Wilkes Barre Triathlon
August 5, 2007
-- Wilkes Barre, Pennsylvania
1 Mile Swim, 25 Mile Bike, 7 Mile Run.
http://www.wilkesbarretriathlon.com/
A fantastic race on a classic course.
Originally Published to TRI-DRS on August 10, 2007.
It was a dream come true: This would be the day I would finally get to try
something I'd always wanted to try - the first stroke I would take on the swim
at Wilkes-Barre would be my first swim stroke since my previous race, June 30th,
at Tupper Lake. 35 days. I would be trying to survive a 1 mile swim on nothing
more than dryland training, core work, and experience.
To make things more interesting, the water temperature at Wilkes-Barre was its
usual self: 80F. Some wept openly and without shame at the race meeting, and
opted to race in the "I won't count in the results please let me wear my life
preserver even if I'm going to get heat stroke 400 meters in..." wave. Fools.
So as I stood there on the beach staring through my Seal Mask into a rising sun,
everything was calm. I hadn't trained for the swim, so why worry? I was rested,
and it was only a mile. The water was billiard-table smooth, and likely very
toasty. My wave was the second to go off, so in those last two minutes things
became eerily quiet. Everyone got into their own space.
"One minute. One minute to go." One last check of the mask - sealed and set.
Chamois in place. Cap, on. Watch, on. Set to Chrono, all zeros. Bladder, full.
Wait, check that - ahh. Nevermind.
"Thirty seconds! I'll give you a countdown from 10." said the starter. The guy
ahead of me turned and said apropos of nothing, "You never lose the butterflies,
do you?" We all smiled. I said, "11 years, and no. Never. Great feeling, isn't
it? Just makes me want to go, go, go, go, go."
"Ten! Nine! Eight!" The countdown started. Too late to worry, but that doesn't
stop the field sprint of last-second thoughts from flooding my brain. Maybe I
should have warmed up? Did I fill the JetStream? Both tires felt good - maybe
too solid? It will get warmer. Did I forget anything in T2? Is that GU going to
stay in the JetStream? Did Katie sleep through the night for St. Lynda? When is
she ever going to take some time for herself? I mean, here I am, waiting to
start a race - a purely selfish thing I love to do, and she lets me do - but how
can a man ever get a mom to just take some time for...
"...Two! One!"
...herself?
And just like that, silence. Time to go to work.
"GO!"
SplashSplashSplashSplash...it's a beach start at Wilkes-Barre, so the first 50
or so feet is always organized chaos while we run, waddle, splash, then Dolphin
into Harvey's Lake. A photographer from the local paper happened to be on my
side of the start, and captured this great angle that shows the essence of those
first frenetic moments where all that potential energy goes kinetic, into the
morning sun.
I'm #127, in the green and yellow suit:
http://timesleader.mycapture.com/mycapture/enlarge.asp?userphoto=0&image=15729757
The water was wonderfully warm, and I told myself, "Don't rush - don't rush.
Nice and easy - warm up." Well, yeah. Since I hadn't exactly done much in over a
month, that wasn't hard to do. I took nice, long, easy strokes, and let my body
warm to the pace. I'd picked a good side of the course to be on; I was 15 or so
feet from the buoys, and well outside the usual scrum. I just took my time and
sighted occasionally, watching the turnaround boat come closer a little bit at a
time.
I started catching pink caps from the previous wave before I even made it
halfway - a good sign. Someone from that first wave was head-out, swimming
breaststroke, his wetsuit unzipped all the way. It was billowing out with every
pull; dude looked like a Stingray, only slower, and somewhat less deadly. I felt
bad - there was still over a half-mile to go, and lots more once we got back to
land.
As I made the turn around the boats and buoys to head for home, it hit me just
how relaxed I felt. I wasn't working too hard - I was just enjoying the swim,
and moving up just the same. I'd bounced off of #129 a few times, and had
settled on his left hip. Without wetsuits, it was funny to be able to see
numbers on people for once.
As the flagpole at the Harvey's Lake Beach Club grew closer and closer, the
shoreline closed in from the right. All along the lakeside, people were out on
their decks and porches, coffee cups in hand, watching the race. From up high, I
bet it looked pretty cool. WB isn't a big race (just under 500 people total),
but seeing all those arms and caps motoring along through the water? Has to look
cool. And that's what I told myself for those last 200 meters, "You have to look
good. You have to look good. They can see you, so look good." It worked - I'm
sure I looked good. Heck, I might have even looked faaabulous.
I came onto shore in 27:14 - 44th overall, and one minute faster than my 2006
split that I actually trained for. Hah.
Without the wetsuit to deal with, T1 managed to pass without any circus music,
clowns, confetti, or swearing. Shoes on, helmet on, take a moment to be sure
everything is in the bag (WB is a two-transition area race, so everything goes
into a bag that the volunteers bring to the finish for you), and away we go. T1
- 1:46. How did that take me almost 2 minutes? Wha-hey?
The bike course at Wilkes-Barre is one of the most fair I've ever raced on.
Instead of the usual leg-breaking climb out of T1 (since water generally gathers
in lakes and rivers, which are by their nature, like, lower than everything
else), Harvey's Lake is on a mountain. So you ride a half mile on the flat
perimeter road, turn left, and bombs away! You descend almost a mile to a long
flat stretch, a perfect beginning. I love it - I don't have to work too hard,
and I always move up. When you're 190 pounds (and now soaking wet, 191), gravity
in your favor makes life just grand.
As I motored through the field, my legs came up to speed right away. I picked
off rider after rider, and settled down into the bars. The Olympic Distance is
best raced like a 10K - as hard as you think you can go, then just slightly
harder, the entire way. I've found that if you're questioning your ability to
hold the pace minute after minute, that's just about right.
After passing a group of 5 in short order, my brain was telling me, "Perhaps you
take it easy here on this stretch. Take a drink - settle, and get ready for the
long climb to come..." The 'long climb' being a 5K steep-to-false-flat that
makes you pay back all that "Hahahaha-wheee!" descending you did from Harvey's
Lake. It made sense - I should settle...but then I saw him. Single bike. Red
jersey. Riding in the drops, so he had to be a relay rider - no aero equipment.
But it wasn't the position that caught my eye - it was the sparkle of
reflectors. REFLECTORS. "Wait, check that. Permission to engage." Even my brain
knew there was no way I could set back behind REFLECTORS. As I drew closer,
things got worse. The sun momentarily blinded me, reflecting off of his
HANDLEBAR MIRROR.
OhmyGOD. At least I knew he'd started in the wave before me, or at least, his
swimmer had. Maybe.
"Right. Legs, take us to DEFCON 4. Up 2 in 2, bring cassette to 14, speed to 30
plus, stay seated." With a quick woosh, I just rolled past, and made the pass
stick - I didn't back off for another 10-Mississippi count. "Good pass, down 1,
stay seated. Drink. Take us back to DEFCON 5 - good work, legs. Nice day, eh?"
My brain was always chatty when there wasn't anything to do. It was a nice day,
however. Gorgeous. No wind, low humidity, blue skies, and an open road before
me. What wasn't there to like?
I spotted the State Trooper at the bottom of the climb, and flicked down to the
little ring before making the turn. I reminded myself not to panic if people
roared past me on the steep lower slope; I knew from experience we'd be climbing
for almost 12 minutes, so there was no need to get it back right away.
As I spun up the first 100 meters, a woman in a flourescent yellow suit went
scuh-re-ming past me, out of the saddle, turning and impossibly huge gear. her
hair was swishing left-to-right as she climbed, adding a nice dose of style to
the massive @ss-kicking she was dishing out. I immediately recognized her: "Go
Tracey! Way to work it, girl!" It was Tracey McGurk - I was staying with her and
her husband John for the race. Both John and Tracey officially qualify as
"Stupid fast" in my world. Both have sub-10:20 finishes at IM, and have been
USAT All Americans.
John, as many of you might recall, also provided me with the best racing advice
I've had in the past decade: "Don't race like a dipsh*t."
So as Tracey blew past me like I was nailed to a post, I watched her dangle a
bit...then slowly, surely, come back to me. Tracey's pretty intense when she
races (hell, she's intense when she sits still, too), so when I re-passed her, I
didn't say anything. I didn't want to make her mad. If it was possible for a
gigantic, Crayola-colored trisuit to tiptoe by someone, I did my best to just
sneak by. I knew I'd probably see her again.
After working my way up the valley wall, I knew the "berg" section of the ride
was coming soon. The second half of the ride is typical Pennsylvania riding:
Short climb, short descent, rinse, lather, repeat. While a shark can eat you in
one or two large bites, the Wilkes-Barre course is more like a piranha. A little
bite here, a little bite there, and before you know it - WHAM.
"Hey. Where'd my legs go?"
I wasn't afraid to use the little ring and stay seated, unlike many of the guys
I was riding with. I could tell by their numbers, I was circling with three
relay riders. Two guys who didn't have to swim, and wouldn't have to run. This
25 mile ride was their entire day, so if I could find a way to hang with them, I
knew I'd have a good ride. One guy was totally tricked out - Garneu TT helmet,
Cervelo, Zipp disc, and IM-USA jersey. Each time I passed him on a climb, I'd
hear the "click" as he shifted up to come back by me.
It was so cute.
So on one climb as I went past, my ego stepped into the drivers seat. I just
couldn't help myself. I made the pass, and just as made the predictable reach
for his lever, I turned around and said, "CLICK!" while hitting the Ergo button
at the same time to jump up myself. I got out of the saddle, and took off. Just
a 30-second attack, but it was enough. When I got to the top, Zipp-dude was
gone; I just had two other guys left.
One was riding for the local Hot Tamales Team, and the other was wearing a
Rose-colored jersey. On one pass I took a good look - it was NOT the Maglia Rosa
from the Tour of Italy, thankfully - just a local club jersey. A bright, hot,
pink, rose jersey. So there I was, stuck in the middle with Hot Tamale and
Yankee Rose.
Pass, re-pass, re-pass. I'd spin by them on the uphills, and they'd tuck and
motor by me on the descents. That was strange, but I was making the passes
because they both liked to stand up and just muscle the gears up any grade. On
one descent towards Route 309, they were both ahead. A car passed me on the
left, then stopped for the State Trooper at the bottom of the hill. I knew we
went straight across here - momentum was everything. You descended, blasted
across 309, then rolled up the other side. If you did it right, it was free
speed all the way.
So when the State Trooper pointed to the left, I don't know why I reacted. But I
did. I just turned left, and even as I did my brain was screaming, "NO! NO! NO!
NO!" My "AAAAARRRRrrrrggghhhh!" probably had a Doppler Shift for the Trooper as
I rolled past. For the first time in 11 years, I'd made a wrong turn...and on a
course I KNEW!
It probably cost me all of 30 seconds, but it felt like 10 minutes. Stop, turn
around. Downshift. Rejoin where you left. Don't worry about those 6 guys that
just went by (including Zipp-dude!). Just ride. You won't get it back in the
next minute - you'll get it back in the next 10 miles. Don't panic. Smooth.
Smoooooooth.
I quickly settled back into my groove, and within 2 miles, was right back
between Yankee Rose and Hot Tamale. Despite being cross-eyed more than once
trying to stay with them, I stayed right there. Legally, never taking a draft
(for more than 14.99 seconds during a pass, anyway), we just rode together. With
3 miles to go I mentioned to Yankee Rose, "You don't have to run, do you?" On
the next pass he answered, "Nope." On my re-pass I countered, "You b@stard." On
his next rotation, Yankee Rose just smiled.
At least they kept me from being bored.
We rolled into T2, and while they sprinted in to tag their runners, I shifted
down and bid them farewell. I finished the 25-mile bike in 1:08:08 - good enough
for 22nd overall, average speed of 22.0 miles per hour. Not my best WB ride in
terms of speed, but the best placement I've ever had. Of course, as I shuffled
to my rack spot, I thought, "Hey. Where'd my legs go?"
The racks were empty - I was having a good day, now I just needed to run steady
and seal it. As I bent over to change my shoes, the sweat just poured off of my
head. It was incredibly salty, and there was way more than I expected to feel.
It wasn't that hot at all - why was I this soaked? I put the hat on before my
run shoes, just so I could keep my eyes from burning any more.
T2 - 1:16. That's more like it.
As I took the first strides away from Penn State Wilkes-Barre, my legs were
coming up nicely. All those parking lot bricks; all the
ride/run/ride/run/ride/run workouts I'd done at lunch while people stared and
thought, "What's wrong with that boy?" They were now paying me back. My legs
were ready - just 7 miles to get this done. Per standard Olympic Distance pacing
rules, I wasn't sure I could run another mile at the speed I was going...so I
knew I was right where I needed to be.
Mile 1 - 7:57. Whoo. Feeling good!
Just as I reached back to congratulate myself on being so great, a familiar
flourescent yellow suit and pony tail went whistling by me. For good. Daaaaang.
"Go Tracey! I knew I'd see you again." I managed to pant. "Thanks." she said,
barely above a whisper.
Mile 2 - 7:54. Tracey must be running 7-flats. I can't even see her on the
horizon.
Oh. Well, that ends the flat miles: Mile 3 is uphill the entire way. That one
was an 8:24. Much more like it. As I shuffled and tried to hold on, I could tell
that I was pretty much near redline. Just then, number 129 passed me...again. I
hadn't seen him since the swim, but we must have been close on the bike. He
looked over and said, "Good job."
Why is it people passing you always tell you you're doing a good job? No I'm
not. If I was doing a good job, you wouldn't be passing me. But you are.
Confused, am I, but I understand. I appreciate it. We all do it. It's just how
we are: We're nice sharks. We're out there to make the kill, but do so nicely.
If you're going to bury someone on the run, "Good Job" is a way to put a pillow
on their @ss right before you kick it.
Had that conversation with myself on the run. No lie. Thought I'd put it in the
race report. So there you go.
"You too!" I replied. "Ohh, I feel terrible..." he said. I reminded him about my
thinking on Olympic Distance racing, and how feeling bad meant he was doing it
right, and he agreed. "Good job!" I said, as I watched him suffer away from me,
somewhat slightly faster. Dang.
Mile 4 - 8:39. Now I remember why I told Mark Markley the first year he raced
Wilkes-Barre, "The run? Uphill, back to the start." I felt like my legs were
slowly setting, like concrete, or the morning's oatmeal still in the bowl at
2:32 in the afternoon. But despite how bad I felt, I wasn't losing positions.
The people I could see ahead of me weren't getting away, and the occasional pass
from behind had stopped.
I reckon that meant I was holding my own. Just 3 miles to go now...
I missed the mile marker for 5...but I knew passing the High School that it
meant the big hills were just about over. Motoring down the dirt road back
towards Penn State, the "MILE 6" sign came into view: I'd run a 16:42 for 2
miles - not bad. When I came into this race I had two goals I told nobody about:
1. Break 2:40
2. Finish top-10 in Age Group. Last year I'd been 12th.
Now with one mile left, things were looking good - I just had to hold on that
little bit longer. The last mile of any race is always hard, but at the same
time, it's never long enough. For all the time you spend training, the races are
rarely long enough. Standing on the beach, squinting into the sun, you never
think that...but they're short. Even Ironman, when you put it next to all the
training, is short. The last mile? A blink - a beat of a bird's wings.
So I reminded myself to look around and enjoy it: The taste of salt on my lips.
The feeling of my heart pounding so hard, I could hear it in my ears. Deep
breaths, keeping control (barely). Blue mountains off in the distance. Blue
skies and puffy, white clouds. The field of wildflowers - yellow, blue, and
green, with the pond that meant the campus was just around the bend. Taking the
final right-hand turn to the last 400 meters. One last look back to make sure I
wasn't going to get caught...looks good.
Tomorrow I'm back behind a desk, staring at carpeted walls. So many of my
co-workers will never know what it feels like to feel this right now - to feel
this moment. The see the guy out in the parking lot when it's 95F, while they
eat lunch. They see that guy turn lap after lap of a parking lot circuit, then
put on his shoes and run. Again. And again. They think, "That's just nuts." As I
run towards the arch for my 6th finish at Wilkes Barre, as my smile gets wider
and wider, as my heart beats faster and faster, some would call it pain. Some
would call it suffering, but I don't know what they're talking about.
This is what it feels like to be alive. To not take this chance? To not get out
there and see what I'm made of? That's just nuts.
I high-fived kids and volunteers, and just cruised in. Over the grass, onto the
chute, and across the line. My last mile was my slowest - 8:37, but I always
thought it was kind of long.
I finished in 2:36:32, 44th Overall, and 8th out of 26 in my Age Group. My run
split for 7 miles was a 58:18 - 99th overall - 8:27 pace.
Tracey, as you might have imagined, buried me on the run (even though I didn't
make her mad, I think), running nearly 7 minutes faster than. She won her Age
Group and was the 3rd Overall Female. I'd hate to think what she could do if I
got her mad.
So that's pretty much it for me this year in triathlon - just two races, but
that was enough. Time to get ready for the Fall Marathons and Dragon Boat, and
that's fine with me. It's not like I felt like going to the pool, anyway. Heck -
from what it looks like, do I really need to? Maybe next year I step up this
plan: No swimming except in races?
Shame that doesn't work for running.
Hurricane Bob
* Keep it simple. *