Penticton

More lame old ironman race reports.  I'm too embarrassed about my tri years to re-read any of these so they will just be reprinted as-is. I can't seem to find any photos for the first two but I definitely have some for the next few.

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Intro

I’m not sure what made me sign up for my second Ironman race, but I do know that even before I had completed my first I wanted to go through the experience again.  There is something unworldly about pushing a single event into the forefront of your personal life for 6 months that makes the thought of stepping back into a “normal” life almost unthinkable.  There is also something completely terrifying about signing up next year’s torture while you’re still in the middle of this year’s.  Still, curiosity gave way to interest which led me to desire and eventually I snuck in through the last round of signups and considered myself fortunate to have the opportunity to participate in such an event.

Prep

My girlfriend, Kerri, was using a private coach, Jeff Devlin, to help her through her second Ironman.  I really liked his meticulous attention to detail as it was something that I could relate to and understand.  I figured his calculating wisdon would make up for my youthful ignorance, so I hired him to get me through the last two months of training.  What I didn’t realize at the time was that in order to meet my time goals I would be doing a lot more high intensity training than I had ever done.  For my previous Ironman training which was done by the seat of my pants I simply trained the distances I would be racing on the weekends and got in as much as I could survive through during the week.  It was an easy immersion test as far as volume goes and I think it really helped solidify my confidence and endurance which were both in short supply.  But this time the training was at a pace that hurt and I had to stay out there for almost as long as I had before.  I cracked on more than a couple of the big days and ended up a bit short on my run training.  The run is my strength and I knew I had plenty of speed but I wondered what my breaking point would be during the race.  I fantasized about feeling perfect for the entire race, breaking all my predictions and the 10 hour barrier to come across the line with Lori Bowden and a ticket to Kona.  I knew that reality lay somewhere between fame and despair, I was certainly capable of a very solid race but there were no guarantees about the competition which had consistently been a few notches higher the entire season.

Chop

I woke early on Sunday, ready to begin my journey.  Early for me was 3:30.  By 5:00 I had eaten my bananas, blended my food into sludge, warmed up my muscles in the shower, and donned the obligatory sunscreen.  Outside it was a gusty morning and the lake was showing whitecaps visible from the hotel window.  I was significantly depressed about the swim conditions because I really wanted to break an hour on the swim but I would need a glassy lake, a good draft, and a smart swim to do so.  As I walked toward the transition area with my bike pump, special needs bags, and wetsuit I was shivering.  Ironic that I would be faced with cold weather and wind when those were the two elements I feared the most.  I was ready for 100 degree heat, but Penticton was not delivering on the sunshine part of our deal yet.  So with mixed concern/anxiety I went through my morning routine happy that none of my gear was missing or damaged.  I felt a distinctive B written on my left calf indicating my age group.  I then slapped on the glide and then settled into my wetsuit as I walked past Peter and Lori.  I gained a small sense of peace when I saw the two of them, as I knew that they would beat the course into submission so that I wouldn’t have to.

Start

I wandered over to the far end of the swim start to keep the bully’s on my strong side.  As the crowd surged forward before the start I realized that it wouldn’t be a very fair swim start given the shallow water and the head start our side was positioned towards.  In many ways I hate mass swim starts because they are so unfair to the majority.  But I had been smart enough to pick a good spot to start and I made it out into the water without the usual bruises.  I could tell that there was a big frenzied mass behind me and to my right, but I swam far left along the outside of the course.  About halfway before the first turn I started to worry about getting a draft.  I tried a couple of times but everyone was swimming past me.  I knew I had started too hard, but I was also getting pretty beat up by the chop.  I swallowed a little water along the way, thankful that the lake had little taste.  Compared to my two other 2.4 mile swims, I was swimming as intensely and feeling the fatigure, but at least I wasn’t hot.  In fact, the lake was the perfect temperature to keep me from overheating in my neoprene even as I flailed through the chop.  By the first turn I was pretty tired but I remembered that this was what I wanted to feel like if I expected to come close to my goal.  I got a few licks through the first turn and some in the second, but not enough to really aggravate me.  I remember fingertaps on my heels at the start of the return leg which were annoying because they were so distracting.  I remembered seeing a white cap go by and then a yellow cap right after it.  I assumed that if I were swimming well I might have a chance to see Lori in T1, but I just couldn’t get lengthen out my stroke in the chop.  I couldn’t find anyone to draft behind because I was too tired to keep up.  So I swam the whole way back on the outside just like I had on the way out and most certainly slower.  I was annoyed by the sun which was at the perfect angle to obscure the swim finish.  I had no idea how far it was and I could not remember how many buoys or see anything along the shoreline to tell me my progress.  I refused to stop to check things out, but I really suffered on the last stretch.  Then, when it finally became too shallow to swim and more I had to crawl across the rocks to get to shore.  So far it had been a rough day, I was already tired, and as I checked my watch after having my wetsuit forcibly removed I realized I was 3 minutes behind my ultimate goal, but at least ahead of my previous swim split.

Richter Pass

Draft

It was with mixed feelings that I ran to my bike.  I had left my arm warmers in my dry strip bag as I assumed it would warm up and become a nice day.  But I was cold already, pretty tired, and not breaking any world records in the process.  I had a prior commitment to myself to finish as quickly as possible even if I started to feel bad, but I really wanted to feel good.  I reached my bike, slipped into my bike shoes, and managed to get out onto Main street without crashing.  I figured that 90% of the race was ahead of me so there was no need to pass judgement on the day until I had something worth judging.  The first stretch of the bike felt smooth but my legs were missing the fire.  They only remembered what it was like to go out and hammer on a taper ride, and they had forgotten the slushy feeling of a long swim.  I worried that they might never return, but Dave Scott had told everyone to be patient about muscle recruitment and I had plenty of time to see how things went.  The first small hill came and everyone bunched up.  I hated the first few hours of an IM race because I am not good enough to break away early.  I knew that by the halfway point I would either be too tired to care or things would have spread out enough to be enjoyable.  But I wanted my room now, when I felt OK, so that I could get into my groove.  Instead, I was battling for position with 50 or so of my closest competitors.  There was even a large pack of 10-15 guys who were blatantly drafting.  When they got in my way I would speed up and pass them in bulk, but eventually they would always catch me and I would have to slow down to let them pass without risking a drafting penalty.  There were others screaming at the draft pack, but I chose not to waste my energy telling anyone else what to do.  So I silently endured this annoyance and waited for a time when I could start to race.  I had stripped off my computer for the race so I had no idea how fast I was going, but it didn’t feel slow even with the speed changes so I wasn’t overly concerned about anything yet.  I actually consumed the majority of bottle #1 of my food supply realizing that eating and climbing were not a good mix.  By the time I hit Richter I was ready to get the hell out of the mess I had found myself in.  Another guy who was also sick of the drafting suggested that we get past the pack on the hills.  I tried to keep up with him, but even with 2 scoops to carry and a camelback he was too strong on the hills.  Still I was passing a decent number on the climbs and feeling strong.  I had trained for the hills and I was ready to give it while I had it.  Still, I was worried about the advice everyone had given to go easy on Richter.  I knew Yellow Lake wasn’t as tough of a climb, but I was worried about my strength on the back stretch and certainly not overconfident of my cycling skills.  Oh well, it meant a lot to get past the dorks that were in my way and I finally caught a decent groove on the initial rollers after the climb.  There was a ton of support and people all over the place.  On one of the climbs I heard some guys talking about drafting Lori the entire swim.  They agreed with me that the swim was tough, so I still felt like a player who had a chance.  When I cleared the last roller (I swear I counted more on the bike than I had in the car just a few days before) I was tired.  I was also behind on my eating so I tried to step it up a bit.  I knew that by the 60 mile mark it was pretty flat, but I wasn’t expecting the wind we ran into.  I was instantly bummed as I felt the psychological effects of what I considered a pretty brutal wind, some intermittent rain droplets, and a general chill that I knew was not the recipe for success for me.

Approaching T2

Dead

I guess I foolishly expected that I could be strong for 112 miles on a hilly and windy bike course.  However, even riding on $6K worth of cycling technology I fell apart.  I stopped eating.  I lost my power and my desire.  I put my head down and sipped water as an alternative to despair and boredom.  The out and back was a death march for me, but I did get to see Peter which was a mixed blessing.  I realized by that point that I had pushed too hard too early, but I also realized that despite my efforts during my second season I was still a couple of cans short of a six pack on the bike.  I was very surprised, however, that only two or three others managed to pass me along the out and back.  I was in a hole, but I could hang on and keep going as long as I didn’t get dropped further.  It helped that I could skip the special needs bag because I had only consumed one of my food bottles.  In retrospect, this was the same breakdown I felt during my first IM, although it came on later and after a more intense start.  I knew I should shove a gu down and try to get my spirits up but I physically couldn’t.  I couldn’t do anything but turn the pedals and sip water.  It was hard to just keep the bike going forward, but as long as I could hold position I could tune out the world.  Finally the out and back was over, but I knew that so was I.  It was a long, slow spin up Yellow lake, out of the saddle and in my easiest gear despite the realization that it wasn’t a terribly steep hill.  None of my strength on Richter pass was left, I wasn’t eating, and I was mentally destroyed.  It wasn’t the hardest ride of my life, but I was disappointed that I was human and I really didn’t feel like I had had a good part of the race yet.  I didn’t want to eat any more, but I did force myself to keep drinking and keep pedaling.  One guy passed me on the climb up Yellow and mentioned that the going was getting tough.  I saw him tackle it like a superstar but I had no reply of my own and I didn’t even care if he was in my age group or not.  To say that the crowds helped me up Yellow Lake is an understatement, they practically pedaled for me.  But at the top it was lonely again and the downhill just never came.  Each minute was an eternity and when I finally felt like I couldn’t take it any more the rains came.  They soaked my face and my hands, and I watched as my HR dropped below 140 for the first time since the start.  The race was over, I had lost and the elements had won.  Finally the downhill came, but I was both soaked and frozen so I could barely steer and I worried about the slick roads.  I did not pedal once on the downhill from Yellow Lake, as compared to my frantic efforts on the rollers before.  I just tried to hold it all together and finally made it to the left turn into town.  I passed a pro walking his bike and realized that my fate so far was actually pretty good.  But I was sure I had not eaten enough, my stomach was not particularly happy, my arms and legs were frozen, and I was exhausted. 

Sunshine

Only 26.2 to go

I spun into T2 in my small ring as I watched the stronger runners heading out to the marathon.  I was too late to see Peter who was at mile 10 by the time I left my bike.  I stopped to pee for what seemed like an entire minute although I didn’t feel the usual relief because I was still frozen.  I remember the door to the port-o-potty swinging open violently in the wind but I was too tired and out of it to deal with the situation.  I banged my head on the roof, lucky I was still wearing my bike helmet.  Finally I walked into the tent, removed my helmet and socks, wiped off my feet with a towel, and slowly put my fresh running socks on.  I slipped into my shoes, made sure everything felt good, and grabbed my gu and hat.  On the way out there was a tray of fruit and I was hungry and desparate so I grabbed a piece of cantelope.  It was the best piece of cantelope I had ever tasted and I really wanted to stop and gorge myself.  But I was surprised to realize that I was only 10 minutes behind my ultimate goals for the day at that point and I just did not have a good enough excuse to quit.  Too many people were checking my times and silently cheering for me.  How could I explain a DNF on the run (my strength) after PR’s on the previous two events.  I realized that life is cruel, but there was no choice but to head out onto the run course.  I saw a guy I had biked with run past me and chuckled to myself that I would see him again as he was burning his battery down while I was going to take it easy and go hard on the way back.  Of course by the time I hit the 5 mile mark I realized I was going as fast as I could expect to go and he was nowhere to be seen.  He ended up running a 3:07 marathon and taking one of the precious slots to Kona, something that I would have been overwhelmingly difficult for me to attempt even if I had managed to negative split.  But I was passing people and I did feel good.  I finally had something to be happy about, until Kerri came up next to me and informed me that I was 31^st off the bike.  I told her that I would have to run very fast if I wanted to go to Kona and while I knew it would probably not happen I still hung to a shred of hope.  I knew I was on pace for a time that would have qualified last year and maybe I would pass a big pack of B’s toward the end and have a chance to sprint for the tape, something I was very confident that I would win.  The sun had come out and it was time to put up or shut up.  I remember my coach’s advice, the run is my strength so go for it.  I saw Peter running by and I knew he would win so I was very excited for him.  So I yelled “Go Peter” as loud as I could and shook my fist at him.  Later I saw Lori and gave her a similar cheer.  I really wished I was running next to Lori, it was so cruel to be so far away from the finish line even with the throngs of spectators and the wonderful volunteers at the aid stations.  I had snarfed a cup of Pepsi in T2 and it appeared to make me feel better while the 3 gu’s I had managed to get down were not helping my sensitive stomach.  So I switched to water and pepsi realizing that I was already broken so why not push it as far as I can go and see where the breaking point was.  I kept looking for B’s, but although I was passing and not being passed, I only saw C’s and D’s.  There were two or three female pros mixed in and even a male pro or two.  There is a special feeling when you pass a “P” in an Ironman race, the kind of feeling that makes you forget that you have to go to work in a couple of days and perpetuates the dream of one day becoming a professional athlete.  Still, passing women, even professional women, was not completely satisfying because I knew that there were a lot of men ahead of me.  Passing the male pros was not completely satisfying because the ones I did pass looked like they were in the midst of their own hell.  But passing any P is still a lot better than passing an age grouper, for the simple fact that I was still not used to the feeling.

A long way from town and still heading out.

Struggle Street

The miles started to get longer after 15 and I realized by my splits that I was slowing down.  I knew I needed more food, but my stomach was just tapped and it had become difficult to get even coke down.  My problems with nutrition had started on the bike so this struggle was nothing new and I was plenty tired of it.  I had another piece of cantelope, then skipped an aid station to let my stomach calm down.  I just kept getting slower and trying to get a little coke and a little water down.  The end of the lake looked so far away even as I broke into the 20’s.  Miles 20-24 were just plain brutal.  I had slowed almost to a walking pace but I refused to blow a good race so I kept my run form at a greatly reduced cadence and a pretty short stride.  The sun had come out again and it was also windy so there were times of heat and times of cold.  My mind had deteriorated, but I was still on the lookout for B’s even as I knew the situation was hopeless.  I figured that there would probably be a pack of them somewhere, all gutting it out for that slot to Kona, so if I could just find them I would have a reason to kill myself on the last stretch.  As it was, I was almost all alone, running in my own world of pain and more than ready for the race to be over.  My muscles and joints ached, and I really wanted to stop.  From behind me a runner approached and I really didn’t care until he passed and I saw the B on his calf.  At this point I was pretty sure that I would need a whole lot of rolldown to get a ticket to Kona.  I figured there were at least 15 people in my age group who were ahead of me, so at least 5 of them would have to decline their slot or have already qualified for me to get a chance.  But in years past, rolldown has been as high as 100% at Ironman Canada.  It’s a sick individual who still wants to do another IM race in less than two months on the day after the last one.  So I figured that my chances were slim, but I also realized that my finish time would have qualified last year and there was no guarantees about what would happen during the rolldown process.  I didn’t know at the time that any unused slots in older age groups are re-assigned to younger age groups, but I knew there was a certain grey area and that I was at the tail end of it.  So, I let him go reluctantly, cursing myself the whole time because if he took my slot I was going to be very disappointed with myself.  I listened to the announcers cheer in the final sub-10 finisher, who apparently made it by a second.  At the start of the race I was dreaming that I might be closer to sub 10, but at this point I was dreaming of regular food, a shower, and some warm clothes.

Stretch

Rounding the corner to the home stretch was far more difficult than I ever imagined.  Turning away from the finish line when all my body wanted to do was stop was beyond cruel.  But it did give me one last chance to confront the B up ahead.  I decided to just go for it in case I stood a chance, so I reeled him in on the way out and then put my dejected face back on as he passed me just after the turnaround.  I figured he wasn’t expecting anything and he might not even realize I was in his age group plus he wouldn’t put up a fight until he saw me pass and by then it would be too late.  I was right and he didn’t even offer a challenge.  He was obviously the smarter of the two of us as we were a good 10 minutes shy of a chance to go to Kona.  But I had my small mental victory to cap off the day and as I hit the tape I was plenty happy with my results.  I knew I had gone faster on all my splits and I had made it through a tough day on a hard course in a time that was as good as I could expect out of myself.  But I also knew there was room for improvement and that sub 10 would be a cool goal for my next race.  Of course there is a world of difference between sub 10 and sub 9, but anything in the 9’s on a hilly course is very respectable.  Basically, it wasn’t time to quit my day job, but it wasn’t time to write my off either.  Kerri presented me with my finishers medal which put me 1 ahead in totals, and some very friendly volunteers spotted me as I swayed around the transition area and shoved down some fruit and a donut.  Finally my brain switched back on and I realized I had to find Kerri before she got really mad at me for being clueless.  I had spent 10 hours of selfish indulgence and I was ready to call it a day.  After a shower and some warm clothes we ventured back out to eat and watch some of the late night finishers.  The crowd at the finish line was spectacular, they were an event of their own.  It was great to finally watch such an energetic finish line, something I had heard a lot about but never really witnessed firsthand.  I almost got jealous as some of the finishers received the complete attention of thousands of screaming fans.  I feel asleep with the thought that there is no sport quite like this one, none that puts you so low and so high on the same day.  When I woke it was to the sound of fireworks welcoming the arrival of the last finisher with Graham Fraser and Lori Bowden as escorts.  Although I was too tired to look outside my window, I was coherent enough to recognize that someone else just had one of those moments that is worth a year of struggling.  I dozed off for the second time, my mind content and my body exhausted.

Panama City Beach

More race reports from the vault.  This one is my very first Ironman experience.  Laugh away, I was a total rookie.

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Intro

I sat on the beach in my wetsuit with my goggles in my left hand and a flourescent green swim cap in my right hand.  I felt a little guilty about sitting down because it was Saturday, November 6^th 1999 and I had planned this day to be a modern version of my rite of passage into adulthood.  I would turn 25 the day after, so I wanted one more accomplishment to mark the first segment of my existence.  I looked out at the calm waters of the gulf and contemplated my first attempt to complete an Ironman distance triathlon.

Childhood

I played competitive tennis from age 10 to age 12, but was not ready for the pressure and quit tennis altogether by age 13.  My father encouraged me to excel in athletics and although I had rejected the sport that he thought was perfect for me (probably because he liked to play also) he was very encouraging of any athletic interests.  He was the one who signed me up for my first triathlon when I was very young, perhaps 15 or so.  It was a very short race, maybe a 300 meter swim, 12 mile bike, and a 3 mile run, and it was for kids only (I think 15 was the oldest you could be, if not then the cutoff was 16.)  I did reasonably well, but there weren’t many of us who were actually there to race it (I went in thinking I’d kill everyone easily and came out happy to be alive.)  I remember being confused as the eventual winner blew past me on the bike, thinking it was rather odd to be pushing so hard.  I hit the run and blew up, it was a struggle for me to make it to the finish line despite the fact that I had at least two seasons of track practices under my belt, I just didn’t have anything left to give.  It wasn’t a major decision to avoid doing future races, I just didn’t see myself as ready to compete with adults and I knew I needed to put a lot of training time in if I wanted to be reasonably confident during one of those triathlons.  I decided to focus my efforts on water polo in the fall, and track in the spring.  I often complained about how hard it was to switch between the two.  The concept of training in the off season did not enter my mind more than once or twice and I dismissed it as either “foolish” or “impossible”.  A friend from a rival high school who I admired pursued his triathlon training while still kicking my butt on the track and proving himself in the pool.  I remember seeing him with a bunch of road rash on his face when we were about 17 and wondering what drives a person to train so hard. I also remember watching the Hawaii Ironman one or two of those years, I might have seen Julie Moss’ finish, and I remember one winner puking after crossing the line.  All of this feedback strengthened my impression that triathlons were a bit too extreme even for a guy who loves excess.  I only put a medium effort into most of my track workouts, but I put on a decent game face and managed to pull a good race off every once in a while.  I made my high school goal of scoring a point in the state meet during my senior year, mostly because some of the other good runners were pulled for earlier events.  I have my best 3200 ever, something just under 10:30 in ideal conditions with some really fast guys pulling me in (I had nothing left after that.)  I was pretty proud of myself for coming through in the big meet, that is a joy that many of us can relate to and one that goes beyond any kind of congratulations from others or any relative comparisons of times.  It’s funny to think of how my friend Jess was running 4:30 miles before I was even born, the competition in Hawaii cannot compare to that of California.

Roots

After I graduated from college and found the first fool who would hire me, I began to actually care about my life and decided to move to San Francisco.  I didn’t know anything about San Francisco, but I had heard that it was better than New York and I hated living in New York, so I figured it was the way to go.  I also managed to realize (even with my limited geographical abilities) that San Francisco was in California, and I knew from watching Big Wednesday that California was the cool place to be.  OK, I also had a bunch of friends from both high school and college whom I expected to enjoy drinking lots of beer with, and I had no life in New York.  The only thing holding me back was a bunch of college friends who I enjoyed hanging out with once a month when we all collected from the surrounding states (usually in Stamford, CT or Manteloking, NJ).  I was lucky enough to exploit my father’s connections and find an outstanding group of consultants working on PG&E’s gas pipeline information systems.  The project was challenging (I logged almost 300 hours in February 1998) and the people were exceptional in every way.  To balance the intensity, I started swimming with two other co-workers, Jess and Vince.  Before I left New York I was in great running/lifting shape because I had nothing to do.  I had almost fallen prey to the tough guy New York ideals as I worked my way up to bench 300, but I knew I should balance that with some cardio training which just naturally defaulted to 5-6 miles of running every few days.  On my own, I wouldn’t have ever stepped foot in a pool, I hate swim practices.  I remember dreading the one season I swam in high school.  At least at water polo practice we got to toss the ball around and hit each other.  Who wants to swim laps back and forth in an indoor pool in San Francisco I thought?  Oh well, I was getting a decent beer gut and I really liked hanging out with my two new friends, plus I hated the idea of anyone being better than me at something so I started going to practice every now and then.  In retrospect, I probably missed more than I made before May 1999, but it was tolerable.  The masters swim coach asked us to start coming to her practices, and we all showed improvements in our times as well as our overall aerobic shape.  I love the feeling of walking away from the pool after a hard workout with my whole body tingling and I started to get addicted to exercise.  I was 24 and it was time for me to pursue any athletic dreams I might have because I had nothing to hold me back.  Together with Nicklas, another friend from work, Jess, Vince and myself decided to sign up for the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon.  It was mostly Vince’s idea, he had run the San Francisco marathon before, and his brother was kind of the 100+ mile endurance runs, so he was no stranger to extreme pain.  Jess had a solid running and cycling background, but an injured foot, so he was more tentative and realistic but nonetheless willing to give it a shot and maybe walk the run.  I was scared of the swim (especially the cold) and the bike (all those hills) but reasonably confident about the run (hey, I made it through the Bay to Breakers didn’t I?)  Nick was a runner and with legs up to my ears he wasn’t going to have much trouble on the bike plus he was showing an interest and learning an aptitude for swimming the more he came to practice with us.  We signed our names in blood, wrote out the $150 dollar checks, and our fate was sealed.  At that point, it was not clear that we would all even finish the race, but we were willing to give it a shot.

Base

I switched projects (and companies actually, but that’s not really important to this story) and started working with/for Brian, a guy who had completed the Wildflower half Ironman as well as many marathons.  On a scale of 1 to 10 of triathlon difficulty, with 10 being the hardest full Ironman race (IMUSA?) and 1 being the easiest olympic distance race (San Jose) the Wildflower half is well above a 5 while the Escape is well below a 5.  It is an order of magnitude harder to finish a half Ironman distance race because you have to deal with fatigue, nutrition, hydration, and pace.  An olympic distance race is actually a much simpler race, you just push as fast as you can as long as you can without sprinting.  So Brian eventually pushed me to come to Wildflower, watch the half, and race the olympic distance the following day (which was actually a very serious race because it was the NCAA finals.)  Brian and I did a couple of bike rides, the longest being a loop around Lake Tahoe which left me completely destroyed.  Through Brian, I met Lori who was doing Wildflower as her first triathlon along with a bunch of her friends.  Lori asked if I would take some of her friends down with me, so I met Kristyn and Kimberly as I took the scenic route to Lake San Antonio through Walnut Creek J  The weekend was a blast, I met some amazing athletes (John D, John K, and Leslie) and I watched the pros hammer the course (Cameron Brown, Heather Furh).  I managed to finish respectably, but the hills did kick my butt and make me wish I had trained harder.  I remember wondering why I felt so bad on the run because I had actually trained a little bit this time.  Still, I was happy to have found a sport that I enjoyed, and very excited about meeting such a wonderful group of new friends to train with and admire.  John Dougery placed 15^th overall, the poor guy was going to be so sick of my annoying questions over the next few months after I realized how amazing he is.  I was still beaming when I showed up at work on Monday, even with my middle-of-the-pack finish.  I decided to push harder and do more bike/run bricks so I went on a training binge and did a proper taper for the Escape.  I couldn’t sleep for the whole week before the Escape, I had so many vivid dreams about the swim especially that I was overwhelmingly anxious and excited by Saturday morning, June 5^th.  It turned out to be a beautiful day, I had a reasonable swim (but not as fast as I could have/should have gone) and a solid bike/run to leave me in 5^th place in my age group.  I have this picture of me passing a guy in the chute, he looks like Mr. Triathlon and I look like stupid, dorky, surf wimp, but I’m passing him and he was the one who will have to live with 6^th place until next year.  This sport was turning out to be more fun than I realized.  We had a great post party, my friend brewed some tasty beer, a friend I had met at Wildflower found his eventual bride, and we all basked in a sense of accomplishment because the Escape really is a great race.

The Hard Part

After the Escape, I had a great race at the San Jose International, and figured that my road a spot at the Ironman world championships in Kona was paved with gold so I gave in to greed and signed up for the Vineman half and Ironman Florida.  I did not yet realize how much harder a half was than an olympic.  I predicted my finishing time based on the previous year’s results and failed to realize that the bike and run courses were different.  I brought enough food but failed to eat any of it because I didn’t want to waste the time.  I missed my bike goal, blew up on the run and felt miserable.  I still don’t understand how my race photos came out so good when I felt the way I did.  I remember shouting to Brian that “this is really hard”.  Vineman opened my eyes and brought me back down to earth.  It was going to take a lot of work to compete in these endurance races, and also a lot of thinking during the race.  So after my disappointing finish at Vineman I really started the serious training.  I trained through two more great and one more good race, and ramped up to 20 hour weeks of 200-250 miles of cycling, 30-50 miles of running, and 5000-6500m of swimming.  I paid my dues up front because even though Ironman Florida was the flattest full Ironman course I could find, I wasn’t foolish enough to believe it wasn’t going to hurt.  I had a lot of drive to carry me through those long training weeks, but they were grueling.  I wasn’t fast enough to train with the two guys I knew who were going to Kona two weeks before my race, and all of my casual triathlon friends were ready to wax up their skis/surfboards and take some time away from triathlons.  It started getting darker earlier and I crashed my bike coming home one Friday night, so I figured it was time to start the rest and recovery phase of training.  I had done more than I ever thought possible during the last few months, and I was mentally exhausted by the end.  I was reasonably confident that I could physically finish a full Ironman distance race if I could avoid making any major mistakes.

Race Day

Swim

I waited until many of the other competitors had already splashed into the water to start my warmup.  I took a few strokes and realized I felt pretty loose.  There was no need to worry, and I knew I had a long day ahead of me, so my warmup was barely a 200m swim. The water was warm, but there were some colder spots as the depth and currents varied over the course.  I walked into what the announcer was calling the “corral”, a rectangular, fenced off area, open at the water’s end that would serve as the swim start.  I was pretty worried about the swim start because I had been pretty battered in my most recent swim start which had only 1/3 as many competitors.  So I lined up way off to the outside edge of the corral and eventually wandered out of the corral and down the beach until I had a clear path to the first buoy.  I talked for a while with some of the other competitors, working out a bit of the nervous tension.  The canon fired, I started my watch and did a bit of water running before I started to swim for the first buoy.  My plan worked pretty well as the most I had to deal with from other competitors during the swim was some feet tickling and water splashing.  The first lap took forever, I couldn’t believe how long it was.  I tried to go at a fast pace but I didn’t want to tire myself out either.  I finished the first lap just after 32 minutes and checked out my position.  I was further back than I’ve ever been in a swim before, and I confirmed my suspicions that there were some serious competitors out there.  I hopped back in the water, enjoyed the wonderful taste of diesel fuel at the halfway point, and finished my second lap a bit slower for a 1:07 swim.  I was hoping for a 1:05 swim, but I knew I took it a little easy on the second lap and I also knew that 2 minutes was not worth caring about in a race this distance.  I was alert and still very competitive after the swim start, so I ran to the racks, grabbed my bag, and ran into the changing tent.

T1

To my dismay, the entire changing tent was full of semi-naked male bodies.  Yuk, definitely a low point in the race for me, but I found a chair, sat down, and put my socks/shoes, race belt, helmet, and sunglasses on.  I forgot to grab any of the food in my bag, shoved my wetsuit, goggles, and cap into the bag and ran out to my bike.  I made my first mistake of the day after I had grabbed my bike and tried to move it from my left side to my right side (which I was more comfortable mounting/dismounting from.)  I lifted the bike vertical by the handlebars and poured most of the contents of my front water bottle onto the ground.  The rest was either on my hands or on the bike.  My second water bottle had a mixture of Metabol, Cytomax, and ameno acids, it was my fuel for the next 56 miles and luckily it didn’t feel the need to get off the bike as quickly.  I figured it was ten miles to the first aid station, and I had slammed a gu and a cup of water before grabbing my transition bag so I didn’t bother to refill the front bottle.  The mistake had been made, it was time to just deal with it.  However, I knew I couldn’t stand sipping on the fuel bottle for too long without water.  I headed out on the bike and was surprised to pass a number of people in the first 5 miles.  I wasn’t pushing hard at all and I consider myself a relatively poor biker, so passing people was an unexpected source of nervousness for me.  Was 22-23 MPH too fast for the first few miles on the bike?  I chalked it up to a natural re-shuffling of swimmers and bikers and stuck to my pace where there wasn’t too much traffic to deal with.  I chuckled to myself thinking about the drafting rules as there were maybe 100 bikes visible ahead of me and nowhere to spread out to.  There were a few people cheering along the way, but fewer than I expected.  I guess the bike course at an Ironman is just not that exciting.  I felt good about my swim and transition, and I felt strong and ready for a long bike leg.  I was in an up state, but not euphoric, and I was definitely in control of my speed and turning the gears as softly as I could stand.

Crash

I made my worst mistake of the race directly after the first aid station at mile 10.  We were packed very tight on the bike course, so I had to wait a while before one of the volunteers offered me a bottle.  I filled my empty front bottle, hoping to grab one more bottle for my second rear cage so that I would be prepared for the next 10 miles in case I was very thirsty.  I was going perhaps 12-15 MPH, and the empty bottle was in my left hand.  I attempted to throw the bottle as far off to the right as I could, so that it would not be in anyone else’s path as they exited the aid station.  The force of my left arm caused my right arm to counter balance and steer hard right which threw me to the ground on my right side.  I scraped my right knee, hip, shoulder and elbow and (unknowingly) cracked my helmet.  Even worse, my right foot was still clipped into my right pedal and I couldn’t get up.  I finally managed to work my foot free, crawl out from under the bike,  and pick it up.  I had to dodge other cyclists, and attempted to apologize for making a mess of myself.  I had poured the gatorade which I had just put into my front bottle all over myself during the fall, and my stem was now way off center.  I grabbed my handlebars, and straddled my front wheel, then twisted my bars into something approximating straight and managed to hop back on the bike.  I didn’t really think much from the moment I knew I would crash until a minute or two after I was back on the bike and headed toward the second aid station.  I knew I was now very thirsty and I hadn’t eaten enough, plus I was worried about my bleeding and I knew I had hit my head (although it didn’t hurt yet.)  I also felt like a total loser, what kind of dope crashes in an Ironman race at mile 10 on the bike completely from his own stupidity.  I already knew that I am not a fast biker, but how low was I going to stoop today?  I chuckled to myself about how anal I had been the day before, double-checking every little piece of my bike and making sure it was all adjusted perfectly.  Now the bars were pointed a bit to the right and (I would discover when I picked my bike up that night) the front brake was rubbing the front wheel rim.  Oh well, at least the crash had released much of my nervous tension, and I didn’t feel any joint or muscle pain yet (just a nice sting in four different patches of skin.)  By mile 15 I realized that there wasn’t anything I could do about the crash anymore other than fix my handlebars a bit better.  I didn’t want to stop yet and I actually found it kind of amusing that I was pointing at the centerline and riding straight along the sideline.  I really earned any and all dork awards for crashing on my bike at mile 10 in my first ironman race, I mean who else can do that?

Bike

The next few miles were rather uneventful.  I managed to successfully maneuver through the next four aid stations, although since we were still very packed I was offered more water than gatorade.  I had read that it’s good to drink water along part of the bike because you don’t want to throw your electrolytes too far out of balance.  But I did want some of those free calories, and I was worried about drinking too little gatorade and too much water.  I felt fine up until the halfway/special needs point.  I stopped to pee once at mile 45 or so, there was a nice shoulder that ended so I rode right up to the edge, peed on the grass, and pulled back into the flow of traffic.  Time lost was less than a minute, and I felt a little better, although I didn’t pee much because I hadn’t had enough to drink yet.  I hit the special needs and was surprised to find many of the people blowing through.  I thought I should at least stop and get my second bottle of fuel.  I had a frozen bottle of cytomax that I was dying for since I knew it would taste different than the gatorade/water mixture I would be stuck with in the second half of the bike.  I had stupidly thrown the last few sips of my fuel bottle away at the aid station at mile 50 thinking that 6 miles wasn’t that far.  I had also stupidly gulped down a bunch of fuel before tossing the bottle, which left my stomach a little confused, and I had two bottles of gatorade.  I sucked as much as I could from the front bottle, filled from the colder gatorade bottle, and tossed both bottles (I felt really bad about wasting a whole bottle of gatorade, but it was too late, I had already made the mistake.)   I grabbed the two bottles and skipped all of the other goodies including the Advil and Tums that I wanted to pick up but forgot to scrounge for.  I thanked the volunteers, was disgusted at all the trash on the next mile of road, and settled back down.  I had a full bottle of fuel, a full bottle of cytomax, and a full front bottle of gatorade, I was intact and feeling OK.  I wasn’t pushing it hard by any means, my average speed was between 20 and 21 MPH, and I was not getting too depressed with the steady stream of faster bikers who continued to pass me.  I was a little annoyed when cow-girl passed me and shouted at everyone to move to the right, so I just let that pack go and hung back a bit.  It was going to be a long ride and I was starting to get tired.

T2

Everyone says that during an Ironman you go through peaks and valleys throughout the day.  Well I had started off at sea level during the swim J, had a bit of a shock early on in the bike, and was now starting to fade.  I felt weak and sore by mile 65, well before the imaginary wall waiting for me at mile 80.  By mile 75 I was starting to tear up a bit, I was tired, sore, crabby, and my average had dropped from 21 to just under 20.  Even worse, my odometer had me two miles ahead of the mile markers so I knew my actual speed was probably just over 19 MPH, a statistic that I wasn’t overly thrilled with.  I know I don’t have a lot of background on the bike, and I know that many of the others did, but watching cottage-cheese legs steadily pulling past me was not the Ironman experience I was hoping for.  Even worse, I was forced to get out of the saddle very frequently to ease the ache in my neck and back, which I knew was not helping my aerodynamics.  I had trouble eating and drinking during this period, but I did force a bit down and I found I was on pace with my fuel consumption when mile 100 finally hit.  It had been a very long bike ride, I was very tired, and I had lost all hopes of a qualifier spot at this race.  I still wanted to do well, but I was worried that another ½ hour on the bike would strip the rest of my strength from me and leave me doing a long, painful, slow, cold death march on the run course.  The bottom of my low came as this old guy with gray hair pulled past me on the bike just at the overpass.  After 115 miles on my odometer I finished the bike, and to my amazement ran to my bag and into the tent.  I went from depressed to elated in 5 minutes as I changed shoes, peed for the second and final time, and realized that all of the pain I had felt on the bike was gone now that I could run.  My feet had been really sore from pressing the pedals, my neck and back ached, and my quads were ready to throw in the towel.  But, I had pretty fresh hamstrings and calves, and my stomach was in better shape than I was expecting, maybe even better shape than I was even hoping for.  I knew I had consumed adequate fuel, so I went out at my goal pace.  I think I even smiled on my way out of the transition area, I was very happy to get away from that bicycle.

Lap 1

I threw down two advil, two tums, and my second gu of the day and hit the lap button as I passed the first mile marker.  I glanced briefly at my watch, a little nervous about what it might tell me, and found out I was right on target.  I had made it to a world that I felt comfortable in, even thought I had never been there before, it was time for my first marathon.  Just before mile 2 my back cramped significantly and my neck ache made itself known.  I was pretty sure that these two would go away, but it did make me a bit nervous. I waited it out, dropped 30 seconds off my pace and tried to relax.  By mile 6 I was over the pain, shoving down a gu every two miles and passing lots of people.  I wasn’t sure who was on their first lap and who was on their second lap, but as it turns out, I only saw a couple of people who were on their second lap and they stuck out like a sore thumb.  I saw Lothar, the eventual winner, looking calm and collected.  I saw Jayme Yon and gave him a cheer a couple of times.  I saw some old dude with a “Yo” on his back who puked right in front of me and then scampered away.  A French guy passed me in considerable pain, I paced off him for a while and attempted conversation but he told me in broken English to buzz off.  Nobody was going my pace, so I just assumed that everyone was doing their second lap and was feeling the effects of pushing the bike leg.  I didn’t realize that I was passing people on their first lap, I just didn’t think they would give up that fast (or maybe the ones who hadn’t given up were running and keeping ahead of me.) Still, there were a lot of people who just didn’t look good on that first lap, and I felt light and fast.  On the way back, at mile 12 I felt elated and had visions of my upcoming finish. Forgetting for a moment that I had a second lap, I ran a 7:40 mile and started smiling.  I hit the lap button at mile 13 and realized my mistake in time to drop the pace back down and avoid putting myself in further jeopardy.  I hit the turn around and told my father, the anxious spectator, that I was feeling OK.

Lap 2

I had hoped to hit the turn around before 9 hours, and I had made that goal, leaving me breathing room to break the 11 hour mark.  I knew 10:30 was out of the question, but I really wanted to break 11 hours and I still felt good.  I was mentally composed through the next few miles and concentrated on holding pace and shoving the gu down.  I missed on gu mile (I was doing every even mile until 12, but I think I missed one and switched to odds for a while, then I hit my blackout period.)  I chugged through the park, grabbing some coke at mile 18 and pushing through my fatigue.  I was a bit off pace, but not too far and I was happy trying to hold what I had.  It was not time to push the pace yet, it was time to avoid disaster.  I hit the turn around and found out to my dismay that there was no coke left at most of the aid stations.  I felt really sorry for the others, but at least I had gu to keep me going and there was still adequate water.  Gatorade was out of the question, and gu was hard enough to get down, I gagged every time I shoved another packet down, but I knew it had to be done.  I was ready to come home, and in a daze.  I was handed a light stick and grudgingly accepted.  The sunset in the park was beautiful, but I was ready for the show to come to an end.  I ran for a while with a guy who said he ran the first ½ lap in 48 minutes and was just trying to hold on to a sub-11 finish.  I figured we were in the clear, but then number 151 ran past me and I got pissed off at the idea of someone passing me.  By that point I realized that he was the first person to pass me on the run (I just didn’t know that I had passed him earlier).  So I took off trying to catch him.  While he wasn’t running too fast, he was pushing it more than I could, but I used the anger I got from the thought of someone running faster than me to drive me through some of those last miles.  It was dark, there was no coke, I was sick of gu, and I wanted to take a shower and most of all rest.  I had no kick left, but I wasn’t slowing down so I was happy. 

Finish

I passed the last group of spectators before the finish and someone said something that made me tear up.  It was something like “go Ironman”, something so simple that I wouldn’t have noticed except that I looked at her in the eyes and she said it so softly, kind of like she believed that I was an Ironman even though I had yet to prove myself.  I was happy to run that last mile to the finish line, but I was hurting big time and wasn’t this race over yet?  I was even happier to realize I could break 10:50, a rather unimportant barrier but still something worth being happy about.  I hit the finish line and had to slow down quite a bit as the woman in front of me got her moment of glory.  Usually I like to finish strong, but I realized that seconds didn’t matter and it would have been rude of me to pass her so I let her go and gave up my chance to break the tape.  She seemed to take forever to get her picture taken, I just wanted to get to the mat so the clock would stop (at least for me.)  Hey, I didn’t work this hard to waste 10 seconds at the end.  I realize now that these were some pretty absurd thoughts, but I was a little out of it.  I was ushered to the medical tent, had some of my road rash cleaned up, weighed out 10 lbs lighter than I had weighed in, and released.  I went straight to the shower, cleaned my smelly, bloody, salty, grimy self off, went to collect my bike and bags, and hobbled to the bar to down the world’s best cheeseburger.  The journey had been worthwhile, but I was ready for a long night’s sleep.

Lessons Learned

I should…

1.        always throw water bottles with my right hand.

2.        drink one bottle  every 10 miles on the bike.

3.        drink as much as possible on the run.

4.        squeeze those paper cups and pour them into my mouth.

5.        toss the cup only after drinking all of the fluid.

6.        toss bottles only after I can see a replacement.

7.        stay calm during the first 10-20 miles on the bike.

8.        never give up on the bike, I’ll have it on the run.

9.        get my body more used to the aero position and biking in general.

Wild

I just stumbled upon some of my first blogs, before I started Irrelevance.  They are too good to not share.  I'll start posting them sporadically.

Interestingly enough, the first one I looked at described my first experience meeting Stephen and Shannon who got married on Thursday.  It brings a wonderful smile to my face to have experienced some small part of their journey together.

Meghan (officiant), Laura (sis), Shannon (bride), Stephen (groom), Cody (bro)

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Wild Miles 2005

My Wild Miles 2005 Adventure relay began on a cold and rainy Tuesday night in March at UCSD masters track practice.  That evening, two speedy women who I eventually began to know as Anne and Meghan decided to put me in the pain cage before leaving me behind as washed-out road kill.  I think I had some excuse for not being able to hang with them that night, but I can’t remember what it was, and it didn’t change what had happened. All I do remember, though, is getting spanked by two women in the rain, which seemed to be the extra slap in the face I needed.  Over the next few weeks, as I started pushing my workouts a bit harder to prep for IronmanArizona, I got to know Meghan, Anne, and Stephen a bit better.  I found out that they had an injured teammate on their Wild Miles team and might be in need of another runner.  They were also pretty determined to win their division this year, which seemed to raise my interest.  The group from my office was also tossing around the idea of competing, but after a small amount of research I realized that they weren’t serious enough to make it to the starting line.  So, being the race whore that I am, I promptly abandoned ship from my work team to join team Nacl with 3 people I barely knew and 6 others I had never met.

A few weeks later, we all met up for a race at the San Elijo Dam.  It was spec’d as a 10 mile trail run which seemed a good distance to judge fitness for the upcoming relay.  Most of the team showed up and everyone decided to kick butt.  Anne took the top female spot, leaving 3^rd for Meghan, and Tim was sitting in 5^th until he got bored and decided to do an extra few miles off course.  Noel, Dan, Stephen and Stevan all ended inside the top 50 outof  400 or so, which was probably the most important metric of all.  To do well at a long relay race, the team needs to be strong all the way through as one slow runner can have a big impact.  Taking stock, I saw a complete absence of weakness in our team, and it was this missing negative which gave me confidence that we might be able to accomplish something great.

I got to meet the rest of the team, during our two meetings.  Perhaps the funniest part of meeting the full team was when I realized that I outweighed everyone on the team by at least 20 lbs and most of them by much more than 30.  I was pretty impressed with how well picked the team was, it almost didn’t seem possible to find that many lean and mean running machines within such a small world, but Meghan had managed to do so.  Most of the team members were some flavor of UCSD grad student, these were people who actually enjoy using their brains, and not really my typical crowd.  The rest had some connection to Meghan through UCSD, her spin class, or just pure love of running.  I can’t even get 10 of my friends to go out drinking together, much less a 170 mile race through the dessert.  But it was all just somehow coming together through absolutely no work of my own.

Race morning came quickly and I was dragging to get to the pickup point on time.  When I got there, the team was fast at work assembling the vehicles and loading them up.  We drove out to Borrego and stopped at Dudley’s on the way.  I had stopped there last year and decided to keep tradition by purchasing a loaf of Sheepherders bread and some fruit bars.  Any morning that starts off with a visit to Dudley’s is bound to be a good one.  Once we got to Borrego, we realized exactly how hot it actually was.  They started us a bit early, with 4 other teams, because one of the runners had already required medical transport from the heat.  So, before I had time to figure anything out, we were off on our Wild Miles adventure.

Ralph was handed leg 1, and he also was the most experienced runner in our group.  He also held the best marathon PR of the group by quite a bit, so he was the last person anyone was worried about.  Yet, paperwork flew out the window in the 115 degree heat and somehow team Nacl wound up starting off DFL (i.e. at the back of the pack.)  This was against 3 other top seeded teams, so we knew we’d have some strong competition, but it was a bit of a slap in the face to get that gut check so early on.  Little by little, though, Ralph made his way back to the military team running in 3^rd, and by the checkpoint he had closed a lot of the gap to the 2^nd place team.  That was experience out there running that first leg, a man who knows how to pace properly in extreme conditions, and knows to listen to his body and not his mind under such circumstances.  I am 100% convinced that if I were running that leg I would have blown myself up chasing down the Core 5 team who wound up in first with a solid lead in the range of 5 minutes or more.

Ralph handed off to Anne who proceeded to catch the 2^nd place team on a long, miserably hot climb.  Watching Anne run is really fun when she’s on your team, though I’d imagine it might not be as fun for the other teams. She just reels in whoever is in front of her and then moves right by them, seemingly without effort.  It was a real boost for all of us when she handed off 2^nd place to Tim, perhaps our strongest climber, who was faced with the hardest leg of the course.  And I couldn’t help but smile a little bit watching the 3^rd and 4^th place teams roll through and realize that they just got spanked by Anne.  I knew what that felt like as it had happened to me not so long ago.

I can’t say all that much about Tim’s work in the grapevine on leg 3, mostly because I didn’t really see any of it.  But, one simple fact is really all anyone needs to know.  Nobody ran that leg faster than Tim that day, though many started earlier when the heat wasn’t nearly as bad.  Tim took everything that leg had to offer and stood up to the test, delivering the fastest split and pushing us closer to the front.  That’s what having a solid team is all about, believing in your teammates and having them deliver even under the most difficult of circumstances.  Tim put in almost 2 hours in 115 degrees with a net climb of a couple thousand feet and he had done so faster than everyone else.  Still, by the end of leg 3, Core held on to a sizeable lead and I wasn’t too happy about that.  No competitive athlete on a 10 person team is going to be too happy losing to a 5 person team, and I sure wasn’t taking this race lightly enough to shrug off the gap.  So, being young and foolish, and despite knowing better from many painful blowups, I took off as fast as I could in search of Core.  I didn’t find them, but I did find a couple of teams along the way, some of whom were running pretty well at that point.  It made me feel good to realize that we were now working our way into the teams that had started earlier, since we didn’t get to see them beforehand.  When I tagged off to Shannon, I was pretty satisfied with how things had started off, and yet still a tiny bit concerned about getting too far behind the Core 5 team.

Shannon and Ralph were the only 2 who I hadn’t seen run before, but Ralph came with enough credentials that you didn’t have to think twice about his abilities.  Shannon was a bit more of an unknown to me, so I have to admit I was pretty amazed to watch her bust out a triplet of 6:30 miles and pass another 4 teams on her leg.  It wasn’t that much of a shock really because most of the time when someone looks like they can run well, they probably can.  But, I was still pretty impressed that I had managed to find a team with 3 speedy women.  Any lingering doubts I had were erased by the end of leg 5, and after a quick pit-stop at the only café within 100 miles, I drifted off into a peaceful mid-afternoon nap while we waited at checkpoint 10.

I missed legs 6 through 10 because of my nap and subsequent delirium, but when I came to I found our team smack in the middle of the competition.  Temps were still blazing hot, but the shade was starting to sneak over the road and we all knew it was only a matter of time before things cooled off a bit.  As I was drifting back into consciousness, I got to see Noel, the flying leprechaun, busting a serious move down the highway.  For some reason, that guy had the fire burning that day, and he was really putting in a solid effort.  It wasn’t long before I was charged up again from watching him, our team was giving everything it had, and I was pretty charged up about that. As we kept cranking down the highway through legs 10-15, a full moon came out and darkness crept in.  We had to get to the county line by sunset, and somehow Tim managed to reach that checkpoint no more than 2 minutes before they shut it down.  I assume the other teams behind us were allowed to continue, but at the time I couldn’t help but think that we were pretty darn lucky to have made the cutoff.

Dan was the first to wear the reflective vest, and handed off to Stevan who brought us into Ocotillo.  For some reason, we got a little confused at that checkpoint and threw away a few seconds in the exchange.  Then it was back to Noel for the stretch leading toward Plaster City.  The funny part about that leg is that Noel had read the instructions and ran the intended route which was on a dirt trail parallel to the highway.  Every other team, though, was running on the road being shadowed by their van.  We had passed Noel, thinking it was him but not knowing for sure and worried it might not be.  At the time, Meghan decided it couldn’t be Noel’s stride, though mentioned afterwards that he had to run a bit more vertical because of the surface.  So, when I finally directed Noel to the road, he seemed confused about the situation and he wasn’t too thrilled that I hadn’t bothered to bring water with me.  I got a little bit worried that we were starting to loose our edge at that point, so I ran Noel in and gave Shannon plenty of shout outs to get ready.

Just like before, Shannon brought our team up a notch with her leg, and we continued our steady passing of the other teams.  I got the handoff at plaster city, which is the strangest place I could ever think of being at midnight on a Saturday.  As luck would have it, Willy from the CAF 5 man team was running right in front of me, so I busted a lung to catch him and gave him a slap on the ass.  Of course that just got him fired up too, so we went shoulder to shoulder on that leg and I dug my hole even deeper.  I guess I’m still not too good at racing my race instead of going for the win.  My handoff went to Meghan who chased down the Soul Train group who was running in big orange afro-hair.  That livened us up a bit as there was a group of 3 all running together for a few minutes.  Those rare moments of head to head racing are thrilling under such situations, and we all yelled a bit extra to keep Meghan fighting the fight.

Stephen took us out on the sandy loop and I was dropped off to run after him hoping that my efforts just a couple of hours earlier hadn’t been too extreme.  At the checkpoint we found out that only 3 teams were ahead of us on the course, the LA frontrunners, the Core 5 team, and one other.  A bit of math on start times had Core 5 in the lead with us in second and LA frontrunners very close behind.  It was then that I realized we had a real race going on and 2 other teams who were challenging us, not just one.  I held out some hope that Core 5 would be unable to hold their scorching pace, and fortunately for us as I handed off to Anne for leg 23 we could finally see their van up the road.

Anne took a marked turn and ended up on the sandy path that Noel had been following a few hours before, so we had to get her back on the road and following the core van.  Despite this extra trip, she managed to reel in their runner and pass him while he stretched out a cramping calf muscle.  It was too good to be true, we had caught a team of amazing runners and put ourselves 2^nd on the course and 1^st in terms of total time.  That was the moment I had personally been waiting for since we started, and I held out hope that it would be the final pass of the race.

Leg 24 was the last leg before a driving segment, so it meant that the clock would stop at the end and we’d all have some time to rest.  Since Core and Nacl had started together, whoever got to the checkpoint first would have a bit of a buffer on the other team.  So, we yelled at Stevan to “do what’s right for you, just don’t let them beat us”.  Watching Stevan run his 3^rd leg was pretty magical.  From some of the other runners like Anne, you come to expect excellence and domination because you know that they can deliver.  But from Stevan, you could tell that he was a little uneasy in the situation he was thrown into.  The core runner on that leg was setting a very swift pace, and yet Stevan wasn’t giving up any ground.  He hung in there for 4 of the 5 miles, and each time a small gap opened, Stevan shut it down.  You could see the Core runner getting a bit upset at the situation, and finally with 1 mile to go he broke free with a really nice surge to win the leg and take a bit of lead on us heading into the final portion of the race.  But, Stevan’s work had been done and we only lost a handful of seconds.  A few minutes later and the Core runner was vomiting and looking pretty destroyed.  We found out later that he had to go to the hospital and received 5 IV’s.

So, there were 6 legs left to run, Dan to Meghan to Ralph to Me to Stephen to Tim.  That was a pretty strong lineup for us and I think everyone was starting to believe that we could pull this one off.  Dan ran a great opening leg and put us within a minute of the LA team.  Core was forced to wait as they were in the process of dealing with their sick runner, and for the last 6 legs they lost quite a bit of time.  Meghan proceeded to narrow the gap to LA a little bit and Ralph closed it even more, to the point where I only had 10 or 20 seconds to make up.  Since this was my last leg, even though it was a long and tough one, I went for the stupid approach of intimidate first and fall apart later.  I took the lead before the first major climb and tried to work it as hard as I could to get enough of a gap to scare the LA runner off.  Of course I knew their team was so talented and strong that they would know to run steady and would probably reel me in toward the end, but I didn’t care, I wanted the lead.  I handed off to Stephen who ran great despite being pretty tired by that point, and we turned it over to Tim for the final leg with enough of a lead to be relatively comfortable.

That last leg was really something special to watch.  The LA runner was fantastic and he steadily closed the gap.  The finish was downhill and LA was putting us to the wall.  We had planned to run Tim in as a team but seeing how close the finish was going to be we got out of the way.  We basically ran in together as 2 teams, though Tim managed to hold off the charge by not much more than absolutely necessary.  What a race for Tim, having conquered the grapevine and having saved the outright win which meant something even though we had a buffer of around 8 minutes from the first section.  I was simply in awe of what our team had done and that feeling of excitement carried me through the rest of the afternoon as we were given our champion medals and rewarded with free entry for next year.

This team was really pretty amazing, both in terms of competence, and in terms of spirit.  I’ve been around more experienced athletes before, but I’ve never been around any with more heart.  Our organization wasn’t impeccable, but it was well above adequate and we got the job done every time we needed to.  Everyone stepped up and contributed to the race and to the preparation with their unique talents.  It was truly a pleasure to be a part of such an experience.  The only drag about what we did at this race is that the bar has been set so high that I’m not sure I can race with anyone else in the future.

Tim, Noel, Ralph, Stephen, Shannon, Meghan, Anne, Dan, Me, Steven

Fly

The last three weeks have flown by as if they were weightless.  I find myself immersed with life instead of at peace with it as I felt just a few weeks ago, during my extended summer break between jobs.  I can sense my fitness evaporating like an ice cube in death valley, what was once functional and confident is being replaced by what is now soft and uncertain.

A quick summary of life events since my trips to Badwater and Vermont.

• I went to lunch after class with my lucky leprechaun, Ahlia, and that same day I received a job offer and met Sonja, who has become a serious contender for the title of "world's most patient female."
• I accepted that job offer and then promptly received some Carlyssa energy bars in the mail from the Goddess.  THANKS!!!
• I signed my coaching contract with Team Challenge.  I won't have a free Wednesday or Saturday morning until mid December.
• I squared up plans for next week's wedding on Thursday and Hood to Coast relay on Friday.  I will be missing a company sponsored trip to the Dominican Republic but at least nobody will be in the office cursing me out for unfinished work.
• I signed up for and started the extensions program at Core Power after a healthy dose of encouragement from a number of instructors.  I'm feeling overwhelmed by it because of what I'd like to put into it, and also somewhat bummed out that II had all sorts of free time before extensions started, but now with work and coaching I'm squeezed really tight.
• I attended Yoga for Hope, my first big yoga gathering and my first taste of an event of that size.  It was enjoyable, eye opening, and meaningful.  I left feeling a wonderful buzz.
• Jeff, Becky, Maya and I got our flight plans together for the Honolulu Marathon in December, immediately following the Vegas half.

So, my to do list looks like this:

1. Spend 9 hours each weekday at work, learn a complex financial software application, and try to be useful for the rest of the team as a resource and solution provider as soon as possible.
2. Attempt to court the new lady friend.  Fail by flailing miserably, but wake up each day and try again.
3. Attempt to keep a 13 year old dog alive and happy, but frequently fail at keeping him entertained and receive phone calls from the neighbors when he wanders off after the yard guy leaves the gate open.
4. Try to carve out time to spend with Cody, my little bro.  End up rescheduling him due to a double with the first attempt.
5. Somehow figure out my fantasy football draft on Monday despite having no time to read anything.
6. Enjoy a weekend in SF with my sister, Sonja, Kelly, Mike, and of course Trey, Mike, Page and Fishman on Sunday night.  I'm still kicking myself for giving Kelly and Mike my two tickets for Saturday.
7. Enjoy a Thursday Napa wedding followed by Friday Hood to Coast.  Try to see my Portland friends that Sunday.
8. Set up a full marathon schedule for the newest member of Team Challenge
9. Attend Wednesday and Saturday practices for the foreseeable future.  Provide motivation, encouragement, suggestions, and assistance to everyone.
10. Figure out some way to return the favor to my lucky leprechaun.  I have a plan, but it will take some scheduling to pull it off.
11. Attend as much of the extensions program as I possibly can, be present, focused, absorb, learn, incorporate, practice.
12. Read a book, observe 2 classes, assist in 4 other classes, and do a karma yoga volunteer project
13. Finish reading the yoga book I'm halfway through, finish my final exam, submit my hours.
14. Write about all of the above and various other questions such as "Why do you want to teach" which is sort of an ongoing thought process.
15. Try to find time to run myself and make it to class.  I want to take Tabu's class more often, I want to experience Steve and Andre and it's been forever since I've gone to Fukumura or Miller.  Oh, and I do have a 50k coming up. I miss feeling fit.
16. Get my deck rebuilt after I demo'd it so that it isn't a massive hazard like it is now.
17. Get my commuter bike cleaned up and re-cabled (it hasn't seen the road since labor day 2010 when I rode SF to SD with Al.)  So I can ride with Sonja.  And get dropped of course.
18. Keep a smile on my face because despite the massive shifts that continue to keep me on my toes, this is life, and life is about living.

I frequently think about the yogger and how adept he is with his transitions from a 6 hour trail yog to baby shower to work to bench press to life partner to baby daddy to sports statistician.  And I think of the Goddess who is training for 3 sports, started a new job recently herself, and doesn't complain one bit when Hillary dishes out a 10k swim set.  I admire my friends for how seamlessly they handle the load in their lives because just getting simple things done seems like an even greater challenge as I head towards my 40's.