Oh, I came so close to not doing this race. All week long, the weather prediction was for 50%, then 77%, then 88% chance of rain during the race, with temps around 55 degrees (Fahrenheit; Centigrade friends, do your own math). And water temps in the 50’s or 60’s. With a 3-hour drive each way, spending the night in a nearby hotel. And me worried about finally healed from breaking my collar bone in a bike accident almost a year ago.
As wise cousin Rob Falk said, “Sounds like the likelihood of having fun is not high.” Rachel (my poor wife!) listens to me vacillate, but Coach Debi tells me she’s driven TEN hours to race in FIFTY degree water and race in the rain (I’m supposed to aspire to greater heights of self-punishment? And she never answers my texted question: “Did you have fun?”). But it was a text from Kevin Carlsten, who was planning to do this with John McDermott and me, that swung my vote: “What, are we going to melt?” Besides, I skipped a race last year because of the rain… So, time to “man up” and get over this fear of slippery roads and shivering.
With John McDermott and Kevin Carlsten, tremendous athletes and racing buddies from the Rivertowns. The hardest part of this rainy race was waiting for the awards ceremony…So, John generously drove us in the Family Minivan – enough room to stand all three bikes inside – and the long haul didn’t feel so long with good conversation and someone else driving. We ate outdoors and drank local micro-brew beer in Millville, NJ, marveling at the nice weather and our lousy timing for the next day. Sure enough, when I woke up at 3:40 a.m. that night, the rain was pounding and I couldn’t get back to sleep…
It was barely drizzling when we left the hotel, but that was NOT gonna last. We got to the school/recreation center at around 7; transition was open until 7:45; and the first wave hit the water at 8 a.m. Pretty civilized. I was trying to cover my shoes, etc. from the anticipated deluge, and neglected to count the bike racks from Swim In to where I had racked my Beastie. But because it was such a small race – less than 300 BEFORE the weather prediction, with just over 100 signed up for the Olympic distance – so not a serious SNAFU.
The swim was two loops around a square marked by yellow triangle buoys and orange sight buoys, a short course totaling only 0.6 miles (instead of 0.9 – if you just swam the course, that is…). Just before the swim, a stranger said my wetsuit zipper was down – I let him pull it “tight” and as designed the suit came undone – but despite my thinking I’d have to take the whole thing OFF, Kevin simply re-zipped it. Amazing; I hadn’t thought that was possible.
I hadn’t warmed up at all – not even a run, let alone dunk in – but the in-water standing start was surprisingly comfortable. 61 or 66 degrees? didn’t have time to get cold, HONK, my wave is off (“Males Over 40”. Really, it’s a small race.). Wished I had warmed up, though – all that blood rushing into my arms and legs, felt heavy. Tried to swim hard and felt pretty smooth (these days, if swimming doesn’t injure me I assume I’m swimming well), but really didn’t feel I was keeping up and realized I veered off course – a current? Damn, I have a lot of distance to make up! Guy in a red cap (wave ahead of me) heads to shore as I start the second loop – is he so much faster that he’s lapped me, has he miscounted, or is he doing the sprint distance? No matter, I have to do another loop, and I should push harder, and only on the last leg do I feel I’ve hit my stride. As I’m coming up the metal ramp to land, two guys from another wave are going DOWN the ramp: “Move! Move!”
Bottom line… I don’t know what my swim time is. Because the official results show nothing for the swim (for me and lots of other racers) but 23:05 for T1! And I had hit “start” rather than “lap” on my ancient Garmin (another guy told me he did the same thing – clearly, another guy in his 50’s). BUT: Working off the time of No. 74, the Man in Black (see below), I figure my swim and T1 were 1:30 faster than his – so I’ll guess my “0.6” mile swim was 20:45 (or 1:53 per 100 yds.) and my T1 was 2:15. Ok, pretty slow (depending on how far I really swam), but not as slow as I’d thought.
T1 goes well – despite running past my bike rack (see above SNAFU) – and it looks like only one or two bikes in my rack (that is, my age group) have already left. So, there’s hope for the podium.
You know it’s a small, rainy race when there’s no spectators on the course, no photographers, and cars and pickup trucks sharing the road with the bikes. But: it was not as cold as I had feared! Left the arm warmers and gloves (wet, anyway) and Debi was right (again, and of course): I was sweating almost right away, even in my one-piece tri suit. The out and back course was exceedingly flat and straight (truly, the only turns were when we left the school and at the turnaround to head back), with police at the intersections (“Thank you, Officer!”), so I tucked into aero for most of the ride. I counted how many I passed and how many passed me and I was at net 8 until No. 74, dressed in black, with 55 on his calf, passes me as if I’m standing still (arghh, I’m fighting for 2nd or 3rd Place now), and then KEVIN (dammit! Of course he caught me, he’s really strong, but I had passed him while he got his shoes on in T1 – and I had forgotten about him…) and eventually, of course, McDermott (who’s only doing an aquabike and started 20 minutes after us, but ends up averaging 23.5 mph), but this is MY race. Whenever I feel too comfortable the Garmin reminds me to keep the wattage to 85-90% FTP (that’s all my glutes and quads could handle without cramping), salt tablets, EAA tablets, Huma gel and half a Real Bar at prescribed times because I am burning fuel, even have to refill my torpedo with water (glad I brought that extra half bottle, this is MY body) and lo! I pass another guy with a ridiculous yellow rain coat filling like a parachute in the wind and 55 on his calf, whoa, had I been in 3rd or even 4th place (or was this guy finishing the half-length sprint distance)? And wow, despite my fears of cold and slipping it’s really kind of delightful in the rain without any turns, and literally the only time I touch the brakes is at the turnaround and turning back into the school. Which is a good thing because my hands are almost too cold to grip the brakes… Finished the bike in 1:12:18 (20.3 mph, faster than the 70.3 three weeks ago), 30/108 overall for the bike.
T2 is uneventful, except that my hands are so cold it takes me a while to un-clip my helmet, I squeeze on the shoes (don’t know if it would’ve be easier with wet socks, but no choice, I have to sit down) and out the door (which door? John tells me Kevin ran the wrong direction, too) in 2:09.
Ah, the 10k run. It’s raining less now, but I’m loving the cool, not cold. Pretty flat, with a slight descent in the beginning (oh no, we’ll be climbing up this on the way back) and long straight stretches (which often are mentally draining, because I feel like I’m not making any progress), and Mile 1 seems awfully long, but I am determined to have learned from the race in Florida 3 weeks ago: I am NOT going to tank on this run, so my 8:08 pace seems a tad ambitious and when my heart rate creeps up to 147 by Mile 1.5, I slow down, but get into a groove that feels sustainable, somehow Miles 2, 3 are at 7:47 and 7:48 (damn, I’m consistent), and then I vow to ignore my pace for the remaining 3 Miles, ugh, here comes No. 74, the Man in Black, already coming back from the turnaround, grinning in recognition and gyrating his arms (how does he DO that?) and it is really hurting and I’m thinking about what I’m going to write and thinking about getting dry again and thinking…
SHMUCK! Stay present! You are not there yet, you are here! You want to look ahead, look at that tree on the horizon (branches look like the bamboo roots coming out of a Japanese mask we have at home), that’s all you’re allowed. Stay. Here. Now. And I remember to be grateful that I can run; that I’m not injured; that there’s folks using canes or having a hard time getting out of bed and I. Am. Running. The turn into the school comes soon enough, I’m finally catching up with No. 18 and am close enough to see age 30 on his calf and as he slows down running over the first mat at the Finish Line I surge and pass him before he reaches the second mat.
Little victories.
My prize! It’s a small race.Bottom line: run is 47:37, which is 7:40 min/Miles, among my slower times for an Olympic distance but a LOT faster than the lousy run at the end of April’s 70.3, and I am happy. It was fun. So glad I got past my fear of riding a race in the rain. And total time 2:25:08, which is good enough for 3rd place. Ok, that’s 3/5 AG… and 34/108 who signed up. But 23 people didn’t finish (or more likely, didn’t start). And I did.
John McDermott: 1st Place OA for the Aquabike. At 23.5 mph, another solid performance.
Kevin Carlsten takes 1st Place for Men 50-54. No surprise, this guy’s another beast.And…
Third Place for 55-59. With Steve Bonawitz [1st] and George Koefler [2nd – the Man in Black]Epilogue: Joe Taylor, a total stranger, came up after the race and said he used to be a Coach Debi client; he still gets emails for the team; and he reads my race reports! Super nice guy. (I realized, it was easy to recognize me, with my photos in every blog…)
And two days later, I did an indoor TrainerRoad ride at 105% FTP, and FINISHED the workout for the first time. So what they say is true: This race didn’t kill me; it made me stronger. On to Lake Placid… Bring it on.