Race Recap - Buffalo Springs Lake 70.3

Transition at 5am - dark, but cool (only 22 degrees Celsius) and calm. There's a buzz in the air.

Up at 3:30am, the goal was to arrive at the race by 5:00 to set up transition. As we drove to Buffalo Springs Lake, lightning broke through the darkness and rain started to fall. Really? Is that how this day is going to start? I was now glad that I didn’t set up my bike and racing chair the night before, and thought back to the Defi Sportif race I did in 2014. It rained so hard that most of the fast guys skipped the race and I got 3rd place. I didn’t think that would happen today, but I reminded myself that I can take whatever is thrown at me. “Fine, bring on the rain, show me what you’ve got,” I said to myself. Fortunately, mother-nature backed down and cooperated. From 5:30 on it was clear and a little cooler than normal.

My nephew, Callum, and my good friend’s brother-in-law, Anthony, who lives in Lubbock, helped me get everything ready and we did a practice transition. Wet suit on and I was in the water at 6:25. I did some sculling to ‘feel the water’, like Beth told me to, burped up some of my breakfast, and then we were off.

During the swim I stuck to my plan and what I had practiced. Stay relaxed, swim straight, and draft whenever you can. 42 minutes of swimming without a break gives the mind a lot of time to wander. I didn’t think I was doing that well and my brain started questioning why the hell I’m swimming in a lake in Texas at 6:45 in the morning, and why on earth I’d want to do twice the distance in the ocean in Kona. I kept trying to bring my focus back to the plan and not stress. I was surprised when they picked me up out of the water and told me I was the third handcyclist and only a few minutes behind the leaders.

All the PC (Physically Challenged) athletes start first.

Leaving the transition area for the 90km bike, you start climbing right away. There are two reasonable climbs before you leave the park. As I topped the second bigger hill and started on the first flat portion, I hit my lap button on my watch so that I could have a clean lap to measure my average power. Because my watch was in AutoSport mode for race day (not a mode that I practice using), hitting LAP put the watch into ‘transition’ mode.  FUCK.  Okay… lap, lap, lap, reset, select bike 1, start…. watch was now measuring my data and I was just passed by another handcycle. No problem. With a light morning wind at my back, I was soon averaging over 33 km/h and took back third place. As I turned with the wind hitting me from the side, I was still at 31 km/h. Awesome.

Just over an hour into the bike is the first turn around. I checked my watch just as Scot and then Zach passed me from the other direction. I was down 7 minutes on Scot and 4 on Zach.  40 minutes later, after the second big climb, I reached the second turn around.  Scot’s lead was down to 4 minutes and Zach’s to 2. Game on.  Before turning the corner to attack the last big climb outside of the park, I passed Zach and he gave me the thumbs up. Zach is a strong, young guy, who excels at shorter sprint distance races. I was trusting that the added mileage had to be hurting him by now.

As we climbed I held my target power, wanting to save something for the last hour or 35km. Looking in my mirror as we crested the hill I saw that Zach was still there. I was pumped and started chanting in my head with every push and pull of the crank… MUST…. CATCH… SCOT… He had to be tired after winning Ironman Luxembourg 70.3 last week, flying home to the USA, and driving from Atlanta. By now the heat and the winds picked up and heading back into them was tough. Trying to not let my power fade, I reminded myself of all the training I’ve done since November. Reminding and convincing my brain that I’ve trained my body to go harder and harder throughout the ride. As we turned into the park I made sure to top up on another gel and to drink lots in prep for the run. By this time, the really bumpy roads had taken their toll on my head and my handbike. It started making a funny sound and I wondered if something was going to fall off my bike and end my day. That would suck so badly. Fortunately, the bike was fine and as I approached the bottom of the last hill of the course, I saw Scot spinning up it. He was in my sights.

I'm missing the first 8 minutes because I had to reset my watch, but this gives you an idea of the course and elevation. Welcome to Ransom Canyon x 3.

Scot got out of transition and on to the run a little before me. I was having trouble getting my feet into the racing chair properly. I said screw it and started to leave.  Still not feeling right, I pushed my body off the seat and tried to wiggle my feet down into the pocket. As I did this my front wheel started lifting up into the air. I almost went over backwards, but saved it. Not wanting to risk an accident, I headed out of transition.

Most of the run course was better than I expected. Some shade, good pavement, and a wide enough road to navigate around runners and a lot of local cottage traffic. I started the run at a comfortable pace that I knew I could sustain, and hoped that I would be faster than, or at least just as fast as, the guy behind me. This run course has a stupid steep and long hill that is demoralizing. I climbed the first quarter of it forwards, then turned around and hauled up backwards until my biceps started to protest. Then I turned around again and grinded up the rest of the way. As I crested the hill, Scot was just starting to come down it. A few minutes later on my way down, I saw Zach climbing half way up.

Just before lap two of 21.1km run, I saw Zach again on an out and back section. The gap seemed to be the same. Now, do I chase down Scot for first place and risk blowing up, or stay the course and achieve my goal?  I opted for the latter. My goal was to get the Kona slot, and as long as I was first or second after Scot, who already has a Kona slot, I’m good. This entire last lap I maintained my pace as best I could. I monitored the gap with Zach, and reminded myself of some advice my friend, Greg, gave me before the Ironman in 2013…“don’t write the race report until after the race.” I kept telling myself, stay focused, stay safe, finish the race.” By now, it’s so difficult to lift my head and look where I’m going in the racing chair, but I can’t afford to have a wreck, and I don’t want to hit anyone. Staying on course becomes like sighting on the swim: glance up, find an open spot, aim the chair and push, push, push, push, rest for a second and repeat. 

Thanks again Anthony and Callum! You made the day fun and transitions were fast.

As I pulled into the finishing chute, I felt a little overwhelmed. In 2008, while lying in bed and recovering from breaking my back, I saw Ricky James featured as he completed the Ironman World Championships in Kona. I was inspired, but didn’t know if that could be me someday. Now, almost 8 years later, and after two years of very focused training and racing, I’ve finally earned my spot to what some triathletes call ‘The Big Dance’. I’ll be one of four male handcyclists (and the first Canadian wheelchair athlete) to race around the big Island of Hawaii. And these are serious athletes whom I’m thrilled to be racing with. Today, my goal for Kona is to finish and enjoy it, but I what an honour it will be to have seasoned professionals to chase.  I'll enjoy trying to rise to their level.

At the awards ceremony Sunday night, they dropped the news that there was actually only one male handcycle slot, as originally planned. They were not allowed to give the unused female spot to the men. I felt really badly for Zach, but grateful that I went all out, and that luck worked in my favour this time with Scot and his friend Jason winning slots in Luxembourg (there were 2 slots up for grabs there this year).

Thank you all for supporting and encouraging me along the way. Many have said that they knew I could do it, but honestly, it was never a certain thing for me. I knew I could do the training, but there was also a bit of luck that things came together the way they did for me on race day. Special thanks to Sabrina and my girls for the love and confidence. Coach Mark, Beth, Petrina and Jeff. Jean and Val for swimming with me these last two weeks. Oakville Cyclepath. Alex, Joey and Mark. Anthony and Callum. Carlos. And on and on…

Congratulations to all the PC athletes - what a great group of guys.
In the picture, from right to left, 1st to 4th place. Scot, me, Zach and Daniel. Missing are Travis, Edwin, Mark, Sean and Hector.

Four weeks ago at the end of a tough 3 week training session, I was exhausted, frustrated, and questioned whether or not I should bother coming down to Texas. After a few days of recovering, I started to feel better and a little more optimistic about my chances. Then my nephew Callum agreed to come with me on the trip, and it made a world of difference. I hate being alone, and I have some pretty awesome nephews, so knowing that one could take the time off to join me was just the best. Last year, my nephew Zoey and his girlfriend Nina helped me in Luxembourg. This year it is Cal. He’s such a great kid and I’m such a proud Uncle. Thanks to my sister, Doralyn, for lending him out :).

As I write this, it’s 2am and I can't sleep. We're stuck in Dallas overnight as we missed our American Airlines connection (yet again). I’m looking forward to getting home and relaxing for a few days before the training starts for Kona. If anyone reading this wants to go for a bike ride or swim with me this summer, say the word. I’ll be up at the cottage training around the Kawartha lakes, getting ready for the World Championships and would LOVE the company.

Race Bling :)

Crunch Time

The last three months have been a mixed bag. My number one priority has been training for the Buffalo Springs Lake Half Ironman on June 26th. This race prep has demanded more out of me physically and mentally than any other Half Ironman I’ve done before. Along with some great workouts, I’ve found some of the long bikes and runs to be very lonely and daunting. Fortunately, with less than 3 weeks to go, I’m in the best shape of my life and starting to actually look forward to the race.

When I do motivational speaking, I often talk about family, friends and strangers who help me to achieve my goals (this is one of my favourite parts of my story). The last few weeks have been extra good thanks to:

• Beth Primrose, who has been a great swim partner all season long (with some coaching thrown in)

• Trily, who came out of retirement to craft me some new wetsuit pants

• Cyclepath Oakville, they hooked me up with some new gear, which I’m excited to race with

• Rich, who lent me his racing wheelchair and wheels to experiment with different hardware

• Some of Canada’s top handcyclists who have given me some pointers to go faster

• The LPC Triathlon Team and Coach Mark, who have been brilliant (great camp, clinic and open water swimming)

• My nephew Callum, who is coming with me to Texas – Road Trip!

• My good friend, Jim, who has connected me with his sister and her husband in Lubbock, Texas. It’s reassuring to know I have Callum and Anthony to drag my ass out of the water and help me in race transition.

Thanks for staying in touch and cheering me on. I’ll be back with a race report blog in early July and a bunch of Facebook updates between now and then.

Cheers,

Rob

My coach found this 8% grade hill for me to practice climbing in the racing chair.  On the first push up the hill I blew one of my tires, but I managed two more ascents before getting on the handbike. There's a hill like this in the race in Texas. Not exactly 'accessible', because you can easily flip over backwards, but definitely a challenge. 

The Kona Goal

If you Google “Road to Kona”, you’ll get thousands upon thousands of links to athlete blogs, telling their story of how they struggled and (hopefully) persevered to earn their spot and race the Ironman World Championships in Kona, Hawaii.   Kona is the Mecca for any long-distance triathlete, and for me, it’s the goal that I’ve been seriously working towards for the last two years. I know that I can do the full Ironman distance (226 kms of swim, bike and run), but the idea of racing with the world’s best motivates (and at times frustrates) me to the extreme.  

Earning a spot to Kona is an obsession for many triathletes.  Doing so is tough, as it should be. For athletes with a disability who use a handcycle for the bike segment, and a racing wheelchair for the run (classified by Ironman as “handcyclists”), the road to Kona is more like a disabled parking spot that is already taken. The first title I had for this blog was “Road Blocks to Kona.” Theories abound as to why the World Triathlon Corporation (WTC - the business that owns and runs Ironman) makes it so difficult for us handcyclists, and I’ve written to the CEO of the corporation, Andrew Messick, asking him to make the process more equitable (link here).  His initial response was that they’d “look into it.”

For 2016, there continues to be only 4 handcycle qualifying spots available for male handcyclists at 3 Ironman events. One spot in Australia, two in Luxembourg, and one in Texas.   These are Half Ironman races in which the first handcyclist to cross the finish line (or a second place in Luxembourg will work, too) will earn the opportunity to race in Kona. All three races happen over three consecutive weekends in June. So realistically, handcyclists like me have one chance, once a year, to qualify. 

While it’s tempting to go on a rant about how it’s unfair and unnecessarily difficult to earn a Kona spot, I’m going to refrain.  I do hope that things will be more fair in the future and will work hard to help WTC make improvements, but at the end of the day I’m going to own the fact that it’s my decision and desire to pursue this goal, so I need to deal with the things I don’t like, and win according to their rules.  Instead of letting the difficulty of the logistics defeat me (it’s so tempting to become a casual athlete), I’m going to use my frustration with WTC to train harder to become the fastest paratriathlete I can be.  

Last June I raced in Luxembourg, trying my luck at winning the one Kona spot.  I put myself up against six of the world’s best and came in fourth. My time was very respectable (5:27:59) for the Half Iron distance, but I was simply out-matched by three better athletes and a few minutes on the clock.  While the trip to Europe with Sabrina was wonderful, getting a 4th place finish was not what I had worked so hard for, and it took me more than 3 months to get over my disappointment and refocus my sights on what the next goal should be.

When the girls went back to school in the Fall, I made the decision to continue my goal of getting to Kona. I started working with a new coach whom I met earlier in 2015 at a Florida Training Camp run by Loaring Personal Coaching. Coach Mark is awesome, and the 7 to 11 hours a week of swim, bike and run that he has me doing is producing results. In addition to all of the time training, trying to sort out my neurological pain, family, speaking, and some pretty big miscellaneous endeavours, my plate is probably a little too full, but really, I think that’s all part of the Kona challenge.

Looking at my Training Peaks account, I can see that I’ve logged over 100 hours in the last 90 days. And that’s just the time calculated when I push start and stop on my watch.  The ‘actual time’ that it takes to do this training, is much, much greater. Before my injury, to go for a run I’d put on my shorts and shoes and go. Now, there’s around a half hour of ‘stuff’ I need to take care of before I can start my run. Swimming is even more brutal.  Driving to the pool, changing, getting into my wetsuit bottoms, swimming, getting out of the pool, showering (after I wait for the dumb ass to get out of the only accessible shower stall because I can’t use the 9 other showers that are empty but inaccessible), drying off and getting dressed, and then heading home. The logistics truly are more work than actual swimming.

In terms of which race I’ll be doing this June, I’ve booked hotel rooms in Luxembourg and Texas. In May I’ll decide which race to do.   There are advantages and disadvantages to both, and neither one is easy to get to. 

To take my training to the next level and escape the Canadian winter, I drove down to Florida on February 10th to train outside in the heat. I’ll be here until April getting in as much swimming, cycling and running as possible. Next week I’ll be doing the LPC Triathlon Training Camp again and if I feel up for it, I’ll stay until mid-April and race the Haines City Half Ironman race on April 10th.  It’s just 30 minutes from me, so it seems to make sense to get a practice race under my belt before I head to a qualifier in June. I think it’s funny how Half Ironman races are becoming much less of a big deal. I respect the distance, but have no concerns about being able to complete the race. With four Half IMs behind me, it’s now about continually improving my time and performance.

Occasionally (usually when I’m run down) I question why the hell am I doing this to myself? The time, effort, costs, pain, isolation, and just general frustration is consuming. Spending thousands of dollars and countless days to try and earn a spot in a race that will subject my body to 226 kms of racing on a volcanic island, doesn’t make a lot of sense.

The best answer I can come up with, is that I don’t want to live with the regret of not having really tried to do the improbable. I’m not getting any younger, so I need to make the most of what I have, while I still have it.  Kona gives me a reason to push myself and to discover the limits of what’s possible for me physically and mentally. Bouncing my needle off the rev-limiter forces me to be in tune with my body and to find my limits, hopefully without injuring myself. Like life, Ironman training is a balancing act. The big difference is that it’s a choice. Oddly enough, I need to remind myself of that.

The Kona goal demands daily focus and effort (even more mental than physical). And if there’s one thing I’ve learned about myself over the past few years it’s that I need to have goals like this to feel productive and stay positive. When I’m not moving forward I start sliding backwards, and that’s not good for anyone.  Unlike those things in life that happen or are done to you, this goal is mine, and figuring out how to overcome the multitude of challenges involved with qualifying for this race, even if they don’t result in a Kodak moment at the end of it, will keep me moving in the right direction.

The Power of a Word

Last Fall, around the anniversary of my accident, I thought that rather than recounting the things I’ve accomplished since breaking my back, which would basically be a rehashing of Facebook highlights, I’d go a little deeper and make a list of things that I’ve learned after 7 years as a paraplegic. I figured that if I could organize my thoughts into something meaningful, perhaps I’d feel like I’m still moving forward in life, as opposed to the feeling I often get; that I’m floating down some kind of river of forced retirement without a lot of purpose.

I started by scratching down anything that came to mind, and then narrowed down the list and put the ideas into some kind of order. The list turned out to be a little heavy, but I think that’s just representative of my mental state at the time. It also makes sense to me that it’s the tough stuff that I’m still working through that tends to clutter my mind; so hopefully getting it out of my head and into the blog will free up some space. My apologies if it comes across a little like “Deep Thoughts with Jack Handey,” but this is my world.

While it might seem a little rudimentary, I realized that the first thing on my list that I needed to sort out for myself (and as I’m sharing this with the world it’s probably not a bad thing to get out of the way for you either), has to do with word ‘disabled’. Specifically, I’ve had to acknowledge the power that I’ve allowed this word to have over me. 

I’ve danced around the word ‘disabled’ since my accident, trying as much as possible to avoid using it as a way to define or classify myself. I always knew that I didn’t like it, but ‘being disabled’ was a requirement for things like insurance, a parking pass, or not being able to work full-time. Upon taking the time to really stop and think about it though, I realize that there is a direct correlation between the time when I allow myself to be defined as ‘disabled’ and the feelings of helplessness and depression that I struggle with. Words and labels are powerful. This isn’t news to most of us. But to go from the experience of benefiting from positive labels, to those that are harmful and full of baggage, is like getting a surprise punch to the gut.

Before my accident, I would have been happy describing myself as tall, blond, active, reasonably intelligent, hard-working and fun. All of those are either neutral or have a positive connotation; no big deal. Upon breaking my back, even though I was still blond, active, etc., a new master status was thrust upon me and constantly threatens to overshadow everything else, and that is, ‘disabled’. My classification is paraplegic and the most visually distinctive thing about me now is that I’m in a wheelchair. Damn.

I think it’s funny how my brain works.  Even just saying the words in my head “I’m disabled,” sucks the life out of me.  I lose all of my motivation to go and accomplish shit. I also laugh at myself because I realize that it’s my own baggage that’s bringing me down.  A lifetime of equating being disabled with being broken, and being less than able-bodied, is proving extremely difficult to redefine in my head, even though I know many people with disabilities who are incredible in countless ways, and even though I’m now one of those with the disability. 

Before my injury I never took the time to learn about the specific challenges that those with disabilities have. I was busy with my own life and concerns, so like many, I put everyone with a disability into the ‘disabled bucket’. It was easy. It was lazy. Now that I’m the guy with the disability, I’m forced to address this myopic view of the word, because it’s my personal well-being at stake. Through all this contemplation trying to figure out what makes me tick, I’ve concluded that I can’t think of myself as ‘disabled’, but rather, I need to think of myself as ‘having a disability’. I have a spinal cord injury. I have shit that I need to deal with on a daily basis, like watching the clock to manually manage my bladder and skin, or to pre-emptively figure out the logistics of the physical environment if I’m going somewhere new. It sucks, but I can handle it. These are challenges that I routinely have to overcome, but they are not me. The fact that I can deal with them and do other things makes my other achievements more meaningful. I’m not broken as a person, my day is just a little more difficult than most.

I was thinking about those who have a broken leg, or who are fighting cancer.   We don’t say “they are broken” or “they are cancer”, we acknowledge that these conditions are something that they ‘have’.   Yet society lumps everyone together into a ‘disabled’ category.  It’s tidy.  I understand why the ‘disabled’ check box is needed on forms and why we have disabled parking spots.  I just refuse to put myself in that bucket anymore. And, to the best of my ability, I won’t accept others putting me into that category.

Looking back, I’ve been feeling this way for a while. I remember putting the M-Dot (Ironman symbol) sticker on the back of my wheelchair the day after I completed Ironman Louisville. Inside my head I think that the sticker does a nice job of contradicting the appearance of the wheelchair. If anyone looks at me and thinks to themselves “poor disabled guy,” I hope they see the M-Dot and realize that I am a serious athlete.  If anyone is feeling sorry for me, I’ll challenge them to a day of swim, bike and run, and then we can decide who should be feeling sorry for whom. Maybe it’s a smart-ass and pompous way of thinking, but it does make me feel better.

So to wrap this up, one of the big things I’ve learned since breaking my back, is that words and symbols contain all the power that we give them. And that’s the key in all of this. I realize that it’s 100% up to me to determine what meaning I give to any word, regardless of what society or the world thinks or proclaims. I make that decision and I benefit or suffer from doing so. Even just reminding myself that I control this process is empowering, and this can dramatically improve the quality of my life. This blog will help me do that.

Allowing myself to slip into a group called ‘disabled’ by society might provide some relief of expectation and accountability from others for a time, but it ultimately leads me to being miserable. Yes, I still need that disabled parking pass.  But I refuse to be a victim of a spinal cord injury, I have to be a fighter. So in the same way that I will not adopt the label ‘disabled’, I’m hoping that people I care about in life will decide to see and refer to me as just another guy who is kind, smart, funny, athletic, etc., and if for some reason it’s important to the conversation, I can be referred to as having a spinal cord injury, as in…“he does all these things, oh, and by the way, he’s paraplegic”! If everyone can take the time and effort to at least question the buckets that they put people into, I think we’ll be making the world a better place. 

ready to blog

It has been seven years since my accident, and while I’ve accomplished a great deal, I can’t say that I’ve overcome my injury. Hell, I can’t even tell you what it means to overcome a spinal cord injury.  Thinking about it now, I don’t think it’s actually possible. Life is never going to be the same as it was before my injury, so the best I can probably do is to redefine what it is that makes me feel valued, loved, productive and happy.  

In the days, weeks and months following my accident I thought that physically overcoming the loss of my legs would solve my problems. In the hospital, my physical accomplishments involved learning to sit up and not faint, or being able to push around the flat and smooth halls of the hospital for 10 minutes at a time. This was progress back then. But how could I stretch myself? How could I do something better, longer, faster? Those questions, and the need to prove to myself and to the world that “I’m okay,” drove me to complete my first Ironman triathlon in 2013. Less than 5 years after breaking my back, I did what I thought just might be impossible, with only my arms. 226kms of swimming, biking and running in 12 hours and 32 minutes. All those little victories and accomplishments along the way to making this happen culminated in the ultimate day of physical and mental triumph. Being an Ironman is something that I’m incredibly proud of, but does it mean that I’ve overcome paraplegia? 

Unfortunately no. There’s just so much more to it. Lots under the surface that people don’t see.  That I don’t let people see. But, things that I believe I need to share so that I can move a little closer to maybe not overcoming paraplegia, but at least finding balance in my life that will bring a sense of comfort or contentment. I should point out that I’m not just out-of-sorts because of my accident. From an early age I’ve always put a lot of pressure on myself to make the most of every day and opportunity. It’s just that now I have a few more things that make life challenging that I need to deal with, and these are unexpected challenges that are totally foreign to me. Before my accident, I had no experience or exposure to people with spinal cord injuries. And I certainly never took it upon myself to learn what it might mean to someone dealing with these challenges – I was in my own able-bodied bubble. I now know that these challenges are very personal and unique. No one can truly understand how I experience them, but my hope is that over time, if I can clearly express what some of these challenges are, that those close to me can better appreciate what it means to live with a spinal cord injury on a daily basis.

And so, in this 8th year of my injury, I’m going to put out to the world what’s going on in my head, to see if it helps make tomorrow a little brighter. Don’t feel any obligation to read, or respond, but if understanding my drama helps you deal with some of yours, then I guess we both benefit, and that will make me happy.