, mayhem.  At this point I start to think about the cookie jar.  You know the one you start the race with, and you have to use your cookies carefully so and not to run out?  How many cookies do I have left, or will have left by the end of this ride?  The obvious answer is no, I know I am pushing too hard, I am making all the mistakes I tell everyone not too but what choice do I have, bow down to the elements?  At the top of the climb lunacy ensues. The wind is so strong the people at the aid station cannot stand still, they are having to hide behind cars to not get blown about and run out to hand things to athletes, madness. The rest of the lap is much like the first, but an amped up version of instability and inability to take your hands off the bars, I am stuffing my nutrition down whenever I can but mainly am putting powerade down my neck as fast as possible from my aerobottle.  Deadmans gully pisses me off again and the runway is now flowing at 60kph, I see Joey again in a blur she is gone.  Back into town, back into the wind and yet again it is stronger, now a steady 60kph gusting to 80, strongest gust of the day recorded at 100kph.  We are now in the realms of alternative reality, I am in bottom gear, on the flat, hammering along at 13kph, and I am going well compared to everyone around me.  The looks on faces show desperation.  I have my head in the cookie jar and there are not many left.  Third time up the climb and I am now out of ways to describe what is going on, spectators are now in their cars, a small dog that has been cheering us on is actually picked up by the wind and bundled tail over ears backwards, being saved by the fact it is attached to its owner.  It takes shelter behind its friend, a huge Ridgeback that is now lying down cos it cannot stand up.  I am looking for cows and witches to fly past just to complete the scene.  Still the hammer stays down, still I smash through my cookies, this is ironman suicide, I know that but still I push on.

I am back at transition, 5:42, could have been much much worse, certainly could not have been better, but my legs are stuffed, I climb off my bike and hand it to a volunteer, I take one step and my legs almost give way underneath me, serves me right really, I knew this would happen.  The cookie jar was totally empty now, nothing left.  I struggle to pick up my run bag on wooden legs and head to the tent.  Helmet off, cycle top off, shoes off, shoes on and I grab the small bag I have my hat, sunnies and gels in and I get up and run from the tent, I am half way back through transition without thinking and suddenly realise I am running, yes really, something has happened and I am running!  I suddenly see a mystical figure, it is Sean, he is dressed as a Mexican Indian and he is holding something, it is a jar, and it is full of cookies!! (ref Mark Allen and his indian in Hawaii for the uninformed)

I am stunned that my legs are going, not just going but running.  I tick over the first four minutes and then take my first walk, one minute later I am running again, 15 seconds later and my garmin ticks over the first run km, 5:15!!  Hang on that cannot be good, I am running into the wind at the moment and that must be way too fast surely?  The run course goes like this, 2km into the wind, 4km with the wind, 5km round in a bit of a circle with a slight uphill then 3kms back to the start.  I steady my pace a bit, don’t want to go crazy.  I start doing the maths, I was on the run at 7:02hrs so if I can go 3:58 for the run my sub 11hour target is still good, something I thought was surely out of reach given the weather.  Okay then if that is how it is then that is what needs to happen so I press on, 4 minutes run, one minute walk.  The kms start to tick over, I finish the first lap of the run in 1:15; that is an average of 5:20ish.  I am staggered by this, my body is delivering what I asked of it and I am showing no signs of fatigue or any back problems or, or, or any other excuse I usually have to run slower.  At various stages during that lap I had seen Jo.  She was running all over the place on her hired MTB and kept just popping up.  At one point I thought she must have cloned herself, she seemed to be in two places at once, incredible.  One minor hiccup, at 9kms I decide my shoe is too tight and try to retie my lace, BANG, cramp in my adductor (a muscle I only recently discovered).  Jo is just beside me and she see, “Keep moving” she says, “you must keep moving”.  I tie the lace and follow her advice, 200 metres later and the cramp is under control, not gone but ok.

Lap 2, still on target, still amazed.  I must be running with this constant look of disbelief on my face.  The wind is still a big issue but on average I am holding a good pace still, under 5:30.  At one point the wind whips rounds a building and comes in from the side, blowing my right leg into my left leg, now that is just not fair!!  I am through 28kms and still ploughing full speed towards sub 11, I have about 7 minutes in hand at the pace I am going.  Me, sub 11, unthinkable, impossible.

I am cruising, 4kms into my final lap and not a hint of trouble, hard going but I am able to hold it all together.  I am 4.1kms into my final lap, not so good, I am 4.2kms into my final lap and the world explodes, or rather my legs do.  It was not the normal nerve related issues I get, it was not back pain, it was not knee pain, it was total leg failure.  Now this feeling was new to me, I have never run myself into this condition, have never been able to.  I check the cookie jar, it is empty for a second time.  I see Sean the mexican indian again, he is empty handed, he has done all he can.  My next km is 7:10, the wheels have fallen off and sub 11 looks off the cards again.  I take a walk break, as scheduled, and regather myself, if I can push 5:45 I can still do it so back into running and I push, I push hard but there is nothing there, 6:30, 6:40,:6:35.

3.8km swim, 180km Bike and 40.8km run; that is what I did in 11 hours on April 22^nd 2012.  Almost poetically when the clock trips over 11 hours (to the second), my heart rate monitor fails; my garmin reads 0%.  I had seen Jo 500m before and walked to her on the side of the road to tell her I wasn’t going to make it, she said how proud she was and how I had performed incredibly on the day, she said I was still way up the field, and I should keep going, “of course I will, there is no deviation from the plan!”  I am over the line in 11:08.  So at this point I break down and cry with disappointment, right?  WRONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!! The goal I set myself in France was to “RACE” an ironman, the time, while linked to this was not the real aim here, it was to race, and race I had.   More than that, I had executed the perfect race, pushed myself every step, gone harder than I thought possible, swept aside the mental impact of a shit swim (actually a great swim compared to everyone else!)  I had transitioned without even a single latte or cake, and I had run, really run a marathon.  I came back to be tested, and I got what I asked for.  I finished an Ironman in the top 100, I finished an Ironman in the top 100, did I mention I was in the top 100? 91^st actually.  The race was described by almost everyone who did it as the hardest they had ever done, a Norwegian guy said it was tougher than Norseman and he did that every year.  Another Brazilian athlete who stayed at the same hotel as us after the race said he did it an hour slower than last time, AN HOUR! But I think the real test of the day and the sub 11 target is this.  If I believe I have missed my target in this race, then in my next race I would be happy with sub 11 as that would meet my target, right?  Again  WRONG!!!!!!!  Ok lets get crazy, perfect race, 1 hour swim, 5 hour bike, 4 hour run, shave a bit here and there for transitions (Which I am now dead good at) and what does that give you?  It gives you the impossible, and impossible is what I am all about.

Look out for me in the new Avengers movie, because once again, I am Ironman.  Did somebody say LAS VEGAS? Team Coombe will ride again.

Finally, a huge thank you to my lovely wife who was the bestest supporter and wife and to Sean, my ace coach without whom this just would not have happened.