Ironman California 2022 Race Report
The culmination of the 2022 season, a season I chronicled in my "Real Deal" write-up, came down to this—Ironman California in Sacramento. The journey, like the race itself, was packed with drama, both mental and physical, making it a truly unforgettable experience.
Pre-Race Drama and Logistics
The lead-up to race day was anything but smooth. I drove to Sacramento amidst so much drama, which made focusing on the logistics a welcome distraction. The day before the race was a whirlwind of final preparations: checking in, attending the briefings, and driving the bike course. It was during that drive I realized the forecast was grim, confirming the 20 mph wind speed I'd seen on Weather.com. This was going to be a battle against the elements. I then meticulously ensured I had everything, made my race-day nutrition, washed my bike, and packed my transition bags. The anticipation, mixed with the reality of the impending conditions, was palpable.
Race Morning and the Swim
Race morning began with a smooth routine: Maneesh picked me up to get to the swim start, and I managed to have a regular breakfast. I prepped my bike and took the shuttle to the swim start. Standing there, alone and cold, the gravity of the 140.6 miles ahead hit me. Right after the start, I had to pause and collect myself for a moment—a grounding ritual I’d had to perform a second time this season, similar to what happened at Donner: unable to breathe out and get a swim rhythm.
The swim itself was surprisingly manageable. I took it easy after my brief moment of pause. It was a river swim, which meant a noticeable current was at play, though we were also against it at one point. The course was really shallow at times, forcing a few awkward strokes. Coming out of the water, I faced the notorious T1—it was really long, and I jogged the entire way to get to my bike.
The Bike: 112 Miles of Misery and Mental Fortitude
The 112-mile bike course, a double out-and-back on the flat roads, was defined by the wind.
First Loop: The start was deceptively hard. I found myself pushing 21-23 mph on the first leg, which felt super hard, yet I didn't feel much of a sidewind or tailwind—just an immense effort to maintain speed. The way back, however, was 8 miles of pure misery. The headwind was brutal, and at mile 32, I was genuinely thinking of dropping out. The thought of quitting was the loudest voice in my head. I managed to silence it by just focusing on putting one pedal stroke in front of the other, clinging to the small victory of just getting to the end of the first loop.
Second Loop: Mentally, the goal for the second 56 miles was simply to survive and get to the run. The wind felt even higher this time, turning the ride into a relentless grind. I kept my head down, committed to my nutrition plan, and just kept moving forward, knowing that the bike finish was the real gate to completing the race.
The Run: Pushing Past the Pain
Starting the marathon, I felt regular, settling into a comfortable 9:00-9:30 min/mile pace. My legs were tired, of course, but the feeling was manageable. The run had decent weather, though it remained windy.
Disaster struck around mile 7-8. I felt a sharp pain on the outside of my right knee, classic Iliotibial Band (ITB) pain, and a tad bit on the left, too. By mile 11-12, the pain was significant enough to prevent me from running—I was forced to start walking.
At mile 14, I had a truly scary moment: I peed, and the color was dark brown. This was a massive red flag, a clear sign of severe dehydration/rhabdo, and it shocked me into a more cautious, deliberate pace, focusing intensely on fluid intake.
I continued to drag myself forward until mile 18-19, which brought me to Special Needs. I pulled on my shirt as it was getting cold, and turned on my lights. The last 7-8 miles became a mental game of community—I started giving other athletes company, chit-chatting a bit until mile 22.
The Finish Line Fiasco and Triumph
The final miles were made up of two small loops to finish. Oddly, I felt great on these loops—the sound of the finish line was so close, and mentally, I knew I had made it. It was just a matter of continuing the walk/shuffle that had worked until now.
I finished the two loops and was feeling the euphoria of the moment when a volunteer flagged me to the right. I followed without thinking, only to realize I had been directed onto the start of another loop, and the finish line noise had faded away. I asked volunteers and other people around, but didn't get any useful answers. Risking disqualification, I decided to go back, retracing my steps until I finally figured out where I got off the course.
The true finish was incredibly happy. I crossed the line, a full Ironman, and saw Neha and Piku waiting for me. It was the best sight after what felt like an entirely solitary day. From the T0 drop-off until the finish, I hadn't seen a single known soul.
The Aftermath
The whole day is still a blur, yet the next day I was back to regular life, going about my day-to-day routine with no muscle soreness at all. The only lingering pain was the ITB in my knee, which took a day or two to get better.
It was one hell of a season and one hell of a race. Despite the extreme difficulty and the near-miss on the run course, I did not feel burnt out at all. I loved doing it, and the experience only fueled my desire to face more challenges in the following years.
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