The last time I participated in the Vineman Half Ironman was 2004 before it became an officially sanctioned and branded Ironman 70.3 event. I observed many changes with the newly branded event as the marketing gurus at Ironman placed their indelible mark on the venerable wine country triathlon. Gone were the quirky Merlot and Zinfandel aid stations, the Topless Dancing Grapes Revue at mile 6 of the run, and the Champagne-o-rama at the swim start. In place of those memorable icons of Vineman past, Ironman USA offered free M-dot permanent tattoos and the ever popular hot iron M-dot brand on the buttocks. I queued up for the buttock brand thinking it would nicely compliment my fading Bud Light USTS tramp stamp, but unfortunately, I did not allow enough time and I had to rush off to my wave start.
Part of the adventure of Vineman is actually making it the venue with your sanity intact. I left home in Pleasanton around 1PM on Saturday afternoon expecting a 2 hour drive to Windsor. All forward progress came to a screeching halt (literally, the driver behind me locked up his brakes and screeched to a halt mere inches from my bumper) when traffic from 580 tried to merge onto northbound 101. From San Rafael to Santa Rosa, there was bumper to bumper traffic. I’m still wondering where all this traffic was going, it’s not like there is much to do in Santa Rosa and points north. I suppose the Charles M. Schultz Peanuts Cartoon Museum is a good draw and maybe the Boonville Brewery would pull in a car load or two, but there were literally thousands of cars littering the highway for 40 to 50 miles. Interspersed with the urban dwellers seeking solace among the redwoods up north were many high strung and well tanned triathletes trying to get to registration before all the Chris Leito Souvenir Nipple Guards were handed out.
Registration went surprisingly smoothly. I was checked, banded, bagged, t-shirted, and chipped in under 10 minutes. For those of you Vineman virgins, the course requires two transition areas. One is at Johnson’s Beach on the Russian River for the swim to bike transition and one is at Windsor High School for the bike to run transition. Due to this splitting of the transitions, the race requires participants to prepare their T2 gear the night before the event. This poses a bit of a dilemma for those of us who over think what to have available for each segment of the race. I spent a good 20 minutes going through a mental inventory of things I would need for the run. Should I carry 1 or 2 Gu packets, hat or visor, extra sunscreen and what SPF, white or black socks, hair gel or hair spray, race flats or lightweight trainers, and the most crucial decision of all…should I change my blue sunglasses I use for the bike leg to a pair with a more neutral colored frame for the run because the blue frames may clash with the red FMRC logo on my hat?
After completing my complicated T2 tasks, I checked into the official Forward Motion Motel, the Windsor Holiday Inn Express. I’m not sure why it is labeled as Express, I did not think they were exceedingly speedy at anything, it was not located near any “expressways”, nor did they serve “expresso”. I suppose the quick way they separated $152 from my wallet would qualify them as “expressive” or would that be “excessive”. It is good to see that capitalism is alive and well in the wine country where a room that normally goes for $49.95 including clean sheets sets you back race weekend over $150 and I’m not so sure the sheets were clean if the dark curlies I found were any evidence.
After unloading my triathlete’s detritus into my room, I drove to Santa Rosa for the team dinner. Larry Feigenbaum graciously organized a wonderful pre-race pasta dinner at a local Italian eatery. He had corralled over 25 folks from the team including the lonely singles contingent of me, Russ, Jacque, Sue, and Dana, plus a gaggle of Glynns, a coterie of Chavez’s, and a whole collection of Cramers. I think most of the folks in the restaurant at the time were somehow related to Steve and Amy. Many other FoMos dined with us that evening, but I failed to get all their names. The pasta was plentiful and the case of Chianti we polished off was quite tasty.
Because of the narrowness of the Russian River, the 1300 participants have to be divided into about 50 swim wave starts. Each age group has their own start time plus age groups with large representation were divided even further. For example, the 37 year olds had their own wave start and my age group 40-44 was divided into three groups, the young’uns 40-41, the mid-lifers 42-43, and the 44 year old geezers. Some age groups had even further definition with a separate start time for men born East of the Mason Dixon line between the hours of 4:31PM and 5:02PM on March 28th, 1952. Believe it or not, this wave had over 100 participants in it.
Swimming in the Russian River is always an interesting experience. The race director always points out one of the unique aspects of the Vineman swim course. The swim is probably one of the safest swims in triathlon. The director always says at the pre-race briefing “if you get into trouble during the swim…stand up!”. Actually, the swim start is about 6 feet deep, but then gets shallower as you crawl upriver. Ed Meyer commented to me this morning that when he finished the race he looked down at his fingernails and realized they were caked with black gunk. Either he was doing oil changes on the bike or he was scooping out river mud with each swim stroke. Larry felt he could run faster than he could swim, so he did a slow jog downstream after the turn around. Typically a triathlon swim course is a triangular or rectangular affair. The Vineman swim course is more of a spastic snake shape twisting and turning every which way for 1.2 miles. Not that I swim a perfect straight line, but trying to keep to the right of the buoys was quite the challenge
I exited the water onto the “beach” although I’ve always thought for a place to qualify as a beach there were certain requirements like sand, waves, seaweed, bikini babes, and those little flies that always seem to be buzzing around your head. And no, Chris McCrary in his cropped race top does not qualify as a bikini babe. I found my bike amid the other 1299 bikes and performed my T1 ritual of wetsuit stripping, bike shoes on, refastening my timing chip which was dangling from my ankle, putting my sunglasses and race number belt on, and then strapping on the brain bucket. I remembered to stuff my wetsuit, goggles, and swim cap into the official Vineman Ironman 70.3 approved T1 swim gear transition plastic bag otherwise my wetsuit would have been relegated to the heap-o-crap at the end of the race.
The bike leg was fairly uneventful except for the flash of red and the vortex of wind as Pete Zucker blew by me at mile 10. Being in the 12th of 50 swim wave starts, there was much evidence of previous racers littering the course. Not only did I see the usual flotsam and jetsam associated with the bike leg like water bottles, spare tubes, spare tires, Gu packs, and a bike shoe or two, I also spied one helmet (where was the owner?), a floor pump, a disk wheel, and one of those mini kegs Heineken is making now. I’m not sure if the keg fell off a bike or out of a race officials car, but it was empty, so someone was having a better time on the bike course than I was.
T2 arrived very quickly, so fast that I thought maybe I had missed 15 or so miles of the course. I caught a glimpse of Speedy Zuckerman entering transition so I set my sights on pulling back some of the time he had taken out of me on the bike leg. I racked my bike and ran out of transition thinking I was in hot pursuit of Pete. The FoMo Pep Squad was in full cheer mode with Steve Chavez sporting a nice red mini skirt, white pom poms, and what looked like one of his wife Carrie’s sports bras. Steve Cramer was attired similarly but opted for the red leather hot pants instead of the skirt. If the site of the two of them doing a cheer to “Eye of the Tiger” wasn’t enough to get you to run fast…in the opposite direction, then I don’t know what is. My awesome coach Patricia LaSalle was on hand to remind me to slow down a bit since I still had 13 miles to go and a sub 7 min pace was not in my race plan. Ignoring her sage advice, I proceeded to hunt down Mr. Pete. After about 3 miles of red-lining it, I began to realize that I must have passed Pete in transition. Even after consulting with Pete’s wife Monica, we still do not know what he was doing all that time in T2. Her guess was a shower, while I thought more along the lines of a six pack and a Lazy Boy. I encountered a long procession of Forward Motion racers making their way to the finish line, a place I would not see for over an hour. Carrie skipped by looking fresh as a daisy albeit one dipped in salt crusties and showered in Gatorade Endurance. Many fit bodies proudly wearing red and orange FMRC jerseys waved as they passed by offering much needed words of encouragement. I hit a low point around mile 8 when the sun was bearing down and I began to feel like one of those ants I used to torture with a magnifying glass back when I was growing up in Phoenix. I thought maybe all those little ant souls were up there in heaven seeking revenge for my childish antics.
Sensing I was close to breaking 5 hours and a new PR, I dug deep and pushed hard the last few miles to the finish. I kept doing the math in my heat addled brain and thought I had a minute or two cushion to break 5 hours. Math was never my strong suit hence my career in marketing, so I was alarmed to see I only had 60 seconds to cover the last few hundred yards. I sprinted down the finish chute elbowing a few young ladies out of the way and crossed the line in 4:59:25…35 seconds to spare.
I looked around for the traditional white wine dunk tank, but alas, Ironman had eliminated that post race activity due to safety and health concerns. Allegedly, a few years back two athletes after soaking in the tank for an unspecified amount of time, became overly amorous and the tank had to be drained.
Thanks to all the support squads, to Larry for pulling together the pre-race dinner, to Amy Cramer for coordinating the hotel, and to everyone else who made Vineman a memorable experience. Congrats to all the FoMo racers and especially to all the first timers completing the distance.
Monday, July 30, 2007
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Being "The Woman"
I would have to agree with my friend Joanie. My wife Janine is definitely "The Woman". When we first met she was competing in in-line speed skating. This is where you strap on rollerblades with 5 wheels and no brakes and skate very fast out on nice rough asphalt up to speeds of 30 MPH. Just before moving out to CA, she was in a race in Arlington, TX. It was a sprint finish so she was flying down this road, broke the tape in first place, but then realized the race organizers had not figured on a high speed sprint finish and had not provided enough room for the racers to roll out to a stop. Janine had a choice of going over an embankment and down a hill into a lake, crashing head on into parked cars, or laying down and letting the asphalt bring her to an abrupt stop. She chose the asphalt route and mangled her entire left leg. It looked like something out of a horror movie or maybe a hamburger factory. The next day we drove out to CA in a U-Haul. She could not bend her leg since everytime she tried the scabs would break open and start to bleed. Needless to say it was a long trip.
To further support Janine's nomination as "The Woman", I offer the story of our 7 day Colorado Mt. Biking adventure. We took an exteme Mt. Bike tour one summer riding from Vail to Crested Butte and back. The entire trip was above 10,000 feet on some very technical single track. We had a great time and managed to survive, but both of us fell numerous times. Janine managed to fall and scrape both elbows and both knees (all in separate falls). Even though she was bloodied and bruised, I have a picture of her showing off her battle wounds while laughing her head off.
And then there is the story of her dragging me to a day of "street luging".
And the story of her learning to ride a motorcycle and maiming herself on the kick start.
And the story of her crashing on her road bike after only 5 miles, but finishing the 60 mile ride.
And list goes on...
To further support Janine's nomination as "The Woman", I offer the story of our 7 day Colorado Mt. Biking adventure. We took an exteme Mt. Bike tour one summer riding from Vail to Crested Butte and back. The entire trip was above 10,000 feet on some very technical single track. We had a great time and managed to survive, but both of us fell numerous times. Janine managed to fall and scrape both elbows and both knees (all in separate falls). Even though she was bloodied and bruised, I have a picture of her showing off her battle wounds while laughing her head off.
And then there is the story of her dragging me to a day of "street luging".
And the story of her learning to ride a motorcycle and maiming herself on the kick start.
And the story of her crashing on her road bike after only 5 miles, but finishing the 60 mile ride.
And list goes on...
2007 Uvas South Bay Triathlon
Top Ten Things I will Remember about Uvas South Bay Triathlon 2007
10. Why are we parking in this cow pasture and why is that guy directing traffic wearing only boxers and cowboy boots?
9. Wow, I get to rack next to Monica Zucker. She’s much easier on the eyes than my last rack mate; I think his name rhymed with lark.
8. You know the water level is low at Uvas when you have to take a chair lift down to the swim start.
7. The swim was more of a mud crawl rather than a swim while avoiding submerged trees, last year’s competitors, and two very lost humpback whales (heh, heh – he said “hump”).
6. If you draft on the bike, but there are no course marshals to catch you, is it still illegal…just asking.
5. For the sake of people with very wimpy feet, would someone please SWEEP the transition area? I’m bringing a broom next year.
4. Pete Zucker had a good idea to try to slow Steve Chavez down on the run, but it was hard to convince Steve to take a wrong turn on an out and back run course.
3. Being passed like I was running in reverse by the 50+ y.o. Steve who started 5 minutes later in the wave behind me, is a definite shot to the ego, but a good reminder to never miss a track workout.
2. Hey J&A, triathletes appreciate the food after an event, but could we re-think the BBQ chicken with extra sauce and the lack of utensils and plates for next year’s race. How about something easy like pizza or burritos.
1. Beer tastes good; no matter what time of day or night it is drunk, especially after a race.
10. Why are we parking in this cow pasture and why is that guy directing traffic wearing only boxers and cowboy boots?
9. Wow, I get to rack next to Monica Zucker. She’s much easier on the eyes than my last rack mate; I think his name rhymed with lark.
8. You know the water level is low at Uvas when you have to take a chair lift down to the swim start.
7. The swim was more of a mud crawl rather than a swim while avoiding submerged trees, last year’s competitors, and two very lost humpback whales (heh, heh – he said “hump”).
6. If you draft on the bike, but there are no course marshals to catch you, is it still illegal…just asking.
5. For the sake of people with very wimpy feet, would someone please SWEEP the transition area? I’m bringing a broom next year.
4. Pete Zucker had a good idea to try to slow Steve Chavez down on the run, but it was hard to convince Steve to take a wrong turn on an out and back run course.
3. Being passed like I was running in reverse by the 50+ y.o. Steve who started 5 minutes later in the wave behind me, is a definite shot to the ego, but a good reminder to never miss a track workout.
2. Hey J&A, triathletes appreciate the food after an event, but could we re-think the BBQ chicken with extra sauce and the lack of utensils and plates for next year’s race. How about something easy like pizza or burritos.
1. Beer tastes good; no matter what time of day or night it is drunk, especially after a race.
Sunday, May 6, 2007
2007 Napa Half Ironman Revisited (White Trash Half)
I know I am tempting fate by using the Ironman name in my title, so I am expecting the trademark police to come knocking on my door any minute. If this recap of last weekend's Envirosports Napa ½ Iron Triathlon is interrupted mid-story, you know what happened.
A small, but hearty band of FOMOs trekked north to Napa, the land of cabernets, asiago, and Mercedes. Unfortunately, the race was in a section of Napa I like to call "Baja Napa" where it is more Bud Lite, cheese whiz, and '78 Dodge Maverics. I was joined for the 3rd annual running of the now infamous race by Kelby, Dave Stark, Rob Almeida, Erin Williams, and Kitty. Jim Briner was there to provide us with moral support and to race the Sprint Distance tri the next day.
Like last year, the minus 2 star Putah Creek Resort (they put the "ort" in Resort) hosted the event. All the locals came out to watch the buffed and spandexed triguys and trigals swim, bike, and run. You probably remember Cookie, the part time Putah Creek cook and full time meth dealer, Bubba, the harbormaster, plumber, and massage therapist, Shirley, the chain smoking, Jack drinkin, burger eatin resort nutritionist and fitness coordinator, and how can you forget Tiny, the part time tattoo artist and full time aesthetician. They all dragged their Lazy-boys out of their double wides, rolled a keg or two of their favorite brew next to their chairs, fired up their grills in anticipation of any road kill produced by the cyclists or course marshals, and retrieved the community set of teeth from Cookie who was using them for cutting up a pork rind appetizer.
If you have ever participated in an Envirosports race, you know it is more a matter of survival and navigation skills than actual triathlon training that leads to success. The swim course was loosely marked by orange buoys forming what could be described as a trapezoidal shape, but a fifth side seemed to appear mid-race. I believe one of the buoys actually moved during our second lap. The best strategy to employ in one of these situations is to swim around for about 30 minutes and then head to the exit, no one is the wiser. We self seeded ourselves into three waves, the guinea pigs, the martyrs, and the Einstein's. The guinea pigs took off first going every which way trying to see the turns amidst the chop and white caps followed by the martyrs who followed the guinea pigs, but who sacrificed themselves by foolishly following the wrong swimmers. The Einstein's patiently observed the chaos in the water, chose the best route to take, and then proceeded into the water in a calm and orderly manner. All the FOMOs chose to be guinea pigs.
After surviving the swim, Kelby exited the water first from our group, shouted something about "girlie men", and then shot out of T1 onto the bike course. Rob, Dave, and I swallowed our male pride, picked our way through the beer cans, chip bags, and cigarette wrappers which were used as markers for the transition area, then followed Kelby in hot pursuit. Erin and Kitty played it safe and let the boys burn off their testosterone, knowing they would catch us later. When the locals saw the exceptionally hot looking FOMO triathletes sprinting through the transition area, they gave us their traditional 21 beer & belch salute from the comfort of their Lazy-boys.
The bike leg was especially challenging this year due to a harsh winter that further deteriorated the road proving the Caltrans motto of "we will fill no pothole before its time" was still in effect. Layered on top of the bone jarring road, hurricane force winds circled us for the entire 56 miles. Someone claimed to have experienced a tail wind on the first out and back, but I must have been on a different course. Fearing the flat tire demons that plagued me last year, I made sure I was prepared this go around. I had two tubes, four cartridges, two patch kits, two tires, a bikestand, a bike mechanic, truing stand, floor pump, and I filled my tubes with that green slime stuff. Actually, I was all prepared with a spare tube and cartridge, but noticed after the race that I had not packed any tire irons…oops! The FOMOs all rode strong, pulling many riders from lesser teams along in the giant vortexes created by our blinding speed.
We blasted into T2 and exited to cheers of "Go skinny white guy" and "Good job person wearing a jog bra, but we don't know if you are a guy or a gal"!!! We fueled up with some Slim Jims, hydrated from the aid station garden hose, and hit the run course. Billy Bob, Jim Bob, and Bob Bob were out in their '73 Chevy Truck patrolling the run course to ensure everyone had plenty of pork rinds, beer, and chewing tobacco. Did I mention this was a very well supported race?
The run was on an unmarked, 2-loop, out and back course. Have you ever tried to pace yourself without mile markers? I guess Envirosports wanted to save on the cost of markers in order to provide the participants with a superior post race meal experience (more about that later). A strong side wind cut across the course being especially gusty over a long bridge. The upside to the wind was that it kept the temperature cool, but the downside was faster dehydration and the possibility of being blown off the bridge into the lake (although Billy Bob's half cousin/sister Sally Bob was waiting below in her 18 foot bass boat to pick up any wayward athletes).
The FOMOs ran strong, keeping each other motivated on the course, and proudly displaying the new FOMO colors. Dave and Rob decided to pull out of the run to save themselves for one of them there FULL Ironmans. Dave was nursing an injured hip and Rob planned a 20 miler the next day, so neither of them felt too compelled to kill themselves. Kelby, Kitty, Erin, and I crossed the line and received the official finisher's medal of a crushed beer can on a frayed piece of rope.
The post race meal was served in the boat repair/café/discothèque. We grooved to the sounds of Merle Haggard and Waylan Jennings while we feasted on week old salad, some sort of surplus macaroni salad flown in from the Green Zone, and mystery beans. Needless to say, we had to make an emergency Rubios stop on the way home. At least no one offered to share their BBQ'd roadkill with us, the locals seemed pre-occupied by a fight that had broken out over which Duke had better hair, Bo or Luke.
I encourage anyone looking for an alternative to the well organized, well executed, and well attended Wildflower, to give the Napa Half Iron, now named the White Trash Half, a try next year.
A small, but hearty band of FOMOs trekked north to Napa, the land of cabernets, asiago, and Mercedes. Unfortunately, the race was in a section of Napa I like to call "Baja Napa" where it is more Bud Lite, cheese whiz, and '78 Dodge Maverics. I was joined for the 3rd annual running of the now infamous race by Kelby, Dave Stark, Rob Almeida, Erin Williams, and Kitty. Jim Briner was there to provide us with moral support and to race the Sprint Distance tri the next day.
Like last year, the minus 2 star Putah Creek Resort (they put the "ort" in Resort) hosted the event. All the locals came out to watch the buffed and spandexed triguys and trigals swim, bike, and run. You probably remember Cookie, the part time Putah Creek cook and full time meth dealer, Bubba, the harbormaster, plumber, and massage therapist, Shirley, the chain smoking, Jack drinkin, burger eatin resort nutritionist and fitness coordinator, and how can you forget Tiny, the part time tattoo artist and full time aesthetician. They all dragged their Lazy-boys out of their double wides, rolled a keg or two of their favorite brew next to their chairs, fired up their grills in anticipation of any road kill produced by the cyclists or course marshals, and retrieved the community set of teeth from Cookie who was using them for cutting up a pork rind appetizer.
If you have ever participated in an Envirosports race, you know it is more a matter of survival and navigation skills than actual triathlon training that leads to success. The swim course was loosely marked by orange buoys forming what could be described as a trapezoidal shape, but a fifth side seemed to appear mid-race. I believe one of the buoys actually moved during our second lap. The best strategy to employ in one of these situations is to swim around for about 30 minutes and then head to the exit, no one is the wiser. We self seeded ourselves into three waves, the guinea pigs, the martyrs, and the Einstein's. The guinea pigs took off first going every which way trying to see the turns amidst the chop and white caps followed by the martyrs who followed the guinea pigs, but who sacrificed themselves by foolishly following the wrong swimmers. The Einstein's patiently observed the chaos in the water, chose the best route to take, and then proceeded into the water in a calm and orderly manner. All the FOMOs chose to be guinea pigs.
After surviving the swim, Kelby exited the water first from our group, shouted something about "girlie men", and then shot out of T1 onto the bike course. Rob, Dave, and I swallowed our male pride, picked our way through the beer cans, chip bags, and cigarette wrappers which were used as markers for the transition area, then followed Kelby in hot pursuit. Erin and Kitty played it safe and let the boys burn off their testosterone, knowing they would catch us later. When the locals saw the exceptionally hot looking FOMO triathletes sprinting through the transition area, they gave us their traditional 21 beer & belch salute from the comfort of their Lazy-boys.
The bike leg was especially challenging this year due to a harsh winter that further deteriorated the road proving the Caltrans motto of "we will fill no pothole before its time" was still in effect. Layered on top of the bone jarring road, hurricane force winds circled us for the entire 56 miles. Someone claimed to have experienced a tail wind on the first out and back, but I must have been on a different course. Fearing the flat tire demons that plagued me last year, I made sure I was prepared this go around. I had two tubes, four cartridges, two patch kits, two tires, a bikestand, a bike mechanic, truing stand, floor pump, and I filled my tubes with that green slime stuff. Actually, I was all prepared with a spare tube and cartridge, but noticed after the race that I had not packed any tire irons…oops! The FOMOs all rode strong, pulling many riders from lesser teams along in the giant vortexes created by our blinding speed.
We blasted into T2 and exited to cheers of "Go skinny white guy" and "Good job person wearing a jog bra, but we don't know if you are a guy or a gal"!!! We fueled up with some Slim Jims, hydrated from the aid station garden hose, and hit the run course. Billy Bob, Jim Bob, and Bob Bob were out in their '73 Chevy Truck patrolling the run course to ensure everyone had plenty of pork rinds, beer, and chewing tobacco. Did I mention this was a very well supported race?
The run was on an unmarked, 2-loop, out and back course. Have you ever tried to pace yourself without mile markers? I guess Envirosports wanted to save on the cost of markers in order to provide the participants with a superior post race meal experience (more about that later). A strong side wind cut across the course being especially gusty over a long bridge. The upside to the wind was that it kept the temperature cool, but the downside was faster dehydration and the possibility of being blown off the bridge into the lake (although Billy Bob's half cousin/sister Sally Bob was waiting below in her 18 foot bass boat to pick up any wayward athletes).
The FOMOs ran strong, keeping each other motivated on the course, and proudly displaying the new FOMO colors. Dave and Rob decided to pull out of the run to save themselves for one of them there FULL Ironmans. Dave was nursing an injured hip and Rob planned a 20 miler the next day, so neither of them felt too compelled to kill themselves. Kelby, Kitty, Erin, and I crossed the line and received the official finisher's medal of a crushed beer can on a frayed piece of rope.
The post race meal was served in the boat repair/café/discothèque. We grooved to the sounds of Merle Haggard and Waylan Jennings while we feasted on week old salad, some sort of surplus macaroni salad flown in from the Green Zone, and mystery beans. Needless to say, we had to make an emergency Rubios stop on the way home. At least no one offered to share their BBQ'd roadkill with us, the locals seemed pre-occupied by a fight that had broken out over which Duke had better hair, Bo or Luke.
I encourage anyone looking for an alternative to the well organized, well executed, and well attended Wildflower, to give the Napa Half Iron, now named the White Trash Half, a try next year.
Sunday, June 25, 2006
2006 Ironman Couer d' Alene Redux (Bake-o-thon)
The IM CDA saga has to start way back in September of 2005 when I and two hardy and brave souls, Ethan and Greg, participated in our inaugural Ironman way up in Penticton, Canada. My lovely wife Janine after having been a staid and steady supporter during the race decided she was ready to try her hand at IM. Now, this revelation took place shortly after I had finished the race and had uttered those immortal words "there's no way I'm doing another one of those @$@$^(& races in the near future". Being the supportive and generous husband I am and also realizing that I would not see my lovely wife for 6 months if I did not train with her, I reluctantly agreed to race IM CDA with her in June 2006. Trust me when I say I savored those three short months at the end of 2005 where I did not have to train like a madman and could even sleep in on Saturday mornings.
The pain, I mean training, started in January. We loaded up the pantry with a 6 month supply of nutritional goodies including various powders, gels, liquids, and pills. We had Hammer Nutrition on speed- dial and friends would stop by for Recoverite cocktails after long workouts.
Our training schedule started out modestly with our longer rides lasting 2 ½ to 3 hours. We seemed to have plenty of company on those rides, but the crowd soon thinned when the rides began to stretch to 4, 5, and 6 hours. During this time of intense training and preparation, I learned many things about myself and my relationship with my lovely wife. I learned some very important things about my body like I'm not immune from saddle sores, toenails are optional for distance runners, and it is not wise to schedule Monday morning meetings at 8AM after a weekend filled with 6 hour rides and 3 hour runs. I learned that there is a fine line between helpful encouragement for your spouse and comments that will land you sleeping with the dog in the garage. I also learned that true friends can be called on at the last minute to join you for a 2 hour ride in the dark and cold of a February night.
Our journey was aided by many old and new friends from the Huffers & Puffers Running Club, Tri-Valley Masters, and FMRC. We met John Stark on a grueling century ride down in Gilroy, his little brother Dave Stark when we began swimming at the local sewage treatment plant; I mean Shadowcliffs Lake, Carrie and Steve Chavez at the IM Seminar, and many others. Everyone was very helpful and supportive in our quest to finish strong and upright at CDA. Our coaches were exceptional with Myles Murphy providing superb guidance to Janine and Patricia LaSalle helping guide me through my second IM. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, we were traveling north to CDA. Our Southwest "Greyhound Bus of the Skies" Flight was packed full of A-type IM competitors and families. It was evident that the plane was full of triathletes just by the observation that most of the men on board had less leg and body hair than the women. I overheard one triDude discussing leg shaving techniques with the triGal next to him. We watched in amusement as many obviously anxious and excited athletes strutted around and showed off their latest race shirts and race schwag. I felt a tinge of sympathy for the non-IM crowd on board the plane, since they must have been thinking that in the event of an evacuation, they had no chance making it out of the emergency exits before all the tan and fit hardbodies on board.
We arrived in CDA on Wednesday night and met our housemates we would be sharing a place with for the next 6 days. I had only talked to Matt McCormick on the phone, so I had no idea what to expect. He had his wife, Kathy, and two daughters, Mallory and Madison with him. All my worries were dispelled the moment we met the family. We could not have asked for better housemates. Since I seem to have an affinity for small kids and dogs, Mallory took an instant attachment to me. From that point forward, I was the go-to guy for checker games (talk about having your ego bruised, try getting beat by a 6- year old repeatedly at checkers), watching movies, and hitting the playground. I was also not allowed to cross the street without her holding my hand so that I would not stray out into traffic.
The next three days were filled with registration, butterflies in the stomach, practice swims, a little riding and running, more butterflies, driving the bike course with Ross Pirkle and his dad Alan, the butterflies growing to the size of small birds, the team dinner on Thursday, meetings with our coaches, visiting with our Moms who came to CDA to cheer us on and volunteer as "catchers" and finally checking in all of our gear on Saturday afternoon. Saturday night finally arrived and I lay in bed wondering what Sunday would bring.
4AM- What is that loud buzzing? Oh crap, that's the alarm. Time to get up and go do this thing they call Ironman. We drove down to the course and found a decent parking spot realizing we would not be back to the car for at least another 14 hours. We joined the throng of athletes somberly walking towards the transition area. Everyone seemed very quiet and reserved, probably battling the same internal demons I had been chatting with all morning. After last minute checks and additions to our transition bags, Janine and I suited up and walked down to the water. The beach was literally wall to wall rubber. It resembled some new age S&M fetish festival. While waiting for the cannon to go off, I gave Janine a kiss, wished Chris McCrary good luck, shook hands with Todd Anderson, and planted a big wet one on John Stark. He reciprocated with a nice good luck butt pinch. I was ready to go.
Ironman swims are unique in the sport of triathlon. I guess the organizers feel the athletes do not have enough to worry about so they throw in a mass swim start. 2300 crazed lemmings splashed, crashed, punched, kicked, and chewed their way into the water. After about 20 seconds I was praying for the relative peace and quiet of a nice rugby scrum. In just the first half mile, I felt like I had gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson, including the ear biting. During one turn around the buoys, I was literally pushed under the buoy. I looked up and saw this big orange pyramid surrounded by various arms, legs, and unidentifiable body parts. On the second lap of the swim, the melee did subside a bit, but it was still fairly violent all the way in.
I ran up the beach into the waiting arms of my very own wetsuit stripper. I made sure my shorts were secure, then lay down on the grass and told him to be gentle. He ripped my wetsuit off with a mighty tug, and then herded me towards the changing tent. I entered the tent amid a flurry of clothes changing, Bodyglide application, and suntan lotioning. I exited the other side attired, lathered, and balmed ready to ride.
We left the transition area through a tunnel of spectators cheering us on. I saw many of them starting their first beer of the day and I wanted to warn them that pacing was necessary since they would be out there under grueling drinking conditions. I hoped they took precautions and kept their beer/tequila ratio balanced accordingly for the conditions. The first lap of the bike went smoothly except for the howling headwind on the back stretch of the course. What was up with that? A couple of packs passed me doing their best Tour de France peloton impressions, but I resisted the temptation to suck wheel. I projected some negative energy towards the cheating riders and was rewarded with the sight of a few of the scofflaws cooling their heels in the penalty tent. The heat began to build on lap two and I was draining my aero bottle as fast as I could fill it. I did not see any other FRMC'letes with the exception of Kiko who blew by me on lap 1 like I was in reverse. Despite being out on the bike for over 5 hours, the time passed fairly quickly. I either had some song stuck in my head (why did it have to be "Freebird"?) or I was wondering where Janine was on the course. I hoped everyone was OK and having a good ride.
I came into T2 and started to follow my bike as some volunteer wheeled it away. Another volunteer tackled me and steered me towards the changing tent where I was met by my personal tri-Valet. He dumped out my run gear, packed up my bike gear, helped with sun lotioning, and made sure I was ready for the next part of the adventure. I jogged out onto the course into a screaming mass of humanity. The first three miles felt as they should, I was on pace, even a bit fast, so I kept replaying Patricia, my coach's, words that she would find me and kick my ass if I deviated from my run pace. I slowed it down for the next few miles, but then noticed that I was slowing down too far. My legs started to get heavy and I was no longer sweating. I tried to do some damage control by walking and forcing in calories and electrolytes. I was never able to get a second wind, so I made the best of it and walked/slow jogged the rest of the marathon. The temperature seemed to keep climbing and rumors circulated as to how hot it really was. I heard estimates of anywhere from 95F to 110F. Our team supporters were awesome, including my Mom, Janine's Mom, the Cramers, the Starks, the McCormicks, Kelby, Patricia and many more that lined the course. A few of my teammates passed me but always took a moment to offer a word of encouragement or in Carrie's case, a big hug. All the assistance made the difference in completing what became a major suffer-fest. I saw Janine with her ever present smile as I was rounding the corner back into the neighborhood. She was not that far behind me and I knew she would finish strong.
At mile 25, I remembered my favorite slogan from IM Canada last year – Suck it up Cupcake! I rallied what reserves I had left and broke into what some may call a run. The sight of the finish line and the cheering crowds spurred me on. I crossed the line and was caught by two of the helpful volunteers. They were immediately replaced by my Mom and Janine's Mom. I'm not sure my Mom had seen me covered in so much goo and slime in at least 35 years. Despite looking and smelling like something our cat just hacked up, they took expert care of me.
Janine finished sooner than I expected, actually beating my marathon time by 1 minute. I'm not sure I will live that one down for awhile. I was not at the finish line to see her cross, but I'm sure she did it in style with her trademark grin. I'm extremely proud of her and now call her my very own "IronMaiden".
During the post-race, we learned that everyone had had there own set of challenges and adventures during the race. I'm sure we will be reveling our families and friends with our heroic tales of battling the puking pixies, stomach cramp serpents, the vomiting vermin, and the muscle cramp monsters for days to come.
Congrats to all.
The pain, I mean training, started in January. We loaded up the pantry with a 6 month supply of nutritional goodies including various powders, gels, liquids, and pills. We had Hammer Nutrition on speed- dial and friends would stop by for Recoverite cocktails after long workouts.
Our training schedule started out modestly with our longer rides lasting 2 ½ to 3 hours. We seemed to have plenty of company on those rides, but the crowd soon thinned when the rides began to stretch to 4, 5, and 6 hours. During this time of intense training and preparation, I learned many things about myself and my relationship with my lovely wife. I learned some very important things about my body like I'm not immune from saddle sores, toenails are optional for distance runners, and it is not wise to schedule Monday morning meetings at 8AM after a weekend filled with 6 hour rides and 3 hour runs. I learned that there is a fine line between helpful encouragement for your spouse and comments that will land you sleeping with the dog in the garage. I also learned that true friends can be called on at the last minute to join you for a 2 hour ride in the dark and cold of a February night.
Our journey was aided by many old and new friends from the Huffers & Puffers Running Club, Tri-Valley Masters, and FMRC. We met John Stark on a grueling century ride down in Gilroy, his little brother Dave Stark when we began swimming at the local sewage treatment plant; I mean Shadowcliffs Lake, Carrie and Steve Chavez at the IM Seminar, and many others. Everyone was very helpful and supportive in our quest to finish strong and upright at CDA. Our coaches were exceptional with Myles Murphy providing superb guidance to Janine and Patricia LaSalle helping guide me through my second IM. In what seemed like a blink of an eye, we were traveling north to CDA. Our Southwest "Greyhound Bus of the Skies" Flight was packed full of A-type IM competitors and families. It was evident that the plane was full of triathletes just by the observation that most of the men on board had less leg and body hair than the women. I overheard one triDude discussing leg shaving techniques with the triGal next to him. We watched in amusement as many obviously anxious and excited athletes strutted around and showed off their latest race shirts and race schwag. I felt a tinge of sympathy for the non-IM crowd on board the plane, since they must have been thinking that in the event of an evacuation, they had no chance making it out of the emergency exits before all the tan and fit hardbodies on board.
We arrived in CDA on Wednesday night and met our housemates we would be sharing a place with for the next 6 days. I had only talked to Matt McCormick on the phone, so I had no idea what to expect. He had his wife, Kathy, and two daughters, Mallory and Madison with him. All my worries were dispelled the moment we met the family. We could not have asked for better housemates. Since I seem to have an affinity for small kids and dogs, Mallory took an instant attachment to me. From that point forward, I was the go-to guy for checker games (talk about having your ego bruised, try getting beat by a 6- year old repeatedly at checkers), watching movies, and hitting the playground. I was also not allowed to cross the street without her holding my hand so that I would not stray out into traffic.
The next three days were filled with registration, butterflies in the stomach, practice swims, a little riding and running, more butterflies, driving the bike course with Ross Pirkle and his dad Alan, the butterflies growing to the size of small birds, the team dinner on Thursday, meetings with our coaches, visiting with our Moms who came to CDA to cheer us on and volunteer as "catchers" and finally checking in all of our gear on Saturday afternoon. Saturday night finally arrived and I lay in bed wondering what Sunday would bring.
4AM- What is that loud buzzing? Oh crap, that's the alarm. Time to get up and go do this thing they call Ironman. We drove down to the course and found a decent parking spot realizing we would not be back to the car for at least another 14 hours. We joined the throng of athletes somberly walking towards the transition area. Everyone seemed very quiet and reserved, probably battling the same internal demons I had been chatting with all morning. After last minute checks and additions to our transition bags, Janine and I suited up and walked down to the water. The beach was literally wall to wall rubber. It resembled some new age S&M fetish festival. While waiting for the cannon to go off, I gave Janine a kiss, wished Chris McCrary good luck, shook hands with Todd Anderson, and planted a big wet one on John Stark. He reciprocated with a nice good luck butt pinch. I was ready to go.
Ironman swims are unique in the sport of triathlon. I guess the organizers feel the athletes do not have enough to worry about so they throw in a mass swim start. 2300 crazed lemmings splashed, crashed, punched, kicked, and chewed their way into the water. After about 20 seconds I was praying for the relative peace and quiet of a nice rugby scrum. In just the first half mile, I felt like I had gone 12 rounds with Mike Tyson, including the ear biting. During one turn around the buoys, I was literally pushed under the buoy. I looked up and saw this big orange pyramid surrounded by various arms, legs, and unidentifiable body parts. On the second lap of the swim, the melee did subside a bit, but it was still fairly violent all the way in.
I ran up the beach into the waiting arms of my very own wetsuit stripper. I made sure my shorts were secure, then lay down on the grass and told him to be gentle. He ripped my wetsuit off with a mighty tug, and then herded me towards the changing tent. I entered the tent amid a flurry of clothes changing, Bodyglide application, and suntan lotioning. I exited the other side attired, lathered, and balmed ready to ride.
We left the transition area through a tunnel of spectators cheering us on. I saw many of them starting their first beer of the day and I wanted to warn them that pacing was necessary since they would be out there under grueling drinking conditions. I hoped they took precautions and kept their beer/tequila ratio balanced accordingly for the conditions. The first lap of the bike went smoothly except for the howling headwind on the back stretch of the course. What was up with that? A couple of packs passed me doing their best Tour de France peloton impressions, but I resisted the temptation to suck wheel. I projected some negative energy towards the cheating riders and was rewarded with the sight of a few of the scofflaws cooling their heels in the penalty tent. The heat began to build on lap two and I was draining my aero bottle as fast as I could fill it. I did not see any other FRMC'letes with the exception of Kiko who blew by me on lap 1 like I was in reverse. Despite being out on the bike for over 5 hours, the time passed fairly quickly. I either had some song stuck in my head (why did it have to be "Freebird"?) or I was wondering where Janine was on the course. I hoped everyone was OK and having a good ride.
I came into T2 and started to follow my bike as some volunteer wheeled it away. Another volunteer tackled me and steered me towards the changing tent where I was met by my personal tri-Valet. He dumped out my run gear, packed up my bike gear, helped with sun lotioning, and made sure I was ready for the next part of the adventure. I jogged out onto the course into a screaming mass of humanity. The first three miles felt as they should, I was on pace, even a bit fast, so I kept replaying Patricia, my coach's, words that she would find me and kick my ass if I deviated from my run pace. I slowed it down for the next few miles, but then noticed that I was slowing down too far. My legs started to get heavy and I was no longer sweating. I tried to do some damage control by walking and forcing in calories and electrolytes. I was never able to get a second wind, so I made the best of it and walked/slow jogged the rest of the marathon. The temperature seemed to keep climbing and rumors circulated as to how hot it really was. I heard estimates of anywhere from 95F to 110F. Our team supporters were awesome, including my Mom, Janine's Mom, the Cramers, the Starks, the McCormicks, Kelby, Patricia and many more that lined the course. A few of my teammates passed me but always took a moment to offer a word of encouragement or in Carrie's case, a big hug. All the assistance made the difference in completing what became a major suffer-fest. I saw Janine with her ever present smile as I was rounding the corner back into the neighborhood. She was not that far behind me and I knew she would finish strong.
At mile 25, I remembered my favorite slogan from IM Canada last year – Suck it up Cupcake! I rallied what reserves I had left and broke into what some may call a run. The sight of the finish line and the cheering crowds spurred me on. I crossed the line and was caught by two of the helpful volunteers. They were immediately replaced by my Mom and Janine's Mom. I'm not sure my Mom had seen me covered in so much goo and slime in at least 35 years. Despite looking and smelling like something our cat just hacked up, they took expert care of me.
Janine finished sooner than I expected, actually beating my marathon time by 1 minute. I'm not sure I will live that one down for awhile. I was not at the finish line to see her cross, but I'm sure she did it in style with her trademark grin. I'm extremely proud of her and now call her my very own "IronMaiden".
During the post-race, we learned that everyone had had there own set of challenges and adventures during the race. I'm sure we will be reveling our families and friends with our heroic tales of battling the puking pixies, stomach cramp serpents, the vomiting vermin, and the muscle cramp monsters for days to come.
Congrats to all.
Friday, May 5, 2006
2006 Napa Half Ironman (Redneckman)
A hardy band of anti-Wildflower FMRC triathletes ventured north to the Putah Creek "Resort" for the 2nd annual Napa Half Ironman Triathlon. I use the term resort VERY loosely. When you think of a resort, if you normally picture million dollar yachts bobbing at a well tended marina, overlooked by $500-1000/night bungalows, where you can eat in 5 star restaurants, surrounded by a championship golf course, where your every whim is catered to by a polished and professional staff, then you would be sorely disappointed by the Putah Creek Resort. The only boats tied up to a few floating logs where dilapidated bass boats with rusted outboard motors. The bungalows were cheesy motel rooms with shared bathrooms and shower facilities served by a restaurant that might have made the latest Sagat's 10 top places to contract hepatitis and explosive diarrhea. The only golf course was a dusty patch of weeds where a group of partially dressed lake urchins sullenly used a stick to whack a cracked and mud-caked golf ball into a gopher hole. The staff consisted of "Cookie" the one-eyed fry cook chain-smoker at the restaurant; Betty, the tattooed pierced bleach blonde Front Desk staffer and outhouse cleaner who looked like Keith Richards on a good day; Bubba, the pot bellied shower adverse alcoholic ex-convict marina worker and masseuse; and Pyro, the part time golf pro gardener ex-televangelist who had a thing for matches and lighter fluid.
I'm not sure who would choose to stay at this resort other than those who chose to spend Friday night there before the race. I would seriously question the sanity and judgment of anyone that purposely chose Putah Creek as their vacation destination. Putah Creek may not have been hell, but you sure could see it from there. My wife Janine and I stayed in Napa and enjoyed a nice Italian dinner in the downtown area. I think the folks that stayed at the resort had roasted roadkill with a side of Doritos and a Spam appetizer. Those “early riser” FRMC members drove up Saturday morning treating themselves to a twisting and turning poorly paved drive through the Napa countryside. Just the drive over from Napa proper loosened a few of my fillings and had Janine feeling a little car sick.
Despite being an Envirosports produced race, logistics and registration went surprisingly well. The event only drew about 450 people due to that “other” ½ IM, so setting up our transition area, getting registered and body marked (with Sharpies on the hands only – yeah!), and warming up were uneventful. They started the race promptly at 8AM with a two wave start. I saw most of the FRMC gang in the "experienced" wave. The swim was a two loop course in the 73 degree waters of Lake Berryessa. Dave Hoernig, the ring leader for Envirosports has a reputation for not quite accurately marking his courses and he did not disappoint us on Saturday. Unless I grew flippers and gills during the night, I think the swim course was a tad short.
We all exited the water and ran up a gravel strewn road (Note to self – tender feet and sharp gravel do not a happy marriage make). Due to a couple of out and back segments on the course, I was able to see many of the FMRC’letes as we raced the 56 mile leg (actually it was 57.5 miles). I was feeling really good and was working my way up into the top riders when I noticed that my rear wheel felt kind of funny. I told myself it couldn’t be a flat, I’ve never had a flat in a race, but as I glanced down, I noticed a quite apparent lack of air in my tire. I shouted a few choice curse words at the bike gods (which I think were overheard by a few of my fellow teammates –sorry), but quickly gathered myself and did a speedy (under 5 minutes) tube change. I took off with a vengeance thinking I could gain back a few of the places I had lost when "pop" my tire blew again about 6 miles down the road. This time, I just pulled over to the side and contemplated my options. Option 1 was to pick up my bike and hurl it into the bushes but I rejected this idea since I still needed my bike to get back to transition. Option 2 was to jog back to transition, but I still had 15 miles to go to the finish. Option 3 was to fix the flat, but I had only brought one tube, so I was stuck having to patch the tube. I had only 1 CO2 cartridge left and needed some of the CO2 to find the hole. I located the hole, patched it, and then inflated my tire with the remainder of the CO2. I think I only got about 40-50 psi into the tube instead of the normal 110-120 psi. I finished up the last 15 miles of the bike cringing every time I hit a bump fearing I would get a pinch flat. Many thanks to the FMRC’letes who passed me and offered assistance while I cursed and struggled with my flat foibles.
I finally made it into T2 and headed out on the run. I saw my lovely wife Janine coming in just as I was leaving the resort. She turned in an awesome 3:05 bike time on the very difficult course, 5 minutes faster than my time.
The run was on a 2 loop out and back course, so I could see all the FMRC’letes at each turnaround. The temperature had warmed up a bit by the second half of the run, but not to the point where it became a problem. True to form, the run course was a half mile long which had a few of us checking our watches. Despite feeling a bit defeated after the flats, I re-grouped and tried to turn a bad race day into a good training day.
Janine scorched the course and finished 2nd in her age-group. This is an exceptionally impressive achievement for her considering she had spent the week prior in Switzerland and had flown home Friday night. Plus, she had picked up a cold on the flight home so she was fighting mucus monsters most of the day.
All the FMRC’letes looked impressive. I’m sure there were many podium finishes among the 10 to 11 team members at the race. Congrats to all that competed at Napa (and Wildflower) this past weekend.
If anyone is looking for low key half Ironman, I would recommend either this race or Big Kahuna in Santa Cruz later in the year. If you do race Napa next year, say high to Cookie.
I'm not sure who would choose to stay at this resort other than those who chose to spend Friday night there before the race. I would seriously question the sanity and judgment of anyone that purposely chose Putah Creek as their vacation destination. Putah Creek may not have been hell, but you sure could see it from there. My wife Janine and I stayed in Napa and enjoyed a nice Italian dinner in the downtown area. I think the folks that stayed at the resort had roasted roadkill with a side of Doritos and a Spam appetizer. Those “early riser” FRMC members drove up Saturday morning treating themselves to a twisting and turning poorly paved drive through the Napa countryside. Just the drive over from Napa proper loosened a few of my fillings and had Janine feeling a little car sick.
Despite being an Envirosports produced race, logistics and registration went surprisingly well. The event only drew about 450 people due to that “other” ½ IM, so setting up our transition area, getting registered and body marked (with Sharpies on the hands only – yeah!), and warming up were uneventful. They started the race promptly at 8AM with a two wave start. I saw most of the FRMC gang in the "experienced" wave. The swim was a two loop course in the 73 degree waters of Lake Berryessa. Dave Hoernig, the ring leader for Envirosports has a reputation for not quite accurately marking his courses and he did not disappoint us on Saturday. Unless I grew flippers and gills during the night, I think the swim course was a tad short.
We all exited the water and ran up a gravel strewn road (Note to self – tender feet and sharp gravel do not a happy marriage make). Due to a couple of out and back segments on the course, I was able to see many of the FMRC’letes as we raced the 56 mile leg (actually it was 57.5 miles). I was feeling really good and was working my way up into the top riders when I noticed that my rear wheel felt kind of funny. I told myself it couldn’t be a flat, I’ve never had a flat in a race, but as I glanced down, I noticed a quite apparent lack of air in my tire. I shouted a few choice curse words at the bike gods (which I think were overheard by a few of my fellow teammates –sorry), but quickly gathered myself and did a speedy (under 5 minutes) tube change. I took off with a vengeance thinking I could gain back a few of the places I had lost when "pop" my tire blew again about 6 miles down the road. This time, I just pulled over to the side and contemplated my options. Option 1 was to pick up my bike and hurl it into the bushes but I rejected this idea since I still needed my bike to get back to transition. Option 2 was to jog back to transition, but I still had 15 miles to go to the finish. Option 3 was to fix the flat, but I had only brought one tube, so I was stuck having to patch the tube. I had only 1 CO2 cartridge left and needed some of the CO2 to find the hole. I located the hole, patched it, and then inflated my tire with the remainder of the CO2. I think I only got about 40-50 psi into the tube instead of the normal 110-120 psi. I finished up the last 15 miles of the bike cringing every time I hit a bump fearing I would get a pinch flat. Many thanks to the FMRC’letes who passed me and offered assistance while I cursed and struggled with my flat foibles.
I finally made it into T2 and headed out on the run. I saw my lovely wife Janine coming in just as I was leaving the resort. She turned in an awesome 3:05 bike time on the very difficult course, 5 minutes faster than my time.
The run was on a 2 loop out and back course, so I could see all the FMRC’letes at each turnaround. The temperature had warmed up a bit by the second half of the run, but not to the point where it became a problem. True to form, the run course was a half mile long which had a few of us checking our watches. Despite feeling a bit defeated after the flats, I re-grouped and tried to turn a bad race day into a good training day.
Janine scorched the course and finished 2nd in her age-group. This is an exceptionally impressive achievement for her considering she had spent the week prior in Switzerland and had flown home Friday night. Plus, she had picked up a cold on the flight home so she was fighting mucus monsters most of the day.
All the FMRC’letes looked impressive. I’m sure there were many podium finishes among the 10 to 11 team members at the race. Congrats to all that competed at Napa (and Wildflower) this past weekend.
If anyone is looking for low key half Ironman, I would recommend either this race or Big Kahuna in Santa Cruz later in the year. If you do race Napa next year, say high to Cookie.
Wednesday, October 5, 2005
2005 Santa Cruz Sentinel Triathlon
Readers beware – this is rather long.This year's Sentinel Triathlon featured almost perfect conditions.The weather forecasters, who I suspect base their weather predictionsmore on bad dreams brought on by spicy food the night before, called for rain and thunderstorms, but we woke to clear skies and calmseas. The alarm went off at the butt crack of dawn once again thisyear (hopefully this will conclude 5:30AM wake-ups for this year atleast) and we fumbled our way into our racing uniforms, hit theJohnny once or twice (or three times in my case), then staggered outthe door to load up the bikes.
Janine and I stayed at my brother'splace in Santa Cruz along with our friend Bart and another friend Chris. We successfully got out of the house without waking my brother's three dogs, my brother or his girlfriend, or if we did,they were too polite to say anything. I think I did wake his renter who lives in an apartment above his garage. I failed to realize that the garage door opener shook the entire garage like a 5.0 earthquake. I'm sure she was tossed fairly unceremoniously onto the floor when I hit the "open" button. I can only hope she is a very heavy sleeper.Our little convoy of triathletes made our way down to the Coast Hotel next to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk where the race would take place. Since Bart and Chris were so eager to get to the race so they could get "fresh" porta-potties, we did not need to worry about crowds in the transition area. There were a few people milling aboutin the dark, but for the most part, the majority of competitors chose to get an extra half hour or two of sleep and arrive at a more timely 7AM. Janine and I racked next to each other so we could more easily share the coveted can of olive flavored Pam Cooking Spray. For those of you not in the know, triathletes use Pam not only for cooking, but to lubricate our legs to make wetsuit removal easier and also to flavor our bodies for the various sea life we may encounter during the swim, like great whites and killer whales. These sea creatures appreciate that we use low cholesterol cooking sprays.
We squeezed into our wetsuits, and then wandered down to the start ofthe race. The swim starts up on the beach behind this huge ditch dug in the sand which is just in front of a huge mound of sand. The idea is to see how many triathletes do face plants in either the pit or mound, and then get stepped on by the masses behind. One race strategy is to hang back a bit at the start so that you can use the bodies of your fellow athletes as a bridge across the pit, and ladder steps up the mound.I had the dubious distinction of being the first to start the race, followed by a Clydesdale wave, then Janine's wave, and then Bart pulled up the rear with a 9AM start time. He had enough time between my 8:10AM start to grab a Starbucks, read the Sunday Times, and visit the porta-potties a few additional times. I made it through the pit and over the mound without embarrassing myself, then ran for the water where I promptly did a nice half gainer with a bellyflop entry into the frigid Pacific ocean. The swim is a clockwise 0.9 mile journey around the Santa Cruz pier. You can hear all the Sea Lions barking under the pier and the only thing I could think of is "hmmm, sharks like sea lions, sea lions are shiny black, I'm wearing a shiny black wetsuit". At that point, my internal dialogue changed to more of a chant, "stay in the middle of the pack, stay in the middle ofthe pack".
I came out of the water in good position, although I knew Chris was somewhere ahead of me. He is an incredible swimmer who was raised by a friendly family of dolphins when he was orphaned at a young age. It has served him well in triathlons, but proved awkward at parties when he dives head first into the smoked lox and shrimp platters. I ran up the street to the transition area across from the Coast Hotel, found my bike, and headed on out to the bike course. Janine was not too far behind me, but had some difficulty getting out of her wetsuit. She stopped to take her wetsuit off before running the ¼ mile to transition, but her wetsuit refused to be removed. As she was flailing about, she managed to take out about 6 of her competitors, so she has decided to employ this strategy in future races. At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race.
Out on the bike course, I set my sights on chasing down Chris. I knew that I would have a good gauge of how far behind him I was whenI got close to the turnaround at mile 11. Unfortunately for me, Chris passed me around mile 8, going the other way, so he had atleast 12-13 minutes on me. I believe after having been raised by dolphins, Chris was adopted by a family of European pro cyclists and forced to ride 500 miles a week just to get to school and back. Janine set out on the bike and proceeded to chase down the few remaining women in her age group she did not manage to knock over in transition. At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race. At the end of the bike segment, Sentinel offers competitors a little bike handling practice. Due to where the course has to turn-aroundat mile 11, the race organizers added a short out-and-back to the end of the race. They have us go down this incredibly bumpy and windy narrow 1-lane road to some nature center, then turn around and retrace our route. The road was so bumpy, I saw competitors loosing everything from water bottles to tooth fillings to contact lenses. I managed to keep most of my bike and body intact and powered back intoTransition.
Chris had already taken off on the run. Janine was hunting down any woman with a 40 or above marked on her calf (our ages are marked on our left calf to provide entertainment and age-related joke material for the spectators). At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race.
The Sentinel run is along West Cliff drive past the lighthouse and down to the end of the road, then we turnaround and head back to thefinish. I set a good pace, knocking back the first couple of miles without too much difficulty. My legs started to feel some fatigue atthe turnaround, but I was running with a guy from Team Kain that was in my AG. I did not know what place I was in, but I knew that if I beat that guy, I would be one step closer to the top. I paced off of him for about a mile, then made my move. When I say "made my move",it was not one of those spectacular moves you see in the Olympics were the competitor in the rear zooms around the person in front and drops them like a hot potato. I came around the guy and tried to put some distance between us. I was red-lining it, but the gap seemed to only grow by inches. Eventually his contact with me snapped and I pulled away. I did happen to see Chris on his way back to the finish around mile 2 (he was on mile 4). He was setting a blistering pace matched only by a group of Kenyan marathoners who happened to be doing a training run down West Cliff at the same time. Chris said he chatted with the Kenyans for awhile, but dropped them due to their slow training pace of 4:45 minutes per mile. I saw Janine heading out on the run when I hit mile 5 and gave her a big smile and thumbs up. I suspected she was not having her best day when the look and gesture she gave me in return was not something I would interpret as a reflection of our undying love. At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race.
I finished the race in 2:14:12, about 3 minutes faster than lastyear. It put me in 16th place out of 106 competitors in my AG, 54th overall.Chris finished 2nd in our age group (35-39) with an astounding time of 2:00:20. Of course the French competitors accused him of doping,so the drug tests are still pending. Janine finished the race with a frown on her face thinking she did not have a very good day. But, itturns out her iron will, tenacious grit, and steely determination powered her to a 3rd place in her AG, up 4 places from last year.
At this time, we believe Bart is still waiting to start the race.
Janine and I stayed at my brother'splace in Santa Cruz along with our friend Bart and another friend Chris. We successfully got out of the house without waking my brother's three dogs, my brother or his girlfriend, or if we did,they were too polite to say anything. I think I did wake his renter who lives in an apartment above his garage. I failed to realize that the garage door opener shook the entire garage like a 5.0 earthquake. I'm sure she was tossed fairly unceremoniously onto the floor when I hit the "open" button. I can only hope she is a very heavy sleeper.Our little convoy of triathletes made our way down to the Coast Hotel next to the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk where the race would take place. Since Bart and Chris were so eager to get to the race so they could get "fresh" porta-potties, we did not need to worry about crowds in the transition area. There were a few people milling aboutin the dark, but for the most part, the majority of competitors chose to get an extra half hour or two of sleep and arrive at a more timely 7AM. Janine and I racked next to each other so we could more easily share the coveted can of olive flavored Pam Cooking Spray. For those of you not in the know, triathletes use Pam not only for cooking, but to lubricate our legs to make wetsuit removal easier and also to flavor our bodies for the various sea life we may encounter during the swim, like great whites and killer whales. These sea creatures appreciate that we use low cholesterol cooking sprays.
We squeezed into our wetsuits, and then wandered down to the start ofthe race. The swim starts up on the beach behind this huge ditch dug in the sand which is just in front of a huge mound of sand. The idea is to see how many triathletes do face plants in either the pit or mound, and then get stepped on by the masses behind. One race strategy is to hang back a bit at the start so that you can use the bodies of your fellow athletes as a bridge across the pit, and ladder steps up the mound.I had the dubious distinction of being the first to start the race, followed by a Clydesdale wave, then Janine's wave, and then Bart pulled up the rear with a 9AM start time. He had enough time between my 8:10AM start to grab a Starbucks, read the Sunday Times, and visit the porta-potties a few additional times. I made it through the pit and over the mound without embarrassing myself, then ran for the water where I promptly did a nice half gainer with a bellyflop entry into the frigid Pacific ocean. The swim is a clockwise 0.9 mile journey around the Santa Cruz pier. You can hear all the Sea Lions barking under the pier and the only thing I could think of is "hmmm, sharks like sea lions, sea lions are shiny black, I'm wearing a shiny black wetsuit". At that point, my internal dialogue changed to more of a chant, "stay in the middle of the pack, stay in the middle ofthe pack".
I came out of the water in good position, although I knew Chris was somewhere ahead of me. He is an incredible swimmer who was raised by a friendly family of dolphins when he was orphaned at a young age. It has served him well in triathlons, but proved awkward at parties when he dives head first into the smoked lox and shrimp platters. I ran up the street to the transition area across from the Coast Hotel, found my bike, and headed on out to the bike course. Janine was not too far behind me, but had some difficulty getting out of her wetsuit. She stopped to take her wetsuit off before running the ¼ mile to transition, but her wetsuit refused to be removed. As she was flailing about, she managed to take out about 6 of her competitors, so she has decided to employ this strategy in future races. At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race.
Out on the bike course, I set my sights on chasing down Chris. I knew that I would have a good gauge of how far behind him I was whenI got close to the turnaround at mile 11. Unfortunately for me, Chris passed me around mile 8, going the other way, so he had atleast 12-13 minutes on me. I believe after having been raised by dolphins, Chris was adopted by a family of European pro cyclists and forced to ride 500 miles a week just to get to school and back. Janine set out on the bike and proceeded to chase down the few remaining women in her age group she did not manage to knock over in transition. At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race. At the end of the bike segment, Sentinel offers competitors a little bike handling practice. Due to where the course has to turn-aroundat mile 11, the race organizers added a short out-and-back to the end of the race. They have us go down this incredibly bumpy and windy narrow 1-lane road to some nature center, then turn around and retrace our route. The road was so bumpy, I saw competitors loosing everything from water bottles to tooth fillings to contact lenses. I managed to keep most of my bike and body intact and powered back intoTransition.
Chris had already taken off on the run. Janine was hunting down any woman with a 40 or above marked on her calf (our ages are marked on our left calf to provide entertainment and age-related joke material for the spectators). At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race.
The Sentinel run is along West Cliff drive past the lighthouse and down to the end of the road, then we turnaround and head back to thefinish. I set a good pace, knocking back the first couple of miles without too much difficulty. My legs started to feel some fatigue atthe turnaround, but I was running with a guy from Team Kain that was in my AG. I did not know what place I was in, but I knew that if I beat that guy, I would be one step closer to the top. I paced off of him for about a mile, then made my move. When I say "made my move",it was not one of those spectacular moves you see in the Olympics were the competitor in the rear zooms around the person in front and drops them like a hot potato. I came around the guy and tried to put some distance between us. I was red-lining it, but the gap seemed to only grow by inches. Eventually his contact with me snapped and I pulled away. I did happen to see Chris on his way back to the finish around mile 2 (he was on mile 4). He was setting a blistering pace matched only by a group of Kenyan marathoners who happened to be doing a training run down West Cliff at the same time. Chris said he chatted with the Kenyans for awhile, but dropped them due to their slow training pace of 4:45 minutes per mile. I saw Janine heading out on the run when I hit mile 5 and gave her a big smile and thumbs up. I suspected she was not having her best day when the look and gesture she gave me in return was not something I would interpret as a reflection of our undying love. At this time, Bart was still at Starbucks waiting to start the race.
I finished the race in 2:14:12, about 3 minutes faster than lastyear. It put me in 16th place out of 106 competitors in my AG, 54th overall.Chris finished 2nd in our age group (35-39) with an astounding time of 2:00:20. Of course the French competitors accused him of doping,so the drug tests are still pending. Janine finished the race with a frown on her face thinking she did not have a very good day. But, itturns out her iron will, tenacious grit, and steely determination powered her to a 3rd place in her AG, up 4 places from last year.
At this time, we believe Bart is still waiting to start the race.
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