Jul '25 (edited) • General Discussion
70.3 IM Muskoka Recap
Experience.
1. Holy smokes was I ever nervous leading up to the event. Ryan and I chatted back and forth, as my anxiety of my biggest / most formal event was upcoming. I had entered arenas in the past, but nothing comes at you as much as an IRONMAN. The name in itself is intimidating. It got to me, don’t kid yourself.
2. The day before the event I got in the truck and travelled 3 hrs to the location. Vibing to some good music, I pass by a house of my good buddy Sean who recently passed away from cancer. I take a mental visual of his house as I drive by and appreciate what we have to still be able to do these things.
3. I show up to the event. Park my truck through half an hour of chaos, to finally put my feet on grass. Alright, we’re here. I grab my shit, pump up my tires to 90 psi (20 above recommended amount) because I want no rolling resistance. Grab the bike, lets go.
4. Walk for about 15 minutes and I’m into the chaos of people and organizers shouting rules, requirements, etc. Holy F! This is a legit race I tell myself. I pass by the organizers and bystanders, anxiously place my bike on the side of a wall (no lock) and head into the registration check in.
5. Walk into the arena, there are vendors everywhere, and anxious people around looking at the board to find their registration number. I knew mine because I’m a prepper and knew it was #281 from weeks ago when they released them. Checked in, got my shit, time to head back outside and place my bike.
6. Grabbed the TREK, moved to a corral like a bunch of cattle and found 3 aisles that said M40-M44. Found one and placed my bike. Looked around and for some reason found comfort in the chaos. I’m not alone in being anxious. Whispers around me about “this is the worst part” neighbouring racers mentioned to each other.
7. I placed my bike, took a mental picture and some deep breaths, and headed back to my truck. Before leaving there is panic in the volunteers screaming at everyone to release tire pressures due to the heat. No idea what this meant I asked what looked like a seasoned pro (he was – didn’t catch his name though). He coached me through tire pressure distribution and suggested I release tire pressure for the day to ensure they don’t pop from the heat. Took his advice, went back and released pressure on the tires for the day. Pump them up in the morning – okay/
8. Headed back to our cottage rental for the night and chilled on the beach with the wife and kids. Head not at all as present as a parent needs to be – stared at the beach and water absolutely distracted by the upcoming challenge. Anxiety was high. God bless us who have understanding wives. Ate a lot of rice for dinner with salt and went to bed, sort of. Tossed and turned for 6 hrs, probably 3 hrs of actual sleep.
9. Up at 4am. Coffee, shower, morning business, deep breaths. Suited up in the tri suit and hopped into the truck. Lets go!
10. Arrival on day of is chaos. Suggest for any first timers to get there early to ensure you have your shit in order. Park truck, walk to bike and pump up tires to where I want them. Put down your transition bag beneath your bike including bike shoes, bike helmet, running shoes, bag with fuel / water / electrolytes and a towel and anything else you feel you will need (sunscreen, yada yada).
11. Walk back to truck with bike tire pump in hand. Chill for a bit and anxiously look around at people bringing their bikes in the day of (what?!). Chill. Chill. Chill…. Eat something, drink a redbull, and remind yourself of all of the training you did to be here. Yes, you belong here! Grab wetsuit, cap, head to the swimming start about a 10 minute walk.
12. Swim start – 1600 people with varying levels of anxiety. Some clear pros, some older homies who have probably done it 10+ times, and some without wetsuits who are clearly regretting their decision. Rolling start, so get yourself into a position based on where you will finish the swim (30-40 min; 40-50min; 50+ min). Don’t be a hero and try to situate yourself in a position you feel you will finish.
13. Gun goes, and I stand in line for half an hour as better swimmers ahead of me head in. I finally get to the water. Go time! Weeks of nerves and jumping into the water, I’m out of breath in 5 minutes. I can’t swim. I for some reason have lost all of my endurance. It’s the wetsuit. It’s the adrenaline. It’s the murky water. I find a buoy and hold onto it, out of breath thinking my day was over. How do I explain this one, bowing out 5 minutes in? Coach is going to be disappointed. Family is going to be okay but you know this isn't okay. Nah, move forward, swim as slow as you can, just get out. Started moving, found my training rhythm and grooved. Looking back at the data, I was sprinting off of the start without even knowing it. Chill! Adrenaline and nerves are very, very real.
14. Kicked in the face, jockeying for position, missing and having to swim backwards around a buoy, I managed to finish the swim in a decent pace once I found my training groove and exited the swim. Much to my surprise they have volunteers who help you take your wetsuit off. I happy obliged and this great lady saved me at least a minute. After being stripped down, off to the bike. I layered on some sunscreen, packed my bike carbs in my tri suit, and headed up the first hill.
15. The bike was decent. Rolling hills, jockeying, some pro telling me to stay in my lane as I tried to pass two people at once (i was still very much in the lane - fuck off and fucus on your own race bud), we rolled for 90k. Apparently it was hot (100F), but when you’re moving with wind in your face its hard to tell. Aid station volunteers are godsends – take whatever Gatorade / water you can get from them, slam it, and then take another. Around km 70 (50ish miles) I started standing up on the bike to stretch. Oh dear, medialis muscle is locking up. I didn’t focus on using all leg muscles in the bike as I was more focused on beating the hills. I rode the last leg of the bike saying keep enough for the run. I did, but wasn’t aware of how hot it was and there was something happening with my legs.
Bike chain fell off about 3 miles from the finish, but we got off and fixed it. Know your bike.
16. Off the bike around 3 hrs (awesome, i'll take it I said), grab some gels, load up flask with water and start running. Trot trot. No problem. Nope. As I suspected, legs said the day was over. Cramping around 1 mile into the run, I couldn’t move. I sat on the sidelines as racers passed me, I thought it was over. Not again. Not another DNF. F! I aggressively massages my muscles as I mentally battled the internal demons. Massage. Massage. Massage. It was at this point I gave up on my sub 7 hour timeline. It was just FINISH. I told myself to walk, slowly, gingerly, don’t let the muscles act up and hope some of the Gatorade and gels I just took would somehow fix what was happening. I trotted, stopped, massaged, walked, ran slowly, stopped, massaged for half an hour. Finally, we got it back, sort of. I was able to trot for periods of a time before cramps came back. Run, walk, massage, cry. Over an over. Found some other guys struggling, high fived them, joked with them, and we moved forward. It was like that for the rest of the ‘run’. Eventually we were close enough that I overcame the pain and just ran. It hurt like hell but I pushed through and crossed the finish line. Exhausted and sent directly to a cooling area with an unhealthy amount of concern from an aid volunteer, I sat and gladly accepted a salted Gatorade. While fist pumping and reminiscing with other finishers in the tent, I was poked from behind by my wife and daughters. The rest, as you can imagine was pure sensational joy – I cannot describe in words that feeling and will leave it there. End of race.
8
4 comments
70.3 IM Muskoka Recap
skool.com/tribaluniversity
Free training university for endurance dads. The Tribal Shred protocol, training challenges, race guides, and 25 min strength. Lean out and go big.
Powered by