Long and agonizing... check.

My training over the winter, as well as my early-season racing, was all geared toward one thing -- preparing for the Tremblant 70.3, my first half-Ironman. I incorporated plenty of long and slow work (well... "plenty" is relative with young kids and a job, but let's just leave it there) aiming to improve my endurance and increase my likelihood of finishing this 113 km endeavour without face-planting. During that race, I carefully paced myself for the same reason. "If you feel like you're going pretty easy on the bike -- slow down more" was the common warning, with anecdotal consequences of ignoring it ranging from suffering through the run to cramping or bonking entirely. As someone who's got only one season of super-sprints under my belt, where I was going balls-out the whole way, this took some planning and discipline. Of course it's easier to go slower -- but the fact remains that the slower you go, the longer you'll be out there doing it. Unless you get picked up by the sag wagon and given a free ride back to transition. I wonder if the sag wagon is air conditioned...

I followed my plan, and finished the race. While my time was embarrassingly slow, I gave it all I had on that day. In hindsight, I needed to take in way more calories on the bike (I relied on a handful of chews to get me through 90 k), and likely more hydration as well. I've got my first Olympic distance race in a couple of weeks. I'm going to try to take some of these lessons learned, apply them, and try to find middle ground at that distance between constant energy conservation and going as hard as possible. Now, to figure out the best way to carry real food on my bike.

Lovely, but I was thinking less leather and more electrical tape