tl;dr
I came up short in my first Ironman 70.3, earning a DNF (Did Not Finish) during the bike portion of the race. Three hours and 23 minutes in, with less than eight miles to go, the local police pulled me over as they opened traffic back up. I was under the impression I had 4 hours and 30 minutes for the bike, standard for 70.3 races, so I paced myself accordingly, keeping an average heart rate of 110, saving my energy for the run, where I felt strongest. Complaining won’t undo the DNF, but I won’t ignore that I put myself in this position. This experience has me rethinking my training and how I set my goals. I need to step it up to meet my goals.
Race report
Race day threw a curveball. We were prepped for 70°F weather, but instead, we faced 50°F temps, 23 mph wind gusts, and nonstop rain.
My weakest event, the swim, went about as expected. I started in the last group off the dock, nerves and excitement buzzing through me. After some deep breaths to calm down, we finally started 16 minutes after the hour. There was a moment of panic when I lost depth perception, making me feel like I was drowning. Some slow, controlled breathing brought me back and I managed to finish the swim in just under an hour.
I was happy with my first transition, managing to strip off my wetsuit without much hassle (a win for me). But that high faded when I realized my fingers were numb from the cold. I fumbled through my transition bag, tearing it open to grab my cycling gear. Skipping nutrition at this point felt like the best move, my fingers were too cold to deal with opening packages anyway.
The bike leg started rough. Due to the wet conditions, I lost one of my nutrition bottles less than 5 minutes into the leg. Already behind, I figured I’d push to the aid station that was at mile 10 rather than turning back. But then, nausea hit. I pulled over and vomited, then got back on my bike. To add to the situation, my jacket, which I had thrown on during transition, was soaked through from the rain in minutes. The idea of riding 56 miles in those conditions felt impossible. I seriously thought about quitting. But I talked myself into pushing to the halfway point. I vomited two more times in the next 30 minutes, but by the third round my nausea seemed to clear up. By the halfway point, I was cold and soaked but surprisingly optimistic. I was laughing to myself. All I had to do was survive two more hours, and I’d be in my element with the run. That’s when I made my mistake. I got too comfortable, assuming I had plenty of time. Less than eight miles from the finish, I heard sirens. A local officer pulled up behind me, yelling instructions in Serbian. I looked around, confused, and asked another rider what was happening. He told me, “He’s saying time’s out.” I was stunned. I checked my watch: 11:50. I thought we had until 12:30? I protested, but it didn’t matter. The race officials had their orders.
My race ended not just because of the poor conditions, but because I hadn’t trained hard enough to avoid being in this situation. I got complacent, training just enough to finish but I didn’t account for the unexpected.
I'd just summited Rainier in May and assumed the same success would carry over. My hubris led me to training just enough to finish in good conditions, not enough to absorb a bad day.