Memphis Marathon

Not so much a triathlon as a big step towards Ironman Wisconsin, the Memphis Marathon is the last race on my 2008 calendar.

Although a group of three of my friends said they would participate in the weekend, I ended up being the only one of us to make good on it. I did find a travel buddy in John, an ultramarathoner in my swim class. He was still tired from a marathon he did 2 weeks prior and had already qualified for Boston at the Country Music Marathon in April, so he was just going to keep up traditions.

John and I headed to Memphis right after he got off work on Friday, and we arrived downtown around 5 for packet pickup. I got a call from Ryan, my friend with whom we stayed, and discussed briefly what we were going to do for dinner; I said I'd call him back after packet pickup. After paying a slightly sketchy guy $5 for "parking," we headed into the Memphis Cook Convention Center, which was already bustling with activity.

After getting our bib numbers, we proceeded from one end of the room to the other, grabbing our race packets, timing chips and goodie bags. There was, not surprisingly, a huge runner's expo that we perused briefly. The increasingly unavoidable necessity was hunger, though, and we soon left to meet up with Ryan.

We got to Ryan's apartment and were greeted by him and Jana, his girlfriend. We dropped off our stuff and headed to the local Olive Garden for the traditional carbo-loading. The mood was light and dinner was good. I did what I could to eat as much food and drink as much water as possible. After dinner, John and I grabbed our breakfast of choice from Walmart and the four of us retired to the apartment for the night. The 2nd half of Wedding Crashers was on TV, so we all watched that. Around 11, the movie ended and we all went to bed, with nerves and expectations high.

I got about 3 solid hours of sleep the night before, which was better than I expected. I set my alarm for 5:30 assuming I'd wake up before that anyway. Sure enough, I woke up a little before 4:30 and my mind and heart were already in overdrive, so I went ahead and got out of bed (couch?). After eating breakfast, I struggled to kill the next few hours by watching whatever awful shows/movies are on a 5 in the morning on a Saturday and envisioned the day. With so much nervous energy and nowhere to put it, I quickly turned my stomach into knots and plummeted towards physically ill. Eventually the apartment stirred, lights went on and the clock ticked closer to 7. Around 7:15 we headed for the race site.

Ryan dropped us off about 3 blocks from the finish and John and I parted ways at the entrance of the stadium. The next half hour was a blur of images: trying unsuccessfully to find band-aids for my nipples (I ended up using medical tape), stripping off my warm outer layer and dropping off my post-race bag; looking for Mike at the start line; and just walking around aimlessly in a pre-race nervous frenzy.

I arranged to meet Mike Phillips at the start line near the 4:30 pace team. Mike and I regularly post on the Tri-Talk Triathlon Forum, so I knew him through that. Mike had run 6 marathons prior and had completed Ironman Louisville 2 months ago. He decided to do Memphis "on a whim," even though his ankle has been bothering him. We agreed to run the first 13 together and then one of us would inevitably drop the other.

My mind was a snowstorm of thoughts as 8:00 came and went. I positioned myself in the 9th corral and ended up starting about 8:12. The closing minutes until the start had me reflecting on all the training (more specifically, the lack thereof), what finishing a marathon meant to me (not all that much) and how much this was going to hurt by the time everything was said and done. The motto for the Memphis Marathon weekend is "Ready, Set...Let's Rock." So, when the air horn went off at 8:12, in my best Axl Rose impression, I said "Let's Rock" and began my journey.

Mike and I shared stories for most of the first 4 miles. The marathon and half-marathon courses shared the same route for the first 12 miles, so something shy of 11,000 runners covered the streets like bees on a honeycomb. I felt indescribably good for the first hour and change. The winding streets of Memphis took us through much of downtown before we headed off in God knows which direction. Eventually, we limited our conversations because conversing used valuable energy. We attempted to stay with the 4:30 pacer (by that, I mean those people will finish the marathon in 4 hours and 30 minutes) and did so quite successfully as of the first hour. Mike stopped for a bathroom break around mile 3 and had spent a mile catching back up. I did the same around mile 11, catching him in about half a mile. Other than that, the first few miles were comfortable and all together uneventful. The streets wound up and down through the "bad" part of town and eventually started heading back downtown as mile 13 approached. The roads weren't terribly well paved, and it seemed as if every single road sloped downward as it got closer to the sidewalk; I was encouraged to stay on level ground as much as possible, as the damage to the outside of my leg would soon add up.

The word on the street is that the Memphis Marathon is one of the flattest and fastest around. I misunderstood their meaning. Perhaps veteran runners claim the race comparitively fast, which may very well be the case. Perhaps they refer to the second half of the marathon, which, for the most part, is true as well. But as an uninitiated marathoner, the course certainly wasn't as advertised. The first 14 miles were rife with rolling hills. There were no Heartbreak Hills along the course, but the sum of the parts equaled a draining, spirit-crushing road that proved to be unpredictable to the very end.

When Mike and I finally neared mile 12, we had slowed to the pace I was destined to hold for the rest of the race. At this point, the streets were still crowded with runners. Right after mile 12, the half marathon runners veered right and headed back towards the stadium, while the full marathon runners stayed straight towards Beale St. It was quite an interesting sight: 11,000 runners, about half of which was with me or behind me quickly evaporated into 3,000, most of which were far ahead of me. A sea of bodies became a bread crumb trail that extended as far as the eye could see. As I passed some spectators, I said "I think I'll do another loop. Why the hell not?" I had to throw out little one-liners like that to keep up my spirits.

Running along Beale Street was quite the experience. Bars lined both sides of the street as we plugged along the brick road. Although the place was all but deserted at 10:30 on a Saturday morning, there was an energy about it, a mystery. My favorite part of the race to that point, I slowly let Mike out of my sight. I had a feeling I would be the one to get dropped; it usually ends up that way. The gap opened quickly as we came to the Beale Street hill, the biggest and longest hill we would climb. It wasn't all that steep, and I knew it was coming, so it didn't hurt all that bad.

Running alone now, I passed the time by singing songs to myself and straining to find anybody I knew in the crowd. I tried playing games with myself, breaking up the remaining miles into various groups of 5 miles, 5ks, miles and half miles. Each mile and 5k were labeled, so I was more than occupied trying to figure out how much I had to go, and how best to ration my energy. I didn't have a watch on, which probably played to my advantage; no sense killing myself to salvage a decent time. It was best to just stay within myself and just try to finish. This would be the easiest marathon of my life: the only one where I'm unconcerned with time.

Having not trained with gels, I ran into some GI problems around mile 14 or so. I certainly did not mind stopping at the porto pottie and having a nice, refreshing sit. It felt good just to not be moving for a moment. I had to urinate around mile 19, and decided to sit for the same reason.

The hardest part of the day began at mile 18. I was told by a runner friend of mine that mile 18 is really where it starts. I had hoped to get to mile 21 before the real battle of attrition started, but it was fated that mile 18 would hold stage to it. It was around then that I decided to start walking. No matter how tired I was over the course of the day, I never really walked more than I ran. By that, I mean there was never a period when I would walk for 5 minutes and only could stand running for 3. I walked as much as I needed to and jogged the rest. Walking was surprisingly refreshing and gave me a moment to reassess my situation and keep myself in the right frame of reference. I did more running that walking over the next 3 miles, willing myself to the turn onto Parkway Ave. around mile 20.5. That long, lonely, straight stretch of road was the last obstacle to overcome.

Sure enough, I made it to Parkway and allowed myself some walking time. After a mile of doing the walking/jogging thing, something completely unexpected happened: I caught a second wind. I felt ready to go a little before mile 22. So I jogged into the aid station, grabbed some gatoraid, and kept moving. I jogged the entire mile and entered mile 23 with one more gel to take. I walked, slurped it down, drank some water and celebrated the little victory that I would not have to take any more GU. I had been told that you have to will yourself to mile 23, and the crowd would get you the rest of the way. With that in mind, I started jogging and promised myself I would jog until the finish line.

The entirety of Parkway, which stretches from mile 20.5 to 24.5, was a direct headwind (which was lovely). All the same, the stage was set. I knew turning on the road that the race would be all but over when I turned off of it. Just a long 5k was all that was required of me. Parkway was home to the two great moments of self confidence I felt during the last segment of the race. There was a slight climb as we reached mile (21 or 22). I did a walking stint as I approached the next aid station, obviously in peril. Right as a guy in bright colored tights and a parrot hat (don't ask, I don't know) passed me, I was passed by an older couple. The woman called out to me: "this is it! This is the last uphill! It's all downhill from here!" Hmmm, who knew? It was very soon after this interaction that I saw the Pyramid in the far distance. A look at the course map will tell you that you never actually reach the Pyramid. Moreover, I didn't really know what the Pyramid was for, other than that it was a staple of downtown Memphis. This was all I needed to fuel not only the tourist in me, but to convince me that the end was getting close.

So I jogged starting at mile 22, and was determined to keep jogging. It was about mile 24 that I started catching people. I mean, really catching them. Reeling them in one by one. I repassed the parrot guy some time after mile 24 and we had an exchange. "Man, you came back from the dead." "Yeah, aren't second winds just the best?" I felt better than I had felt in the last 3 hours. This was almost over.

As I had said earlier, I'd been told that you have to will yourself to mile 23, and the crowd would get you the rest of the way. I specifically heard "you pass the hospital, and you can't walk in front of the hospital." You actually pass the hospital twice, once after mile 24 and once right before mile 26. What he meant was that some years, seeing as how this is the St. Jude Memphis Marathon, they will actually bring out St. Jude patients to cheer on the runners. Patients, families and hospital staff line the road and provide some much needed motivation. What did I see as I passed the hospital? Another building and more empty streets. In fact, I did not see anyone other than police and the occasional solitary spectator waiting for their loved one to round the corner until I was inside the stadium. Too bad, I really could have used some excitement.

Mile 25 was the worst of the whole race. Mainly, because it was listed too soon. Running the last 10k, I had come to terms with the fact that I was not going to finish the race in less than 5 hours. Only, mile 25 came up really quickly. Not only that, the time clock read 4:55. That means, I had something like 20 minutes (I started about 12 minutes after race start) to run 1.2 miles. Mile 25 just went on forever. I had no problems running the last 1.2 miles, except that it stretched on for something like 2 full miles. Still in this headwind, I plugged along another downhill under an overpass and back up it. So much for no more hills... I ran and ran and ran. Had I known it would be this far, I would have done some walking. Eventually, we turned off of Parkway out of the wind and out of the sun. I knew it had to be close. Except that there was almost a full mile to go before I got to mile 26. And when I got to mile 26, the clock said something like 5:17. Had it been a mile, that mile (which I ran the whole way) took me over 20 minutes. It was clearly marked incorrectly.

A very puzzling element to the marathon was the fact that you couldn't really see much. Every runner knew that the run finished in Autozone Park, but you never really do SEE Autozone Park. While running downtown, you can see stadium lights about 5 blocks down, but it's in a direction seemingly opposite to where you are going. You know the run is over in a quarter mile, you can hear the faint roar of the crowd and the unmistakable sounds of someone talking through a loudspeaker, where the hell is the park?

When I saw those glorious orange cones leading you into the stadium, I just started laughing. I don't really know why. But hysterically laughing. In the midst of the laughter, I felt my eyes start watering up. Oh, no, none of that. We'll save those for Wisconsin. But the smiles continued. I saw Ryan in the stands cheering me on as I neared the finish line. I saw Denise and the kids, too, they had driven up to see me finish; a sentiment I wasn't capable of understanding. Having already taken off my gloves and sunglasses, I raised my arms up and smiled as I crossed the finish line, hoping to make a worthwhile picture. I allowed the volunteers to remove my chip, place one of those crazy aluminum blankets on me and slip my finisher's medal around my neck. My next thought: $#!+, I have to climb these stairs!

Finish time: 5:07:24; 11:44/mi

After some sweets, pizza, beer and congratulatory conversations with Mike and Parrot Guy, I was as ready as I could be to change into warmer clothes and get back to the apartment. All I wanted to do was lay down and nap. I couldn't eat anything until about 3 hours later, when my stomach was threatening system shutdown. I ended up taking a nap on the bare floor while the rest of the crew (Ryan, John, Ryan's roommate and, eventually, Jana) watched the SEC Championship game. My body didn't seem to mind.

So, I guess that's it. The marathon was a lot more painful than I gave it credit for. It's roughly as painful as a half ironman, but it hurts in a much different way. It's now 5 days post-race and I'm just now not feeling tight and sore. Still don't have my 26.2 sticker. I went by Fleet Feet and had this whole story figured out: I would limp in without saying a word, grab a 26.2 sticker and slap it on the counter...and smile. But, they were sold out. Ugh, it's always something...

Music City Triathlon

1500 yd swim 1200yd swim 0 yd swim-> 27 mi bike -> 6 mi run

Subtitle: A Triathlon in a Hurricane

As is typical, wake up came at 4:30am. After breakfast and dressing, I headed up to Nashville Shores on what I thought would be a nice day. Wrong! As I crossed the bridge that takes Bell Rd. over Percy Priest Lake, all I saw was choppiness. More on that later...

I'm assigned bib #2. Don't know how that happened; there were 800 racers that day, and I did NOT plan on finishing second. Nevertheless, the typical pre-race ritual went underway. I got my transition area set up and said hi to Tiago and J ___, the same 19 year old I raced against at the Monster Tri in July. It was cool to see him again. My run warmup convinced me to wear socks for the run portion, as I had a pretty nasty blister on my Achilles from Monday's sockless run. Around 7:00am I put on my speedsuit and start to head down to the swim start.

Before I get out of transition area, the head of Team Magic (the organization putting the race on) made an announcement about the water. Namely, that it was not wetsuit legal because it was warmer than 78* (this I anticipated, I brought me speedsuit which you can use in any race). More importantly, they gave the athletes the option of skipping the swim and doing just a bike, run. I chuckled with the UGA athlete next to me that this was because of the water temperature being too hot, and triathletes just being whiners. Turns out, it was because of the chop. Those who elected to do the swim swam a shortened 1200yds, which would make the course more straightforward.

I didn't think there was any way I was missing the swim, so I headed down to warm up. The waves on the beach were about 3 feet high, and they hit one after the other with amazing frequency. I only swam about 50 yds before calling it a warmup and heading back to shore. I exchanged nervous small talk with some of the other racers as I awaited the start. Team Magic made another announcement and tried to appeal to our better judgements: the waves further out on the course were twice the size of those near the beach. With one last chance to skip the swim, they called the collegiate wave out to begin the race. With a quick countdown, they shouted "Go!" and we all plunged into the water, against the current, and began the Music City Triathlon; a race that won't be soon forgotten by everyone involved.

I start the swim in the roughest water I've ever swam in. The entire field bobbed up and down, up and down, no method of fighting the water. The trip to the first buoy was undoubtedly the longest 400 yd swim I've ever done. All the while in a pack. I'd pass someone, they'd pass me, I'd pass them again. Darting from side to side as the riptide threw us about. All over the course. At one point, someone swam under me without meaning to. It was a sea of thrashing, fighting against the current and the waves. I'll speak conservatively and call the waves 5 ft high, but I'm confident they were at least 6 ft, maybe bigger than that. We were carried up 5 feet in the air and smashed down into the water. It was exhausting and very frustrating. There were times you weren't sure if you were actually moving or not. So much movement up and down, you had no idea if you were making any forward progress.

As I go to round the first set of buoys, I saw something I've never seen before. 45 swimmers, 45 red caps treading water. Where do we go? You couldn't see anything over the waves, boats had been swept away, maybe a buoy had moved. Were we supposed to turn? Go straight? Mass confusion, no movement, only up and down. We eventually turn and take off to the next buoy across the water, now going with the current. I know we were moving faster, but all I felt was the water picking me up and slamming me down. I struggled to breath. I struggled to keep moving forward. I didn't do it consciously, but I'm sure I was fighting for survival. All I knew was that I was in the middle of the lake in the middle of a storm, a bad one, and nobody was going to rescue me. Nobody could, they were fighting just like me.

I was sure I was dead last when I made the final turn and headed for shore. Exiting the water I noticed that not only was I not last, but I was seeded fairly well. It's a little too optimistic to say I was to 50%, but I bet I was top 67%. For the collegiate wave, that wasn't a bad day. I exit the water to a bunch of people standing around. "The swim's been canceled" said a volunteer. Okay, I've done the swim, so what? I misunderstand the situation: they let the first 6 waves go before they officially cancel it. After making the call, they pull everyone out of the water. After all that effort, my swim time was not registered. Not only this, but I would have to wait for almost another hour before I was allowed to start my bike. WHAT??? It was too dangerous. But the first few waves, all the collegiant's, we survived.

By the time it was time for our wave to start the bike, I had already gotten my socks put on. I didn't feel the least bit bad at this defiance of the rules, the way things turned out. I visited transition early and got someone to give them to me. So, with slightly wet socks, I sprint to the bike, grab my gear and head out on the bike course. I sort of hope this wind dies down some...

T1: 2:38

After a textbook-worthy transition, I hop on my bike, hammer up the first hill, put my shoes on and proceed to head out on the course. It wasn't too terribly long before we ran into the wind. The never-ending wind. I have no way of knowing how strong the wind was, but I tell people it was about 20-25 mph.

The bike started well enough, except for the wind. The same ole', same ole' of passing several people while getting passed by others style seeding took place in the first 5 miles. The only thing worth discussing was the headwind. It was interesting to see how each person chose to handle it. I focused on perceived effort and kept a high cadence, while others opted for the high gearing and grinding through it. I don't understand the methodology, but to each his own.

This race was really one of the very few times on the bike that I just did not feel safe. My sentiment was not improved about halfway through the bike session when I saw the ambulances. As I come over a hill, I descended and prepared to turn right, when I was ordered to slow down. Apparently, a girl took the corner too fast, got caught in a crosswind from the right, veered into the left lane and hit a car head-on. It looked like a pretty messy situation, with one girl on the ground and a few others scattered in bloody messes over the road and the ditch. Throughout the 27 mile bike course there was scarcely a stretch of a half mile without seeing someone wreck or have a mechanical issue. It was a real jungle out there.

To further describe the windy conditions, at one point in the bike ride we had to cross an undulated bridge. At the peak of the bridge, the wind had to be 50 mph and it was a direct headwind. People were literally taking their left foot out of their pedals and kicking off the ground like a scooter because they could not pedal into the wind fast enough to stay upward.

I didn't wreck or have a mechanical issue, but I had a problem to deal with of my own. With no aid stations on the bike, and with the bike being much more difficult than anticipated, I found myself at mile 17, still having a GU and a caffeine pill to take, with only a mouthful of water left. After some internal debate, I decide to save my water for the end to take with my pill and gel. No matter what my decision, however, I would be incredibly dehydrated by the start of the run. At least it wasn't hot... -rolls eyes-

At long last I roll into T2 and am ready to finish the run and the race. This is an amazing life experience, but I'm about finished racing for the day. The first two disciplines in these conditions had taken their toll, and I'm already not happy with my times or my seeding. I throw on my shoes and hat and head out ready to finish this stupid race and just go home.

Bike: 1:32:22
T2: 1:09

The run, aside from being dusty and quite windy in parts, was pretty uneventful. The mile markers were very confusing, due to the two-loop affair. I thought I saw markers 1, 2, 4, 2 again, 5 and then 1 again in the span of the first two miles. This didn't affect my pacing as much as it did my psyche.

I had pretty high expectations of the 10k as a chance to really take a bite out of my time last year, but it just wasn't in the cards. I was exhausted, dehydrated and was risking hyponatremia and cramping towards the end. I just limped through it. This was the first time I've ever been able to say I ran a triathlon in which the run was the easiest part. Historically, the run is by far the worst part. Maybe I should have pushed harder (not gonna happen).

Run: 1:00:39
Total time: 2:36:46
Placing: 31 out of 40 in collegiate wave

I was over the whole triathlon scene by the end of the race. I didn't even stick around for the awards. My whole body was tired. I hadn't felt this way since the end of WildFlower. For crying out loud, it took me 2 weeks to post the report. It just depressed me. I am looking forward to Atomic Man; one last chance to fully extend myself before the season ends. The 28th should be a good day, but I'm pretty sure I'll be all tried out for the next 7 months by 3:00pm.

Manchester STAR Triathlon

200 yd swim -> 14 mi bike -> 3.1 mi run

A pretty fast and hectic day began at 5:15 am... sort of. Missing the 6 hr sleep mark slightly, I woke up drowsy and unmotivated. I turned off my alarm and laid there, working up the energy to roll out of bed. The next thing I notice is I'm shaking off the next bout of unconsciousness. I look at the clock, which reads 6:00am. Crap! I'm gonna miss it!

5:15am was a pretty late start to begin with. The race was at least 30 mins away from my apartment, and it started at 8:00am. I jump out of bed (quite a bit more rested, actually), get dressed, literally chug my 2 bottles of Ensure and head out the door at 6:35. Packet pickup and body marking end at 7:00am, so I have to get there before then. I roll in around 7:10am. There were no problems with registration, but it certainly left me frazzled.

Not exactly getting the pick of the litter on transition spots, I proceed to put my game face on and set up my area. I admire that I'm #9 out of about 100; guess my swim is getting better! I do the typical setup, meditation and warmup I do for all sprint races. As I'm standing in line, I notice 2 people: my friend Tiago who is trying to win overall and another really dark skinned guy that had to be Native American or Middle Eastern or something like that. He was pretty big, a lot of muscle mass on his upper body which led me to believe he would be a shark in the pool, and wearing a bright yellow tri suit. Probably a big engine on the bike, but not such a great runner. Ehh, ignore him. I have bigger things to think about, such as that much anticipated phrase: "Number 9... Go!"

I felt, once again, that I was well seeded in the swim. I had a guy slapping my feet around 100 yds and I let him pass at 125 yds. I passed a guy who had stopped for a breather at 150 yds. and was slapping the feet of another racer in the last 10 yds. So, I felt really good about my swim time. About what I expected, and not too draining. I get out of the water, and the feet I was slapping happened to be that big guy in yellow. So much for being a shark, he started 3 spots (15 secs) in front of me.

Estimated time: 3:30
Actual time: 3:32 (1st in AG)

T1: 31 secs

The bike course, which the website explained as "a few good hills in the first and last mile, but very flat otherwise" was about as advertised. After getting out on the open road for the out-and-back course, I settled in the aero position and tried to slow my HR. After a while, the big guy in yellow passes me. I look at his leg for the first time as he passes: 24. NO!!! Can't let him go! So, I do my best to match his pace, which is faster than I would have like to go. My "big engine" guess was pretty accurate. I tried to match him, then tried to keep him within 30 secs, then tried to keep him in sight. He had gained 2 mins by the bike turnaround. The route back was mostly downhill, so I figured I'd at least match if not take a little out of him on the way back because I had aerobars. However, I focused on not pushing too hard at the end of the bike. I did this last race and blew up on the run, and I knew the run was my last chance at catching him. I shoot through transition, no doubt faster than him, and head out on the run.

Estimated time: 45 mins
Actual time: 42:22 (2nd in AG)

T2: 24 secs

I tear out of the transition area at about a 6 min/mile pace, which is way too fast for me, trying to close the gap on a slight downhill. I eventually settle in to me just slower than 8 min/mile pace and try to keep Mr. Yellow in sight. Once on the open road (again and out-and-back) I can see him. A little after the 1 mi marker, we make a left turn, at which time I figured I was a little over 1 min behind him, so I was making up time (this turn was marked, but no volunteers were there). Right after the left turn, at about the 1.25 mi marker, was the only water stop. In my exhaustion, I don't quite lift my hand as much as the volunteer assumed I would, and I dropped my water. UGH! Can't stop, so I'd have to wait until the way back. The run turnaround also had no volunteers manning it, so the run was on the "honor system" that you actually went around the cone. Not particularly normal for a USAT-sanctioned event. At the turnaround, I was 59 secs behind him. I knew I had a chance to catch him.

The second half of the run was more difficult. I managed to grab a mouthful of water and dumped the rest on my head at the aid station and tried my best to close the gap. At this point, I was nearing explosion, and I was starting to get stomach cramps. I pushed it pretty hard on both the bike and run trying to stay with this guy. I went as fast as I perceived I could, and hoped I wouldn't blow up. The fact that I had to walk for a second wasn't particularly disgusting. That was the risk I took.

At around the 2.5 mi marker, we went back into the woods, and it was the last I saw of Mr. Yellow. I ducked and kicked as hard as I could hoping that he didn't do the same and that I could pull closer to him, knowing he started 15 secs before me. In a hazy state of exhaustion and pain, I weaved all around the sidewalk cutting whatever corners I could and trying to shrink the deficit.

As I approach the end of the run, I'm beginning to wonder where the heck this finish line is. It should be here pretty soon. It has to be just over this bridge. As I'm having this internal dialogue, the volunteer screams at me that I'm going the wrong way. I was supposed to make a left turn at the passing, which was NOT MARKED and had NOBODY THERE. How was I supposed to see that, exactly??? The detour added about 20 secs to my time, and succeeded in frustrating the hell out of me. Here I was, killing myself to try to catch somebody, and the race director didn't think enough to mark the last turn. There's no excuse for that...

Sure enough, there's Mr. Yellow standing at the finish line watching me run across. Great...

Estimated run time: 25 min.
Actual run time: 23:49 (1st in AG, and a new personal best)
Total time: 1:10:36 (+40 secs)

Turns out, I did run a little bit out of the guy. I talked to him after the race and congratulated him. He said that he'd held back the first half of the run, and kicked hard the second half. I had no shot. He missed the last turn, too, so can't make that excuse... Although it was his first race, he said he has a background in cycling and running, and just got his lifeguard certification finished up. Just my luck: the only person in my AG signed up as of yesterday finishes, like 10th overall... The race did, however, have 2 more guys in our AG for a total of 4. Both of the other two guys finished over 7 mins slower than us.

When asked about his performance in his first Ironman, Craig Alexander once said: "If I feel like I got the most outta myself, and I didn't make any stupid mistakes, and I fueled my body well, then I think it would be a success. That being said, if I'm not in the top 5, I'll be disappointed." I think I feel the same. I can' t get particularly bent out of shape for not placing first. I'm not fast enough to win races, and I'm just happy that I'm on the podium more often than not.

Between now and next year, I plan to invest in a tri bike, an aero helmet and maybe some race wheels if I can find some cheap ones. I also plan to come back with a huge, Ironman-caliber endurance engine with some threshold and interval work sprinkled over the summer months. Most importantly, I'll be a year older, a year wiser and will enjoy my last season in the 20-24 AG. So, as I said to myself as I awaited the last finisher and the award ceremony:

"Next year, I'm going to smoke these races..."

Monster Triathlon

200 yd swim -> 16.7 mi bike -> 3.1 mi run

When my alarm clock went off at 3:30 this morning, I felt something that I wasn't expecting. I felt good, rested. Apparently, my attempt to get exactly 4.5 hours of sleep worked pretty well, and climbing out of bed wasn't a problem. To this, I give credit to those 3:30 wakeup calls for Wednesday morning swims.

I fancy drinking my Ensure as the most difficult thing I do all day. It isn't, of course, but it is more difficult than one would imagine. Consuming 500 calories in about 2 minutes when you're not that hungry to begin with hurts sometimes. Makes me gag, but I got it down, loaded up the truck and got outta town a little after 4:00am. The trip was quite the little haul, 80 miles one way, but I pulled into the race venue around 5:30. The site of the race was a fitness center and outdoor pool on one side and a cemetery on the other. An odd little location for a transition area, but I'm not one to balk at a race over such a trivial issue. I was one of the first racers present, so I got a sweet spot near the bike in/bike out gate to rack my bike and set up my transition area.

The typical pre-race ritual followed: set up the bike and run gear in a most obsessively compulsive way while listening to my half-hour pre-race mix, use the restroom (a few times), pick up my race packet, get body marked, and begin to zone in. Among these must-dos, I talked with a guy from Birmingham known only as J Bruhn. He ended up finishing 3rd overall. Pretty quick.

After a 10 min run warmup and 10 min swim warmup, I found myself on the pool deck at 7:00am and beared witness to the first racer plunging into the pool. The race was underway! Being number 24, it was less than two minutes before I toed the line and was given the go ahead to start the race.

The swim went pretty well. So much better after that warmup. I ended up passing one or two swimmers along the way, but overall felt I was seeded really well. Although I started to lose my breath towards the end, I was really happy with my pacing. After all, it was only 200 yds. Exiting the water, I was ready to test my hand at what everyone has said is a REALLY hilly bike course.

Target swim time: 4:00
Actual swim time: 3:50
T1: 0:24

After a quick exchange (I really do have fast transitions), I was out on the bike course. The course got interesting fairly quickly, as we found ourselves tackling hills almost immediately out of the park. There was a short but quite steep hill followed almost immediately by a slow, steady, fairly long climb. I was beginning to get passed by those who had practiced for this race and cursed my lack of ambition and opportunity as I struggle up the hill, already in the lightest gear my bike has. A little over halfway up the hill, we passed a white sign stating "No Whining," which put my mind at ease a little. I've heard that the bike course has "two pretty good size hills," and made the conclusion that this had to be the first one. Even if I'm struggling, at least I know everyone else is too.

At the top of the hill, we enjoyed flying down the other side. Climbing is always worth it to me if we get to descend afterwards. I love going fast.

As I started to settle into my own, calm myself down and get ready for the long haul, the course became easier. Some rolling hills that didn't produce any real problems. I would get chased for a while and eventually passed by a cluster of riders every once in a while, but this bothered me less and less as the day went on. I just did my best to chat up the volunteers and try to enjoy the scenery; which wasn't hard on this course. It was nothing short of breathtaking. The green, rolling hills in the morning fog were reminiscent of WildFlower, except these seemed to calm more than excite.

At one point later in the bike course, I'm heading up a long climb, but with a pretty easy grade. I'm in the saddle coasting along without much thought, except wondering how much more of this bike course there was. As I turned right onto the main road to finish the hill, the cop controlling traffic asked "quite a long hill, wasn't it?" To which I replied "No. Wasn't too bad." It dawned on me about 30 seconds later that this was the second "pretty good size" hill. It wasn't a whole lot. Maybe I was in the middle of my second wind or something. Maybe I should have gone up it faster...? Pacing was hard without a bike computer or a watch.

As I finally pull back into the rec center, I begin getting ready for the dismount and transition. As I pull in, I see Barry Knight just finishing the run. I couldn't believe this guy. He's finishing the race as I'm finishing the bike course, during a SPRINT DISTANCE race! He was first overall, no surprise, with a time of 1:02:57. What a beast.

Target bike time: 1:00:00
Actual bike time: 56:45
Swim + Bike time: 1:00:35
T2: 0:35

At this point, I'd like to rewind to my pre-race ritual. I have always debated on going sockless for my races, the shorter ones anyway, but it has never worked for me. I've tried it in both training and races before, but I always blister up and the rest of the run is really uncomfortable. After reading the Body Glide label stating it's "Great for Feet, too!" I decided to try it on my warmup run. It seemed to work well enough, so I took a chance, lathered up and went sockless.

What a great idea! Not only did the shoes go on my feet like butter, but my feet felt as good, if not better, than they do wearing socks! For shorter distance races, I'm totally hooked on this stuff! Body Glide=amazing!

The run was pretty uneventful. I was having some light GI problems on the bike that signaled bad things for the run, but they never came to fruition. The first mile of the run seemed like the longest, but the race volunteers were great; never too far away. At one point just after the 1 mile marker, I was to make a hard right turn, U-turn onto the road and follow the guard rail to the next cone. I wasn't quite paying attention to the volunteer and missed the U-turn. I found myself in someone's front yard with no clear paths. A quick moment of confusion was dashed when the volunteer screamed the correct directions to me. Just a little embarrassing.

The run felt pretty good. My pacing went pretty well. I was huffing and puffing, and had side splits about halfway through, but nothing ever made me slow down. I wanted to stay on an 8 min/mile pace, and I stuck to it quite well all the way to the finish.

Target Run time: 28:00
Actual Run time: 26:39

Target Race time: 1:30:00
Actual Race time: 1:28:11

After snacking, hydrating and chatting, I was eager to check out my time and placing. This was a pretty small event, so I figured I would podium in my Age Group, despite not having really trained for it. I thought there was a mistake when I saw that I had the fastest time of anyone in my Age Group. There were a few 19 year olds and 25+ year olds that beat me, but nobody in my category got the better of me. I was really excited to walk up and accept my gold medal as the lead finisher in the Male 20-24 AG.

After the ceremony, I checked out the split times. Turns out I was the ONLY person in the race in the Male 20-24 AG. Kind of a buzzkill. I didn't deserve to win, anyway. I just enjoyed the race and beat my target time, which is the only things I try to do in races anyway.

All in all, it was a pretty good race. I feel like I got the most out of myself, did the best I could given my lack of training and really enjoyed the scenery, the atmosphere and the people. Only 7 days until my next race at Cedars of Lebanon. Until then, tri on!

WildFlower

1.2 mi swim -> 56 mi bike -> 13.1 mi run

What is to follow is the complete story of my first Half Ironman Triathlon, held at Lake San Antonio in Central California. As best as I can recall, this is the whole story, as I experienced it, with no embellishments. This will not include any information about my trip before or after the race.

The weather was quite cool the night we arrived in Lake San Antonio Friday evening, and this remained when I awoke Saturday morning. As difficult as it is for me to get enough sleep the night before a big race, it was especially disappointing that I was woken up once or twice during the night because I was so cold. So, I began my morning shivering and very sluggish from lack of sleep. The past few nights had yielded similar results and I could feel the effects the day of the race. I knew this would be the start of a long day.

Never wanting to be in a hurry on race day, I ate my typical Ensure breakfast and headed down to transition about 5:45am to get everything set up. I was pretty early, the second athlete in transition setting things up. After a couple hours of setting up my stuff, filling water bottles, getting Powergel, etc. I headed down to the swim start to warm up at 7:30. They were only letting the elite wave warm up, so I would have to wait until just minutes before my swim start to get acclimated to the water.

The water at 8:00am was 63 degrees, which was the beginning of my problems. I did not have a wetsuit. I had a speedsuit that added no buoyancy or warmth, but it was all I had at the time. The moment the airhorn went off and I plunged into the water, I had trouble breathing. Keeping in mind that I've been cold all morning, my chest felt compressed and my lungs couldn't expand. Typically I breathe every 5th to 7th stroke, but I was struggling breathing every 2nd to 3rd to get enough oxygen to my muscles. I got out of the pack relatively quickly and avoided much of the frenzy, but did manage to get punched in the face about 600 meters into it. It didn't really hurt and didn't knock my goggles off or anything, I just found it interesting that I got punched in the face during the swim.

The swim was quite difficult because of the temperature, but also there was a wake during the race. It's still unclear to me as to where it came from, be it wind or boats, but it did affect my ability to swim in a straight line; which I can't do very well to begin with anyway.

Swim time: 48:37

I exited the swim still cold and quite out of breath from the jostling and the struggling to breathe. A little out of it, I rip my suit, goggles, ear plugs and swim cap off as I hustle to transition. As quickly as I can, I put on all my bike gear, including socks, gloves and bike shorts. Because of the congestion and a quick hill, my coach told me to put my shoes on in transition rather than leaving them on the bike. Seeing as how I'm so much smarter than him, I leave them on my pedals and run to the mount line, ready to dry off, warm up and get to the part of the race where I felt a little more comfortable.

T1 time: 4:08

I had plenty of time to put my shoes on before the hills hit, but I soon found that my cold fingers lacked the dexterity necessary to slip them on and fasten them. Soon thereafter, I hit a sandbag and lost a water bottle. I dismounted to pick it up and took the opportunity to put my shoes back on. I was shivering during the first few miles on the bike so much that it was difficult to keep the bike straight. Very quickly (4 miles) into the bike I came to Lynch Hill, a climb of less than one mile, but taking you 300 vertical feet, out of the lake and into the park entrance. My heart was racing to warm my body, and I was quickly getting tired going up the very steep hill. About 2/3 of the way up, I succumbed. Dismounting and pushing my bike up the hill gave me an opportunity to catch my breath and regroup for the rest of the day. Once I got my body and my legs warm, today was going to get a lot better.

It wasn't until roughly mile 15 that I noticed I had warmed up. Whenever this revelation struck, I was as comfortable and as excited as I've been on a bike in a really long time. I'm racing WildFlower! There's so much stuff to see! Mountains lined the background as I found my rhythm. I sailed along content, chatting up people as they passed my on very expensive, very aerodynamic bikes and genuinely enjoying myself. The rolling hills provided enough of a challenge to speed my breathing and make me a little worried over Nasty Grade at mile 41, but I was enjoying the ride until another, completely unforeseen problem arose.

It probably started around mile 35. I've never cramped on the bike before. I always thought cramping due to lack of salt was similar to the annoying side splits endured on the run, endurable but makes you want to stop.

My favorite part when I tell this story verbally: can you picture the point in your life when you were in the most amount of pain you've ever experienced? I can't, because it happened to me about a half a dozen times on the bike alone. At one time or another, every muscle in my leg locked up with the exception of my hamstring (thank God). When a cramp hit my leg locked up, the cramping muscle involuntarily flexed, locked and pulsated, reminding me of a seizure in the muscle. The muscle, let's say my quad in one instance, flexed so much I could see its movement through my skin. Every time one struck I screamed in agony, pulled off, dismounted and stretched the muscle. Time stood still as I stretched, shivered with worry and waited to remount and continue the ride. Sometimes I'd mount and the muscle would go at it again, so I'd have to choke back the scream and stretch it some more. Each time seemed to take longer than the last, and each made me feel more and more helpless.

Somewhere in this time period, I approached mile 40. I had quite adequately psyched myself up for the big, long climb by the time by this point, and was in between episodes at the mountain's base. Yelling encouragement to myself under my breath, I began to work my way up the great hill. Nasty Grade itself, a two-hill 4 mile long climb rising you 850 vertical feet, wasn't quite as horrible as I expected. The second hill, however, I was accompanied by preliminary cramps I could ride through, but made it all the more unbearable. The inside of my quad and hamstring stabbed with pain with each pedal stroke as I struggled up the hill. The pain was not wanted, but it did quite effectively divert my attention from the climb and I found myself near the summit sooner than anticipated. Looking over my right shoulder and seeing the pristine setting from 1,400 ft, I could hear war drums just ahead as I closed in on my last 100 feet. As I crested the hill, some poor bastard in a full body Energizer Bunny suit was banging on a drum to encourage the cyclists. So, I did what anybody would do; I bit my lip and kept going and going and going, until I hit the summit.

My legs did not lock up completely during the stoutest of the climbing or on the screeching descent that followed, which I am supremely grateful for. This was no less a gift from God, whom I was just beginning to rely on to get me through the day. However, at one point or another, my legs did cramp in the same fashion 5 or 6 times in the last 20 miles of the bike. I was even consoled by a weaker rider who would pass me as I stood helplessly stretching, panting and crying out several times on the side of the road. Once I got going again, I would easily pass him. Then my legs would lock again, and I'd pull over for some more agony.

Hitting the intense final descent into Transition, I prayed for God to help me through this run and to help me survive the day. I have no idea how many times I've asked him the same by this point, but I certainly would have underestimated how many times later in the day I would have to make that very same prayer.

Bike time: 3:55:58
Total time: 4:48:43

My only thought in transition was that I wasn't as sure as I would have liked to be that I would be physically capable of finishing the next 13.1 miles. My body has never been pushed as hard as it was on the bike, and it was now starting to get hot. The high for the day was around 80. This was not the problem, so much as the humidity of 50%, the seemingly endless trails of dust and a general absence of shade in any form.

Before I embarked on the run, I made a quick visit to the porto potty to relieve myself. This, I feel, is important because it provided yet another sign that things were not quite normal. It was now made obvious to me that I did not have enough salt in my system. At the time, my only way to fix this was to swell Gatoraid and hope for the best. Yet, the more I drink, the more I have to get rid of. Thus, the stage was set for my first experience in survival.

The comfortable jog I hoped to hold the entire run lasted about a half a mile before I was slowed to a walk by cramps. Over the course of the run, I was locked in a battle between my body's need for sodium and my palate's ability to take it in. This would prove to be an issue the whole race. Not only that, somewhere I got it into my head that I should begin to fear heat stroke. I couldn't tell if I was sweating anymore, so I had to assume the worst. From watching Survivorman on TV, I knew that I was to fear lightheadedness, lack of sweat, dizziness and nausea. When the nausea started to settle in, I gave up any remaining motivation at achieving a reasonable finish time and changed my goal to surviving the race and not getting disqualified.

I developed rituals to handle each problem individually. At each aid station, I would grab a full cup of water, stand in the shade and dump it over my head and neck slowly to bring my core temperature down (not as pleasant as I would have imagined it). Because nobody seemed to have access to any salt tablets, I had to continue to chug Gatoraid at each aid station. I also carried gels as makeshift salt tablets, popping a gel whenever my legs started locking up.

My biggest problem throughout the first half of the run was mental. Doing the math in my head, I tried to discern if I would make it to the finish line before 5:30, 9 hours and 20 minutes after my start. For some reason I miscalculated several times in a row and convinced myself that I was not on pace to finish this goal. It's really difficult to try to explain in words how hopeless this was. If I was at all interested in finishing the entire 13.1 miles, I could not go any faster than my speed walk pace; yet, if I was interested in finishing the race within the legal time, I was going to have to speed up. Where this energy boost was going to come from, I had no idea.

At one point, I found myself talking to another walker. "When I started this race, I told myself I either wanted to finish or to pass out trying," I told him. "I've thought a lot about it and, well, passing out trying to finish isn't all that appealing anymore. I don't want to fail now, having come this far." And yet, I trudged along, convinced this effort would be in vain. I was having a hard time coming to terms with my impending failure. This was my one race, there wasn't going to be any chances for do-overs until September. That's an entire summer of camp, a full season of racing, and 6 very long months away. I didn't know how I would be able to look myself in the mirror after this. My body insisted that I didn't have what it would take, and I began to rethink my life and its direction. Ironman became a word that meant nothing to me. It was impossible; I couldn't even do half of one.

The most crushing moment of the entire race came at mile 6. Having trudged past mile 5, I was looking forward to the halfway point at mile 6.5, mainly so the math would be easier and I could be more sure of my pacing. I shuffled over hill after hill, looking for mile marker 7, at which time I would know I had over half of this run finished. Just as I climbed another veritable mountain, a large white placard read "Avia Mile 6." My mind plummeted into a frenzy. This wasn't fair. I had already passed mile 6...a mile ago! Or, so I thought. There was no way I was going to make it. Each mile marker was further away than the last one, but this one was listed twice. Or was it? I was seeing things that weren't there. I started to really fear insanity out on that lonely, dusty trail.

And yet, the most important discovery of the day was that the trail I was walking along wasn't all that lonely. Lining the bike and run course were signs put up by the Fellowship of Christian Athletes. I recognized the FCA from high school. I never really got much out of it, and was a little annoyed at the pervasiveness of the signs, but they did help me look in the right direction. As much as I had faith in myself, I knew at this junction in time, for the first time in my life, that I could not finish this alone. So, I prayed. I prayed every mile. I had more one-on-one time with God over the last 5 hours of the race than I've had my whole life prior. I asked Him to watch over me, to help my body, to keep me moving. I trusted that He wanted me to finish, that all this pain was to teach me a lesson in life, but that He wanted me to finish.

There isn't a lot more I can say about the run. I continued the hydration and nutrition pattern until around mile 8, when I could stomach no more food. I have heard of this sensation: your body is absolutely famished, but you just cannot eat anymore. From that point on, you just have to play the odds that you can get enough calories in through drinks. After passing the halfway point, I reassessed my situation and no longer feared overheating, so I started doing the jog/walk thing. Dictated by the peaks and lulls of my cramping legs, I made a lot better time in the second half of the run. The mile markers continued to be placed strategically further apart, but I continued to chat up God along the way and put all my faith in that He would make sure I made it to the end.

When I hit the long, steep descent on Beach Hill a little after mile 12, I knew all this was about to be over. I began jogging and told myself I wouldn't walk until the finish. I lenghtened my stride to accommodate the downhill and plugged away. Even the downhill seemed like it was far too long.

Crossing the timing mat at 13 miles, I entered the finish line chute and was greeted by the most amazing display of tunnel vision I could imagine. I pointed to the sky, thanking God for making good on his promise, and ran towards the line. My right leg locked up just meters from the line; wasn't going to stop me. I limped along and grimaced, but kept going. This would all be over soon enough.

I honestly don't remember my hand gestures during the finish. They were completely natural. I recall holding the number one at some point, but nothing I did was voluntary. I just relished the glory of finishing, within a legal time. Not only that, I finished in under 8 hours, 30 minutes; not a huge accomplishment, but you have to finish an Ironman in under 17 hours, so 8.5 for a half would be the same.

Some combination of the reality of how long I spent on the course, my hand gestures of euphoric relief and the fact that I was sprinting on legs actively locking up on me, the crowd got behind me. Not to put adjectives where they don't belong, but the cheer was deafening. The announcer called my name and welcomed me in. In 8:24:39, I had done it. I had finished.

I was greeted by volunteers who removed my chip, put a wet towel around my neck and presented me with my finisher's medal. As I wandered toward the porto potties (I've long since lost count of these trips), it happened. I thought it might have happened. It never did during the Gear Up Florida arrival, but I felt it coming for this one, and there was no holding it back. It started with a tickle in the back of my throat. Then came a light cough. Then a few coughs in a row. They my chin started quaking. Before I knew it, the tears started to flow. Just one at first, but as the realization that my goal was accomplished and the reflection of all the pain of the day set in, I completely bawled my eyes out. It was all I could do to get in the privacy of the porto potty and rest my head against the side as tears of joy shot down my cheeks one after another. "That was so hard" I told myself. "I can't believe that was so hard."

Run time: 3:30:32
Total time: 8:24:39

Epilogue:
I ended up going into the medical tent to make sure I wasn't in any real danger. After two failed attempts at an IV, I finally got one to work and enjoyed a half hour of rest.

I still wasn't able to eat anything until several hours later. I hadn't been that sunburned since I was a kid. I had a watch and a sunglasses tan line, as well as two tan lines on each leg: one from the bike shorts and one from the run shorts. More predictably, I was as sore as I've been in my memory the next few days. The trip back was pretty brutal with all that sitting down and not being able to stretch anything out.

After the race was over, I ended up spending over an hour looking for my campsite. With all my stuff, I had to climb several other hills to find my site, and got lost several times. This seemed like insult to injury to me, but it wasn't like I couldn't handle a little more suffering. I actually think I worked so hard for so long that I made my lungs tired. It's now 3 days after and I'm still having trouble breathing.

And finally, even after all the race took out of me, I still didn't sleep well that night. I woke up twice because it was too cold. Some guys just can't catch a break...

So, what was the race like? It was the most difficult, most rewarding, most humbling and, most of all, most spiritual experience of my life. Hidden inside all that suffering is self-actualization, and I have what I need to continue to make myself stronger.