The
Columbia Triathlon The
Columbia Triathlon
May 16, 1999 -- Columbia, Maryland.
1500
Meter Swim, 41K Bike, 10K Run
Executive
Summary: 23:06
swim, 2:16 T1, 1:06:12 Bike, 1:36 T2, 48:58 run. Total Time:2:22:08 -- 21st out
of 110 in the 25-29 Age Group...and thus, a qualification to USAT Nationals
after 3 years of trying!
Columbia,
sweet Columbia. Home of my first
ever triathlon back in 1996. Since
then I've learned a lot about what to do and what not to do in these
things...and Columbia has now turned into the 'report card' race for my Spring
preparations. This year would be my
4th time in the hills of Howard County...and for the first time, I was coming in
with a real purpose.
After
the best Winter / Spring base-build I've ever had (with many thanks to Michael
Parente and Eric Weiss for organizing a lot of rides and weekend LSD runs in
February and March...and teaching me a lot about mentally running through pain),
I knew that this year's Columbia was my strongest chance to have the kind of
race I'd always dreamed about: A
strong swim, a bike leg as hard as I could go to build a big cushion, and a run
strong enough to hold on while the 'real' runners tried to take back the bike
lead I'd built. If I could have a 'perfect' race, I saw it this way: 22:00 on
the swim, a 2:00 T1, a 1:07 Bike, a 1:00 T2, and a 47 minute run. That would put
me around 2:20 and give me a chance at qualifying for USAT Nationals.
The cutoff for Nationals the year before had been a 2:21:36 in my AG.
My times from 1996 to 1998 went something like: 2:38:40, 2:30:36, and
2:30:06.
It
was a big gamble...but I knew after this Spring, I was stronger than ever on the
bike, and my running had improved to the point that I was no-longer thinking of
my running as a weakness. It wasn't
exactly a strength...but it was good enough to 'hold-on' with some faster people
that used to just run away from me during bricks in previous years.
It was enough to plant the seeds in my mind...and give me enough hope to
think that it might just be possible on the right day.
MOTHER
NATURE and triathletes by their nature make for fickle company.
We need nice weather to do our best...she needs bad weather in places to
keep the planet growing. That's
just the way it is, and as long as one agenda doesn't directly conflict with the
other...all is well in the world. Wednesday
before the race...things were not looking good for Columbia, and my love for
Mother Nature was definitely being tested.
By the number of links to the Weather Channel being posted on the
list...I knew I wasn't the only one worried.
I hate racing in the rain...but so does everyone else.
The thing that killed me would be losing the chance to really nail the
bike course...and losing my only advantage.
I knew Columbia's course would be far to hilly and technical to ride
aggressively in the rain the way I was hoping to ride...and that just put me
that much closer to the runners...who I knew would welcome the rain with open
arms.
As
the forecast got worse each day, my mood plummeted...and so did my hopes.
On Friday it looked certain to be solid rain on race day, and I felt that
I was being robbed of my best chance to perform, just when I was beginning to
believe that I could really do something special.
It just wasn't fair...but that's just the way the sport is.
I knew I was being irrational...but I didn't care. I felt like this was
it...and if it rained, I might as well have never dreamt about Nationals in the
first place. I thought of the
people that raced IM New Zealand in the rain...and those that did IM Australia
in the rain...and those that did IMC 97 in the rain...and knew I was being
childish and stupid. This was one race, and not a even a long one at that.
To be in such a snit was helping nothing...but I just couldn't get out of
it. Lynda tried to cheer me
up...but I was pretty much ready to give up my hopes for Nationals before I had
even started to pack.
SATURDAY
I picked up Eric Weiss, and we headed down I-95 for Columbia.
It was his first time racing this race, and I tried to tell him
everything I knew about the course (including all of the lovely hills). When I
showed him the course profile, he tried to jump out of the car, but thankfully
I'd locked the doors. His
subsequent leap for the window almost succeeded, but I managed to close it and
pull him back in to the car. I handed him the emergency box of Twinkies I always
keep handy (because you just never know), and he seemed to calm down.
We
checked in to the hotel, and headed for the expo to meet the Deads.
Stacy Hills, Michael Kelly, Rick Denney, Jodi Nashman and Dan (?), Drew
Wellmon, Mark Markley, Jason Mayfield, Eric and myself all took over a corner of
the expo...and just chatted up a storm making ourselves known to each other for
about an hour. It's always fun to
finally put faces with names from the list...and this was a pretty neat
gathering. We headed to the local
Bennigans to continue the party...and they put all 10 of us at a table waaaaaaay
in the back, near nothing. Collectively,
we consumed about 144,238 calories...and tried not to look at the clouds
gathering outside of the window. Instead
we sat around and told the triathlete's equivalent of the War Story: The Race
Story. After another hour of this madness, some of us headed for the pasta party
(strangely not all that hungry...), and planned on meeting up after the race
near the finish. Eric and I met
Cary Mconlogue (sp?) at the dinner...and he looks as fast as I'd pictured in my
mind. It's his first Columbia,
too...so he's cautiously optimistic for a good day.
AFTER
DINNER Eric and I headed to Centennial Park and racked our bikes, covering them
up with as many plastic bags as we could find.
The transition area looked like a raincoat convention, as bikes
everywhere were sporting creative coverings...ranging from swim caps to shower
curtains in an effort to survive the predicted overnight deluge.
By now weather people were saying it looked to rain overnight until about
10am or so...then clear out. Since
I was hoping to finish by 9:30am...I found myself not sleeping on a very hard
pillow that night. The thunder
rattled the windows of the room...and my hopes of Nationals were as now as dark
as the skies above.
As
usual, Eric and I both popped awake at 5:29am, one minute before the alarm.
I mindlessly flipped on the Weather Channel before I even put my feet on
the floor...and listened at the same time for rain outside.
It was silent...and the radar image on the TV showed that the rain was
moving away faster than expected. We
would be behind the storm by 6am...and for the first time in days, I had hope
that we might get lucky on this Sunday.
Bottles
filled, Transition bags packed, no words spoken.
6:15am. The wordless drive
to the Start. "Where the
Streets Have No Name" on the CD. Cautiously
looking upward...are those clouds looking thin?
Body Marking. "743." The
walk down the ramp to the transition area for the 4th time.
Uncovering the bike: "Good Morning!
You ready to fly today, Phoenicia?"
First ray of sunlight. Hope
growing. Heart beating. Hello's
to Eric Austin, Mike Kelly, Stacy Hills, Jodi Nashman snapping pre race
pictures. Ready to go. The walk to the swim start...and prayers within.
The sun continues to play hide and seek...but my heart is light.
It's time to go.
IN
THE START CORRAL, my wave is positively giddy. Bad one liners abound, as A.J.
Katinsky is in the back yelling "35 minutes? Anyone
for 35 minute pace? Come on back!" I
yell out "I'll make a deal with you...I won't kick you, you won't kick me,
okay?" Much laughing,
whooping, and energy...Eric Austin is treading water at my right, and with 10
seconds to go, I shut it all out of my head.
I'm in the second row, looking for a good start...
*GO!*
I dive forward, and instantly something hits my throat. Not a hand...it's the streamer used to hold us back until the
start has been swum over, and is now right at surface level...trapped down as
the thrashing wave of 110 has exploded forward. I grab with my right, pull with my left, and get under it.
Immediately, I know this is going to be a rough swim.
In Maytag mode for the first 200 yards there are bodies everywhere.
I get hit in the head, the back, the legs, but thankfully...no kick in
the face. At the first turn, I'm
already catching caps from the wave that started 5 minutes before.
It is a good sign. As I make the turn onto the backstretch...it finally becomes
peaceful near me. I settle into my
rhythm and focus on long strokes and relaxed breathing.
My goal for the swim is 22:00. When
my fingers touch the beach, it's a 23:06. 10
seconds slower than last year but good enough.
I
hustle up the grassy chute, passing people walking to their bikes.
My wetsuit is already half off, and I'm thinking about what I need to do
like a mantra "Wetsuit, Shoes, Helmet...wetsuit...shoes...helmet..." At my rack, I notice that there are still plenty of bikes
near me...a good sign. My wetsuit
comes off in two snaps, and I jump into the shoes just as quick.
A grab and clip of the helmet, and I'm off up the steep exit run-out.
It was as fast as I could do it, and no major mental mistakes. Time for T1: 2:16 from beach to road. Strangely, my HRM began beeping on the way out...at 169!
I was surprised to see it that high, but put it out of my mind as I
pedaled out of Centennial Park...I had a ride to get to.
THE
BIKE COURSE at Columbia is the most challenging Olympic Distance I have ever
raced on. It rolls from start to
finish with no flat terrain to be found at all.
There are short, steep climbs after corners, a few chicanes, and three
40+ downhill stretches. In the dry,
it's a challenge. In the wet, it
would be a nightmare. As I quickly
shifted up and got down in the bars, I looked down and saw the greatest thing in
the world: My shadow.
The sun was out, and the roads were drying...quickly.
I couldn't believe it! I
started picking off people immediately...my spirits soaring now.
If the roads stayed dry...I could let it all hang out on the bike leg the
way I had hoped, and the way that I would need if I was going to Nationals.
I made the commitment in my mind that I could hold nothing back, and play
everything I had on this ride. I
would need about a 1:07 now to be on target.
Head
down, big ring as long as possible, I was passing people at a steady clip...one
after another. My HRM was holding steady at 163, right near my AT.
On some of the smaller hills, I would just stand up and turn over the
gear...flying past people sitting and spinning up the hills.
They might have more left for the run...but I didn't care.
I was going to ride this ride like a 25 mile solo break, and if I fell of
the bike and couldn't take another step in transition, so be it.
This is my only hope...and I can't worry about the run now.
Mike Plumb once said that he rode every Olympic Distance "...in the
red all the way." This was my
day to see where my redline was.
At
7.5 miles I caught Eric Weiss, and didn't even see him to say "Hi!".
He told me about it later.
At
12.5 miles, the clock was at 33:40, and the average was at 22.4.
I needed to be faster. Touching
175 on the hills and holding 168 on the flats...I rode by the beep of my HRM's
alarm.
At
20 miles, I was still feeling strong...only having used the little ring on 2
climbs. I passed Stacy Hills, who
managed to recognize me without ever having seen my bike before!
I felt bad...since I had no idea who he was at that moment.
If he hadn't said something, I'd have just rolled on by. I was in a complete tunnel of my own concentration...and
every bike on the course was just another target to catch and drop.
At
22 miles, I was passed by the only bike that would pass me all day...someone on
a Yellow Powerwing (dressed like Eric Austin?).
My no-hitter was gone, and I rode even harder down Route 108...heading
back towards the transition area...wondering if I had been fast enough.
As
I made the turn into the park, I looked at my watch: 1:05:50.
My previous best on that course had been a 1:10:51.
I let out a whoop and pumped my fist as I made the right turn for
the dismount. I had nailed the ride
I needed...my Nationals dream was still alive!
2 legs down...1 left to survive. The
timers of Lin-Mark didn't get my official split, but hopefully they'll accept
the one from my watch: 1:06:12, good enough for 32nd overall out of 879
finishers. It was without question
the greatest ride I've ever had in any race...but there was no time to savor the
moment.
I
ran down the hill to my rack, and my eyes were met with a sight I'd never seen
before in 4 years of racing: My entire transition rack...not just my segment but
the ENTIRE ROW of racks was empty. So
was the one behind me, and so was the one ahead of me. I
found my spot, racked my bike, and dropped my helmet.
Shoes off...socks on, sneakers on...hat on...grab the number belt and
start running like a scared rabbit NOW! Time
for T2: 1:36...and away we go.
MY
LEGS felt surprisingly solid down the hill to the run start, and I felt settled
in right away. Making the first
stretch on the Columbia run course can be mentally shattering, as you go
downhill a few hundred yards and then BAM: Straight up an evil, evil hill that
just makes you really wonder if you have what it takes to beat this course.
Along this stretch...I saw someone off to my right heeding the call of
nature. He was wearing a one piece
Reebok skinsuit that I've only seen on TV before...and sure enough as I heard
footsteps coming up when he finished, Scott Tinley nonchalantly ran past me.
Knowing he had started 30 MINUTES before my wave...something had to be up.
I was having a great day, but clearly not THAT kind of great.
As
it turned out, the man lived up to his legend...and sacrificed his race to help
a junior change a flat. 
Giving
up 20 or so minutes meant he was side-by-side with the mortals today, enjoying
the sudden sunshine. I said "Tinley! Loved the book man..."
He said "Hey, thanks!" and rolled up the hill.
Funny thing was...he didn't just run away from me.
I kept him in sight, about 50 yards up the path.
I hit mile 1 in a surprising 7:40, and he was still only about 10-12
seconds ahead. Obviously, he wasn't
in a hurry...and was chatting with someone as they ran through the aid station.
I
was surprised at how steady my legs were...but I was not relaxing at all.
I was running at 160-165bpm... as fast as I could handle.
I hit mile 2 in 8:05, but knowing it had been all uphill, I wasn't
panicking...yet. Leaving the park
on an upgrade, I was passed by a group of 4 runners...all in my age group.
I suddenly felt this wave of doubt wash over me, and that first pang of
panic set in. I had been holding my
own up until that point...but images of being passed by hordes of people on the
run flooded my mind. I couldn't get
them out...and I was grinding up the hill exiting the park.
My HR dropped to 155...and I suddenly thought "Oh, #($....it's all
over."
Strangely,
I remembered at this moment something I had learned in training for the Ironman
last year... "You are going to have a moment in the race when you think you
can't go on anymore. It's what you
do at that moment that determines how you're day will end." Facing my
doubt, I felt this calm, calm energy wash over me...and I immediately settled
down. I just ran out of the park as
fast as I could go...and focused on getting my stride back together.
I passed mile 3 in 9:10...but kept my cool.
It was the steepest climb on the run, and I knew I would have a chance to
recover as we looped through the neighborhood.
Mile
4 came around in 7:56. I had gotten my HR back up, and my legs felt more alive.
I had fought through my panic and had 2 miles left to hold on to my
Nationals dream. I knew it was
mostly downhill... and knowing that I had 15 minutes left to run, I poured it on
with nothing left to spare. Climbing out of the neighborhood...Eric Austin waved to me
and said "I know where you are now!"
It was all I could do to wave back and go "Whoo-hoo!"
Heading
back into Centennial Park at Mile 5, I clocked a 7:22...but just as I thought
"Alright!", I was passed by someone in my AG.
I wondered "Is that the last Nationals place?
Can I fight back if it is?" I tried...but couldn't muster any more
speed. I fought off the wave of
panic that tried to tell me it was over...and kept on stride.
This wasn't over for another 1.2 miles...when I say so.
Climbing into the park, Tom Downs yelled to me...but I was too focused on
getting finished to do anything but wave back.
I was within grasp of my goal...I just needed to hold it together to the
line.
Across
the final dam...I could hear the finish line...and footsteps.
2 sets. Closing in.
Despite the panic I was feeling...I didn't look back.
"Let them catch you...then look over...do NOT look back..." I
thought to myself. As they pulled along side...I glanced down: No numbers.
They weren't racing! Just 2
runners...out on a Sunday, pushing me harder than I'd pushed in a long time.
I looked over at them and said "Why you gotta' scare me like
that?" They both grinned as
one said "You've got nothing behind you, man...just bring it home
strong!" Like angels...I felt
like they had been sent to calm me down in my last moments of pain.
I hit mile 6 in 7:09, my best mile of the day. Grinding over the last rise to the finish...I let it all go.
The tears started flowing as I ran, and I kicked, and I kicked...and
thought to myself "You have just run you're dream race...remember this
feeling!" as I plunged for the line.
I
stopped the watch at 2:22:08, 8 minutes better than last year, and only one
minute off of my dream goal. My HRM was at 185...7 beats above my last Max HR test.
There was nothing more to give...and my body just collapsed when it was
all over. I tried to stop, but my
legs weren't listening. I bounced
off a volunteer... and as I turned to say "Sorry!", turning my head
sent me spinning the other way. The timer trying to get my number tag in the chute grabbed it
as I fell back to the right...over correcting my swivel. My head was clear...and I wondered "Why aren't my legs
listening to me?" Before I
could answer that...I had a volunteer on each arm...and they were all that was
holding me up. They walked me over
to the medical tent...and I had a seat.
As
I sat in the tent...I couldn't believe it.
Everything I had wished for had taken place.
The swim was good, my transitions were quick, the roads had dried, I had
ridden myself into the ground, and I had run a 48:58 to hold the thing together.
I knew I had gone as fast as my fitness would carry me...and knowing that
I could say I had raced the best race of my life with no doubts about
anything...that was worth more than Nationals.
Even if I didn't get in, I was at peace...knowing there was nothing more
on this day I could have given.
When
I felt up to it I walked over to the finish and met up with Stacy Hills (who'd
nailed a 2:30:00 flat). Andrew
Murdock was there, Long Lens out for everyone to see.
Dave DeLong came by. Eric Weiss came in, his Columbia experience at 2:33
a very respectable debut. Next was
Tom Downs, then Eric Austin. Slowly,
our finish line gathering under the tree grew and grew, as we all looked through
the chute for the next Dead. Drew
and Mark came in, having destroyed their previous PR's..and Drew placed 3rd in
the Most Improved category. The
performance of the day? Cary
Mconlogue, no question. He smoked a
2:11:54, and placed 7th in 25-29. We
didn't see him until the feed later...he had passed through 20 minutes before we
got there!
After
some hanging about and enjoying the company of Deads (Sorry to Jodi Nashman...we
didn't see you!)...Eric and I headed home.
I had seen the tentatively-posted results, and I was listed 21 out of 69.
I knew the list would grow...but would it grow enough? I needed to see at
least 84 finishers in my AG to make it...and I knew it was close.
I was abuzz...it was possible...it was possible.
At 7:14 last night, I scared the cat, woke up the baby upstairs, and high-fived Linda so hard, her hands turned red.
NAME Hometown Time Age Group Place
MINA
ROBERT JEFFERSONVILLE
PA 2:22:08
21 110
M 2529
Look
out St. Joseph...here comes Bob!
(Two
weeks after IMC...of course. Sept. 16, 1999. Anyone have any taper
suggestions?)