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The Columbia Triathlon

May 17, 1998  -- Columbia, Maryland.

1500 Meter Swim, 41K Bike, 10K Run

http://www.tricolumbia.org 

Executive Summary:  2:30:03, missed it by that much!

Ahh, yes...Columbia.  Site of my first entry into the triathlon world in 1996...I really look forward to coming here.  On Saturday, met up with fellow dead's Mark Markley, Drew Wellmon and Ben Spurgeon.  Kept an eye peeled for anyone who looked like they might be looking for someone in a Dead like manner...you know...like, umm...a bit happy, a bit silly...maybe eating a Twinkie?

Saturday night...feast at the pasta party with Drew, Mark, Lynda and Beth...and head down to the lake afterwards to rack the bikes.  It had cooled down to about 80 degrees by 8pm...so I figured it was safe to rack without baking the tires like Toll-House cookies.  As we're walking in, the loud-gunshot sound of somone's race day being ruined echoes across the area, and sends the volunteers into a serious hunt.  I don't know about other races...but Columbia and Blackwater (both Rob Vigorito productions) have super support, and this is one of those times where it really shows. 

It's 8:05pm the night before, and every mechanic, guard, and volunteer in the park is looking for the tire that just blew on one of 900 bikes.  Mark and I rack our respective rigs...and soften the tires just in case.  As we strolled around the other racks checking out the really cool toys of others...Beth notices something odd on a Softride, and asks most nonchalantly "Is that tire off the wheel?"  Call it fate, positive karma, or luck...she found the blown wheel.  It's a clincher...and the mechanic comes over to pick up the wounded machine.  Tomorrow morning, someone will have a normal race morning (if there is such a thing), knowing nothing about the blown tire, the people who looked for it...the rookie spectator who found it, and the mechanic who changed it. 

Somehow...I know I will sleep very well tonight.

RACE MORNING:

Up at 5:30...after one of the better night's sleep I can recall having before a race.  Mark and I head out to the car, and notice that it's already pretty warm for 5:50am...but at least it's cloudy.  The drive to the park is short...and a part of me can't believe its Columbia time again!  I feel calm, quiet...and ready for the day. I lay out all the fixins, same as always...towel on the grass...bike pile in front, run pile in back...run belt under shoes so it won't blow away.  At 6:50am, we start the walk down to the start...and my mother and my sister both arrive to spectate their first triathlon.  Meeting them was a big relief, since they had to drive from Alexandria, VA, and find me under best-guessed directions for the park on race morning.  Their presence adds to the quiet strength I feel growing inside me...I know I can have a great day if I just focus on relaxing.  I can't help it...but I'm smirking now...it's almost time.  Goals for the day: 2:30 overall, 2:25 dream goal.  Nationals would be key...but after a 2:38:25 in 1996, and a 2:30:29 last year...it would be a stretch.

THE START:

 I kiss Lynda goodbye...kiss my mom...kiss my sister...I don't kiss Mark.  Ben shows up (and I don't kiss him either).  126 men in my wave, and we're going off in three minutes.  The butterflies in my stomach are alive and awake now as we head down the ramp to the 74 degree water...what a shock!  63 in 1996, 59 last year...this is downright comfy!  The volunteers are telling us to hurry...only 2 minutes to go!  As we all funnel down this little ramp, I can't help myself...

I moo.

"Moo!  Moooooo!" Mooooooooo!"  Before I know it, the volunteers are yelling "Yah! Yah! Get in there little doggies! Yahh!", and it seems that everyone around me is mooing...and I love it.  I can always count on my brothers in 20-29 for some professional level antics.  Quiet settles over us a bit...30 seconds to go...and the butterflies are flying in V-Formation now. Just before the start, someone yells "Go 197!!!!"  *SPARK* the wave replies "Yeah 197!  Whoooooohooooo!!!!! Go dude!!" Just as I stop laughing...

Go!

I hit the watch, and arms are all over.  Mark is next to me...and I can't make much headway. I was in the front row on the right, but it seems like everyone has headed my way.  Relax, relax, relax...don't ket kicked in the head.  Three strokes, look.  Three strokes.... look.  Someone lands on my back, and I roll to the right to get him off.  Three strokes, look.  Three strokes...look.  It's complete chaos, but I know it will calm down in a bit.  I wonder if my mom can see me...I wonder how cool this all looks from shore.  Four strokes...look.  *CRASH!* Dude in yellow trimmed wetsuit comes flying across my bows, going full tilt Lambada...right for shore. No time to tell him he's going to have to swim about 22,500 miles to get to the finish going that way...I shove his legs over with my right arm, and take one good pull to clear him with the left arm...and he's gone.  One last glance, and I see Mark's silver QR suit off to my right...looks like he's having a good start!  Time to settle in.

I don't remember much from the swim after that.  Enigma's "River's of Belief" started looping in my head: "Take a deep breath...relax..."  Long pulls, long pulls...no-one near me.  This feels like a good swim...and I enjoy the moment I've been waiting for since December 29 when I could barely get 400 meters done:  I'm swimming fast, and I feel good...lets get to that bike!

T1:

The swim finish comes up quickly, and I resist the urge to sneak a peek at my watch.  24? 23:30?  It feels good...what if it's 25?  Can you recover and get moving on the bike?  I hit the beach...I hit the watch:

22:56.  3rd fastest in my entire life...only 2 1650yd freestyles swam at State Finals in college were faster.  I can't believe what my eyes are telling me.  I tear up the transition ramp, with the confidence that I've got 3 minutes over last year already...yeeha!  Off with the wetsuit...on

with the jersey...gu...tire lever...helmet...shades...boogie.  Up the hill...mom yells...I wave...I smile...I'm off in 3:01.

THE BIKE:

 I know this course is hilly...but I hit the big ring immediately to make some early time on the rollers out of the park. Less than one mile out, someone ahead of me looks down, and starts to drift.  3...4...5 seconds...I wonder what he's looking at...and the whole image slows down in my mind.  His front wheel goes off the road, and into a ditch hidden by high grass.  When his helmet snaps up, its already too late.  His front wheel augered in, and over the bars he went, ricocheting off of the left side of a telephone pole.  The bike flipped into the air, and rotated a full 360 degrees 4-5 feet up...clearing a fence as I whizzed by on the left...screaming.  Before I went another 100 feet, an ambulance was coming the other way.  Lesson learned: Columbia, or anywhere, is no place to ever take your eyes off the road.  I settled back into my rhythm, and turned and burned down the longest downhill on the course.

In my first tri here, I rode a 1:10:11...so last year's 1:12:09 was a disappointment I intend to erase today.  More aggressive on the downhills...big ring some of the rollers...pick off the bikes one by one.

Hey is that a new Trek? Nice bike...next!  Oooh, a QR...next!  This guy looks like a runner...might hear his footsteps later but here...this is my playground...next! Long climb...little gears...save it...pass the cool dude on the cervelo that thought I was a memory...why are you climbing a 1/2 mile long hill in your big ring?  Trying to put your orthopedist's kids through college?  No time to chat...I ride on.  Grab the bottle at the feed...that sun is getting warmer now...5 miles to  go... looks like I'm on pace for 1:10...*swooosh* A pack of 7 riders, a row of 3 and a row of 4 come roaring by me.  After a very clean race, this hits me like a slap across the face.  They roll up the road, making no effort to break themselves up.  I feel the anger in me growing...and I save it. 

I know the run is coming soon, and I'll need it. 

Man, this run is going to hurt if it keeps warming up...drink, drink, drink...2 miles to go...Gu time...1 mile to go...into T2: 1:11:11.  Whoa...trippy.  Not a PR...but I'm off the bike, and Mom's yelling at me again.  I smile...Lynda smiles too...and I yell out how great my swim was.  On the way down the hill to the racks, I wonder if they'll make me stop for being delirious....since talking about the swim in T2 is akin to talking about Christmas shopping on Memorial Day weekend. Hey...I'm happy...and if the bike wasn't a PR, I need to share some good news! Although a  21.1mph avg (my computer) does make me grin.

T2:

As I get to my rack, getting changed next to me is one of the gapers from the mini-peloton that wheel-sucked right past me at the 20 mile mark.  Maybe it's the heat...the sun...or the need for adrenaline to start my run...I suddenly feel like sharing my opinion with this man.  "Hey...nice drafting technique out there, man...way to cheat like a pro!"  I'm seething, and I rip my helmet off. "Oh, man... lighten up...it wasn't that bad!"  He says. *slam* goes the left shoe "Oh, I know what it's like...." *crash* goes the right shoe...."I mean...when your bike riding sucks so much that you HAVE to latch on to someone's wheel to get through it...it must be brutal to be that feeble!"  I'm putting on my shoes like I'm about to skitch the Space Shuttle.  "Oh, like you never drafted, right?" says our gaper...as he plods out.  I grab my hat...and dash out of the area in 1:36...not bad for a debate, transition...and jump-start to fading legs.

THE RUN:

My first mile is a 7:59...out of sheer anger.  I wanted to catch this guy more than anything...but the wheelsucking little dweeb is faster than me on the run, which stings even more.  He'll beat me...maybe get my nationals slot...and he cheated!  I hate him!  Arrrggh...I look down in shallow defeat...my feet... my legs...hey: Where's my run number?

Oh yeah...under my shoes, so it wouldn't blow away.  While I was busy standing on my portable soapbox, defending the world from wheelsucking cheaters, I tore out of the area without it!  Not only has this guy cheated...but he's quicker than me...and now I'm going to be invisible in the results!  ARRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!! Forget the 2 minute penalty...they should just have a public execution, right after the awards ceremony for drafters!  Yeah!  Well...I guess forgetting the number was my own stupid mistake...well, okay...a VERY stupid mistake I've never made before...all because I let someone get into my happy-race state of mind.  (Lesson #2: Keep your wits about you...even when some drafting, handicap space parking, high-elbow checking, dweeb really ticks you off.)

Wait a minute...I'm not supposed to be this mad.... but I know the steady parade of people running past on the left is a bit unusual...even for a slow runner like me.  When was the last time I drank something?  This could be the crankiness of low blood sugar, dehydration...Hmm...miles 2-3 are slower...in the 8:10's now.  I ran a 48:20 last year...and my calcs say I need a 51:00 to get my goal of 2:30. Better hurry.  I try to pick it up in mile 4...but the hills and the sun are killing my legs.  8:32 for mile 4...nuts.  Only 2 to go...c'mon legs...we've come too far to lose it now...hang on!  Mile 5 is a bit quicker...8:18...but I know this is as fast as I can go.  I'm not breathing hard...but I can feel my heartbeat in my ears, my arms, my thighs, and my feet.  I know dehydration is coming...can I beat it to the finish?  The l ast mile drags out...but I know the course...across the dam...1/4 mile to go...I look at the watch...if I run a 1:37 1/4 I can do this...c'mon legs...go...go...go!  Over the last little roll...into the home straight...hey these balloons are pretty...this is going to be close...c'mon....gogogogogogogogo!