The Other Half

I decided a little while ago that a great way to celebrate my completion of my first Olympic Triathlon would be to do another half marathon. I'd already be in pretty good shape; it would be a good way to avoid stalling after the event; and it could be a good occasion to perhaps travel a little bit and end the season on a course that I'd never done before.

My friend Braden, whose wife is a fellow tri-addict, had told me early in the summer that his Mrs. had signed up for the Moab Other Half on Oct. 16th. I took one look at the course online, and decided that I wanted in on the deal. I sent him a note to this effect: "I'll do it if you do it..." So we both signed up, and after a little while, two more friends, Darren and Greg, along with their families, decided to join us for a little friend reunion that weekend.

The weekend itself was glorious. We pooled some resources and rented a cabin off in the woods outside Moab and spent Saturday relaxing, eating, hiking, and letting our kids run around together. It was perfect and I dearly wish I had had one more day there. I love my SLC friends and I use any and every excuse to hang out with them.

But anyway - the race itself was an experience. Moab draws a unique crowd, to put it mildly. But that's what makes it fun, right? It was definitely a change from the meek gatherings at the St George area halfs that I've run, which are mostly populated with local soccer moms, weekend warriors like myself, and high school track teams. Among the throng in Moab, there was the guy wearing a collared shirt and tie and cut-off khakis, the guy who looked and smelled like he was probably 4 or 5 beers into his drinking day already, the lady in full Oktoberfest regalia, and others. I'm not knocking either crowd, let it be said, but it's interesting the kind of variety that each race brings. No shame in taking the chance to claim your individuality.

The local volunteers definitely get behind the race, as well: there was an official race day drum team that started pounding out a tribal rhythm from the back of a pickup at the starting line about half an hour before the gun was to go off. I have to say that, as silly as I thought it was at first, it did help to connect me to my inner aborigine. After the race start, they took up post at the top of a hill at mile 10, and as far as I know, they kept up the beat until the official course closure at noon that day.

Then there was the volunteer team at the aid station atop the hill at mile 8 that had banded together and dressed up as some kind of day-glo alien rodeo clowns. With every cup of water and Gatorade that they passed out, they whooped and hollered and cheered for everyone who crested the hill. "YOU MADE IT!!! KEEP GOING! YOU ROCK OUR SOCKS OFF!!" Lots of fun.

The course itself is beautiful, and deceitfully challenging. It's pretty well flat for the first 6 miles, following the Colorado River around Fisher Towers and Castle Rock, then rolls through a series of fairly serious hills for the remaining 7.1 miles. If you set too quick a pace at the beginning, you'll definitely feel it later on. But the finish is set up at the Sorrel River Ranch Resort, a small collection of rental cabins set on a surprisingly green patch of land in the middle of the red rocks. There was a local jam band playing at the finish, a "beer garden" (which I didn't really investigate to find out what that is, but it sounds interesting if you're a beer drinker), and a tent full of good recovery food and drink. Our group opted to drive back to Moab as quick as we could manage to get a good meal in us before we got back on the road, but I'm sure that the resort is a great hang out spot for the remainder of the afternoon for anyone who is so inclined.

My official finish time was 1:46:15; about 45 seconds off of my personal best, but certainly a much more challenging course. I'm definitely revved up to put in some good mileage over the winter so that I can smash my PB come January and the 2012 St George Painter's Half.

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Kokopelli Recap (no creative title available)

Kokopelli Recap (no creative title available)

What a great, great, great, great race. Anyone interested in doing this triathlon, I cannot recommend it any higher. Here's the nitty gritty:

Total time: 2:40:00 (weird, right?)

1500m Swim time: 35:48
100m splits: 2:20

20.4 mi Bike time: 1:04
MPH: 19.2

10K Run time: 56:02
Mile splits: 9:03

64/215 place overall
57/150 place in male division
13/25 place in age division

My amazing daughter also has an entry about it where she talks about the race from her point of view, but this is my account of things. And so, on with the retelling of the tale:

My stomach had been jumping up and down all week in anticipation, and I had probably gone out to the garage to fiddle with my bike 50 times that week, but on Saturday morning I got out of bed and got ready, cool as a cucumber. I had a nice shower to wake me up, and tried to eat some breakfast. I ended up only drinking about 12 oz. of banana smoothie, and that's all my stomach really wanted, and by the time I had choked down that much, my father in law was in the driveway to pick me up. We drove out to Sand Hollow chatting about little race tips, and what we were going to do the rest of the day (father in law: climbing, me: napping).

The organization at the actual event site is to die for, despite parking difficulties. The bike racks are set up according to race distance and entry number; those who had entered the race earlier got spots right close to the transition exit, making our bikes easy to find and quick to get on. I lost my father in law as we were setting up, as our assigned spots were on opposite ends of the transition area since he was racing Sprint distance and I was doing Olympic. I knew that I had a long time to wait before I would get into the water, so I basically threw everything down and sauntered over to the water to watch the first waves of guys go out.

I watched the first wave of sprinters go, mostly to look at the course and see if I could tell more or less how they handled swimming in a pack, since I've never really done so. It didn't look too bad, but there was one guy way at the back that was doomed right from the get go - the pour soul immediately started drifting to his right so bad that it wasn't long before he was headed completely in the wrong direction. I spoke to one of the lifeguards today who told me that they ended up pulling the guy out of the water after about 5 minutes. I was fairly confident in my sighting skills, but I made a mental note not to forget to sight every few strokes so that I could remain at least somewhat on course.

About 20 mins before my start time, I wandered back to transition, put on my wetsuit up to my armpits, laid out the rest of my gear in the best configuration that I could manage, and headed down to the dock. It was a bit too crowded to try and get into the water early to warm up, so I decided to chance a cold start. When the moment came, the organizers hearded us into the water single file, explained to us which buoys we needed to swim around, and just like that it was, "ready, set, go!"

I had intentionally positioned myself on the outside of the bunch to avoid the crowds, but even so, the first 200m were a little bumpy. Nevertheless I didn't ever experience the flush of nerves or jitteriness that I had before my previous swims, which I attribute now to being good and practiced in the open water. It was nice to have that peace of mind so I could just focus on my stroke and my preselected landmarks. Today's tips - get into the open water several times before you race, and learn how to defog your goggles beforehand, or invest in fog free goggles. I ended up stopping twice to clear mine off.

Anyway, I fell into a natural rhythm almost immediately and kept with it for the two triangular laps that we were required, and came in feeling good, but a little dizzy. I hopped out of the water, shouted hi to a lifeguard that I recognized, pulled my wetsuit off down to my waist, and hustled through to get onto my bike.



I got to my bike and stripped down, and immediately decided to forgo the procedure of drying off with a towel before pulling on my jersey and shoes. Probably a good move, as my T1 time was close to 3 mins, and one that I would recommend to anyone. You'll get dry on the bike, no doubt.

The bike course was a dream come true. I sped off right from the start and felt great nearly the entire 20 miles. There's a 6% grade hill right at mile 3 that lasts about 1.5 miles, which was difficult, but I alternated sitting and standing up in my pedals, and after a few minutes and a few hard pushes with my legs, I was up and over and headed for 7 more miles of straightaway. I managed to ride most of that side by side with another guy who I think is from northern Utah; we found breath enough to strike up a conversation as we rode along. We shared tri stories and swapped comments about the course, and thanked each other for keeping up the quick pace to get us through to the run. I didn't expect to have the time to talk to anybody, but the opportunity came as a very welcome surprise. I hope I can recognize that guy again in future races.

If I did make a mistake, though, it was during the bike course - I brought along two bottles of Gatorade, thinking that I would need to get in most of my calories during that hour. I felt compelled to drink it all and ended up pounding it down for most of the ride, and as it was undiluted Gatorade, my mouth felt sticky sweet the whole time. Next time, Pete, maybe just do one bottle of the Ade and one of water, and don't worry about finishing it all. The other miscalculation that I made, and this against the advice of world champ Chrissie Wellington, was that I attempted something new on race day: I decided to try out energy gels in addition to my normal nutrition regime. I took one just before the bike, and the other just before the run. Now, it may have been that my GI tract was not used to the gel, or it may have been the overhydration during the bike, or maybe it was just general indigestion caused by a nervous stomach, but as I came flying into T2, my insides started churning like a washing machine. I decided to just see if I could run it out, so I racked my bike, threw on my shoes, and headed out for the last 10K.



I think I "cracked" at about a mile and a half, just after a photographer took a snap of me with a big grin on my face. My belly was splashing like the sea at high tide, and I had a stitch in my right side from my ribs down to my hips. I was at a decision point: I could either walk for a couple of minutes and work it out, or I could keep pushing and risk collapse at about mile 3 or 4 and hobble in or wait for the sweeper truck. I decided to walk. I think I walked all the way to mile 2, stretching out my right side and trying to tell my body to absorb some of the liquid sloshing around in my stomach (does that work, just thinking about digesting faster?), and then I started back up at a slow trot. Just before then, my northern Utah friend strided by, offering words of encouragement. After I started back up, I decided that I would try to catch him.

The rest of the race was painful but in a cleansing, rite-of-passage sort of way - if all I did for the rest of my life was plod along until I crossed the finish line, it would be a job well done. I ended up catching my race friend about half a mile from the finish, and we ran together almost to the end. I crossed the finish line with a cheer from my family and a wave of relief, and stood there for a minute, unable to bend over to undo the safety pin that kept my race chip around my ankle so that I could collect my finisher's medal and sit down for heaven's sake. Eventually some kind gentlemen took it off for me, and I wandered over to my family, who had a chair waiting for me in the shade. It was over.



The post race day was great - after 20 mins or so, I managed to stand up and get some of the sponsors' post-race recovery spaghetti, which my daughters promptly pirated and ate mostly on their own, but I didn't mind as my stomach was still in a bit of a twist. I did manage to get in a few bites, though. Then a peaceful car ride home and the rest of the day, which included an AWESOME massage, a parade in downtown St. George, and watching my Utes cream the corn out of BYU. All in all, a pretty good day.



Evaluation

I'm calling this one a win, even though I didn't quite manage to hit my goal time. Of course, every race you finish is a win, since you always come away with something. I finished with a smile; I hit most of my goal paces; I overcame a serious mental and physical barrier; I can still walk today with only minimal soreness; I'm not so sick of triathlon that I never want to do one again; best of all, I'm left with the strange satisfaction of having generous room for improvement next year. I can definitely run faster with a different nutrition strategy. I'm pretty sure I can squeeze another 1-2 mph out of my current bike (and who knows how much I can get if a new bike is in the cards, which it probably isn't), and I feel like I can swim much faster. My training splits in just my jammers were all around 2:00 or under, so frankly I'm a bit surprised that I had slowed down so much on race day.

Takeaway

It's the engine that counts, folks, not the shiny exterior. I was outgunned in the equipment category during every discipline: there were guys out there in wetsuits nicer than mine, on bikes that could fund a couple of semesters' worth of quality college education, and in tri suits that made the costumes of the movie Tron look quaint and old fashioned, yet I managed to pass at least one of them during every leg.

Again, though, I'm not trying to say that equipment is not important, or that people are silly for spending their money on it; it does make a difference, but you can get surprisingly far without it. I have a serious goal of lowering the fiscal and mental overhead that keeps some people from entering the sport. If you're thinking about getting into triathlon but are low on funds, spend your money getting your body in peak shape first (which is surprisingly cheap), then supplement that by using good gear.

See you next year, Kokopelli!

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One Week Remaining

One Week Remaining

The summer has come and gone, the miles have been put in. Muscle glycogen stores are reaching a max, and the countdown is on. A couple more light workouts, and then come Saturday, the sun will rise on the Kokopelli Triathlon.

My goals:

Swim: 35:00 including time through T1
Bike: 19mph, or 1:05 through T2
Run: 48:00

Total time: 2:28

Up until a couple of weeks ago, the weather around here was nigh unbearable. Even a short 4-mile run at 6am left me beet faced and pouring sweat. It was difficult to imagine feeling cool air again, or a time when you might actually want to wear a long-sleeved shirt on your workout. I laughed at the idea that I started training in a time when I would wear my jacket on rides. But the last week has brought rain and high winds to the area, and now I often wait until mid day or afternoon to ride. I went for a swim yesterday at my local gym and was very thankful that I had already rented my wet suit for Saturday. It took about 150m to work out the chills and get comfortable.

What does that mean for race day? For one, I don't have to worry so much about overheating, which up until the beginning of this week I thought was inevitable. I am concerned about the swim, which will probably be colder than my training sessions out on the course. I'm going out to Sand Hollow one last time to test it and see.

It's been a great summer, on all accounts, and although my race season is far from over, I find myself waxing philosophical as my A race approaches. What lessons have I learned in preparation for my first Olympic distance tri? Now that I'm waist-deep into Triathlon as a hobby, have my feelings about it changed? How well have I balanced my training with my family life and other hobbies? Why do any of us do this, anyway? Where to go from here?

Know Thyself

In my opinion, this broad, sweeping aphorism is the most valuable lesson that one can learn from Triathlon, and conversely, it's the one bit of advice that can carry you farther than anything else. And it applies to nearly everything, from training schedules to equipment, pacing and nutrition, etc.

Specifically, find out where you are on the spectrum of triathletes: are you a weekend warrior, likely to enter into just one or two races a year, looking to keep fit and have some fun? Are you part of a group or team, or do you have the time and resources available to train for and enter into multiple races a year? Perhaps you're looking for a podium finish, or a qualifying time for Kona? Are you Craig Alexander or Chrissie Wellington, making a career out of it and looking to smash your own world records? Of course, we all move up and down the spectrum every year, mostly (in my case) dependent on the other factors in our lives and how much time we can really afford to spend away from them, but spending just a little bit of time to determine where you are on the scale and what your goals really and realistically are can help you really spend that time and money wisely.

For example, I would describe myself on the mid- to lower end of the spectrum. I love triathlon, I'd love to spend many years doing it, but I can't realistically dedicate more money and effort than it takes to enter more than just a handful of races a year - maybe two A races and half a dozen B and C races. I am about 10-12 lbs above my ideal weight (I think), and my bike could be described, in horsey terms, as an "Old Paint." I donate plasma to earn my triathlon funds, so I have to think hard about where that money can be spent to the greatest benefit. It's very tempting to dedicate that money (plus a chunk from savings) toward replacing the Dawn Treader (as I call my bike) with a brand new, shiny, carbon-forked Cervelo with aero bars and top of the line rims and shifters. I can save some weight, get a better fit on my machine, look cooler, maybe think about how to equip it with a sophisticated hydration system.

However, if I take a step back and really look at myself - is this really the next logical step that I can take to get better or have a better time doing triathlon? $1500 would go an awfully long way in supplying other things. I might be able to drop 2-3 or even 5 lbs by getting a new bike; how much would it really cost to watch my diet for a few weeks and lose the 5 lbs of body fat off of my ample frame? I can maintain a more stable, aerodynamic position by switching from shifters on my down tube to something a bit more modern; am I really fit enough to be able to maintain the speed necessary to take aerodynamics into consideration? Let's even say that I do lose the 5 lbs in body weight and get fit enough to where I have to think about aerodynamics - will it make it more "worth it" to do a triathlon with a brand new bike as opposed to going through another season on the Dawn Treader?

The answer to that question will inevitably be yes at some point, but in really knowing myself and what my goals are in doing a triathlon (have fun, stay fit, maybe raise some cash for a charity), I can put that purchase in perspective and give it the right priority that it really deserves. Once I drop down to about 6-8% body fat and am consistent with my weight training, and I've got all my other equipment bought (wetsuit, goggles, good running shoes, etc), and I feel that I've progressed as far as I possibly can on the bike that I have, then it might be time to invest the money. As a side note, a big thanks to Greg who gave me the Dawn Treader for free on a semi-permanent loan. It was the turning point that got me riding and has carried me to where I am.

This applies everywhere. Are you thinking about adding more grape skins or sunflower butter to your diet and getting the right amount of Omega 3s when you might be better served by focusing on getting your basic 5 servings of fruits and vegetables every day? Are you worried about what kind of aerodynamic helmet you look best in, when you might want to think about doing some simple sprint exercises and increasing your race pace by 1 or 2 mph? Have you booked your time at the wind tunnel, when you could spend more time at the track or in the pool?

I might sound like a cynic in writing all of the above, and that I'm trying to knock down people's lofty ideas, but that's not my position at all. There seems to be a lot of information out there aimed at people who are very high up on the spectrum of "triathlon seriousness," and it can be intimidating for people who are just getting started or who are looking to get something out of triathlon other than sponsorship or a medal. At a certain level, wind tunnel time and grape skins and getting the right lubricant under your wetsuit for a quick transition time are good and important, but there are a lot of cheap, easy ways to boost your performance and increase your enjoyment of the sport that might ultimately serve you better, and the more clearly you define what you want to get out of triathlon, and the more time you spend really examining yourself and your own habits and abilities, the easier it is to find these things and prioritize them, so that you can (if it's your goal) move up the spectrum to a point where you do need to worry about things like Yasso 800's, plyometrics, what flavor Gatorade mixes best with salt tablets, which Ironman venue you want to conquer first, whom to pick among the many people who want to sponsor you, etc.

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Chelsea's Run

Chelsea's Run

Last Friday night my wife and I strapped on our shoes and headed over to the fourth annual "Chelsea's Run," a 5K race in memoriam of a lovely young girl and a promising athlete that was tragically killed in a car accident a few years ago.

This was my second year at Chelsea's Run, traditionally run at 10:00 at night on July 15 (Chelsea's Birthday). It's a unique and fun crowd to run with - mostly family friends and high school students who come out to have a good time, run a little bit, have some free Gatorade, and show support for a great family in the local community. All profits go to set up a series of scholarships at BYU, and participants are encouraged to donate more than the entry fee to the fund. So, it's a good crowd, a good cause, and just a good family event for couples or friends who enjoy running together. Not chip-timed or anything, so anyone who shows up looking or acting too seriously will look and feel out of place.

I can't really give an accurate accounting of my pace and time: since the race starts so late in the evening, and since all of our available babysitters were running the race with us, I ended up bringing my kids to the race, with the intent of pushing them along in a stroller. This usually goes fine, but my youngest, who is now days away from her 2nd birthday, had an absolute meltdown just moments before the gun went off - she's at the unfortunate phase of life where ideas form in her head quite clearly, but she lacks the words and grammar to communicate them to her liking, or to our understanding. At first, she said that she wanted out of the stroller, so my wife, eager to get her race under way (this was after the starting gun), pulled her out and decided to walk the first little way to see if she could calm her down. I jogged on a few yards ahead, and instantly she started to scream, "Daddyyyyy! Daddyyyyy!" So we traded - my wife caught up to me, passed me the girl, and took off with the stroller.

"Mommeeeeeee! Mommeeeee!"

We did the switch again.

"Daddeeee! Daddeeeee!"

This happened 3 or 4 times.

"Whassamatter? Do you want to run?"

"Yes!" sob, sob, sob.

"Well then you have to be in the stroller. Is that okay?"

"Okay!" All smiles and giggles.

So in the stroller she went and my wife and I took off. I think the whole exchange probably took about two minutes or so. I crossed the finish line at about 25:50, so, you know, whatever. What I did feel good about was that, while pushing 50 lbs in a jogging stroller and having a two-minute delay at the start, I ended up catching and then passing my sister-in-law, a college soccer player and very fit. Hooray! Maybe next year, Becca...

It brings up an interesting question, though - does pushing a jogging stroller affect one's pace at all? Since they have very little rolling resistance, I'd have to think that maybe no, unless one takes into consideration the mental drag that the runner experiences, trying to navigate the stroller around the madding crowds. In our case this becomes quite a task. Our stroller doubles as a bike trailer, so the bar that connects to the bike sticks out of the front like a bayonet. I remember after my first 10K talking to a lady who had been taken out by a jogging stroller. As a result, she had twisted her knee pretty badly, and was understandably miffed about it. So, last Friday I was pretty careful to take the outside turns and be pretty vocal if I were coming up behind someone that I couldn't pass so that I could avoid a similar collision.

My favorite part of the race: as we were loading up my kids into the car to take them home, my oldest daughter (3 1/2) turned to me and said, "Daddy, can I have running shorts for my birthday so I can race with you next time?" You bet, kid. You bet.

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Wasatch Back-breaker

Wasatch Back-breaker

It's taken me a bit of time to process my experience at the Ragnar Wasatch Back relay race. I once again donned the orange and ran with the same team that took me in for the Hood to Coast event last August, the Cho Mamas - a lovely bunch of people; I'd highly recommend running with them, if you ever get the chance.

The general assessment

It was loads of fun. I love the 24-hour race atmosphere that you get with a good, long team relay. The course was drop dead gorgeous from start to finish, and good weather prevailed throughout the weekend. Friendly exchanges with neighboring teams, though overall I felt a bit more isolated as a team than on HTC, and there was definitely a different mix of teams there - more amateur, "neighborhood" teams, I suppose (probably because you don't have to qualify for a Ragnar race, as opposed to HTC), which curiously also lead to a few more colder shoulders (per capita) from groups who were out there trying to prove something. A word to future WB participants of this type - just relax. The NordicTrack or BYU teams are going to beat you, anyway.

The gritty details

Very gritty. Two weeks before race day, I got waylaid for a week by a bout of what can be described as a surprise intestinal fire drill and evacuation out the back door. Running? Forget it. The only running I'd do that week would be to the latrine. What's more, I've been fighting a cough ever since before the Kau Wela tri at the beginning of the month, and I finally got an assessment the Tuesday before the race that it was bronchitis - a relatively common ailment among people training for an endurance event, I'm told, but one that means at least a week of taking it easy. My swim coach told me that, if I did decide to do the WB, I should be careful not to raise my heart rate above 75% of max, and then to do as much as I could to rest in between legs. Did I listen? Sort of. I armed myself with a bronchial anti-inflammatory (Albuterol) and my remaining stash of cough medicine, and made unfulfillable promises to my team that I would cover their vacation time at work if any of them got sick. I also brought along a pillow that I could smother my face with when a bout of coughing would start in.

I ran first in the rotation, which was fun because the race started on the USU track. I was nervous, but optimistic about my conditioning, so at the "ready, set, go" I set off at a comfortable pace that I thought I could maintain for the entire distance (6.9 miles) but that would allow me to pass some dudes. Unfortunately, within about the first 20 seconds of the race, nearly all of them were out of my reach. At least for that leg, which took us through Logan and south through Cache Valley. Highlight of the leg: a 5-year-old boy outside his Logan home who asked me, as I passed him, "Do you want a gwass of water or a spway?" I saw his younger brother a few feet away with a hose, and requested a spray, with which I was rewarded. Lowlight of the leg: the 10-min coughing fit I had after the leg was over. I kept a 8:15 pace though, which I was very happy about.

After a few hours of support during the rest of our van's shift through some gorgeous but challenging terrain, we ended up at Snow Basin for an overpriced dinner and a break. I ended up running into a long-lost friend of mine that I didn't know was going to be there, which was great, and then a few seconds later I ran into the team that my brother was supposed to run in (but checked out of a few weeks prior), peopled by his old high school friends, of whom I have very fond memories, as well.

My second leg started out with a couple of interesting twists - I was stopped after about 100 yards by a race official who told me that about 20 racers had gotten lost very early in the course, in a part that takes you up and behind the Snow Basin lodge and through the trees on a dirt path, so I should be careful and watch out for them. I nearly did get lost, but a guy with a much brighter headlamp than mine came up behind me and pointed me in the right direction, and we headed off down the mountain together, through a snowdrift that lasted about 50 yards or so. The rest of the course, though, was exquisite. While my first leg had been mostly flat, this one took a 1500-ft. plunge over 8 miles on Snowbasin Road toward some town whose name I've forgotten. I actually enjoy a good downhill run, as opposed to a lot of runners I know, and I've never really experienced any knee or ankle pain afterward, so I had actually picked this leg as my preference and had been looking forward to it. I knew that it wouldn't be difficult to keep to my estimated pace, even given my bronchial condition, so I shifted into a mid-gear and cruised for 70 minutes under a bright moon to what turned out to be a great soundtrack churned out by my iPod. Thank you, Rollins Band - Shine, indeed.

I kept about a 8:50 pace over the 8 miles, which given the terrain is pretty slow, but once I started into my 10-minute hacking session at the exchange, I'm glad I didn't push it any faster. If I run this same race next year, I hope that I'm afforded good health and the chance to take another crack at this leg to see what I can really give it.

We had the luxury on our team to have a suite at The Canyons, generously donated by our friends the Stanfields, so after our second shift was done (me mostly sleeping in the back seat), we sped up to Park City and settled in for a good three-hour nap on (can you believe it?!) actual beds. It was great. Thank you, Stanfields.

The next morning, we got off to a bit of a late start out of our opulent accommodations, and ended up arriving at my next exchange a bit late. Van 2 ended up sending out another runner to start the leg until I got there, but he only ended up running about 200 yards before I caught him. The third leg can be described in just a couple of exclamations: Distress! Fatigue! Perspiration! Oh, how my legs ached. It was only 60 degrees, but it felt like the sun had done that thing with a magnifying glass that boys do to ants, and was directing the beam right at my head. So hot! I kept the phrase in my head, "The harder you run, the sooner you're done," and I kept running at a slow shuffle through the 4.9 miles from Oakley to Kamas, at a slight uphill the whole way. Highlight of the leg: passing, no, killing three runners that had started out at the same time as me, runners who had left me in the freaking dust at the starting line, whose tanks were now dry, and who had stopped running and started the Death March to the end of the leg. The absolute highlight was leapfrogging one girl (numbered among the aforementioned three kills) who had passed me about a mile into the leg, about half a mile after that. I didn't dare look back through the whole remainder of the run, but when I got to the finish line and finally turned around, she was nowhere in sight. People tell me that I'm not a competitive person by nature, but I find great satisfaction in little moments like that in a race, especially under difficult circumstances like the third leg of a relay. The mean-spirited-ness lasts for about 5 seconds, and then I mentally wish them well, though. Or do I?

It's hard to tell exactly what my pace was for the third leg because of the snafu at the beginning, but it was timed (and it felt like) about a 10:00 pace, which is the slowest that I've ever been clocked at a race, but I didn't care and I still don't. The Wasatch Back is hard, folks. Very hard, indeed.

Case in point - our van's strongest runner, Ryan, was out on his third leg - a grueling, 7.7-mile climb just outside of Heber, and the rest of us were at the next exchange waiting for him. We waited and waited, and his estimated finish time came and went, and then we waited some more. None of us were particularly worried, but more just curious as to what may have happened. His wife, Emily (the next runner), and a couple of other teammates were standing at the exchange when all of a sudden, a race official walks up to them, holding a pale and disoriented Ryan by the arm, and says something like, "here you go - your next runner can go ahead and start." The dude had passed out there on the road. Or so we conjecture. He can't remember. He remembers running and feeling a little faint, and then all of a sudden he was sitting on the rear bumper of our team vehicle. We think what happened was, he was nearing the end and started to wobble, when someone else, either another runner or a race official, saw him and grabbed him before he fell and led him in to the exchange. After a lot of liquids, a few hours' sitting and some salty food, he was feeling better, but he told me that he has actually never run the WB without something similar happening. Last year, after running the same leg, he got out of the car after the van's shift and retched his shoes out onto the schoolyard parking lot blacktop for about half an hour.

After a trip to Wendy's and a few restful hours later back at the suite, we drove down to the finish line and crossed with our other teammates. Total time: approx. 29 hours. Hooray! Finish line highlight: the announcer, moments before we crossed the line and apparently fumbling through paperwork, failed both to recognize our finishing time and to correctly pronounce our team name. "And....the Chow Mamas!" was all he could manage. Way to go, guy.

Summary

Definitely worthwhile. Ragnar does a great job with their races and I look forward both to the WB next year (either as a Cho Mama or under some other moniker) and to any other ones that I can line up. Perhaps SoCal or Napa Valley? How 'bout both?

Prologue

I did absolutely no exercise until Wednesday of the week following the race, at which point the panic began to set in that I was losing muscle mass at an alarming rate, and that I would still be required to swim a mile in open water in what now seems like a very short time. I went for a swim at the gym pool on Wednesday, and did a full mile at a slow but steady pace and felt pretty confident that perhaps I had licked my disease and could now re-enter my training program. Until, that is, I got out of the pool and coughed violently all the way out of the gym, through the parking lot and all the drive home and into the shower. Doh! As a result, this week I'm giving my lungs a rest and sticking to the weight room. To be continued...

End Transmission

Kau WelaKau What-a?

Kau Wela
Kau What-a?

During my active years as a cellist in high school, when I was performing and competing fairly regularly, my teacher would use an interesting phrase to describe me: though I never won anything, or even got called back to the second round, I had become a "very seasoned performer."

I never really knew what that meant, or how I should have taken it, until after my "performance" last Saturday at the Kau Wela beginner's triathlon. It was a nice event - very small, both in distance and in crowd size, nice swag, pretty course, a good choice for a guy going out for his first open water swim.

Or so you would think.

After a brief session with my trainer on Thursday afternoon, I was feeling pretty confident on Saturday morning that I would be able to turn in a decent time or maybe, if all the cards fell in my favor, win my age group. I had slept very poorly the night before, however, due to a nagging cough that I've now been fighting for about a month, and to having to care for my poor sick little kids. At any rate, I got to the site early, got my transition set up in a way that I like, put on my rental wetsuit, and began to wander down toward the water, where I decided to dive in and put in a few strokes just to get the butterflies out and see how I could expect my wetsuit to feel, as it was my first time in one of those, as well.

I swam out, and my confidence rose considerably - boy, was I floating! This would be a cinch! The little buoy that we had to go out and around seemed so close I could nearly touch it from the shore.

About 50 yards out, I stopped and floated for a bit, looking back at the shore and feeling great - when I remembered what someone had told me about a wetsuit: that it's sometimes good to let in some water through the neck hole in order to keep you warm during the swim. So there, 50 yards from the shore, I reached up for my collar, pulled it open with both hands, and let in a flood of late spring glacier runoff into my suit which, until that moment, I had been perfectly warm in.

It felt like the Grim Reaper himself was wrapping his icy arms around my chest in the most unwelcoming of embraces. In a second, I turned from a confident, well-trained athlete into a shivering wreck, 50 yards from shore, whose ability to float was dwindling, right along side his ability to swim any distance longer than 25 meters. My wetsuit turned from the best flotation device ever invented into a vicious water predator that was determined to squeeze me to death and drag me to the miry bottom. In an instant I was shot. I couldn't get any air. I dog-paddled back in to the boat ramp, crawled back on land and instantly began to envision my impending doom - the most embarrassing water death in the shortest possible triathlon distance. I wasn't going to make it to the end of the dock, let alone around the buoy that now looked as though it may have well been on the other side of the lake. My cough started back up; I forgot to put on my watch to check my splits; it was all going down the drain. Before I knew it, the call of "ready, go!" came from the guy with the bull horn, and I surrendered myself to destruction.

I won't give you all the gory details, but let's just say that my 11-minute swim involved a surprising amount of passing other swimmers (which is much less fun than any other kind of passing in a triathlon, I've found), some back-stroking, a little help from a life-vest on a string (with a guy on a boat at the other end), and a LOT of heavy breathing.

If there's one lesson from the Kau Wela, it's this: put in some time in a wetsuit and in open water well before race day. If it's your first time for both, or either, you're in for a few surprises.

After the swim, I dragged myself to my transition and mentally tried to put myself together to at least have a good second leg. As is my custom, I shot out of T1 like a bullet from a gun, and instantly regained my confidence. By golly, the best swim time could only be a couple of minutes better than mine, maybe I could catch them on the bike.

But then fate caught me again, this time in the form of...wait for it...GEAR SLIPPAGE! On the first of two steep climbs, I stood up in the saddle and set my sights on the guy in the blue shirt just ahead of me, and just when I had flipped the setting to "kill," the all-too familiar grinding sound coming from my rear cassette sent chills down my spine. Sure enough, there were two loud pops and in a moment I was riding through clay. I shifted back down, and the bike popped back into my middle cog. In the end, it got bad enough that I ended the climb sittind down, holding my rear shifter down with my right hand, steering wobbily towards the crest of the hill with my left, and watching Blue Shirt slowly slide away.

I got to the top of the course, turned it around, and moved up to my large chain ring to try and make up some time. Sadly, Blue Shirt was gone by then, but it sure was a lot of fun coming down that course back toward the transition area. I started out watching my speedometer, but stopped after I saw a 4 in the 10's place and figured I'd be better served watching where I was going.

I screamed back into Transition, threw on my running shoes and headed back out for a quick run. Last leg was tiring, but uneventful. And I never did catch Blue Shirt, unfortunately.

All in all, I finished in 8th place (of 45 starters) overall, 3rd in my age group (out of 6). Looking just at my splits, I turned in the 4th fastest time on the bike and the 3rd fastest time on the run. Not bad, but certainly not what I feel I was capable of doing. The moral of the story: I've been near religious about my training, and my pace in all three disciplines has been going steadily down for some weeks. However, pace and strength do not equal experience - you could be the fastest you've ever been, but if you're not ready for the squeeze of a wetsuit on your lungs or for the challenges of the open water, or if you didn't check your equipment the night before for any technical issues, you're really loading the deck against yourself.

The most surprising thing that I took from Kau Wela is: I was probably a more solid cellist in high school than I thought I was at the time, and in labeling me as "seasoned," my teacher was trying to tell me so. There's nothing that can tie together the skills learned in practice like the seasoning of experience. This story may read like a failure, but I feel very positively about my race. Despite an abysmal swim time and an overall "I could have done better," I'm taking away more from the Kau Wela now in terms of seasoning and general know-how and experience than I could possibly have won in prizes had I turned in a personal best. I'm now looking for a way to do most of my swimming in open water. And I'm saving up for my own wetsuit, dang it.

Now, if only I could gain enough "seasoning" to avoid illness brought on by water-borne pathogens.

End Transmission.

Visit from the SLC boys

Visit from the SLC boys

It has been a quiet few weeks here in Napalmland. I have been steadily logging laps in the pool, miles in the saddle and on foot, and hours at the gym as my schedule permits, and not admitting to my coach the days when time does not permit. The weeks seem a lot longer during a stretch where you don't have any races scheduled; though for me it's not difficult to stay motivated, it is difficult to monitor your progress from week to week. At least, it is for me, since I haven't been training with a partner, or keeping a log. I imagine that, if I were to communicate a lesson during this post, that would be it: if you're training by yourself, or even if you're not, it's great to keep a log to watch your times go down and your weights go up (the ones that you're lifting).

I did have a bit of insight into my swim times during my last session with my coach. In the SHAC spring triathlon that I did back in March, my splits on the swim were 2:21/100m. At the time, I wasn't really pleased or displeased - I was just happy to have finished - but I used it as a measuring stick for future training. Ten days ago, my coach timed me as I swam 4x100m at a 6-7 pace, that is to say, just under my race pace. Wearing swim shorts rather than my racing suit, I swam 2:16 splits, and had plenty of breath left at the end. I commented to my coach that it's astonishing to find your workout pace drop below your last race pace. Feels great. It's not really even near the sub-2:00 splits that I saw people swimming during the Ironman St George, but I feel like I'm now at least on the path that might get me there.

But now on to the real report: Saturday, my good friends from Salt Lake City came down and joined me on a ride around the town.

Mileage: 45
Time: 3 hours
Average speed: 15 mph

At the beginning of the year, we were planning on riding a full century, from my house to Zion Natl. Park and back, but due to bad weather, injury and illness, they weren't really able to put in the miles to train for it. Curse you, Salt Lake spring weather!!

Anyway, we mapped out a nice 30-mile ride out to Sand Hollow Reservoir and back. The photo above is of us three together - as we were getting ready to go, we realized that all of us had picked our bright yellow jerseys to wear that day. Go team lemon! The ride we picked is pleasant to do and offers some good, challenging hills right off the bat. The steepest of these, in my opinion, is just 5 or 6 miles from my house - a long, windy, 5-6 minute slog up and out of Washington City and toward the land fill. Not an insane challenge, but enough of a workout that if you still are feeling the winter cobwebs in your legs, this will definitely serve to wake you up. All three of us spent a couple of minutes huffing at the top of the hill, and there were even some rumors of breakfast coming back for a visit. After that, there are some rolling hills that take you up to the SR-9, the main road that takes you into Hurricane and eventually toward Zion. We zipped down this and into the Sand Hollow recreation area, where we stopped for a few minutes to watch the St George Triathlon in progress. It was fun to watch the runners go by - I felt a few butterflies in my stomach watching these very fit people out there struggling with what looks to be a challenging course, knowing that this would be the same course that I'll be running in the fall.

We then climbed back up out of that valley to a Chevron, stopped for a quick pee and a Snickers, and then zipped on back to St George. I actually coaxed the boys into doing a few extra miles and coming with me to Bloomington Park, which on the one hand was great, as the majority of the ride is along paved bike trails, but on the other hand meant that our wives were stuck waiting for us at my house for an extra hour. Chagrin!

The post-ride afternoon consisted of a soak in my in-laws' jacuzzi, followed by burgers and a movie at my house, followed by some ice cream and sleeping, followed by more eating.



Thank you, gents, for coming down and riding with me. Let's do it again soon.

End Transmission.