Team Mango

black diamond sprint tri

Having languished all summer due to a nagging hip problem, I gave up mountain biking racing this year. I became sort of an armchair athlete, hearing the stories of my fellow Mangos — John T. competing in his second Ironman triathlon, John M. completing his second STP double-century ride, and Scott and Susana doing a three month bike tour of Europe. I maintained a limited training regimen, though, and started going to a physical therapist, which improved my hip’s range of motion greatly. I decided to try and get back into shape and picked a sprint triathlon (my second ever) as my goal — the Black Diamond Triathlon.

My road bike was out of commission until I could fix the seat post, so my core training consisted of (almost) daily bike commutes on my mountain bike with John M. He would ride his road bike, so I managed to build up a sort of competitive advantage trying to keep up with him on my heavier mountain bike with knobby tires (to John’s credit, 9 times out of 10 I would end up drafting him as he pulled me into downtown).

After arriving at Nolte State Park, I set up in the transition area, neatly organizing my gear for the various race legs. The race was to begin at 9:00a, so I got my wetsuit on 20 minutes beforehand and headed to the lake to warm up. “Warm up” turned out to be a figurative term, as the water was about 60 degrees. Even with the wetsuit, that was mighty brisk for a morning swim. The bulk of the racers were in the water awaiting the start, but the race official didn’t show up until much later. We all stood around in the water muttering about how freakin’ cold it was.

At 9:20, they finally counted down to the start, and we were off. I let the bulk of the swimmers by me before I leapt into the churning water. I kept my head up and did the breaststroke and sidestroke until the pack thinned out. As had happened at my first tri in 2003, I soon started hyperventilating. But unlike my panic that time, I knew that this might happen and was mentally prepared for it. I eased things way down as much as I could and stuck to the sidestroke and paddling on my back for the first 1/4 mile. I noticed that a fair number of other swimmers were doing the same thing, so I didn’t feel so bad.

Rounding the far buoy, I started to feel more at ease and started a slow crawl — lifting my head every 5th or 6th stroke to sight the next buoy. The shoreline never seemed to get closer, but sure enough I continued my barge-like swimming and reached terra firma. I had hoped to do the swim in 18:00 (factoring in the expected hyperventilation), but completed this leg in 19:21 (solidly in the mid-pack of 230 competitors).

From the shore, T1 consisted of a run up a steep hill to the transition area, where I stripped off my wetsuit, and donned my cycling shoes, shirt and helmet, and ran off with my bike. My T1 time was listed as 3:00 — curiously the exact same time as half of the others. I’m guessing that there was a problem with the timing chip reading at either the entry or exit of T1, so they gave everyone an average time until the problem was fixed. (In a follow-up conversation with the race organizer, they did in fact have a temporary malfunction with the timing equipment at the entry into T1, so they simply assigned an average time for T1 and then calculated swim times accordingly).

Having trained exclusively on my mountain bike, I felt quite nimble on my road bike. The bike course was an out-and-back on fairly flat county roads with a few short, rolling hills. I cranked it up to about 25mph and passed a huge number of riders throughout the 11-mile ride, and was only passed once. After flailing across the lake, it was refreshing to be on my no-name, steel road bike passing one of these. My bike time was 33:14 (the 26th fastest time out of the entire pack, or the top 10%!), meeting my goal to average 20mph.

T2 went slightly quicker, as I simply had to drop off my bike and helmet and change into running shoes (in 1:57).

The 2.8 mile run consisted of two laps of trail running around Deep Lake. It was mostly flat, but had a couple short ups and downs. Half a mile into the run, the need to urinate was overpowering. Since I’m not a seasoned enough triathlete, I opted not to piss myself, and simply picked the nearest tree on which to relieve myself. I must have been way over hydrated, as it seemed like I’d never stop peeing. I’m guessing I lost a good 45 second watering that tree. As I started running again, a woman ran up behind me and asked “are you 5 pounds lighter now?”. I kept up a respectable 8:45 pace for the run, completing it in 25:00 and turning in a finishing time of 1:22:33 — 2:30 short of my goal of 1:20:00.

Overall I placed 68th out of 230 (see results here) — almost the top quarter! But in my age group (35-40), I placed a pitiful 12th out of 15. Even given my recurring swim problems, I have to say that the sprint triathlon has become a favorite goal of mine — a nice departure from all of the biking I do. I’d like to work up to doing an Olympic-length tri sometime soon, but for now, it’s the start of cyclocross season!

FAT TIRE TRI (ALMOST)

A torrential downpour and high winds on Friday night did not forebode well for my race early the next morning. The rain and winds battering our freshly painted house woke me up a few times during the night — or maybe it was my usual pre-race jitters. But I made it through the night and woke up with time enough to choke down a high-carb breakfast, then catch another 45 minutes of sleep before I had to drive out to St. Edwards State Park north of Kirkland.

I was headed to the Fat Tire Triathlon, sponsored by Speedy Reedy — Seattle’s self-proclaimed “pure triathlon store”. It was my second triathlon — my first being over over a year ago — and my first race of any kind since I gave up racing early this spring due to a slew of daycare-borne illnesses. Driving across the 520 bridge to the race didn’t help my jitters much, as I witnessed the still gusty wind churning up 3’ to 5’ waves on Lake Washington.

But I continued on, determined to at least give it my best shot and complete the race — which I guess was more than some participants were willing to do as about half of those who signed up for the race never showed up Saturday morning!

To my, and I think just about every other racer’s relief, the 1/4 mile swim leg was cancelled at the last minute due to the choppy water. The race officials were concerned not only for the safety of the swimmers, but also for the spotters in kayaks who would have a hell of time attempting to rescue all of the drowning swimmers.

So the race started down at the water’s edge, as if we had just survived the swim. We began in starting waves of 5-10 racers, with a 0.6 mile run… 300 feet uphill! Nothing like pegging my heart rate right from the start. I jogged about halfway up, then walked a couple minutes, then forced myself to run the rest of the hill. At the bike transition, I took my sweet time. There was no point in trying to cover up my lack of adequate training by pulling off a speedy transition, so I sat down, toweled off, changed into my bike shoes, gulped down gatorade, rested a little bit more, then took off on the bike.

The 10 mile mountain bike course (2 - 5 mile laps) took place mostly at the top of the plateau and consisted of smooth, hard-packed singletrack with the occasional tight turn, rooty spots and mud bogs brought on by Friday’s rain. A very fast, moderately technical course. The uphill entry run and the staggered starts spread everyone out pretty evenly, so I enjoyed almost the entire bike course without having to pass or be passed. At times I was alone for so long that I got to wondering if I had strayed off course. But I breezed through the course without incident.

My heart rate was a lot more under control during the bike leg, so I was a little quicker at the transition to the run. The course was a 4-mile trail run and contained my nemesis — big, big hills. It started with a 1/2 mile flat run into the trees, but then started a steep descent, 300 feet back down to Lake Washington. I let gravity propel me for this portion, then kept my usual running pace for about 3/4 of a mile along the water’s edge. Then… since we were denied one element of the triathlon, I thought I’d replace the swim with another favorite sport… WALKING! The trail turned uphill again, 300 feet back up to the starting area, then another 1/2 mile on the plateau, then another bone-jarring 300 foot descent back down to the water — which again had me utilizing my friend: gravity. Another short run along the water’s edge followed by a veritable WALL for the final ascent back up to the plateau. I would later hear from fellow athletes that most likely, not a single person had the get-up-and-go to get up and go (run) up that last hill. So I dragged myself uphill, saving my last bit of power to run the final mile to the finish line.

No results have been posted as of yet, but I do know that 1) I did not win and 2) I did satisfy my ultimate objective — to finish!

After the race, I gulped down 3 salmon sandwiches, chips, grapes about half a dozen cookies, and two Fat Tire Ales (all provided by the race organizers and sponsors), and even managed to win my first-ever post-race raffle prize — an Ironman Wetsuits T-shirt! But I guess my odds were greatly improved because of all the people that never showed up.

Ironman Canada: Warning, long report ahead

At 11:30 am on Saturday morning in Penticton, BC I was attending the Ironman Canada pre-race briefing. I was surrounded by nearly two thousand of the most fit, confident people that I’ve ever seen in my life and I was thinking to myself “What am I doing here??” After hearing all about people’s 25 to 30 hour training weeks (my longest was 18, only because I went for two hours more than I was supposed to) my self-confidence was rapidly waning so I retreated to my motel room immediately after the briefing. My mind was too scattered for reading so I watched some Saturday afternoon tv—“Jaws,” was on TBS, just the thing to see prior to a 2.4 mile swim.

I was up at 3:30 am on Sunday and the next three and a half hours passed quickly. As the 7:00 am start rapidly approached I found myself in my wetsuit, watching the sun rise. I tested the water, swimming just enough to make sure that my goggles weren’t leaking and returned to the beach. I listened to the Canadian national anthem, and then with the shot of a cannon the race began. As most of you probably know, there are currently a number of serious forest fires near Penticton. Most of the medical volunteers at the Ironman are fire fighters or paramedics, many of whom were busy with their real jobs. As a result, the Ironman was short of medical volunteers and rescue personnel, so the swim course was altered to keep it from being too spread out. Instead of the usual broad triangle, the course consisted of a line of buouys. There was a boat approximately 400 yards from shore. We swam past the boat, along the buouys to a second boat, executed a 180-degree turn, returned to the first boat, made another turn, repeated the loop and headed for the beach. This led to a much more concentrated start and the three 180-degree turns were natural pinch points. And the swim was brutal. In my previous triathlons I’ve never experienced anything close to the level of violence of the first 400 yards of the swim. Every third or fourth breath was lost as an elbow or forearm came down on my head, pushing me under water. I was repeatedly kicked in the mouth, the side, the legs. Finally, as I passed the first boat things settled down. It was still crowded but the pushing and shoving was less frantic. At the first turn it bunched up once again but this time the crowd rapidly dispersed and I could finally concentrate on swimming. I made the second turn, the third turn and the next thing I knew was passing the inner boat for the final time and heading for the beach. Soon I could see the tops of seaweed, then the lake bottom, and finally I touched bottom with my left hand once, twice and I stood up. I glanced at my watch and was shocked to see that I had completed the swim in 1:12, absolutely crushing my goal of an hour and a half. One great thing about an Ironman compared to shorter triathlons is the tremendous level of help that you’re given during the transitions. As I moved across the timing mats two volunteers rapidly stripped off my wetsuit—far more rapidly than I could ever achieve on my own. Next, another volunteer came running up with a bag containing my swim-to-bike gear. I dumped it all on the ground, toweled myself off, guzzled a 24 oz bottle of gatorade, pulled a on real pair of bike shorts over my triathlete’s hot pants, put on my jersey, sun glasses, helmet, camelbak. Meanwhile, someone was packing up my towel, wetsuit and goggles and another volunteer was slathering me with sunscreen. Oh yeah, I put on socks and bike shoes, too. And then I was looking for my bike.

I left the transition, heading down Main Street of Penticton, taking it easy, letting my heart rate settle down. Cyclists were everywhere, passing me on the left and the right, hammering like mad. Ahead of me one rider went down and two more piled into him. I passed through the chaos, rode out of town and began to enjoy the beautiful (but smoky) morning. The beginning of the course was rolling to flat, with regular lake and mountain views. The pedals were light, there seemed to be more downhill than up and I rode the first 25 miles in an hour. The next part of the course was flat, passing vineyards and peach orchards. I was playing leapfrog with a cute 34-year old riding a midnight blue Cervelo with matching Zipp 404’s. We passed through a recently extinguished forest fire. It was still smoldering in places, and fire crews were working to take care of the remnants.

At about the 40-mile mark the nature of the course changed dramatically. After passing through the little town of Osoyoos we turned back to the north and attacked the first significant climb. Richter Pass was a climb of just over 1200’ in 6.8 miles. It was an incredible experience. At this point the highway was four lanes. Two left lanes were open for car traffic. The far right lane was reserved for cyclists, and the shoulder and other right lane were lined with spectators who had been bussed in from Penticton. Nearing the crest of the climb both sides of the road were lined two or three deep with fans. It was like the Tour (including, unfortunately, a rider who was knocked down by an overzealous spectator). As I came over the crest of the pass I felt like I could have ridden through a brick wall.

The next part of the course was up and down, with 0.5-1.0 mile long climbs coming one after the other. The temperature was climbing and the pedals were no longer weightless but I was able to maintain a good pace. At one point a woman riding in front of me lifted her ass off the saddle and pissed all over herself. I’d heard that people do that in order to save time but I was surprised to see it in the middle of the pack where I was riding. Do you throw away your saddle after the race? Finally, the last big climb began. Leaving the town of Keremos and riding to Yellow Lake was a climb of about 1400’ in 7.5 miles, with a significantly steeper grade for the final two miles. At this point the day was quite warm and I was beginning to feel fatigued but once again the road was lined with cheering fans. I thought about the ride to Sunrise and let the goodwill from the spectators pull me over the top. I couldn’t believe it—all of the bike work was done. A descent of 1.8 miles at an 8% grade cooled me off and brought my heartrate down. I passed the 100-mile mark and the last 12 miles were mostly downhill with a flat two mile finish through the town of Penticton. I finished the bike leg in 6:15:11, for an average speed of 17.9 mph. If only I hadn’t stopped to use a Honey Bucket I would have been over 18 mph….

Once again volunteers were everywhere as I came into the transition. One took my bike and another handed me my bike-to-run bag. I changed shoes, dropped my shorts and nearly forgot to take off my helmet. I spent a couple of minutes stretching, guzzled down a juice box of Extran and began my run. The run course had been changed at the last minute, again due to the fires. They wanted to keep the athletes close to town in case of a flare-up or some other emergency. The revised run course was an “L”-shaped route, with two out-and-back sections and we ran the whole thing three times.

I felt ok for the first few miles, maintaining a slow but steady pace of about 9:30 per mile. Then, coming out of the aid station at mile six I thought my race was over. After taking in one too many energy gels I was nearly overcome by an extreme need to vomit. Wave after wave of nausea passed over me and I was waiting for the one that would have me spewing Clif Bars and sports drink all over the pavement. At that moment Alan Igawa, a casual acquaintance from the Seattle Triathlon Club came up behind me, patted me on the back and gave me a cheerful “Hey dude, how are you feeling?” One look at me answered that question. Alan walked with me for the next five minutes or so. At that point I wasn’t feeling great but the combination of a few minutes of walking and a friendly face had me back from the edge. I walked to the next aid station where I took Alan’s advice and discovered the miraculous restorative power of salty chicken broth. Five minutes after gagging down a cup of broth my stomach had settled. Five minutes after that my energy level shot up as the liquids pooled in my stomach were rapidly absorbed and the next thing I knew I was running again.

I soldiered on through the middle portion of the race. By this time the medical tents were starting to fill—each time I passed by there were more people on stretchers, more i.v. bags going, more people covered with bags of ice. On the course more and more people were walking, some were sitting or lying down. I saw one man violently puking. After refusing medical attention (getting medical attention meant withdrawing from the race) he continued his run with a pair of paramedics on mountain bikes following closely behind. Another runner seated on the curb pulled off his shoe to reveal a blood-soaked sock. One good thing about the course layout was that you would see the same people twice on each loop. Regularly seeing Alan, Reed from Speedy Reedy, an acquaintance from my gym, some new acquaintances who were staying at the same motel, as well as some total strangers helped to keep my spirits up and keep me moving. And again, the spectators were awesome. My favorite was a crew of eight or ten with a quarter barrel of beer and a lot of AC-DC coming from their stereo. I think they deteriorated more seriously than I did over the course of four or five hours. I had another bad moment around mile 16 but once again a cup of chicken broth revived me (I’m not sure what vegetarians do). At this point the zen-like feeling of confidence finally settled over me and I knew that I was going to get it done and I wasn’t going to do any more walking. I completed the last loop, actually building my pace to a blazing 9:00 mile, heard some final words of encouragement as I passed Reed and Alan for the final time (I had passed Alan around mile 12) and entered the finish chute, a quarter-mile long lined with bleachers and filled with cheering fans. Then my name was being announced and 12 hours, thirty-eight minutes and twenty-seven seconds after hitting the water I was done.

I have to say, the Ironman was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. I have to give a lot of people credit for helping me to make it happen. My swim coaches, Mary, Ed, Teresa and Janelle are in danger of turning me into a real swimmer. I may have to give up the standard triathlete’s reply of, “Well, I’m not much of a swimmer….” My coach Karen, who I know only through phone and email conversations did a great job of devising a training plan that worked within my schedule and limitations. The Saturday morning RAMROD crew of John, Jason, Scott and Greg turned those mountain centuries into something to look forward to rather than dread. Those rides really were one of the highlights of my summer. And finally, all of my other friends for being understanding as I fell of the face of the earth for six months. Hopefully I’ll see a lot more of you this fall.

In case anyone is curious, over the course of 12.5 hours on Sunday I consumed four juice boxes of Extran, four Clif Bars, two and a half 20 oz bottles of Endurox, six Clif Shots and approximately eight liters of water, Gatorade, and Pepsi. Since January 1 I’ve spent more than 306 hours training. That’s broken down into 147000 yards of swimming, just under 2000 miles of cycling, 608 miles of running and about 50 hours of weight training. God, I need to sit down!

If At First You Don't Succeed, Try a Tri again: John's Perspective

Last Sunday I too participated in the Benaroya Research Institute triathlon at SeaFair. Three years ago the SeaFair tri was my first ever triathlon, so it holds a special place in my triathletes heart. My big goal for the summer has been to prepare myself for the Ironman Canada triathlon. An Ironman is about nine times the length of a sprint triathlon like SeaFair, so I wasn’t at all worried about the distances. I was looking forward to a fun race and an opportunity to go fast since Ironman training is all about the pace.

Anyway, for the second day in a row I was up shortly after 5 am (I had ridden a century on Saturday). After making it to Seward Park and setting up my transition area the next hour passed by very quickly. I found myself wishing Jason good luck as his wave, in silver swim caps, staged itself on the beach. The first wave of elite swimmers was sent off, followed shortly by Jason’s wave, the 30-34 year old men. Next, the 25-29 year old women started to swim, and finally I was standing in the water, waiting for the start.

As they sent us off it was the usual mosh pit of 110 triathletes of widely varying swimming ability struggling to find their own personal patch of water. The shallow water was so stirred up and murky that visisbility was essentially zero—I was sighting every third or fourth stroke, avoiding slow swimmers, focusing on powerful strokes so fast swimmers wouldn’t push me under, watching out for the occassional breast-stroke swimmer and their wide kicks. After about 100 yards things opened up and I could think about swimming, as opposed to avoiding being kicked in the head. I felt good passing the first buouy, then the second and making the turn. I soon passed a distressed-looking swimmer in a silver swim cap. I hoped it wasn’t Jason. I was pushing the pace, alternating my focus points—keep my hands straight in front of my shoulders—no crossing over. Keep my ear to shoulder, one eye underwater when breathing. Strong finish to the stroke, feel it in my triceps. Soon I made the second turn, and now I was mixed up with a lot of swimmers from the previous wave. Now I was back in shallow, stirred-up water, I touched bottom with my hand, and was done with the swim. Three years ago this swim took me nearly 23 minutes. I said I’d be happy to break 20 minutes. Last year I came in under 18 minutes and I said that I’d be satisfied if I can get my swim time under 15. This year I crossed the timing mat at 14:27, and I’m thinking those 11 and 12 minute swim times don’t look so impossible—when will it all end?

Two and a half minutes later I was leaving the transition area and mounting my bike. Like Jason, the bike is my strength. I’ve done several long mountain rides with Jason this summer and I was looking forward to riding fast on this short, flat course. I’d left my heartrate monitor at home and was planning on pushing as hard as possible for a half-hour or so. As I cleared the chaos of the transition area I dropped into the aero bars, shifted to the big ring and dropped the hammer. I accelerated away from Seward Park, gradually shifting to higher gears. I kept my pace high, continually passing other riders, slowing only occasionally to navigate through some congestion. Up a short hill, onto the I-90 express lanes, across to the Mercer Island turnaround, where a quick mental calculation told me that I had averaged nearly 24 mph for the first half. There was a headwind coming back across the bridge, but that mile and a half was quickly behind me and I hammered south on Lake Washington Boulevard. A change of shoes, drop the bike helmet, gulp some gatorade and I was off on the run. Running after a fast-paced bike ride is HARD. My goal was to continually build my pace throughout the run. I hadn’t run since my slight bike crash incident the previous Sunday, so my running legs were actually pretty fresh. As I rounded the far side of Seward Park a handsome, shirtless man came in sight who turned out to be Jason! We exchanged the secret Mango greeting, and he informed me of his introduction to triathlon swimming. Unfortunately, the mass start is almost impossible to simulate and everyone experiences a little trauma during their first tri. But Jason was looking good, running along. I pulled ahead, up and down a short hill and then a flat half-mile to the finish where I came in with a new personal best of 1:14:27. I was 22 out of 110 in my age group and am very pround of my bike time, the 40th fastest in a field of 1100. If I keep this up I’ll have to turn in my mid-pack credentials. Exactly a month from today I’ll be in Penticton, BC for Ironman Canada, where I’ll return to humble mid-pack (or lower) status. At IMCA there will be athletes in the field who are capable of riding a bike at nearly 28 mph for FOUR HOURS, and then running a marathon in under three. If I can do the combined bike and run in ten or eleven hours I’ll be ecstatic. Or at least I’ll be ecstatic some time in early September, when I can once again walk normally.

if at first you don't succeed, try a tri again

within sixty seconds of starting the swimming leg, i couldn’t help but think that the seafair triathlon would not only be my first triathlon, but my last. and not just my last triathlon, but my last act in life.

as i did during the entire race, i keep replaying those first few minutes in the water over and over in my head, trying to figure out what went wrong.

after the starting gun, the neoprene-clad swimmers took to the murky waters of lake washington in a churning mass of arms and legs. but even with the pushing and bumping and being kicked, i managed to swim fairly normally. but very soon after the start, my heart rate was racing, and i was literally gasping for air. was it my constrictive wetsuit? nervous energy? the claustrophobia of murky water and shoulder-to-shoulder swimmers fighting for position? maybe i was trying in vain to keep up with much faster swimmers than me, as i had never swam with anyone besides myself? perhaps a combination of all of these factors.

regardless, my quest to figure out the problem soon gave way to the very urgent need to refrain from drowning. i gave up my attempts to swim and tried treading water — which i found out it not that much easier when i’m hyperventilating. i began looking around for the nearest lifeguard floating alongside the swimming course and considered making my way over to them for rescue (or else flailing my arms in the air before i sank below the surface).

somehow, though, i managed to calm down enough where i could at least envision myself doing the doggy-paddle and making it back to shore. “you can do this, damnit!” i tried to psyche myself back into the race mentality. “quit your whining and swim!”

by this point, the main field of swimmers was well out in front of me, so i had my own space in the water (and the women’s group, which started a good 4 minutes behind us, was beginning to overtake me). i started out doing the side stroke, keeping my head above water and trying to get my breathing under control. i rounded buoy #2, then #3. halfway. i’d calmed down enough to give the crawl a try again. i did ten strokes and rested. feeling ok. ten more, doing fine. rounding buoy #4 i was in the home stretch — three more to go. on and on like this until i could hear the crowds cheering on the shore.

what i had easily done in 10:00, sometimes 8:00, in a swimming pool, i had turned into 18:34 in the 1/2 mile open water swim (putting me in 731st place out of 1113). but time was of my least concern now. i was happy to stand up on shore.

running into the transition area, i saw pam getting ready for her start. she yelled to me, smiled and waved, but i had barely the energy to mutter a faint “hi” and less yet to attempt lifting my arm to wave. i blew a whopping 3:17 in the transition area trying to squeeze my wet feet into my running shoes (which i would wear for the bike leg as well).

biking is, of course, my true calling, so i made up a lot of lost time here. as i’ve been doing 100+ mile training rides for RAMROD later this month, the 12 mile bike ride would be a piece of cake. i passed dozens and dozens of people, and i don’t think i was passed more than three times myself. 34:02 later, i was back at the transition area. for the bike leg alone, my time was 86th out of 1113, which put my overall place at 354 out of 1113.

transition #2 was a lot quicker, as i was already wearing my running clothes. just dump my bike off and go. but i did hang around for a bit to gulp down some water… then i started running in the wrong direction. some kindly spectators waved me down and corrected me.

i felt pretty strong on the run, although i had to stop and walk a few times to keep my heart rate in check. about two miles into it, my team mango cohort, mr. john tulinsky came up behind me, looking like a million dollars. we exchanged a few words then he rounded the corner ahead of me. john had started the race about 10 minutes BEHIND me, by the way. 26:01 of running put me over the finish line (finally). john greeted me with a high-five and i headed immediately for the free bananas, bagels, and ice cream bars, then over to the transition area to cheer pam on while she finished the bike leg and started running. pam, by the way, had a similar experience in the water, but toughed it out and finished her first triathlon standing on her own two feet as well!

overall, even with my aquatic difficulties, i finished a few minutes faster than the 1:30:00 i had hoped for — 1:24:04, putting me at 369th out of 1113 — right at the top 1/3 mark.

would i do it again?… well, i think i need to figure out that open water swimming thing — or find a triathlon with a pool swim instead. in retrospect, the water was actually warm enough that i could have easily done without the wetsuit — which may or may not have been the problem. but yeah, i can see myself doing this again. maybe next year….

Did I mention that it was hot?

On Saturday, June 7 I opened my triathlon season with the Cascade’s Edge Triathlon which was held at Nolte State Park near Enumclaw. I upheld our proud Mango mid-pack tradition by finishing 82 out of 170 in a time of 2:37:24.

On Saturday morning I was up at 5:45 am and it was already hot. 9 am found me at the park, wearing my wetsuit, sweating in the sun. It was a relief to hit the water. The start was the usual mosh pit of flailing arms and legs, pushing and shoving, all in murky, stirred-up water. After 200 yards or so the crowd had spread out and I was able to find a good swimming rythm. Since I was no longer concerned with being kicked in the face I started thinking about my focus points, hands in line with my shoulders on the entry, strong finish of the stroke, count strokes, sight on the next buouy and correct course every tenth time my right hand enters the water…..next thing I knew, I was coming into shore. Again the water was getting murky and stirred up but I kept swimming until my right hand touched bottom on two consecutive strokes and then stood up. At the end of the swim I’m always a little wobbly, disoriented, pleased and slightly surprised that I didn’t drown but I felt REALLY bad. I was light-headed and quite queasy as I made my way to my bike. I peeled off my wetsuit, put on socks, shoes, camelbak and bike helmet, grabbed the Kestrel and headed out of the transition area. I had a slow swim to bike transition, 3:52 and at that point my heartrate was sky-high and I was still feeling wobbly so I spent the beginning of the bike in easy spinning, hoping not to puke. After about 10 minutes my heartrate and stomach had settled down so I found the big ring and started to build the pace. The rest of the bike felt great; I was steadily reeling people in and doing a lot of passing. The Kestrel performed admirably! I had covered a lot of the bike leg during my century with Jason and John M. a couple of weeks back and so was familiar with the course. Shortly after turning onto Retreat-Kanaskat road I caught and passed two of the elite women. I was strong and fast! And then a 53-year old man wearing nothing but a bright orange speedo and a bike helmet passed me like I wasn’t moving. So it’s good to be humble, too. His bike was equipped with the latest tri-geek aero accessory: the Never-Reach Aero Hydration system. It’s a water tank that’s mounted behind the seat, with a tube that runs along the top tube to a straw sticking up from the stem. As he was pulling away from me it looked as if he had a big blue bullet sticking out of his bright orange ass. Anyway, in spite of my slow start I finished with a 1:11:49 bike leg which is the first time that I’ve managed to average more than 20 mph for a 40 km ride. The second personal best of the day!

I had a fast bike-to-run transition and crossed the timing mat at the start of the run 1:44 into the race. I knew a 2:30 would probably put me in the top five of my age group and I thought, I’ve run 10 k’s in 42, 43 minutes, of course not in triathlons but if I make my self hurt for 45 minutes, how hard can it be…..but I quickly realized that I was deluding myself. It was a weird, difficult course. It began by literally running through someone’s backyard, through a gate into a horse corral, out a different gate and into the woods. It was a tight, windy trail run with limited visibility, horse shit and lots of chances for tripping or turning an ankle so that slowed me down and the heat really started to get to me. I think being in the shade was actually worse because there was no breeze at all. Much of the run was through old clear-cuts, which is like running through hell. It’s ugly, the new growth was tall enough to stifle any hint of a breeze but not tall enough to provide shade. I ended up with a 53:10 run, about an 8:40 pace. After finishing the race I headed right back into the lake, this time without the wetsuit. I swam around for about 15 minutes and felt a lot better.

I stopped in Enumclaw at a charming little ice cream parlor for a not-very-good milkshake and drove home with the air conditioner cranked. After much drinking of water and gatorade on Saturday afternoon my urine had returned to its normal pale-yellow shade, and I finished my recovery with a trip to the 5 Spot on Sunday morning, where I polished off an entire 5 Spot breakfast, including the toast.

Next up, Pacific Crest Half-Ironman on June 28. Which reminds me, can anyone recommend a place to stay in Bend, Oregon?

Confusion to the enemy!