Half Moon Bay Triathlon

Half Moon Bay Triathlon
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In the heat of Ironman training last year, I made a pact with myself that the following season I’d take it easy and stick to the Olympic distance.

How cute. Just because it’s shorter doesn’t mean it’s easy!

In truth, the last time I completed an Oly tri was in 2013, my “rookie” triathlon year. I did two that year, both under less than ideal circumstances. (Details; more details.)

So in a way, my first race of 2017 at Half Moon Bay Triathlons felt like my first Olympic distance race ever. I had no idea what to expect.

Half Moon Bay is a sweet little fisherman’s village and harbor on the Northern California coast, just 20 or so miles south of San Francisco. It has beautiful scenery and with no chop on that side of the bay, an ocean swim that’s as “calm” as it gets. But at this time of year, the water is freezing and strong winds and temps in the low 50s usually make for chilly bike and run conditions.

The cold kept me away from this race for its first two years, and last year it was scheduled too close to the Boston Marathon. This year, I decided to give it a try.

HALF MOON BAY TRI COVER

So here I was, setting my alarm for 3:45 a.m. on April 23. Oddly, I didn’t mind getting up at this ridiculous hour. It had been so long since my last race that I was actually excited!

The drive to Half Moon Bay in the pitch black night is scary as poo, with the unending, twisty, hilly turns of Hwy 92. I was that car driving 20 mph in the 25 mph zone — which is kind of funny when you consider that later that day, I’d end up riding my bike faster.

Luckily, I arrived without accident, and right on time, around 5:30 a.m. I found some friends in transition, set up my stuff, and had just enough time to do a little 2-mile warmup run, as instructed by Coach. Winning already!

The warmup gave me a good idea of the run course, which was all by the ocean and fairly flat: but already quite windy. I guess that comes with the territory!

At 6:30 a.m., we were rushed out of Transition and headed to the beach, about a third of a mile away, to get ready to swim.

Swim

Knowing that the water would be in the (high) 50s, I came prepared with a neoprene skull cap to wear under my race swim cap, neoprene socks, and swim gloves to keep my hands warm. They had warming stations on the way to the swim start/ finish (i.e. inflatable little pools filled with hot water), and were hosing hot water down people’s backs, into their wetsuits, to provide an extra warm layer. That felt so good!

I dropped an extra pair of shoes in that area, too, for the somewhat long run back to T1.

Swim waves were three minutes apart, separated by age in 10-year increments, men and women mixed together. I’m not crazy about a setup like that, because some men simply seem to swim too aggressively and the risk of getting smacked on the head is high, but that’s triathlon.

Photo by USA Productions.
All race photos courtesy of USA Productions.

Our wave took off at 7:06 and I immediately noticed three things:

  1. The water was so cold that my face – the only part of my body with exposed skin – went numb right away.
  2. My goggles were leaking.
  3. My gloves were too big for my hands – why did I never try them on before the race? They ballooned up with air and water and pulling felt harder, as if I was swimming with paddles, but I didn’t seem to be getting a paddle benefit.

This was going to be a long, long swim.

It literally was a long swim: my Garmin showed 2014 yards as I exited the water, and later on I saw that almost everyone on my Strava flyby list had 2000+ yards as well. FYI, 2014 yards is 1841.6 meters, which is much closer to the 1900-meter length of a half Iron-distance swim than the 1500 meters of an Olympic course swim. But I get ahead of myself.

The good news was that I got used to the water temperature fairly quickly. I deeply regretted the choice to wear gloves, but couldn’t get them off at this point. I thought about stopping at a water safety volunteer’s kayak and handing them off, but wasn’t sure if that was allowed. So on I went, pulling and pushing back that water like I meant it. (My arms and back were sore in all the places after this race, even my biceps. It was like I’d been pumping iron all day!)

This was also one of the most crowded swims I’ve ever been in. It seemed like the crowd hardly spread out after the swim start – maybe because before we even had the chance to find some space, swimmers from the wave after us caught up, and then we caught up to people from the wave before us. I stopped five or six times to empty out my goggles and was promptly run over every time.

When I finally reached the end of that swim, stood up and looked at my watch, I was in shock – and not in a good way. It had taken me 38 freaking minutes. What?

I have been working harder than ever on my swimming and my times in the pool are improving, so I was disappointed. But I didn’t really notice the longer distance at the time and thought this was simply a result of swimming with gloves.

Not the swim I envisioned or trained for, but you've got to work with what you get on race day.
Not the swim I envisioned or trained for, but you’ve got to work with what you get on race day.

Well, I had a nearly 0.4-mile long run to transition to process and get over the disappointment. Sh%t happens, best to not dwell on it and let it ruin the rest of the race.

I took off the stupid gloves, slipped off my socks, put on shoes and booked it, running as hard as I could to transition. It was a good way to warm up, too!

The timing mats for the swim-out were at the transition area entrance, so my official swim time was even worse:

Swim time: 41:34

T1

The good news was, by the time I was ready for the bike, the sun had come up and it was actually warm. I had heard many stories from people who had done Half Moon Bay about being cold the entire race, so I had gloves and a cycling bolero, which I ultimately didn’t need. Just the helmet, glasses, socks and shoes, and on to circle the entire transition area to Bike Out in my cleats. (That was awkward, but no: I am not even one bit mentally ready to try a flying mount yet.)

T1 time: 2:49

Bike

Beautiful bike course! Ocean on one side almost the entire way, mostly flat with a few gentle rollers on the way back. It was windy, but in an out-and-back course, what we lost to the wind in one direction, we gained in the other. I was feeling good, pushing pedals, passing people, and every so often getting passed by the zip-zip of deep race wheels.

Sprint distance athletes already on the run this early in the race? Possible!
Sprint distance athletes already on the run this early in the race? Possible!

Things got a bit more crowded once we merged with the sprint distance athletes on my way back. OK, to be honest, it felt like the freaking Tour de France. Packs of people riding two- or three-abreast, and drafting galore. I was doing my best to pass as quickly as I can and find space to keep riding.

I don’t ride with power, so I have no idea what kind of watts I was pushing – but kept my effort high the entire ride; this is not a smile:

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I rolled back into transition and saw a whole bunch of bikes still missing from the racks. People were still out there riding and I was done!

Bike time: 1:13:33 (20.31 mph)

T2

This was a quick helmet off-hat on, cleats off-running shoes on thing. I also realized I forgot to leave a gel out for the run, so I grabbed one from my tri bag. And off to run a 10K.

T2 time: 2:34

Run

I took off at a pace that felt good and sustainable, so it was a bit of a surprise when I looked at my Garmin and saw 6:50 pace. Oops, I most definitely can’t hold that for six miles, let’s dial it down.

Then I looked at the gel in my left hand, and another “oops” moment: it was a Vanilla Bean flavor GU. I never buy GU gels (Honey Stinger for this gal!). But I did win a box of them in a raffle at the Pro Athlete meeting at Vineman 70.3… back in 2014. So basically, my nutrition for this run was going to be three years old. Great!

I decided I would only take the GU if I felt an absolute need for calories and carried on.

The first two miles felt good. It was hard, but not impossible to run a low 7-min pace. I guess I was going too fast for the race photographers, because this is the only photo I could find of “me” on the run:

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Mile 3 had some minor climbs – over a bridge, nothing noticeable really – but I was already feeling myself slowing down. Well, they do say that most people run out too fast and here I was. I was hoping I could at least keep a 7:30 pace to the end, which would still get me a nice little 10K PR.

But once we passed the turnaround point and were now running in the opposite direction, it hit me. The wind! It felt crazy, crazy strong. I’ve had to do a few of my training tempo runs and fartleks in strong headwind, so I know what running with massive resistance feels like, but this felt doubly hard because I had already been going faster than I should have.

Three-year-old GU to the rescue! I squeezed it into my mouth, swallowed it, and of course from then on all I could think about was how it was sitting in my stomach, wondering if it’s going to make me throw up or worse. Nothing of the kind happened, but the thought was there.

At the next aid station, I asked for water. Then for some reason the hand-off didn’t quite happen, so I stopped and ran a couple of steps back to the volunteer to get it. I was hoping it would dissolve the GU in my stomach, so in my mind, it was worth the loss of two or three seconds. This actually worked, because from then on, the GU didn’t bug me that much and I ran on.

It felt very, very hard. At one point, my pace fell down to 8 min/ mile and I blamed the wind – but by then, my everything was tired, too. Legs, body, brain. Then one last mental test, as we ran right past the finish line, but had to circle around the road, make a U-turn and run back through the chute.

Mind you, the course was a bit short, so I really had no idea how long this “looping away from the finish so we can run back to it” would last.

The run was 6.1 miles according to my watch, so I’m taking my official pace with a grain of salt.

Run time: 45:25 (07:19 min/mi)

No official race photos of me crossing the finish either (did I run through too fast, too?), but I have this little gem of a facial expression immediately after:

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I actually like this terribly unflattering photo. It captures exactly how I feel at the end of every darn race.

And then this one, no more than a minute later, with my friend who was hanging out at the finish already:

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The bipolar nature of triathlon, ladies and gentlemen: suffering one minute, beaming with happiness the next.

We then checked the results and I was quite happy to find out that I did manage to bike and run my way up to the age group podium, after all:

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The rest of the morning was fun, hanging out with my training group friends and Betty Squad sisters. Three Bettys raced that day, and three podium-ed. Rockin’!

A post shared by Aleks Todorova (@aleksruns) on


Half Moon Bay Triathlon
Olympic Distance
Overall: 101 of 516
Gender: 15 of 148
AG: 3 of 28
Swim 41:34 (02:46 /100m)
T1 2:49
Bike 1:13:33 (20.31 mph)
T2 2:34
Run 45:25 (07:19 min/mi)
Elapsed 2:45:57

Ironman Vineman

Ironman Vineman
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You know, if I hadn’t paid an arm and a leg for my official Ironman photos, I probably would have given up on writing this race recap.

I mean, it’s been a month! I’ve slept all the sleep, eaten all the food and rested all the rest. I’ve been back to a training schedule for the past three weeks.

I have no excuse for my tardiness, other than the usual: been busy.

But, I paid $100 for a bunch of files, so you’re getting a race report. I’m getting my money’s worth. Hope you enjoy!

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Pre-race

Windsor is only a two-hour drive from home, so our plan was simple: get there Friday morning and do all the pre-race things the day before the race. Saturday was the big dance.

Except a few weeks before race day, Julie — a friend who was also doing Vineman as her first Ironman — pointed out that the last day for Athlete Registration was Thursday. No packet pickup on Friday. Can’t get your stuff on Thursday? No race.

Which I would have known, had I read the Athlete Guide carefully. And since I usually “read” those in the car on our way to a race… well, my Ironman would have been over before it started.

Phew, crisis averted. Julie and drove up together on Thursday, got our packets and drove back home — to return on Friday morning and get the real party started.

Obligatory "look at me, I'm going to race Ironman!" photos.
Obligatory “look at me, I’m going to do an Ironman!” photos.

Oh, and this race was going to be a child-free getaway for HusbandRuns and I. You know, some couples go to Sonoma Valley for a weekend of wine tasting, maybe a concert, or a spa day. We go to partake in Ironman. To each their own!

So our first stop on Friday was mandatory drop off for bike and bike gear bag at T1 on Johnson’s Beach. Then a short dip in Russian River (yup, as warm and shallow as I remembered it to be).

VinemanBikeDropOff

After that, we drove over to T2 in Windsor for mandatory run-gear drop off, and finally, well past 2 p.m., we headed to Santa Rosa for lunch.

Lunch involved:

  • a truck backing into our car as we were pulling into the parking lot behind Russian River Brewing Company,
  • miraculously – no damage to the car? The small dent popped right back out. Needless to say, the truck driver was mighty pleased and grateful (he tried to give us money for a buff, which we refused, seeing how there was hardly a scratch),
  • delicious pizza, beers, and more beers (carbo-loading), and finally:
  • a parking ticket, because in our little fender-no-bender, we didn’t notice the parking meters.

That we laughed it all off is a testament to the amazing quality of Pliny the Elder and the rest of Russian River Brewing’s delicious brews.

RissianRiverBrewingBeerFlight

If you’re ever within driving distance, it’s a must-try! Remember to feed the meters.

Race morning

Per usual, I kicked off race day with mediocre hotel-room coffee at 4 a.m.

Then I got burned.

I had just run water through the coffee maker to heat it up for my instant oatmeal breakfast and, splash! All over my right hand. It probably would have hurt more under normal circumstances, but on race morning, I was too focused on other stuff to care. (FYI, the burn formed a big blister while I was on the bike, which popped some time in the beginning of the run. The lifecycle of a burn, all in a day’s Ironman.)

We loaded my swim bag in the car and took off for the 30-minute drive to Guerneville. Traffic got backed up as we approached Johnson’s Beach, but the brilliant Waze app took us to a narrow side road that ran parallel to what we thought was the only street to the beach. Score!

Next thing I knew, we were by the entrance of the athletes-only transition area. HusbandRuns told me he’d meet me back there before the swim, and I entered Ironman. No going back now!

Well, going forward was slow, too, as I quickly realized my bike pump was in demand. I stopped three or four times to let folks borrow it and wait for them to get air in their tires. The extra few minutes were totally worth it, as we exchanged heartfelt well wishes for a great race!

Then I got to Magic Bike, pumped his tires, got my water and Nuun for the bike, grabbed my wetsuit, cap and goggles, and found my husband conveniently waiting for me near a porta-potty with a pretty short line. Another sign for a smooth day ahead?

Potty business done, I decided to just put on the wetsuit already. I stripped down to my two-piece Team Betty swim suit, squeezed into the wetsuit, put on my swim cap, and… realized that we still had at least half an hour to go.

This is the first time in the four years I’ve been doing triathlon that time was not racing before the start.

We watched the professional men’s start from the beach, then the women… then continued watching as athletes started filing into the narrow walkway to the swim arch. Men in green caps, women in pink:

VinemanSwimStart

Notice anything? Where is the pink?!???

The start was self-seeded, meaning everyone got to decide what wave to join based on their expected swim finish time.

Bit of a problem for a first-timer who had never even swam the entire 2.4 miles…

I had absolutely no clue how long it would take me. No more than two hours, I hoped? And certainly no more than the cutoff time of 2:20?

Finally, I decided to seed myself in the 1:20-1:30 wave (a little over twice the time I’d need for a 70.3 swim) and walked over to join the thick crowd of nervous wetsuits.

Swim

First snag: I hadn’t noticed the area was fenced-off, so I’d need to go to the very back of the line and try to make my way forward to my wave.

Surprisingly (or not?), everyone was very courteous and more than willing to let me pass when I mentioned I was hoping to get to the wave in front of them. I guess it’s in everyone’s interest for people to seed themselves in the proper swim group!

That, and triathletes are just awesome people in general.

I reached the back of the 1:20-1:30 crowd and we inched our way forward until I stepped over the timing mat. Time to start swimming!

Well, not before taking care of some over-hydration business first. (I’ve said it before: all triathletes pee in their wetsuit before the swim start, deal with it.)

That took a good minute, by the way.

Then I dived in and started swimming…

… and right away, I found myself in a pack of swimmers going at a much slower pace that I wanted to go.

Russian River is so narrow and shallow, that I could have easily stood up to walk around until I found more space. But walking in water is a lot slower than swimming, and I had made a pact with myself that I would not walk the swim. My legs would get plenty of action later in the day.

So I swam at a near-sprint to pass the first pack of swimmers, then settled down into my rhythm… until a few minutes later, I hit another slower pack and had to pick up the pace again. This sprint-settle down-repeat cycle went on for almost the entire swim.

VinemanSwim

As I reached the turnaround, I glanced at my watch for the first time: 37 minutes? That was better than all of my 70.3 swims! It was like getting a fresh burst of energy and on I went, swimming past walking guys, swimming past slower groups, just swimming.

I exited the water at 1:13-something on my watch and I couldn’t have been happier!

Vineman swim exit

Swim time: 1:14:41

T1

A volunteer handed me my bike gear bag and I trotted over to the changing tent. They don’t have changing tents at Ironman 70.3 events, so this was my first time in one. And seeing how I was in a swim suit and needed to be in my cycling kit instead, it’s a good thing we had privacy! I took quite a while to dry off, wipe as much mud off my feet as I could before putting on socks and get dressed. Then again, I had a long day ahead of me. No rush.

T1 time: 9:44

Bike

The Vineman bike course is a thing of beauty. First, you ride against the backdrop of these big evergreens. It’s still early morning and the sun is low, and its light is soft, and everything is simply perfect.

IronmanVinemanBike1

Then the vineyards start rollin’. Winery after winery, after winery, as we pedal along on the smooth roads. Many of them newly-paved. Two thumbs up!

VinemanBike2

I stopped at the first Bike Aid station to refill one of my water bottles and was helped by no other than Harriet Anderson. She was volunteering with SVTC, on trash pick-up duty! That’s right, Harriet Anderson was picking up our trash. If that doesn’t show you how amazing the triathlon community is, what would?

After that, I made two more stops. One to get my special needs bag, where another kind volunteer helped me pour my special-needs bottles of Mexican Coke into my bike bottle. (Coca Cola is my worst long-ride addiction, if I’m going to ride for four or more hours, I need my coke!) And one last stop at mile who-knows-what, because I would decidedly have not made it to T2 with a bladder that full.

(Water to go at all aid stations, coke, Nuun… I was very well hydrated.)

VinemanBike3

Not least, the course is all rollers. There are two climbs up Chalk Hill at miles 44 and 100, respectively, and yes – that hill does get steeper the second time around. I was riding pretty conservatively and my legs felt fine. But with about six miles to go, I decided to shift into an easier gear and spin the legs out some more. I had a marathon to run, after all.

Bike time: 6:50:08
(OK, in hindsight, that is quite slow. I’ll pace myself better if I ever do this again!)

T2

I handed off Magic Bike to a volunteer, grabbed my run gear bag and went into the changing tent. Put on my Team Betty tri suit, ran out to the porta-potty — and back in for the rest of my changing. My feet were still muddy from T1, so I used up a mini-pack of wipes to get as much dirt off as I could. Don’t want to get blisters if I can help it! Then I drank ice water. Then I applied sunscreen. Then I put on my race-belt tutu. Then I sat on a chair for a bit… Then I realized that I was basically hanging out in T2, stalling. Not knowing if I’m ready to run a marathon. How would my legs feel? Would it be too hot? Would I make it?

Suck it up. Only one way to find out!

Time in T1: 15:01
[seriously……..]

Run

The first thing I realized when I started running was that it wasn’t terribly hot out, and my legs weren’t feeling terribly bad.

The next thing I realized was that turning my race belt into a tutu was one of my smartest Ironman decisions yet.

IronmanVinemanRun1-2

Right away, I started getting loud cheers from spectators lined up around the beginning of the course:

Cute Tutu!
Go, Tutu!
You got this, Tutu!

And from fellow runners:

Nice Tutu!
A Tutu? A Tutu!
That.is.awesome. A Tutu. [chuckle]

and, my favorite (I got that some time on my second lap):

VAMOS, Tutu!!

It is impossible to get cheers and smiles from everyone, and not get a lift in spirits. So most of the time, I was running with a grin on my face.

The run was a three time out-and-back on a 4.5-mile stretch, which was a great way to consolidate aid stations and spectators. The small stretches of road that didn’t have many spectators lined up were either along beautiful vineyards, or had loud cheer stations from volunteers or sponsors.

IronmanVinemanRunTutu

I took the first half “lap” at an 8:44 average pace, fully realizing I would not be able to keep it up. But as long as I felt good, why not?

Back near the run start and on my way to the second loop, I ran by the area with our special needs bags almost too quickly, and had to back down a few steps to find my bag and get some gels.

Nutrition-wise: I had switched from Bonk Breakers to gels for the run, and my stomach was feeling good. I did have to duck into a porta-potty coming back on my second lap. It felt weird stopping to use the restroom during a run – I never do that, even in a marathon. But when you’re out there for hours and hours, it just can’t be helped.

At that point I had slowed down quite a bit, running a 10 min/ mile pace on the uphills (there was one big climb on that course, which we had to basically do six times, and one smaller climb that wasn’t so bad).

Luckily, HusbandRuns was on the course as well and he would join me for a few yards here and there to keep me company. He even offered me snacks – which I refused, since we’re not allowed to accept any outside assistance, but also because said “snacks” consisted of plums and tomatoes.

Many thanks to fellow Betty Julienne, whose husband took this photo! I wonder what we were discussing at this point, perhaps the possible consequences of snacking on plums during a marathon?
Many thanks to fellow Betty Julienne, whose husband took this photo! I wonder what we were discussing at this point, perhaps the possible consequences of snacking on plums during a marathon?

It was great seeing all my fellow Bettys on the course, too, and getting (and giving) smiles and shout-outs! Those Team Betty kits truly light up a race course, don’t they?

I won’t lie, by mile 21, I was ready to be done with the marathon thing. I was tired, my stomach was starting to feel weird, I had been out there for 12 hours and really wanted to lie down and take a nap — or just go to sleep.

With a mile to go, I ran for a bit with HusbandRuns for the last time.

We reached the “Athletes only from this point” sign at the start of the fenced-off “runway” that looped around Windsor High School and eventually lead to the Ironman finish line. I kissed HusbandRuns “see ya in a few minutes” and dived in.

Approaching the Ironman finish chute is something else. Words really don’t do it justice. So many people lined up and they all scream their lungs out, and give high fives, and shake those cowbells – so.much.cowbell!. It is so loud and so incredible. And, of course, you know that you are about to finish an Ironman – something that once seemed insane and impossible. (Something that your husband once said is as crazy as sticking your hand in the electrical outlet and keeping it there for eight hours.)

It basically feels like this:

IronmanVinemanFinish1

And this:

IronmanVinemanFinish2

The softest, most incredible, welcoming and celebratory red carpet in the world!

Run time: 4:25:22

I crossed the finish line and a volunteer immediately came over to put a medal around my neck, help me take my timing chip off, give me a water bottle and a space blanket, and ask how I feel. It wasn’t a courtesy question, either, he really meant business and I knew from the way he looked at me that he was assessing: can she stand on her feet? do we need a wheelchair? will she faint, or will she walk?

I was feeling perfectly fine at that point, so the volunteer directed me to the food tent and went over to help the next finishers.

Meanwhile, HusbandRuns was nowhere to be seen and after five minutes of looking around, I asked the folks at a nearby information table for a cell phone, so I could call him and find out where he is. He didn’t pick up, so I left a message. And after another minute of looking around, realized that I forgot to take a finisher’s photo. Doh.

IronmanVinemanFinisher

By that point, I was so cold that taking off my space blanket for 30 seconds to take this photo felt like eternity.

Then I spotted HusbandRuns, ran over to grab some food and we rushed to the car. I needed to be inside and warm up (heater to the max!) while he went to get my bike and gear bags.

It is so, so nice to have an IronSherpa to take care of those things for you. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I was at that point.

Shortly after that, we headed back to the hotel and, once in our room, I took off my still soaking-wet and stinky (but beautiful!) Team Betty kit, and finally made myself my own Iron Throne: a nice, hot bath!

Total time: 12:54:56
Overall rank: 680
Gender: 123
Age group: 27

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10 Reasons to Love Heat Training

10 Reasons to Love Heat Training
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You don’t normally see heat-training articles pop up in September, but there you have it: while Starbucks is proudly serving Pumpkin Spice Lattes, the San Francisco Bay Area is a toasty 102 degrees.

A normal person would heed the heat advisory and stay in the air-conditioned comfort of their home, work out in the gym or get in that run, ride or swim before the sun rises in all its Indian Summer glory.

A runner or triathlete, however, would rejoice at the opportunity to get some beneficial heat training. That’s right: I said it’s good for you.

As long as you do it safely – hydrate, hydrate, listen to your body, know the signs of heat stroke or exhaustion, hydrate again! – training in hot weather can not only be fun, it could make you a better athlete in the long run. Here is why:

heat training

1. Heat adaptation improves performance

In some studies, by as much as 4% to 8%. If you’re the competitive type, that might mean the difference between placing in your age group or ending your race a few seconds off the podium.

2. It increases plasma volume

Plasma transports blood cells around your body. More plasma = more oxygen being carried around in your blood cells, to feed your hard-working muscles. Plasma volume decreases during prolonged exercise, so the more of it you have to begin with, the better. (Wow, I am way oversimplifying this… There is quite a bit of medical research on the topic if you prefer the legit explanation.)

3. Running on those cool race mornings will feel effortless

Get used to running in the heat, and those early-morning races will feel like a breeze. And if you end up racing on a hot day, as luck would have it — well, then, you’ll be well prepared for that, right?

4. You get your full of Vitamin D

A widely-cited clinical study published in the March 2010 Journal of Clinical Endocrinology and Metabolism found that 59% of test subjects — healthy young women living in Southern California, at that! — were vitamin D-deficient. Crazy, right? Vitamin D is essential for bone health; insufficiency is linked to increased body fat and decreased muscle strength. Get your daily dose on a sunny run; just don’t overdo it. Wear sunscreen.

5. You’ll be so ready for long-course triathlon and those mid-day Ragnar legs!

Has the thought of trying an Ironman or 70.3 entered your mind? Or are you more of a Ragnar Relay type of athlete? Nothing like mid-day runs in the heat to get your body ready for race day, when you will likely be starting your run leg smack in the middle of the day.

6. You can run sexy!

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(image source)

OK, we’re entering the not-so-scientific portion of my list now. But how about those short-shorts you can wear without freezing your butt off, or a sexy short skirt?

7. You’ll work on your (sexy) tan

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(image source)
Ever see a pair of legs like those walking down the street? Give their owner a high-five, chances are you both love running or biking in the heat.

8. Other runners will think you’re crazy — and badass

Among those who share your love or running, training in the middle of the day when it’s a gazillion degrees out elicits awe and respect. They probably think you’re crazy, too. But never mind that, they’ll realize how smartly you trained after you show ‘em who’s boss at that next super-hot race.

9. That post-run glass of [water] has never tasted better

Or Nuun. Or beer. Hey, someone has to admit it? Nothing – nothing – tastes better than a chilled glass of the amber brew (your favorite IPA?) after a super-hot, super-hard run or ride in the scorching sun. Don’t judge!

10. You may make like-minded (crazy) friends

Train regularly at the hottest time of day, and you’ll notice one of two things: you’re always the only person out running; or you run into the “regulars,” others who are just as crazy as you are to venture out in the heat. Who knows, maybe you’ll make new running friends that way. Wave hello if you see me!

[tweetthis]Heat wave? Bring it! Check out these 10 reasons why you should love training in the heat.[/tweetthis]
 

Do you ever train in the heat? What are your survival tips?