Race Reports

Race Report: Rage in the Sage

Since the beginning of this quest, I would have never thought of returning to the sport of triathlon. In the early 90s, I competed in two Olympic distance races and was thoroughly bitch-slapped both times.

My conditioning level was non-existent three months ago, having spent the previous five years focusing on family and career, while neglecting myself. In February, I would have never thought this possible. Yet, today, thanks in large part to the support of my family and the invaluable coaching of Steve Ilg, a remarkable little mountain yogi who can kick ass on many levels.

PRE-RACE
We got back late on Saturday night from a day of family activities and it was off to pack up my gear:

• wetsuit
• obligatory swim cap
• goggles (which I never used)
• towel
• Asics
• Injinji toe socks
• Tri shorts
• Craft tri top
• Body Glide
• Sunglasses (2 pair)
• WF Halo II head band (link coming soon!)
• WF Blessed Malas
• Timing chip
• Race belt
• Chuley (Trek 1000, circa 1988)
• Cycling shoes (old lavender/grey shoes whose design must have been inspired by Liberace)
• Helmet
• Spare tube
• Tire levers
• Patch kit
• Gels

A last-minute text message from Coach told me to load the water bottle with Fortune Delight and VitaFruit. How many coaches send you a late-night, last-minute text message with advice?

Knowing that I have a tendency to forget things in the morning, I brought everything in the house and parked it by the front door.

I turned in about 10:30 p.m. I was not nervous or anxious. Just ready to go.

The alarm came too soon at 3:30 a.m. I lounged around until 4 a.m. and then completed my Early Morning Routine. Once done, I mixed up an Ilg Supreme, took 4 Action Caps, 2 Wu Chia Pu, and one Vitadolphilus. Read e-mail and lounged around a bit some more and waited for toilet time to arrive.

During the triathlons I did in ’93 & ’94, I spent sleepless nights before the race and spent the morning on the crapper. Fun stuff.

Really.

This time, no case of the nerves or jitters. Just more of a detached observance of how my body reacts to the adrenaline surge.

About 5:30 a.m., that surge started and everything kicked in. I “cleaned the gunk out of the trunk,” “dropped the kids off at the pool,” etc. Now, it was finally time to go.

I arrived at the transition area at 6:30 a.m. With the race scheduled to start in 30 minutes, it was a hustle to haul everything down from the truck only to find that there were no available bike racks.

Screw it!

I created my own slice of transition heaven against one of the barricades.

I slathered on the Body Glide and squeegeed myself into my 13-year-old wetsuit. I had to ask one of the volunteers to zip up the back ‘cause I couldn’t do it myself. Too much upper body mass these days. Well, OK. I’m sure the cookie belly didn’t help either.

By the time I waddle over to the start area, the Olympic distance folks just got their start signal from the bullhorn

Ten more minutes and it’s my turn.

I waded out into the growing collection of sprint distance racers. Standing in the waist-deep water, I looked around and saw several folks shivering in the cool waters of Lake Mead. The water was a balmy 59 degrees.

My exposed feet went completely numb within a minute. I saw people submersing themselves to get used to the cold water. I saw no point in doing that. Why freeze twice? I had to get wet in a couple minutes anyway. I figured I’d deal with it then.

Hanging around waiting for the bullhorn to signal the start, I found myself surrounded by a kindred spirit. Brave warriors cast from the white hot forge of sweat and breath. Who else would wake before dawn on a Sunday morning to stand in the clear blue water of vast lake and freeze their nuts off?

Wading out into our little band of warriors was a young man of the ripe old age of 13. Wes was built like a green bean and was shivering so much I was tempted to tape a shaker to his head and pour in a healthy dose of vodka with a splash of dry vermouth. He would have made the perfect martini shaker.

Turns out, this was Wes’ eighth triathlon. His proud dad shuffled up beside him and told me how Wes got started when he was 10. It was a rough race, but the cheering of the crowd at the finish line got him hooked. He never looked back.

I would see Wes out on the course throughout the morning and he was always cheerful in his suffering. A true man in the making who would make any father proud.

The sense of community in this group was amazing. Everyone was cheering for one another. No doubt, there was a competitive spirit in the air, but we all knew the pain and sacrifices that were made to get here.

Unlike the cyclists I’ve hung around with who are like obnoxious gear-obsessed Star Trek fans with money, triathletes are a grounded bunch.

Everyone standing in the frigid water this morning have all experienced the crazy looks from co-workers and friends who think we’re IGBAs (InterGalactic Bad Asses) just for entering this event, yet who wouldn’t dream of sacrificing their own lunch hour at Applebee’s for a run or swim.

Or perhaps more accurately, they had no clue what we were doing. No clue why we declined those lunch and happy hour invitations to go sneak off and train. Most of those who were sleeping in this beautiful morning might rather eat a cheeseburger and lead their lives through celebrities or entertain themselves with gossip about colleagues. Folks whose only hope out is a lottery ticket. Folks who wouldn’t dare to peek inside and dance on the edge of the dark abyss that will reveal itself to you in times likes these. Folks who would never toe the starting line of a race, while failing to grasp the basic premise that the next two hours would be much more than a race from point A to point B.

The girl standing shivering next to me expressed her dismay that the park restrooms were closed. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one here who appreciated some quality time on the crapper before a race.

Her buddy said, “Why don’t you just go in the water?”

“I already did. I just feel bad for the people behind me.”

Ya gotta love women who aren’t afraid to pee in their wetsuits.

“Five…four…three…” from race director’s megaphone cut through the air, and interrupted my admiration for Miss Tinkles.

“BRRAAAAAAPPPPP!” and we were off to face our dragons.

SWIM (750 meters)
Swimming in open water is no big deal for me. I’ve been under the impression that swimming is not a strong event for many new triathletes and that this is compounded when they can’t see the bottom of the pool. Plus, throw in a mass start to put the fear of God into more swimmers and ol’ Hak is good to go. Hence, I figured I would post a good time here, something around 17:00. The swim was to be MY event.

All hopes of that were dashed quickly.

I failed to realize that when one swims with nearly 200 of your best friends who are all intent on getting to the same place as you are, but faster, creates a bit of chaos.

The first half of the swim involved a lot of looking up to get bearings and finding a clear swim lane. I never got into the nice rhythm of breathing every three strokes. Instead, it was STROKE, GASP, STROKE, GASP.

The Ilg Supreme was starting to come back up and I was getting winded.

Early.

“This sucks!” I thought at the 200-meter mark.

At the 300-meter mark: “Man, if one of those rescue kayaks comes near, I’m going to have him bail me out. I’m not going to make it. God damn! This suit is choking me!” Yes, I’m embarrassed to admit that, but hey, this quest is all about the truth.

I decided to roll into a side stroke to regain my composure. This kept me even with my neighbors. That lasted for a little bit before I was winded again. I actually rolled on my back and just kicked. That simple act of going on my back felt like I was a dog rolling over and submitting to the race. “OK, you got me! I give up!”

Then, I flipped over and got back into my freestyle again. When that happened, I would just slide by people like they were treading water. Apparently, I have an efficient stroke but was paying the price for only stepping foot in the pool once this month. Doh!

It never ceases to amaze me how loud the Inner Quitter becomes during those first 20 minutes of any athletic endeavor. Every excuse in the mental Rolodex comes flying out on how you have no right to be there or it’s not worth it to continue. For me, since I do not have the ability to turn off that voice yet, I do my best to ignore it or engage it in a pointless dialogue. Just let it whimper and rationalize every excuse on why I should quit. Basically, it’s like watching an old couple bicker inside my mind. Just let it go long enough and it will eventually tire out, or the end will be in sight and you can say, “Look you son of a bitch, there’s the end. We made it.”

Looking at my time, I guess there were worse swimmers than me that morning.

Time: 19:00
Age Group: 6/11
Overall: 37/63

T1
Not knowing my actual swim time, I felt disgusted with my performance and figured I was pretty much out of contention at this point. I took my sweet time in the transition and lost mucho time putting on my Injinji toe socks.

My bike shoes were clipped to the bike, but that did me little good. I wasn’t allowed to mount the bike until I was out of the transition area so I had to push from my “rack” in my socks to the starting point 20 yards up the ramp.

Time: 5:08
Age Group: 11/11
Overall: 62/63

BIKE (15.2 miles)
Once I got to the approved area, I mounted the bike and started to ride. I got about five feet with my right foot in the shoe when my left foot kicked the shoe off the clip and the shoe was left in the dust behind me.

Shit!

I stopped and scooted back to pick up my shoe and tried to get that on one-handed while I was still on the bike. Two minutes down!

Once I got moving, I felt pretty good. Apparently the Easter Sunday ride on the Snow Canyon Loop made a nice deposit in the mental, if not physical, training bank. After Snow Canyon, I feared no hill that this course would throw at me.

A few of the bike hot shots who couldn’t swim came zipping by me a few minutes into the ride.

The course was comprised some rolling hills and due to my recent gearing swap of the rear six-speed cassette (21-11) on Chuley, I was able to fly on the downhill portions, but lost my climbing ability. While others were tooling by me at 80+ cadences, I was bogged down in the low 50s in my largest gear. Then again, the engine powering the bike needs a lot more work in the months ahead.

The four-mile mark was a turn-around and led to a nice gentle descent. I figured this would be a perfect time to slurp down a gel. I grabbed the gel and tore it from the bike frame.

Gel exploded everywhere. I forgot in my enthusiasm that I was squeezing the packet as I was tearing it. Oops.

I slurped what was left and apologized to Chuley for getting goo all over his right shifter.

Around the six-mile mark, I came across young Wes toiling up a hill on his bike (I later found out he nailed the swim in 15 minutes. Little booger.).

“Hey Wes! How ya doing man?”

“Excellent! And you?”

“Outstanding. You’re doing a great job!”

“Thank you. Have a good race!”

A class act.

The rest of the ride was uneventful until we neared the 12-mile mark and the last hill, a seven percent grade of about a mile in length. Near the top of the hill, a few of the men who had passed me a few moments ago were getting off their bikes and pushing.

Fuck that.

Although I had little skill on the bike and not much stamina left, I was nonetheless determined to apply some serious Bike Fu on this hill.

Even though I dropped down to 3.8 mph and my cadence was dangerously slow, I cranked up the hill to the turnaround. My reward for such effort? An awesome high speed descent down the seven percent grade. A much needed chance to recover and get ready for the run.

Time: 1:11:36
Age Group: 11/11
Overall: 54/63

T2
Nothing of note here. I had forgotten to set out my new WF Halo II and lost some time scrounging in my transition bag for it. I couldn’t come this far and not wear this baby and put it to the test.

Time: 1:28
Age Group: 8/11
Overall: 48/63

RUN (5K)

Although I expected to have dead legs for a bit, I wasn’t expecting lead legs.

Out of the transition, the run paralleled the shore of Lake Mead until it picked up the boat ramp where we started the swim. Then it was uphill for about 300 yards until we turned left and ran on a dirt road parallel to the lake again.

I caught up to a guy named Mark who had given up running the hill and decided to walk. After a minute or so, I realized that my shuffling gait was keeping pace with Mark’s walk.

That sucked.

I soon came the accept the futility of shuffling and walked the hill with Mark. It was his first tri and, as he was lamenting at the moment, perhaps his last. I regaled him with a tale of my first triathlon in 1993 in Malibu. It was an Olympic distance and I got spanked. Hard. Near dead last overall.

“Today’s all about discovering your weak spots so you can train the snot out of them for the next race,” I said. “I know. I’m finding a ton of them today!”

That got a small, pained smile from him.

We walked and shuffled the first 1.5 miles and I picked up some steam at the turn-around. Mark was left behind, but not far behind, as I continued to awkwardly pick up my pace from a shuffle to a something resembling a jog.

Coming in the last quarter mile, our course intersected the last leg of the duathlete’s course. I was fortunate to see the leaders of that race come burning down the hill as our paths met. Buff gods and goddesses. I thought I’d try at least to stay not too far behind the gal with the nice behind, but no luck.

I made my final turn onto the beach and saw the finish line 100 yards ahead. What a beautiful sight!

The final few yards I saw my girls standing on the sidelines cheering. I gave them a quick thumbs up as the crowd cheered me on.

“C’mon number 57!”

“Way to go 57!”

After I crossed the finish line, I ran through a gauntlet of the amazing race volunteers who offered their heartfelt congratulations and started bombarding me with fruit, water, bagels, and of course, my finisher’s medal.

Time: 33:22
Age Group: 10/11
Overall: 53/63

Final time: 02:14:33.78
Final Age Group: 10/11
Final Overall: 52/63

For five seconds, I had my moment of athletic fame.

Is that Hak or Disco Stu? You be the judge.

Lessons Learned

• The second set of sunglasses seem unnecessary. Although I could have used a pair last week on the Snow Canyon loop.
• The WF Halo II headband worked like a charm. This is a must-have to keep sweat from running in your eyes and messing up your shades.
• Head Coach reported a few riders carrying their bikes back to the transition area and I saw a half-dozen or so with mechanicals along the rode. Dunno why people don’t carry repair kits or don’t know how to swap out tubes. Seems like a silly way to end a race.
• I experienced no bonking whatsoever during the race. I think it was due to the Ilg Supreme I had for breakfast and the sips of the Fortune Delight/Vitafruit cocktail in the water bottle. I took 5 Sport Caps and 4 Action Caps about 30 minutes before the start of the swim, but since it was the first time I tried that combo, it’s hard to say what effect they had on me.
• A lot more bike work is on the horizon so I can sustain power on the climbs and get out, and stay out, of the saddle without fear of killing my legs.
• You’re not out of the race until you cross the finish line. Never give up and keep pushing yourself. Every little second counts at the end. In other words, don’t be a lazy-ass in the transitions. By just speeding up by 2 minutes in T1, I would have moved from 10th to 9th place. That’s an easy gain.
• This is a mental game much more than a physical. If my ego didn’t wash me out of the competition during the early part of the swim when I shifted from competitor to survivor mode, I could have easily knocked 2 minutes from my swim; 2 minutes from T1; and 30 seconds from the bike for the shoe falling off at the start. Those little changes would have almost moved me up two spots closer to the podium. Little things add up to big things in this game.

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Discussion

3 comments for “Race Report: Rage in the Sage”

1. 

   Excellent commentary! Excellent race! Keep it up!

   Posted by w3iley | August 11, 2006, 5:23 pm
2. 

   Wow, the first (and last) swim shot looks like it came out of Triathlete mag. Nice! And the Disco Stu line cracked me up… Congrats, I loved this report! What kind of writing do you do?

   Posted by Wil | August 11, 2006, 5:24 pm
3. 

   Wow, what a great recap! You don’t pull any punches. This is some hard s***!! I loved the lessons learned, too.

   Posted by jeanne | August 11, 2006, 5:49 pm

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