Ironman Canada Training Camp 2012 Day 2: Hollandaise Was a Bad Choice

So I survived Day 1 of the Ironman Canada training camp despite getting blinded and nearly being taken out by a car on the highway. I was still nursing raw eyes when I woke up for Day 2, but I was happy that I wouldn’t have to ride another 112 in the crappy heat. Unfortunately, I’d succumb to the heat in other ways, although my downfall was more due to my poor breakfast choice than the heat alone. (Still, I have to blame something other than my own dumb self, right?)

With that said, let’s kick off Day 2 of my 2012 Ironman Canada Training Camp recap.

Day 2: Eggs Benny is Not My Buddy

My excitement for not having to swim on Day 1 was short-lived, as Day 2 started off with a 30 minute dip in Okanagan Lake. The swim wasn’t too bad, though–the water temperature was nice and I bullied a less-than-thrilled Steve to swim with me despite the fact that he’s not even training for anything (“I just like camps!”–Steven Hooper, 2012).

The one swim picture in existence where my eyes aren't closed.

After our dip in the lake, we had to change quickly and hop on our bikes for a 30-ish mile easy effort ride. I headed out with my peeps and immediately discovered that my ladybits wanted nothing to do with the aero position whatsoever. The crotchal region was pissed at me for yesterday’s century-plus sufferfest, so I resorted to sitting upright and catching wind like a human sail for the entire ride. My teammates left me in the dust but I was content to stay comfortable since I didn’t want a horrible sequel to Crotchfest 2012, plus I was trying to leave enough gas in the tank for my long run later that day (insert ominous foreshadowing here).

When I got back to the parking lot, I was told by Teresa to rest a bit and eat a good meal before the team was going to start their run workout. She wanted us all to wait until the afternoon to begin running so we could hit the course at the hottest part of the day. Since we had a decent amount of downtime, we could eat a legitimate lunch. Teresa, however, being all Cautious Coach, gave us some guidelines for eating.

T: “Eat something light and easy on your stomach before your long run. It’s going to be hot and you don’t want to aggravate your system.”

My interpretation of what she said:

I'm a good listener.

After a full day of workouts Friday and two hours of workouts already under my belt on Saturday, my body was in a perpetual state of feeling ravenous. Jason and I wandered around trying to find a place to eat and ended up at the resort hotel/casino restaurant overlooking the lake.

Waitress: “What can I get you?”

Me: “Can I get the potato hash?” Must eat smart! Long, hot run ahead!

Waitress: “Sure thing.” *scribbles it down*

Jason: “I’ll have a blueberry smoothie and eggs Benedict.”

Me: “Ooh, that sounds good.”

The waitress left but returned after a few minutes.

Waitress: “I’m sorry, we’re out of the potato hash. Can I get you something else instead?”

Me: “Screw it, I tried. EGGS BENEDICT, PLEASE!”

My meal consisted of eggs Benedict (ham, poached eggs, English muffins, and Hollandaise sauce which is made from craploads of butter, lemon, and egg yolks), breakfast potato wedges, ketchup, generous sips of Jason’s dairy-rich blueberry smoothie, and chunks of buttery croissant that we got as a side order. The stomach felt great since it was all full and happy.

By the time we got done eating, we pretty much had to return back to the hotel and change for our run, leaving me with little time to digest. We convened at Skaha Lake Park and took off from there. I started out feeling fantastic, staying in my assigned heart rate zone and making sure to take in water often due to the heat.

Me before the huge wave of regret hit.

Since I was supposed to run about 2:10-2:15, I turned around at 1:05. At roughly 1:10 my stomach started to feel…not so great. Nausea kicked in and I started to wonder whether hoovering a rich, butter/dairy-drenched breakfast before running 16 miles in the heat was the smartest idea. (Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.)

By the time I got to the support car to refuel, I was in full-on Ron Burgundy mode.

Replace "milk" with "Hollandaise" and you get the idea.

I chugged some flat Coke to try and ease my ailing tummy, which bought me a mile of minimal discomfort. Eventually, however, the queasies would flare up again and I’d feel even more miserable than before. Mark, who was manning the support car, drove past me at one point and stuck his hand out the window with a thumbs up/down motion so I could indicate to him how I felt. I immediately responded with an emphatic “thumbs down for the love of god thumbs down” and he slammed on the brakes and shot the car in reverse.

I painfully made my way to the car to suck down some more Coke.

Mark: “What’s the matter?”

Me: “I feel like barfing…uh, I…think my breakfast isn’t sitting well.”

Mark: “What’d you eat?”

Me, super sheepishly: “…eggsbenedict.”

Mark, after about ten straight minutes of laughing: “Ya think?!”

After he took off again, I tried to rally and pick up the pace but the heat combined with the brick of poached eggs and butter sauce in my gut created a cyclone of bloat and barf in my abdomen that had nowhere to go but up. I tossed my breakfast into a ditch and shuffled my way down the road, cursing myself for being stupid, especially considering the eggs Benedict weren’t even that good.

Every so often I’d stop and dry heave on the side of the road. At one point a random cyclist pedaled by and, concerned that I was trying to give birth through my mouth based on the horrendous noises I was making, asked if I was okay. I assured him that I was just having stomach issues and probably wasn’t going to die, but I must not have sounded very convincing because he did a few loops around me before reluctantly taking off.

Thankfully, Mark dropped off the support car with Teresa a few miles away from the park. I eventually made my way to the car and told Teresa I was throwing in the towel because I barfed all over it. She playfully scolded me for eating like a total asshole before plying me with water that I promptly threw up once I tried drinking it. The rest of my workout consisted of me alternating between being doubled over in the weeds on the side of the road and being doubled over in the front seat of the car.

Pouting while rubbing my butter sauce baby.

I got a ride back to the park, feeling nauseous and guilty that I only completed 11 1/2 miles of my 16 mile run. My teammates quickly pounced and made fun of me for eating the World’s Worst Pre-Run Breakfast. Jason, of course, despite eating exactly the same thing I did for breakfast, had no issues during his run. He told me he had planned on running out to meet me on the course and encourage me to keep going until Mark told him how far out I was.

Jason: “I was prepared to run out a mile or so, but Mark said you were like three miles out.”

Me: “So you love me two miles round trip but not six?”

Jason: “Exactly.”

Love you too, Jas.

My stomach was in turmoil for the rest of the day–I poked at some chicken parmesan a bit at dinner but settled on eating bread because everything else made me feel crummy. The next day I felt better and managed to get through 58 minutes of a swim in the lake before my gut started mildly hurting again, but a 30 minute run afterwards didn’t seem to aggravate it further.

So all in all, the training camp was a mixed bag. I had a lot of fun, my workouts were hit-and-miss, but it was still good training for the big day. One thing I know for certain is I won’t be waking up bright and early on August 26th and eating a huge plate of eggs Benedict–I think I’ll stick to a plain bagel instead.