USAT Olympic Distance Triathlon Age-Group Nationals

Henry Hagg Lake, Portland, Oregon

I’ve been a bit delinquent on recapping an extraordinary weekend of racing against the best short course triathletes in the country. Immediately after returning from Portland, I had to hop on a plane for a short business trip to Chicago. I wish I could have just used the same suitcase as I had already packed for the race, but my clients would probably not be too impressed with me showing up in my tri top and shorts awash in various Gu and Gatorade stains and fermented in a musky ode de Durban. Hence, I was forced to repack the suitcase Sunday night with fresh undies and a few shirts that passed the sniff test.

I had every intention of sitting down over the weekend to recap Nationals, but I was first distracted by Mike and Clancy’s wedding (and frankly, I’m still a bit distracted thinking back to the bridesmaids’ dresses or lack thereof). Despite being a bit chilly outdoors at the Garre winery, when the wedding party entered, I believe the collective core temperatures went up a bit. Clancy and Mike have an eclectic group of friends who seemed to mesh well as the night progressed, helped I assume, by copious amounts of the local wine and little bottles of Patron tequila Mike was distributing. Although I did not see any triathlete Lycra or Spandex, I did spy plenty of leather and lace and more than one tattoo and piercing. By the end of the evening, many of the triathletes were giving the others advice on speedy transitions and the proper use of a Body Glide while they received recommendations for the best place to get M-dot tattoos and naval piercings.

Friday night was a failure, so I thought maybe I could squeeze in some time Saturday or Sunday to write my race report. The twins thought differently. Saturday was spent getting all the family hair trimmed, a task much more arduous and time consuming now that the Twins actually have hair. After surviving the Great Clip-off, we adjourned to Kelby’s 30th B-Day bash to help educate her on how to avoid the pitfalls of old age. It’s sad to think that just last week, Kelby was a vibrant, vivacious, 29 year old woman, with a positive outlook on life, then “wham” she hit 30. We had to delicately explain to her that it was all downhill from there, the best times were behind her, and she now was relegated to nights of falling asleep to Jay Leno, days spent buying Depends at Costco, and driving 40 MPH in the fast lane in a large beige Buick.

I thought I would get up early Sunday to work on my report, but the Twins beat me to the punch sounding the alarm at the butt crack of dawn. Even roosters have the sense to wait until there is some sunlight filtering over the horizon, but my Boys don’t roll that way. At some hour before 6AM, they greeted us with stereophonic screams delivered at the perfectly tuned pitch guaranteed to make the neighborhood dogs howl, loosen the bowels of the most constipated amongst us, and fracture the slim veneer of sanity I had managed to acquire after 4 meager hours of sleep.

Since my better half had to travel out of town leaving me to do my worst Dustin Hoffman impression on Monday, no progress on the race report was made or even attempted.

So, I sit now at my computer, with the memories of my first Nationals experience slowly fading into the chaotic jumble of my sleep deprived memory and attempt to peck out something coherent and witty. Here goes…

Last year, my good friend Jan suggested I go to National Age Group Championships with him. I had already qualified at the Rancho Seco Tri for Real, so I agreed. I planned my 2008 racing season to give me plenty of opportunities to polish my Oly racing skills. My coach, Patricia, returned to keep me focused and grounded. I hit the track with Steve and Carrie and had Simon drag me on weekly tempo runs. I even participated in an Endurance Performance “spin” class with Jan which was about as related to your local 24 Hour Fitness spin class as the Tour de France is related to a local bike race among 5 year olds on Big Wheels. For 90 minutes, I was clipped into my bike atop a Computrainer while my measly wattage output was displayed at the front of the room for all to ridicule and deride. Needless to say, it was a humbling experience, but constructive in that I realized I had some key work to do on my cadence and pedal stroke.

All the training culminated in the big race on September 20th at Hagg Lake near Portland. Jan and I decided to drive up there to avoid having our bikes disassembled by the airline gremlins and gorillas. Rather than taking a leisurely 1 hour flight, we opted for a 10 hour journey interrupted only by the occasional Denny’s Grand Slam breakfast or Arby’s beef and chedder. Our friend, Dave, joined our now two car caravan somewhere north of Sacramento. Somehow, his friends Jim and Lindy had convinced him to bring their bikes up to Portland for them, while they flew. Lucky, for Jim, he was not in Dave’s age group or I could have predicted Jim would have encountered some mysterious bike trouble mid-race.

The drive was fairly uneventful although anytime we smelled anything remotely like smoke, Jan started to tense up (reference my Pacific Crest race report for details). I assured him that I had brought along two fire extinguishers, a couple bottles of water, and in the case of another complete car-b-que, a bag of marshmallows. While Jan drove, I fired up my computer and we enjoyed the award winning “Harold and Kumar go to Guantanamo Bay”. We had to be careful since Jan almost rear-ended the car in front of us during some scenes when he was distracted by the scrotum wig and the untimely demise of Neil Patrick Harris. I would have hated to explain to the police officer why Jan crashed. Well, he was watching this movie see and this scene came on showing this guy with lots of hair…down there…you know what I mean? It looked like this short bald guy with a curly black afro. At that point, I think both of us would be getting a free ride to the local police station.

When we arrived in Portland, we found Moe to our Larry and Curly. Monica MZ joined us for the weekend to represent the Elite team and show us girly men how to race a triathlon and look fabulous doing it. We caught up with her for a fun night at the local Benihana for a little carbo loading of sushi and Sapporo. I made the major gaffe of the evening when a family seated at our table was celebrating a birthday. The waiter set the birthday cake in front of the young boy of the family and his Dad. After the singing, I asked in my best talking to a six year old voice “how old are you today Justin”. Well, it was not the boy’s birthday and the Dad answered in his baritone of a voice “32!”. From that point forward, 32 became the official number of the weekend.

Friday was filled with the usual pre-race preparations. We went out to Hagg lake which despite the advertisements is not anywhere near Portland. I think it was closer to Spokane than Portland. We registered and ran into about 523 people Monica knew, and then did a quick lap of the bike course. As we were toweling off from a short swim following our ride, I witnessed my first public male castration. Some poor schlep who had come to watch the kids and support his triathlete wife failed to move quickly enough for her. Apparently, he was supposed to be stripped down to his bathing suit and standing in the water in order to keep an eye on the kidlets who were playing at the water’s edge. Rather than quietly and discretely discussing her wishes with him, she broadcast it in front of 50 or so athletes. I think she would have been kinder if she had used a dull knife. Even Monica felt sorry for the guy.

Race morning was made extra anxiety ridden with a miles long back-up of cars waiting to park and then another long line of jittery Joes and Janes waiting to get on the bus to take us to the start line. I’m always fascinated by how serious and stressed triathletes are before a race. I’m sure I’m guilty of pre-race jitters, but I do try to remind myself that triathlon is not my job and the experience should be fun, not a chore and not something to chew out some hapless parking volunteer over. I think the poor guy’s intestines are still lying in that field after the evisceration he took at the hands of a not-so-nice age grouper.

Monica suffered a minor concussion when clueless Curt walked down the aisle of the bus with his helmet dangling from his backpack whacking every person on the right side of the bus in the back of the head. Jan and I were just happy that maybe a concussion would slow her down a bit and we would be able to keep our Man Card after the race.

The race was intense. I was able to stay in the middle of my age group throughout the race, picking up a few spots on the bike and the run; one hapless roadkill even met his fate 20 feet from the finish. This was Nationals afterall, so finisher’s chute roadkill was acceptable in my book. Dave and I traded off the lead on the bike what seemed like 20 times. Everytime I would pull a lead on him on one of the climbs, he would blow by me on the downhills. I finally was able to close the lid on him when we got to the run due to some motivation from Jan as he was finishing up and the fact Dave was suffering from a knee injury. He ran an admirable race coming in mere minutes behind me. Monica looked great in all her Diva-esque glory and Jan made all of us proud by qualifying for Worlds with an impressive 13th AG. Dean Harper, also of the Elite team won his age group and Hanns D. finished strong in his AG. I was proud of my race, but I will not be going to World’s next year unless I am motivated to try again in Tuscaloosa, AL. Although I’m not sure racing a triathlon in the backwaters of Alabama in a lycra tri suit with shaved legs is such a good idea. Is that banjo music I hear?