1.2 mi swim -> 56 mi bike -> 13.1 mi run
May 15, 2010
The day started at bit later, and a lot more stressed, than they typically do. I travelled with my buddy Johnathan to Taylorsville, Kentucky for this race, and our combined lack of planning and execution slowed things down a good bit. Having already seen the course and transition, we planned to get be out of our hotel at 6:30 and at race site at 7:00 when it opened. All told, we arrived at Taylorsville Lake around 7:20; 40 minutes before the gun.
I got a pretty decent warm up just frantically rushing through the pre-race necessities. Never getting truly worried I wouldn't have everything ready in time, it was a whirlwind of a half hour getting my race packet, setting up my transition area, putting on sunscreen, using the restroom twice, mixing and taking my energy drink and visualizing the day. Denise was there, of course, snapping pictures and looking more excited about the race than I was. I finished the tasks at hand about 10 minutes before race start, so I slapped on my wetsuit and headed down to the water for a warm up, albeit not much of one.
Having felt the water the day before, it almost felt a tad warmer, but still wonderful. The water was extremely high, flooding two parking spaces, a couple sidewalks and who knows what else that can typically be seen on the water's edge; promising a swim that would be longer than it should be. Over the course of my ~300m warm up, I noticed the sun rising in exactly the direction we would be swimming. Not knowing how much time I had left, I swam back to shore and just did some dynamic stretching to stay warm. The race director had a quick athlete meeting to discuss the course and the flow of transition and to answer the many questions racers had; the event website wasn't very forthcoming with pertinent information. He said the swim would be a mass start from the water's edge and that we would get started in 5 minutes. I continued to stretch, hop around and otherwise psych myself up for the day until I started to hear the countdown. I punched my watch with one minute left so I could have an accurate prediction of my swim time. One extremely long minute later, the siren wailed and I plunged into the water right at the front; where I'm now convinced I belong.
The start of the swim was pretty indicative of a mass start, with nothing but arms, legs and torsoes all around you. Punching, slapping, kicking and tugging abound, we sorted ourselves out in the most primal way we could. It took about 350m to get everything under control, at which point I found some feet to follow. I didn't think I would find anybody until the turnaround at 500m, so that was a good sign for me. With the sun in my eyes and swimmers still flanking me on all sides, it was very difficult to see how much further we had to swim. There wasn't much action on the first out pattern and I found the turnaround buoy in good time. I followed the pack around it, making the turn much tighter than my lead swimmer, and headed back down towards the dock.
The second 500 was the hardest one. I got pretty lazy on sighting and found myself drifting out into the middle of the lake a few times. The last time, on my second or third detour, I lost about 30m on the guy I was following. Wanting to catch him before the turn onto the second loop, I surged back towards the course. I maintained what I'd approximate to by my 100m TT speed (~1:25/100) for what seemed like 5 minutes pulling myself back in, just turning myself inside out to be back in a draft zone. I found myself behind some feet about 20m from the turn and vowed to not let that happen again.
Heading back out, I found myself sighting a lot more often. I leapfrogged my lead swimmer and grabbed onto a faster one; one I knew would I was stuck with for better or worse as the field was quite thin by now. Pulling myself and a swimmer next to me, the three of us took off down the familiar out stretch into the sun for our second and final lap. I had similar problems finding the turnaround buoy from a distance, but this time was able to sight when I was three buoys away. After making the turnaround, I found one last swimmer to carry me. Although this swimmer had a bigger kick that would make him much easier to follow, the guy was a pretty worthless pull because he kept swimming off course to the left. I found myself sticking close to the buoys and doing a lot of the work, waiting for him to find his way back. With about 100m left to the final turn, I dropped him and sprinted home, feeling like I'd had a good swim and interested to see my place overall in the discipline.
I'd seen the swim exit and knew exactly when to start dolphin diving and when to get out and start running, so I executed that well and headed up towards transition. Pulling my wetsuit halfway, I glanced at my watch and saw a very disappointing 41:XX on the display. I knew the swim was long, but how long exactly is just something we'll never know. Still, I felt like I'd had a good swim, that I was in a pretty good spot as far as swim time placement and that I had put myself in a good position to hold off some of the better bikers.
Swim time: 41:18 (2:04 per 100 yd, which is a crock of $#!+; 2/5 in AG, 47 sec back)
Transition was a tad slower than I'm used to, but after Rev 3, I didn't think it was a particularly good idea to roll without socks. Slapping them on and hopping on my bike, I shot out of transition not at all looking forward to the very hilly ride to come.
T1: 1:14
The bike didn't start out very well. In unVelcroing my left shoe, the Velcro strip came out of the hook and I had to stop completely to get that in place. Add to that the second steepest and most difficult climb of the day was at mile 0.1, spiking my heart rate and taking a lot out of what would be my average pace. Glancing at my watch, I was once again let down by the cheap Nike HRM I was loaned after the family dog chew my Garmin to pieces. Somehow water had seeped under the screen and fogged it up from the inside. If I stared at it for a second or two, I could make out my time (total time since the gun), but reading heart rate was impossible. Once again, I managed to find myself in the middle of an important race without access to heart rate data. I'm so f*cking glad I bought a new Garmin; the idea of having to do this for more races makes me want to hurt people.
After cresting the first big hill and catching my breath, I focused mostly on my other borrowed watch; Jonathan lent me his Garmin 301 as he had all the information he needed on his bike computer. It read everything (pace, distance, time) except heart rate, and it was a big help throughout the day. Turning off of Park Rd and onto Brair Ridge, I tried to stay aero and on the higher side of my aerobic threshold effort. Being a weak cyclist, it took about 40 miles to reach a point where people were no longer flying past me. I'd hoped to find some of them later on the run, but for the time being it's best to just race my race and shoot for the best overall time rather than trying to go with any packs. Not that I could if I wanted to...
Having driven the course once and the back half twice, I knew I could expect, for the most part, zero flat road and constant changes in pitch. Nothing in and of itself was particularly difficult, but the sum of the parts would be more than enough to steal a piece of my soul. I could remember the more notable climbs and their various landmarks, but didn't have much of a grasp on when they would arrive. I tried my best to chip away at the miles and wondered how long it would take Jonathan to catch me. I had guess 10 miles, but the pass was made about mile 12. He hanged back for a minute to chat about how long the swim was and share collective frustrations about the start of the bike before he rocketed off out of sight. I knew I had the first water station and the turn onto the out and back hill at mile 20, so I kept going and thought about that.
The turn off came a little later than expected, about mile 22, and I'd hoped that it didn't mean the bike course was going to be long as well. After heading down the 3 miles of steady grade and the one mile climb to the turnaround, I found myself having to pee pretty bad. The descent down the hill I just climbed was far too fast and dangerous to try it, but I gave it my best shot on the climb back up to Brair Ridge. I succeeded for a moment, emptying about half of my bladder before I had to start pedaling again, lest I find myself stopped and falling to the side. I hosed my leg off with water and eagerly plugged away at the next aid station in the same place as the last one, but 8 more miles into the ride; not only that, but the station sat at the halfway point on the bike. Splitting my time, I noticed I'd brought my speed up 1 mph over the last 10 miles. This was a good thing, no doubt, but only the difference between 15 and 16 mph, either way promising a pretty disappointing bike split.
There just wasn't many fun parts of the bike. It was constant up and down, open to traffic and extremely lonely, not to mention parts of it were very rough. There were two glaring exceptions to the following generality: turning right onto 55 in Bloomfield and turning onto 44 after going through Taylorsville. Other that those, the course was just monotonous, beautiful at points, but painfully boring. As far as I'm concerned, that sums up the bike pretty well. I was very ready to finish it around the long climb at mile 40 and had to exude some good ole' fashioned HTFU to slap out the remaining 16 miles.
My speed had increased quite a bit over the second half, but I accidentally split the time again, so I'm not really sure how much faster I ended up, if at all. I took in my second round of Delta-E at mile 45 and finished off my Infinit at mile 50. Looking for the final turn back onto Park Rd after mile 50, I was surprised to see it come a bit earlier than expected at mile 52. As soon as I turned, I saw Jonathan halfway through his first loop on the run and figured he had a pretty good bike. I shot down Park Rd knowing this ride was almost over and that I would finally begin the most anticipated discipline very, very soon. I knew better than to fly down the huge downhill leading into transition and very smoothly dismounted to a wave of self-satisfaction that I had finished the mentally and physically painful bike with a decent time.
Bike time: 3:18:30 (16.9 mph; 4/5)
Transition, again, was a tad slower than it would have been in short course. My shoes, visor and race belt went on well enough, but I stopped at the porto potties to let go of what refused to leave my bladder during the bike. Finishing that, I redressed, slipped my EFS flask into my pocket and crossed the timing mat, taking care to punch the start button on Jonathan's Garmin to give me a very accurate run split time once this all was finished.
T2: 1:20
I knew two horribly unwanted about the run course right out of the gate:
1) the same huge hill at mile 0.1 of the bike also served as the first part of the run
2) the run course was a three-loop out-and-back course along the first, and last, 2.5 miles of the bike course.
If it served as any consolation at the time, I knew two things that would work to my advantage when this was all said and done:
1) the very familiar huge hill would serve as a great springboard for a final kick should I need it. A great thing for me as I typically can out kick the pants off of guys who finish around the same time as me.
2) the boring, exposed and mentally draining run would be an extremely valuable simulation of Ironman Louisville's run course, which is a two loop out-and-back marathon course that gets very dull towards the end.
My heart rate does not spike as much as I thought it would have, nor as much as it did the day before when we checked it out on foot. As soon as I got to the top, I saw the first aid station and took notice of my distance: .5 miles. Good, a nice round number. As it turned out, Denise got wrangled into working the first aid station, so I grabbed a cup and some warm words and I set out on my predetermined pace. My strategy for the run was to hold aerobic threshold (roughly marathon pace) for the first 7 miles, bump it up to lactate threshold (roughly 10k pace) until mile 10 and then sprint just as hard as a damn well could over the last 5k. Hard to say at this point if my legs would hold, my GI tract wouldn't close up shop an hour too early or my mind would feel so inspired to crack the whip. Guess I'll have to wait and see. If you do long course racing long enough you become, at least in some aspects, a very patient person.
The three loop out-and-back course had three aid stations, one on each side of the 2 mile loops and an impromptu one sandwiched pretty close to the midpoint. So over the course of the run, you would encounter an aid station every mile at the half mile marker. Said another way, I could expect to get water at mile .5, 1.5 and 2.5 before I turned around and did that stretch another 5 times. My nutrition plan was to shoot a serving of gel, about 75 calories worth, at every turnaround, taking in my last hit at mile 10.5. So long as I got enough water in, I figured I'd be fine on both calories and salts. However, it was another aspect of my nutrition that seemed to be quite the bother for the first loop: I had popped a pair of Delta-E packets with 10 miles to go on the bike. It's not that it made me feel bad, it was just that it made me really gassy. Over the first loop, I probably stopped and forced a burp about 8 times. Not painful, but frustrating. I'll definitely need to look into that.
I didn't spend much time on the course before Jonathan caught me on his second lap. We talked a bit as he jogged past me, not much faster than I but faster than I wanted to go. I was happy to trot along and take in as many landmarks as I could. I had programmed the Garmin to split every mile, so I would be able to see how much my pace would fall off over the course of the day. My first mile (including the beastly climb) was just off 10:00. My second was 9:15. From there, I saw it slowly slide from the low 9s to the mid 10s over the course of my loops. I was feeling alright, body was responding well enough, but there wasn't a lot to do about it as long as I was holding myself back.
Getting to the turnaround at mile 2.5 was a nice feeling, because it meant I had seen every inch of the course and would be assured no more surprises. There were a few hills on the loops, but nothing that really required any additional effort or a change to my rhythm. I kept plugging along and increasingly noticed that it was getting pretty hot out there. The high for the day wasn't supposed to get past the mid 70s, but I think it got closer to 80. More importantly, the course was in one word: exposed. There wasn't a foot of shade to be seen from the road, not a grandpa with a garden hose nor a kid with a super soaker. I unzipped my tri suit all the way down, which helped considerably. Although it's never particularly reliable, Smyrna weather has forced me to do a handful of runs in very hot conditions, so I figured it would give me an advantage so long as it didn't push me straight over the edge.
I wasn't the only person who was hot. The way the course was laid out made it pretty difficult for runners to hide from each other, and I saw a lot of people with broken spirits. There was carnage everywhere, even on the first loop; people walking, people cramping, people double fisting water onto their head and chest. This weather should be pretty indicative of Louisville's weather, so it's best to try to figure out how best to deal with it. I kept at my pace, slowing though it may be, and kept things under control.
Seeing Denise at the turnaround to start my 2nd lap, I told her that I'd only want water over the course of the day to save me the conversation. Told her I was feeling "good so far," and that if I had to ask for HEED, that it was because I was cramping. We both expressed our hopes that it wouldn't happen and I took off on loop number two. I tried to take notice of the people on course, specifically ones in my age group. I recognized two guys that were probably in my age group, but were both ahead of me considerably; though one of whom was doing more walking than running. I file that information in a folder entitled "things to think about on the 3rd lap" and got back to business. I notice several other runners along the course, but only talk to a few. On that course, people are about the only thing to look at. Reaching the mile 5.5 aid station, I expressed my deep gratitude that the station existed; originally the course only had the two. Drinking my water and leaving the station, I knew that the next time I saw it (mile 7.5), it would be time to kick up the intensity a little; something I didn't know whether I should look forward to.
Seeing Jonathan for the last time as I headed out towards the halfway point was an interesting experience. Not solely because it's always good to see a friendly face on course, but I could see a noticeable change in his demeanor as the sun and the miles slowly ate away at him. Plugging away at the last 2.5 miles he had, he wasn't left with much other than to wave weakly; I would know that feeling soon enough. Turning the corner and heading back, I celebrated being exactly halfway through the course. One mile later, I knew it was time to go. I don't think I picked up my pace all that much. I couldn't read my heart rate, so I had to go by feel, and "feel" is an extremely subjective thing that late in a race. I saw my mile splits pick up slowly, but really just oscillated back towards the 10 min/mi mark. The end of the 2nd loop was the hardest mentally and the time when my mind spent the most of its time out of body.
Approaching Denise's aid station once more, I dropped off some useless equipment. If my watch wasn't going to give me heart rate, there wasn't much sense in wearing the watch or the chest strap. I dropped them off, drank some water and made some offhand remark to the effect of "this is gonna hurt" as I took off at a faster speed than I'd allowed myself to go to that point. Getting closer to being thoroughly overheated, I completely peeled off the top of my tri suit and ran shirtless; which actually helped a lot in my cooling mechanisms (but not much in the way of evening my tan).
Still feeling relatively together, adequately hydrated, fueled and mentally ready for more intensity, I started looking for my AG compatriot heading the opposite direction to finish up his 3rd and final loop. I knew the sooner I saw him the less chance I had of catching him. I stared down each figure round each corner in a panic until I was able to rule them out as the wrong person. I knew that once I hit the last turn, I'd pop my last gel shot and turn the heat up all the way for the last 2.5 miles. I managed to make it to the middle aid station without seeing him. My watch beeped at mile 11 and I still did not see him. Winding round and round, seeing dozens of runners too tall, too female or too different a stride, I continued my search. I felt relatively certain I didn't miss him and that he hadn't already finished. As I neared the last bend before the turnaround, I saw and passed him going the other way. I checked my watch to try to gauge how much time I had to put on him. I rounded the turnaround, shot some gel and water, and estimated I had 2.5 miles to make up 3:30 on him. Guess it was time to go. And when I say go, I mean GO!!!
My pace shot down to 8:30 and didn't fluctuate much from that other than on the slight hills I had remaining. I counted 7 or 8 people between him and I, and started counting people as I passed. Most of those still on course were pretty well broken down and I was flying, so the passes were quick and aplenty. 3 people go by. 5 people. I reach the aid station at mile 11.5. Pass 3 more people. Come up on another group. Mile 12. Where is he? Where IS he? And then I see him off in the distance. He's not going very fast. "If you see him, you can catch him." I cut into myself. I see nothing else. I slip my tri suit top back on and zip it up in preparation of the finish. We near the last bend before Denise's aid station. I'm gaining ground very quickly. I am Craig Alexander and he is Chris Lieto. In keeping with that analogy, he stops, walks and hangs his head. Oh, yeah. I've got him. The pass is coming; it's all a matter of whether he's going to try to come with me. I fly past him. I glance back. He's running again. But the gap is opening. It's opening...
I shoot up the road towards Denise. For the first time she doesn't have a cup ready, and for the first time I'm not in a position to wait on her. I fish out my gel flask and drop it at her feet. She smiles and makes some meaningless encouraging comment. I cut her off with a frantic "I think I have have him." "Huh?" I fly past her as fast as my legs will carry me, grab a cup of HEED on the table, and leave behind nothing but the words "THE GUY RIGHT BEHIND ME IS IN MY AGE GROUP!!!"
I hit the final downhill, open up my stride and pound away. I'm glancing back every 5 steps and see my self-declared rival still running, but slipping further and further away. He's passed by another guy trying to reel me in, but not only is he not going to catch me, he's easily identified as too old for me to care how fast he finishes. Rounding the last bend towards the finish stretch, I take one last glance behind me, pound me chest with my fist and head into the chute. I notice my time: 6:13:03. A PR!!! A ten second PR!!!
Run time: 2:10:38 (9:58/mi; 3/5)
Total time: 6:13:01.5 (an 11.5 sec PR; 3rd out of 5 in the male 25-29 age group, and what SHOULD have been an award!)
I give away my chip as Jonathan jogs up to me. I fill him in on the end of my run, my internal struggle to reel in the 23 year old, and my general good attitude towards the day. I get distracted several times, but eventually find myself headed down towards somewhere I wanted to go for the last 13 miles, the lake. I plunge into the cool water and struggle to breath for a little while. I allow my core temperature to drop down, wash my face and hair of all the sweat and enjoy being finished.
We eventually run into the race director and are informed that they are not going to post results anywhere, that they'd "be online soon." Add that to his comment that because "we're all winners" and that we all got "prizes" (a choice between a pull string bag and something even more worthless) they were not going to give away the awards they claimed on their website they would give away. No awards means no awards ceremony, which means I've got no reason to stick around. Changing clothes and packing the car takes a moderate slice of forever, but Jonathan and I eventually get everything ready to go, talk to every racer I cared to talk to, and mount up bound for Louisville. As far as I'm concerned the perfect way to end this day, a day that's little more than the best predictor for Ironman Louisville I could hope for, is to spend it looking at Ironman Louisville's swim, run, transition and first 20 miles of the bike.
I think I had a pretty good showing today. Despite a long swim, a hilly bike and a hot and mentally tough run, I managed to best my showing at last year's flat as an A-cup 70.3 New Orleans. I knew my fitness was better than last year, and find myself very happy that I finished 10 seconds on the negative side of last year's time, as compared to an equally possible finish on the positive. Being finished is a bittersweet feeling. I'm glad to be done with my early season A-race. I'm glad to have 6 months of training in the books, and to have already enjoyed huge fitness gains. I'm glad to be able to relax for a week and eat the foods I've been denying myself. The bitter brings to mind the realization of how much work is yet to come. How much July is going to hurt. How much Louisville is going to hurt. I'm certainly in no mood to want to race for a while. Thinking about the back half of the Louisville Marathon is unsettling me now. Still, it's mostly sweet. In the scheme of this year, this race means nothing. Louisville means everything. And at the end of the day, I think it's essential to realize that, to learn what lessons there are to be learned from this epic predictor race and to put that nose right back into the grindstone come June.
Bittersweet. Mostly sweet.
"The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep." - Robert Frost
*Editor's Note*
I published this RR in it's entirety before I recieved my split times. My times are now accurate, but I'm not going to edit my entire report to reflect my times as they were, compared to what I thought they were during the race.
One aspect worth mentioning: there was a mix-up during registration. I saw when I picked up my race packet that my age was listed as 24. Because this race was not USAT sanctioned, I assumed the "age up" rule was not in effect, and I'd race in the 20-24 year old bracket. As it turned out, I raced in the 25-29 and the guy I passed at the end was racing as a 24 year old, therefore NOT in my age group. Can you say BUZZKILL?
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Monday, May 10, 2010
Rev 3 Olympic Triathlon
1.5 km swim -> 40 km bike -> 10 km run
May 9, 2010
It's not my style to talk about the trip or the experience of the event outside of the race itself, but I think this race should involve a small but significant exception. The Rev 3 Triathlon series is in its infancy, but they've been busy writing a lot of checks with their mouths; state of the art timing systems, live athlete tracking, family- and children-focused environment. Most importantly of all they put up 5 figures of prize money to tempt the best pros in the world to come compete. And come they did. Over the weekend, I was able to snag pictures with Matty Reed, Chris Lieto, Torenzo Bozzone, Bjorn Andersson, Jordan Rapp, Julie Dibens, Mary Beth Ellis, Pip Taylor and race director Heather Gollnick. Check 'em out on Facebook!
Despite a late and enjoyable evening with old friends, I got a pretty decent night's sleep (~6 hours) and woke up relatively refreshed. Trying to be quiet and not wake up Jenna (my very accommodating friend who has put me up this weekend and every time I come to Knoxville in the last 4 years), I got my breakfast down, everything finished up and headed down to race sight about a half mile away at about 6:15. The pros left at 7:45 and my wave was closer to 8:30. I walked down (bikes racked the night before) to Transition, housed in a parking lot just across Neyland Drive from the Tennessee River.
While I was getting things ready, a guy recognized the tattoo on my leg. In any other triathlon that would have meant my M-dot and the line of questioning would have involved which Ironman I did, how many I've done and which one I plan to do next. This time was about my Pi Alpha tattoo. Turns out the guy and his buddy were Pi Kapps from Virginia Tech who came down to race. Not only that, they were both Pi Alphas. We talked for a bit about our respective trips before I left them to finish getting ready. It was real bummer running into them in transition less than an hour before the gun went off, or I might have been privy to a wonderfully nostalgic conversation. All the same, I wished them well and got back to business.
*If you have no idea what I'm talking about here, google Push America. Pi Alphas are alums of Push America events. If you want to donate to the cause, let me know; I know several guys who could use some help in their fundraising goals.*
I usually don't race the Olympic distance, which provided me with a number of conundrums. First of which was a conflicted feeling of foot care. The race seemed too short to want to put on socks for the bike or the run, and simultaneously too long to attempt to slug it out with no lubrication. This day, I went with Vaseline. I lubed up the walls, heels and toe box of my biking and running shoes with (generic brand) Vaseline and hoped for the best. My warm up run left my toes feeling a little hot and bothered, so I slapped some more in there as the announcer was barking at us stragglers to get out of transition and head up to the swim start. Very similarly to my last point-to-point swim race (70.3 New Orleans) I mosey out of transition confident that everything would be in its place when I finished the swim. I slip my wetsuit on halfway, mix up my energy drink and walk along the path up to the start of the swim. Counting down the minutes to my wave getting in the water, I down my Delta-E energy drink, pop my GU Roctane (which I got several samples of during the expo) and watch the other waves do their thing.
Sooner than expected, I got the call to head down to the water. The official temperature was 69.4 degrees, though I didn't know that at the time. All I did the previous day was dip a toe in to feel the temp and thought it a bit chilly. I was wondering how comfortable the entrance would be. To my excitement the water felt all but ideal not only jumping in, but would feel great the entire swim. Not to mention the water, which had been dammed upstream, was flat as glass. So I swam over to the start corral, did that thing you do to warm your wetsuit up, and waited for the siren. I punched my watch at the 90 second notification so I wouldn't have to fumble with it at the gun. Positioning myself immediately behind the first line of swimmers, I treaded water feeling ready for a great race. At the siren, I got to experience once again the wonderful chaos of a deep water swim start, albeit a bit subdued with only about 100 people in there.
I could tell right away that the swim was going to go well, but I had no idea what to expect time-wise. My PR for a 1.5 km swim was unknown, but I could recall that it was set during my only other fair Olympic distance race. I've done 2 Olys in my 3 previous years, and one of them was literally in a hurricane. My first Olympic went well for the time, but it was only my 4th triathlon and at the end of my first triathlon season in 2007. Whatever my time was, it certainly wasn't indicative of what my time should be for this race. (It was 36:42)
In any case, it was very easy to draft for the first part. The course was a hybrid between and clockwise rectangle and a point-to-point. You swam for ~500 yards into the sun, turned around and swam the remaining yards, past the starting dock and down to a further dock just across from transition. On the first out, there was more jockeying for position that there was actual swimming. So long as I had feet in front of me, I was content to let the first part serve as a warm up, since we weren't allowed one before the race. The swim was directly into the sun, so I scarcely had any idea how much further we had to go. Gradually, the field thinned and we passed the giant boat that served as my only landmark; the turn buoy should be just beyond that. Eventually we turned, my vision returned and it was largely open water from here on in.
Feeling strong in the water, I hunted around for some fast feet to carry me to a decent swim. I've never really tried to draft in a race before and wasn't sure the best way to go about it. Luck was on my side, tho, as there were a handful of stronger swimmers in front of me throughout the last 1,000. My effort resembled a lot less that steady state effort I've been doing in the pool for years and more like the interval work I've been doing recently. I'd see a swimmer up in front of me and sprint to get up to him. Once I was on his feet, I'd relax and catch my breath. Soon after he'd drop me and I'd surge again, catching either his feet or someone else's. This continued until I found myself with nobody left to carry me across the final 300 meters. I could tell the swim exit was close, but didn't really see the dock until I was right up on it. I wished I had gotten in the water the day before so I could have known the course's landmarks better. Still, the swim felt very fast and I was interested to see how my time would end up.
I exit the water and have a bit of trouble getting my suit off. I eventually wrangle it off of me and glance at my watch; it reads 23:xx. I double take. There's no WAY I did the swim that fast! I am floored. I didn't know what to expect, but figured 30 minutes was a nice round number to shoot for. I'm VERY happy with my swim time and already start to look forward to bragging about it. Transition was smooth and I soon mounted my bike to screams of Denise and Marian on the sidelines. My day was already going light years above what I expected and I was interested to see how I'd handle the rest of it.
Swim time: 22:28 (1:33/100 m; 9/31 in AG, though I was 8th out of transition)
T1: 2:01
I knew two things going into the bike: my fitness, time goals and, subsequently, expectations were a lot higher for the swim and the run than the bike. I just didn't feel like my bike fitness was really where it needs to be. Add to that the fact that I'd driven the bike course twice and had seen firsthand just how HILLY it was. So, my goal was to do the fastest bike my body felt like giving me that day, but more focusing on coming in off the bike fueled, hydrated and brimming with enough energy to lay down a smoking 10k PR.
Having seen the course not only in the days prior, but racing much of it over years of TriDeltathon races, the first 4-5 miles around campus were uneventful. Eventually, we exited UT on the opposite side of campus and headed out towards rural south Knox county for the meat and potatoes of the ride. As we crossed the Henley St bridge, one of the coolest parts of the bike course, I got to witness the pro men coming back into town. I saw Bjorn Andersson in the lead, Lieto quite a bit back, and a string of noticeable pro men behind him, namely Torenzzo, Matty Reed and TJ Tollakson (why didn't I get a picture of TJ? Gah, I WANTED to! Never saw him. More on that at the end).
Leaving town and heading out to the hills, I started taking my calories on board. I didn't know what to expect out of the bike, so I didn't know how much fuel to take in. I ended up with 3 scoops of Infinit (~450 calories, ~110g of carbs) mixed heavy and put in a gel flask. I figured I'd nurse on that, possibly not even finish it, but take my last little squirt before I got back into campus. As it turned out I found myself with less than half a flask by mile 8. At that point I switched to mostly water, trying to keep my mouth moist but I suppose not really DRINKING a ton. I managed to overdo it a bit on bike hydration, though. I found myself having to pee really bad in the last 3 miles. I was wondering how it would affect my ability to run, but knew there was no way I was stopping!
I'm not going to go into a lot of detail about the idiosyncrasies of the bike. I'd seen it enough the days before to know what to expect. There was a lot of climbing. The terrain was mostly rolling with some flat, and a handful of climbs that never really seemed to come down. There were two climbs of note, each lasting about a mile. They both looked like absolute quad-shredders from the car, but ended up not being so horrible when it came down to it (no Nasty Grades!). The descents on the back end of them were very fast, quite winding/technical and pretty cold. Some of the roads were extremely bumpy and uncomfortable, some were plushly flat and well paved. All in all, the bike was about what I expected, easier than I feared it could have been. It made evident that I need a new bike fit, tho. I experienced a lot of discomfort on the bike.
I noticed the 10 mile marker was placed entirely too early in the ride. Approaching it, I estimated it had been about 50 minutes into the ride. My mind was a blur of images. This was way faster than I thought I was capable of doing (and it was). I didn't see another mileage sign until I was headed back into town, but did watch the numbers on my race watch creep higher and higher and higher, systematically removing any possibility of excessively lofty bike splits.
I noticed I had lost my heart rate about 45 minutes into the bike. Despite my best attempts, I never really did get it back. I was more than comfortable going by feel on the bike, and I suppose I would have been okay doing so on the run, but to have this happen just infuriates me. Why is it asking so much that a HRM measure HR?
Eventually the hills ended, the loop took us back through the familiar roads of the Henley Bridge, through campus and back to Neyland. I halted any more accelerations in lieu of spinning my legs out, trying to prep them for the run. Seeing the runners dot the street gave me a better idea of where the run would take us and I was quite ready to see how my body would handle the unique blend of intensity and endurance that the 10k presented. I hopped off my bike to hear Denise grab the mic from the announcer and (still screaming) cheer me on, which made me smile. I felt an interesting sensation as soon as I dismounted and started to run barefoot; there was excessive pressure and soreness in the balls of my feet from all the churning and burning along the bike course. Hopefully that wouldn't affect my run stride. Though the transition area wasn't well marked, well known or well announced to athletes actually in there, I figured out where the exit was and took off down Neyland, hoping for a fast end of the day.
Bike time: 1:35:38 (17.38 mph; 9/31 in AG)
T2: 1:28
I glanced at my HRM a dozen times over the course of the run, but I never did get HR data again. I was very thankful for the way my training plan was laid out, otherwise I'm sure my pacing would have been off. I do quite a bit of track work repeating miles at 10k pace (or slightly faster), so I got to be pretty proficient at knowing what that pace feels like. Having adequately fueled and hyper-hydrated on the ride, I was glad to fuel pretty minimally during the run. At each aid station, I splashed a cup of water into my mouth, getting between 2-4 ounces in there and the rest on my chest. This kept my mouth moist, gave me enough water without being too much and sufficed as my only cooling mechanism; it was a mild day, but over half of the run was in the sun.
The run course, like the swim course, was a bit of a hybrid between an out and back and a point-to-point. You ran just short of 2 miles on Nayland Drive, hopped on the Greenway for a little bit, turned around at mile 2.8, headed back to transition (to make 5.6), ran past transition and up to the finish. I knew there was a big climb past transition heading up to the finish, but had no idea what the run course was. It was very poorly marked the days before the race, so I wasn't able to see it. I had to just trust that it was as flat as people said it was.
I spent most of the initial out patter measuring my split times. I did my first mile in 8:XX, but was unsure of the precise moment where transition ended and the run began, so I couldn't be sure. The 2nd mile was 8 flat and I'd hoped to make the 3rd mile at least that fast. My pacing plan was to hold LT until the turnaround, pick it up about 10 seconds per mile on the way back, then all out sprint up the final hill and into the finish. At mile 2 was the end of Nayland Drive, so my focus turned to the hidden entrance to the Greenway. As I neared the turn, the volunteers cautioned me to be careful going down the steps. Oh, you've got to be kidding me! There were about 8 steps that began what was about a quarter mile sharp descent into the Greenway. This was going to be a lot of fun going back up...
I took notice of the mile marker signs on the Greenway and was able to give myself smaller checkpoints. I saw James near the end of the out and back section and motioned to him. It was cool to see him there; I knew he was a run course marshal, but thought he was going to be further up in a section only the people doing the half ironman would see. Making the turn at the turnaround, I kicked it up just a tad and tried to focus on my breathing, knowing it would be completely flat until the mammoth climb back to Nayland. When it came, I focused on shortening my stride, increasing my turnover and pushing through my toes, but I could feel my body screeching to a near standstill. On top of the hill, you get a little downhill heading back to Nayland to catch your breath, so that's what I did.
The 2nd stretch down Nayland was just painful. My body was responding extremely well, I wasn't cramping and my energy felt fine. It was just the accumulation of mental and physical pain the day had brought. I zoned out a few times trying to ignore it and just let me mind go blank for a while. I couldn't find the mile 4 marker, but knew I wouldn't hit my quite optimistic goal time of 45 mins, largely because of the unexpected hill and crucial break in my rhythm. Eventually, I passed the one mile marker (going to other way), and knew I'd be in transition in less than 8 minutes, which made me feel a lot better.
Taking in my last shot of water and running alongside transition, I knew my day was almost done. I could hear spectators and volunteers cheering, but my vision was starting to go and all I saw was furry, white and out of focus. Getting to the otherside of transition and approaching the hill I told myself that this is the place where I was "either going to go or not." I decided I could handle a little more suffering, so I kicked it up another notch and went deeper into the redline. Cresting the hill and heading back down it towards the park, I opened up my stride and really plugged away at it. I approached the finish line chute with very real and not often experienced levels of lactic acid coursing through every vein in my body. A good finish line kick got me across the line and gave me a chance to catch my breath and enjoy the end of a pretty good race.
Run: 49:35 (8:00/mi; 9/31 in AG, see below)
I left T2 in 9th place, passed one guy by the turnaround, and was passed again by the finish
Total time: 2:41:11
9th out of 24 finishers in my age group
Post race was pretty uneventful, and a little bit distressing and confusing. After all the bragging they had done about their new advanced timing system, the times were screwed up when I checked them. A mysterious 5 minutes had been added to my swim time, completely negating the breakthrough swim I had and throwing my mood for a loop. I was pretty confident that my watch did not mysteriously read my swim 5 minutes fast and that they had just messed up the timing of the waves (they did and changed it eventually). Additionally, they had only measured my run time to the turnaround, so at first glance it said I had finished sub 2:20. Yeah, I wish...
The food was a huge disappointment and there wasn't really anything to do post-race that wasn't already there for the expo. I checked out the pro's awards ceremony and snagged another picture or two. It seemed as if something was amiss when the ceremony ended. It took a while for me to realize that TJ Tollakson was nowhere to be seen; I would have liked to get a picture with him. He ended up 11th, just off of the leaderboard, and I couldn't find him in the ocean of people stretched out across the lawn. I left without much of a search as I was pretty ready to head back to Jenna's to wash off the sweat and river, get some lunch and knock out this annoying little 3 hour drive back to Smyrna to spend at least a little time with my Mom. Probably not the best thing to do, screwing around all day in Knoxville on Mother's Day.
In all fairness, I'm a little deflated looking at my bike time. I know it isn't as bad as it looks, but it looks like I slowed down a lot. Their splits were at odd times, giving one after 12.4 miles, after another 3.4 miles and at the final marker in transition. At a glance it looked like I slowed down severely at the end, but a lot of that can be accounted for by the towering climb on Neubert Springs, the rough roads just outside of downtown, the 2 steep climbs on Cumberland and Volunteer and the spinning towards the end.
I would have like the run to be 2-3 (or a breakthrough day at 4-4:35) minutes faster, but that was under the assumption that the course was flat. Seeing the plummet into the Greenway, the subsequent climb out of there, and the tenth of a mile of breathlessness thereafter, I knew that was far out of reach. Don't think my split times were lost on me: I averaged 8 min/mis exactly to the turnaround and 7.99 min/mis over the last 3.4. I wished it had been closer to 7:45s, but to see such an even split was a pretty cool sight. Couple that with the knowledge that BOTH climbs on the run course were over the back half.
All in all, I see this race as a crazy breakthrough in the swim, a decent bike and a solid run. I could feel my body was well nourished, well fueled, well trained and just firing on all cylinders even late in the race, which is certainly the best omen of all.
May 9, 2010
It's not my style to talk about the trip or the experience of the event outside of the race itself, but I think this race should involve a small but significant exception. The Rev 3 Triathlon series is in its infancy, but they've been busy writing a lot of checks with their mouths; state of the art timing systems, live athlete tracking, family- and children-focused environment. Most importantly of all they put up 5 figures of prize money to tempt the best pros in the world to come compete. And come they did. Over the weekend, I was able to snag pictures with Matty Reed, Chris Lieto, Torenzo Bozzone, Bjorn Andersson, Jordan Rapp, Julie Dibens, Mary Beth Ellis, Pip Taylor and race director Heather Gollnick. Check 'em out on Facebook!
Despite a late and enjoyable evening with old friends, I got a pretty decent night's sleep (~6 hours) and woke up relatively refreshed. Trying to be quiet and not wake up Jenna (my very accommodating friend who has put me up this weekend and every time I come to Knoxville in the last 4 years), I got my breakfast down, everything finished up and headed down to race sight about a half mile away at about 6:15. The pros left at 7:45 and my wave was closer to 8:30. I walked down (bikes racked the night before) to Transition, housed in a parking lot just across Neyland Drive from the Tennessee River.
While I was getting things ready, a guy recognized the tattoo on my leg. In any other triathlon that would have meant my M-dot and the line of questioning would have involved which Ironman I did, how many I've done and which one I plan to do next. This time was about my Pi Alpha tattoo. Turns out the guy and his buddy were Pi Kapps from Virginia Tech who came down to race. Not only that, they were both Pi Alphas. We talked for a bit about our respective trips before I left them to finish getting ready. It was real bummer running into them in transition less than an hour before the gun went off, or I might have been privy to a wonderfully nostalgic conversation. All the same, I wished them well and got back to business.
*If you have no idea what I'm talking about here, google Push America. Pi Alphas are alums of Push America events. If you want to donate to the cause, let me know; I know several guys who could use some help in their fundraising goals.*
I usually don't race the Olympic distance, which provided me with a number of conundrums. First of which was a conflicted feeling of foot care. The race seemed too short to want to put on socks for the bike or the run, and simultaneously too long to attempt to slug it out with no lubrication. This day, I went with Vaseline. I lubed up the walls, heels and toe box of my biking and running shoes with (generic brand) Vaseline and hoped for the best. My warm up run left my toes feeling a little hot and bothered, so I slapped some more in there as the announcer was barking at us stragglers to get out of transition and head up to the swim start. Very similarly to my last point-to-point swim race (70.3 New Orleans) I mosey out of transition confident that everything would be in its place when I finished the swim. I slip my wetsuit on halfway, mix up my energy drink and walk along the path up to the start of the swim. Counting down the minutes to my wave getting in the water, I down my Delta-E energy drink, pop my GU Roctane (which I got several samples of during the expo) and watch the other waves do their thing.
Sooner than expected, I got the call to head down to the water. The official temperature was 69.4 degrees, though I didn't know that at the time. All I did the previous day was dip a toe in to feel the temp and thought it a bit chilly. I was wondering how comfortable the entrance would be. To my excitement the water felt all but ideal not only jumping in, but would feel great the entire swim. Not to mention the water, which had been dammed upstream, was flat as glass. So I swam over to the start corral, did that thing you do to warm your wetsuit up, and waited for the siren. I punched my watch at the 90 second notification so I wouldn't have to fumble with it at the gun. Positioning myself immediately behind the first line of swimmers, I treaded water feeling ready for a great race. At the siren, I got to experience once again the wonderful chaos of a deep water swim start, albeit a bit subdued with only about 100 people in there.
I could tell right away that the swim was going to go well, but I had no idea what to expect time-wise. My PR for a 1.5 km swim was unknown, but I could recall that it was set during my only other fair Olympic distance race. I've done 2 Olys in my 3 previous years, and one of them was literally in a hurricane. My first Olympic went well for the time, but it was only my 4th triathlon and at the end of my first triathlon season in 2007. Whatever my time was, it certainly wasn't indicative of what my time should be for this race. (It was 36:42)
In any case, it was very easy to draft for the first part. The course was a hybrid between and clockwise rectangle and a point-to-point. You swam for ~500 yards into the sun, turned around and swam the remaining yards, past the starting dock and down to a further dock just across from transition. On the first out, there was more jockeying for position that there was actual swimming. So long as I had feet in front of me, I was content to let the first part serve as a warm up, since we weren't allowed one before the race. The swim was directly into the sun, so I scarcely had any idea how much further we had to go. Gradually, the field thinned and we passed the giant boat that served as my only landmark; the turn buoy should be just beyond that. Eventually we turned, my vision returned and it was largely open water from here on in.
Feeling strong in the water, I hunted around for some fast feet to carry me to a decent swim. I've never really tried to draft in a race before and wasn't sure the best way to go about it. Luck was on my side, tho, as there were a handful of stronger swimmers in front of me throughout the last 1,000. My effort resembled a lot less that steady state effort I've been doing in the pool for years and more like the interval work I've been doing recently. I'd see a swimmer up in front of me and sprint to get up to him. Once I was on his feet, I'd relax and catch my breath. Soon after he'd drop me and I'd surge again, catching either his feet or someone else's. This continued until I found myself with nobody left to carry me across the final 300 meters. I could tell the swim exit was close, but didn't really see the dock until I was right up on it. I wished I had gotten in the water the day before so I could have known the course's landmarks better. Still, the swim felt very fast and I was interested to see how my time would end up.
I exit the water and have a bit of trouble getting my suit off. I eventually wrangle it off of me and glance at my watch; it reads 23:xx. I double take. There's no WAY I did the swim that fast! I am floored. I didn't know what to expect, but figured 30 minutes was a nice round number to shoot for. I'm VERY happy with my swim time and already start to look forward to bragging about it. Transition was smooth and I soon mounted my bike to screams of Denise and Marian on the sidelines. My day was already going light years above what I expected and I was interested to see how I'd handle the rest of it.
Swim time: 22:28 (1:33/100 m; 9/31 in AG, though I was 8th out of transition)
T1: 2:01
I knew two things going into the bike: my fitness, time goals and, subsequently, expectations were a lot higher for the swim and the run than the bike. I just didn't feel like my bike fitness was really where it needs to be. Add to that the fact that I'd driven the bike course twice and had seen firsthand just how HILLY it was. So, my goal was to do the fastest bike my body felt like giving me that day, but more focusing on coming in off the bike fueled, hydrated and brimming with enough energy to lay down a smoking 10k PR.
Having seen the course not only in the days prior, but racing much of it over years of TriDeltathon races, the first 4-5 miles around campus were uneventful. Eventually, we exited UT on the opposite side of campus and headed out towards rural south Knox county for the meat and potatoes of the ride. As we crossed the Henley St bridge, one of the coolest parts of the bike course, I got to witness the pro men coming back into town. I saw Bjorn Andersson in the lead, Lieto quite a bit back, and a string of noticeable pro men behind him, namely Torenzzo, Matty Reed and TJ Tollakson (why didn't I get a picture of TJ? Gah, I WANTED to! Never saw him. More on that at the end).
Leaving town and heading out to the hills, I started taking my calories on board. I didn't know what to expect out of the bike, so I didn't know how much fuel to take in. I ended up with 3 scoops of Infinit (~450 calories, ~110g of carbs) mixed heavy and put in a gel flask. I figured I'd nurse on that, possibly not even finish it, but take my last little squirt before I got back into campus. As it turned out I found myself with less than half a flask by mile 8. At that point I switched to mostly water, trying to keep my mouth moist but I suppose not really DRINKING a ton. I managed to overdo it a bit on bike hydration, though. I found myself having to pee really bad in the last 3 miles. I was wondering how it would affect my ability to run, but knew there was no way I was stopping!
I'm not going to go into a lot of detail about the idiosyncrasies of the bike. I'd seen it enough the days before to know what to expect. There was a lot of climbing. The terrain was mostly rolling with some flat, and a handful of climbs that never really seemed to come down. There were two climbs of note, each lasting about a mile. They both looked like absolute quad-shredders from the car, but ended up not being so horrible when it came down to it (no Nasty Grades!). The descents on the back end of them were very fast, quite winding/technical and pretty cold. Some of the roads were extremely bumpy and uncomfortable, some were plushly flat and well paved. All in all, the bike was about what I expected, easier than I feared it could have been. It made evident that I need a new bike fit, tho. I experienced a lot of discomfort on the bike.
I noticed the 10 mile marker was placed entirely too early in the ride. Approaching it, I estimated it had been about 50 minutes into the ride. My mind was a blur of images. This was way faster than I thought I was capable of doing (and it was). I didn't see another mileage sign until I was headed back into town, but did watch the numbers on my race watch creep higher and higher and higher, systematically removing any possibility of excessively lofty bike splits.
I noticed I had lost my heart rate about 45 minutes into the bike. Despite my best attempts, I never really did get it back. I was more than comfortable going by feel on the bike, and I suppose I would have been okay doing so on the run, but to have this happen just infuriates me. Why is it asking so much that a HRM measure HR?
Eventually the hills ended, the loop took us back through the familiar roads of the Henley Bridge, through campus and back to Neyland. I halted any more accelerations in lieu of spinning my legs out, trying to prep them for the run. Seeing the runners dot the street gave me a better idea of where the run would take us and I was quite ready to see how my body would handle the unique blend of intensity and endurance that the 10k presented. I hopped off my bike to hear Denise grab the mic from the announcer and (still screaming) cheer me on, which made me smile. I felt an interesting sensation as soon as I dismounted and started to run barefoot; there was excessive pressure and soreness in the balls of my feet from all the churning and burning along the bike course. Hopefully that wouldn't affect my run stride. Though the transition area wasn't well marked, well known or well announced to athletes actually in there, I figured out where the exit was and took off down Neyland, hoping for a fast end of the day.
Bike time: 1:35:38 (17.38 mph; 9/31 in AG)
T2: 1:28
I glanced at my HRM a dozen times over the course of the run, but I never did get HR data again. I was very thankful for the way my training plan was laid out, otherwise I'm sure my pacing would have been off. I do quite a bit of track work repeating miles at 10k pace (or slightly faster), so I got to be pretty proficient at knowing what that pace feels like. Having adequately fueled and hyper-hydrated on the ride, I was glad to fuel pretty minimally during the run. At each aid station, I splashed a cup of water into my mouth, getting between 2-4 ounces in there and the rest on my chest. This kept my mouth moist, gave me enough water without being too much and sufficed as my only cooling mechanism; it was a mild day, but over half of the run was in the sun.
The run course, like the swim course, was a bit of a hybrid between an out and back and a point-to-point. You ran just short of 2 miles on Nayland Drive, hopped on the Greenway for a little bit, turned around at mile 2.8, headed back to transition (to make 5.6), ran past transition and up to the finish. I knew there was a big climb past transition heading up to the finish, but had no idea what the run course was. It was very poorly marked the days before the race, so I wasn't able to see it. I had to just trust that it was as flat as people said it was.
I spent most of the initial out patter measuring my split times. I did my first mile in 8:XX, but was unsure of the precise moment where transition ended and the run began, so I couldn't be sure. The 2nd mile was 8 flat and I'd hoped to make the 3rd mile at least that fast. My pacing plan was to hold LT until the turnaround, pick it up about 10 seconds per mile on the way back, then all out sprint up the final hill and into the finish. At mile 2 was the end of Nayland Drive, so my focus turned to the hidden entrance to the Greenway. As I neared the turn, the volunteers cautioned me to be careful going down the steps. Oh, you've got to be kidding me! There were about 8 steps that began what was about a quarter mile sharp descent into the Greenway. This was going to be a lot of fun going back up...
I took notice of the mile marker signs on the Greenway and was able to give myself smaller checkpoints. I saw James near the end of the out and back section and motioned to him. It was cool to see him there; I knew he was a run course marshal, but thought he was going to be further up in a section only the people doing the half ironman would see. Making the turn at the turnaround, I kicked it up just a tad and tried to focus on my breathing, knowing it would be completely flat until the mammoth climb back to Nayland. When it came, I focused on shortening my stride, increasing my turnover and pushing through my toes, but I could feel my body screeching to a near standstill. On top of the hill, you get a little downhill heading back to Nayland to catch your breath, so that's what I did.
The 2nd stretch down Nayland was just painful. My body was responding extremely well, I wasn't cramping and my energy felt fine. It was just the accumulation of mental and physical pain the day had brought. I zoned out a few times trying to ignore it and just let me mind go blank for a while. I couldn't find the mile 4 marker, but knew I wouldn't hit my quite optimistic goal time of 45 mins, largely because of the unexpected hill and crucial break in my rhythm. Eventually, I passed the one mile marker (going to other way), and knew I'd be in transition in less than 8 minutes, which made me feel a lot better.
Taking in my last shot of water and running alongside transition, I knew my day was almost done. I could hear spectators and volunteers cheering, but my vision was starting to go and all I saw was furry, white and out of focus. Getting to the otherside of transition and approaching the hill I told myself that this is the place where I was "either going to go or not." I decided I could handle a little more suffering, so I kicked it up another notch and went deeper into the redline. Cresting the hill and heading back down it towards the park, I opened up my stride and really plugged away at it. I approached the finish line chute with very real and not often experienced levels of lactic acid coursing through every vein in my body. A good finish line kick got me across the line and gave me a chance to catch my breath and enjoy the end of a pretty good race.
Run: 49:35 (8:00/mi; 9/31 in AG, see below)
I left T2 in 9th place, passed one guy by the turnaround, and was passed again by the finish
Total time: 2:41:11
9th out of 24 finishers in my age group
Post race was pretty uneventful, and a little bit distressing and confusing. After all the bragging they had done about their new advanced timing system, the times were screwed up when I checked them. A mysterious 5 minutes had been added to my swim time, completely negating the breakthrough swim I had and throwing my mood for a loop. I was pretty confident that my watch did not mysteriously read my swim 5 minutes fast and that they had just messed up the timing of the waves (they did and changed it eventually). Additionally, they had only measured my run time to the turnaround, so at first glance it said I had finished sub 2:20. Yeah, I wish...
The food was a huge disappointment and there wasn't really anything to do post-race that wasn't already there for the expo. I checked out the pro's awards ceremony and snagged another picture or two. It seemed as if something was amiss when the ceremony ended. It took a while for me to realize that TJ Tollakson was nowhere to be seen; I would have liked to get a picture with him. He ended up 11th, just off of the leaderboard, and I couldn't find him in the ocean of people stretched out across the lawn. I left without much of a search as I was pretty ready to head back to Jenna's to wash off the sweat and river, get some lunch and knock out this annoying little 3 hour drive back to Smyrna to spend at least a little time with my Mom. Probably not the best thing to do, screwing around all day in Knoxville on Mother's Day.
In all fairness, I'm a little deflated looking at my bike time. I know it isn't as bad as it looks, but it looks like I slowed down a lot. Their splits were at odd times, giving one after 12.4 miles, after another 3.4 miles and at the final marker in transition. At a glance it looked like I slowed down severely at the end, but a lot of that can be accounted for by the towering climb on Neubert Springs, the rough roads just outside of downtown, the 2 steep climbs on Cumberland and Volunteer and the spinning towards the end.
I would have like the run to be 2-3 (or a breakthrough day at 4-4:35) minutes faster, but that was under the assumption that the course was flat. Seeing the plummet into the Greenway, the subsequent climb out of there, and the tenth of a mile of breathlessness thereafter, I knew that was far out of reach. Don't think my split times were lost on me: I averaged 8 min/mis exactly to the turnaround and 7.99 min/mis over the last 3.4. I wished it had been closer to 7:45s, but to see such an even split was a pretty cool sight. Couple that with the knowledge that BOTH climbs on the run course were over the back half.
All in all, I see this race as a crazy breakthrough in the swim, a decent bike and a solid run. I could feel my body was well nourished, well fueled, well trained and just firing on all cylinders even late in the race, which is certainly the best omen of all.
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