"This Place is Amazing!"
A coward lies within us all... Some people play it safe, never taking risks, never extending limits, or letting it all hangout...those people rarely ever experience the inner struggle as a spirit battles that voice that says "you can't do it." Leading up to the trip I felt fit, confident, and ready to race. Two other racers and myself packed up the Subura on Friday and heading to Washington. Some random facts of our trip included: 10 peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches, 3 bikes totalling over 15 thousand dollars, 5 sets of wheels, 3 wetsuits, 3 aero helemts and a few thousand calories of energy products. Needless to say we were sufficiently supplied.
We rolled into Washington at 8 pm where we were greeted by our awaiting campsite, 50 mile per hour winds, and most importantly packet pickup and dinner. Our campsite was really nice, unfortunately it was very windy, threatening to blow our belongs into the next county. No matter, we settled in. L'Heureux chose the tent, Halpin and myself decided to just crash on the ground. I started out sleeping in the neighboring yard as it was flat and had nice grass...until the sprinklers came on. Throughout the night the wind gusted amazing loud...a bad sign of what may come the next day.
We all survived the night, woke up, prepared our bikes, and headed to the race start. Warming up I felt great, a few minutes of swimming and I headed to the start. The gun went off and I hit the jets, trying to get in with the main group. I found them, and wow what a draft. I could feel the negative draft pressure sucking me right along the top of the water. I was thrilled with my position, finally I have could swim a straight line and stay with the main group.
The swim was pretty uneventful, aside from the fact I drank more lake water than ever before. Oh well. with about 5 minutes left in the swim, our main pack broke into two groups, I in later. I figured I had saved so much energy and time by staying the the draft this long, I might as well not blow it by trying to bridge up to the next group. I moved to the front of my swim pack and led them into T1. I knew I was swimming fast, but the 25 minute swim told me that the swim was a tad too short. None-the-less I exited in a very respectable 15 place. I always have fast T1s so I knew I'd move up a few spots. I made extra effort to stay calm in T1, no sprinting, control my breathing, and relax. I exited T1 in 11th or 12th.
This course is a brutal bike course, I made effort to not hammer it and totally blow up. I took the first section of the course (by far the hardest with a killer hill) relatively relaxed, giving back places to those riding what looked to be a suicidal pace. The Almira Grade is incredible! The road corkscrews and twists, it's like if you tried to ride your bike up a playground spiral slide, it's insane. I made it up the climb and up on the mesa. A tremendous wind was blowing on top.
At about mile 12 Halpin went passed, he's good. The ride is tough because it has hill after hill, you have no chance to find a rhythm, and it's windy. Some portions you fly down the road at hyper-speed (I hit 50.1 mph) other portions you grind along at 10 mph with the energy gauge being drained. Needless to say when I made it back to the Dam I was ready to be off the bike.
I had a tremendous ride, averaging 20 mph, right on target to run well. I checked my watch, I was right on pace to smash my previous best on this course. Again, I took my time and stayed relaxed in transition. I started conservatively on the run. The first few miles came so easy: 7:49, 7:38, 7:35. I was staying within myself. At mile 4 I felt a cramp starting in my upper calf...oh no. I kept going, determined not to have a meltdown after having such a great bike and run.
It is at this time when my inner coward found my frequency, I could clearly hear. I knew I had to run through the pain in my legs if I wanted a chance to finish in the capacity I had trained to do. My head was filled with things like, "don't run anymore this hurts, what if your muscle rips, just walk a few minutes." It was the thought of my cramped muscle ripping that convinced me a walk break was needed at the mile 5 aid station. Walking once is always the breaking point, you give in just that once, falter enough to mentally let yourself walk, my race spirals from there. I walked the aid station.
Mentally I was dragging the heaviest pack of failure. I hated where I was, what I was doing, and most of all I hated myself for the character I was exhibiting at this point. I train too hard, make too many sacrifices to blow up like this in long course races. Maybe I am not ready for long course, maybe it's nutrition, maybe it's a million other excuses, the bottom line is I can't transition my short course success, however much that is, into a strong half ironman.
The race distance evades me. Dragging the inescapable trailer of shame through miles 5 and six I was again humbled to a walk with leg cramps and personal shame. I knew my race was done. After walking this time my muscled had cooled enough to let stiffness seize them. There would be no more running today. Thankfully, spectators on the course understood I didn't need cheers, I need to left alone. People somehow understood that I was in a place that I usually am not. A place of personal failure, not to be tormented by their false hopes that a cheering effort would do anything besides piss me off.
I lost close to 100 places from the T2 to the finish line. I saw numerous styles of "running" as people passed. The hardest part of the race was at mile 10. As I was walking past the mile 10 marker I felt a hand pressed firmly on my mid back, it was my friend Dave Norman. He was genuinely asking if I was okay. He slowed to a walk to make sure I was fine. The fact that Dave stops running to see what my deal was goes above and beyond. I somberly said, " I will be fine, go ahead Dave." He reached out his hand for an extended hand shake. Pretty good guy. I walked the rest of the way back to the finish.
At the finish shoot some real doozies actually told me I was "doing great and looking good." Seriously! Are you really that big of a moron? Does it really make sense for some fast-looking people to walk the finish shoot, coming in behind 100 other people and an hour slower than what they are capable? Is that a great day? L'Heureux, Halpin, and Norman were at the finish line. I gave Dave a hug and "you're a good guy, Dave."
I won't ever forget Norman stopping, something that kills me to think about because I don't think I would do the same thing in race. He's a real class act for sure. Our posse wasn't genuinely pleased with our respective performances so we kicked rocks about as fast as possible. Driving as fast as we could in an attempt to forget the race. I left with some funny moments, like Halpin telling me how funny it was to watch me walk the finish area and how pissed I looked. I also think it is quite funny that my bike split was 30 seconds faster than my run split. Now, I don't really care about the race, I am not a robot and am bound to have blowups every now and again. I am sure it won't be my last. The strength I draw from this is I know I am better than this, I know I am faster than this. Above all I had the worst race of my life, stilled finished and lived to fight another day.
A coward lies within us all... Some people play it safe, never taking risks, never extending limits, or letting it all hangout...those people rarely ever experience the inner struggle as a spirit battles that voice that says "you can't do it." Leading up to the trip I felt fit, confident, and ready to race. Two other racers and myself packed up the Subura on Friday and heading to Washington. Some random facts of our trip included: 10 peanut butter, honey, and banana sandwiches, 3 bikes totalling over 15 thousand dollars, 5 sets of wheels, 3 wetsuits, 3 aero helemts and a few thousand calories of energy products. Needless to say we were sufficiently supplied. We rolled into Washington at 8 pm where we were greeted by our awaiting campsite, 50 mile per hour winds, and most importantly packet pickup and dinner. Our campsite was really nice, unfortunately it was very windy, threatening to blow our belongs into the next county. No matter, we settled in. L'Heureux chose the tent, Halpin and myself decided to just crash on the ground. I started out sleeping in the neighboring yard as it was flat and had nice grass...until the sprinklers came on. Throughout the night the wind gusted amazing loud...a bad sign of what may come the next day. We all survived the night, woke up, prepared our bikes, and headed to the race start. Warming up I felt great, a few minutes of swimming and I headed to the start. The gun went off and I hit the jets, trying to get in with the main group. I found them, and wow what a draft. I could feel the negative draft pressure sucking me right along the top of the water. I was thrilled with my position, finally I have could swim a straight line and stay with the main group. The swim was pretty uneventful, aside from the fact I drank more lake water than ever before. Oh well. with about 5 minutes left in the swim, our main pack broke into two groups, I in later. I figured I had saved so much energy and time by staying the the draft this long, I might as well not blow it by trying to bridge up to the next group. I moved to the front of my swim pack and led them into T1. I knew I was swimming fast, but the 25 minute swim told me that the swim was a tad too short. None-the-less I exited in a very respectable 15 place. I always have fast T1s so I knew I'd move up a few spots. I made extra effort to stay calm in T1, no sprinting, control my breathing, and relax. I exited T1 in 11th or 12th.
This course is a brutal bike course, I made effort to not hammer it and totally blow up. I took the first section of the course (by far the hardest with a killer hill) relatively relaxed, giving back places to those riding what looked to be a suicidal pace. The Almira Grade is incredible! The road corkscrews and twists, it's like if you tried to ride your bike up a playground spiral slide, it's insane. I made it up the climb and up on the mesa. A tremendous wind was blowing on top. At about mile 12 Halpin went passed, he's good. The ride is tough because it has hill after hill, you have no chance to find a rhythm, and it's windy. Some portions you fly down the road at hyper-speed (I hit 50.1 mph) other portions you grind along at 10 mph with the energy gauge being drained. Needless to say when I made it back to the Dam I was ready to be off the bike.
I had a tremendous ride, averaging 20 mph, right on target to run well. I checked my watch, I was right on pace to smash my previous best on this course. Again, I took my time and stayed relaxed in transition. I started conservatively on the run. The first few miles came so easy: 7:49, 7:38, 7:35. I was staying within myself. At mile 4 I felt a cramp starting in my upper calf...oh no. I kept going, determined not to have a meltdown after having such a great bike and run.
It is at this time when my inner coward found my frequency, I could clearly hear. I knew I had to run through the pain in my legs if I wanted a chance to finish in the capacity I had trained to do. My head was filled with things like, "don't run anymore this hurts, what if your muscle rips, just walk a few minutes." It was the thought of my cramped muscle ripping that convinced me a walk break was needed at the mile 5 aid station. Walking once is always the breaking point, you give in just that once, falter enough to mentally let yourself walk, my race spirals from there. I walked the aid station.
Mentally I was dragging the heaviest pack of failure. I hated where I was, what I was doing, and most of all I hated myself for the character I was exhibiting at this point. I train too hard, make too many sacrifices to blow up like this in long course races. Maybe I am not ready for long course, maybe it's nutrition, maybe it's a million other excuses, the bottom line is I can't transition my short course success, however much that is, into a strong half ironman.
The race distance evades me. Dragging the inescapable trailer of shame through miles 5 and six I was again humbled to a walk with leg cramps and personal shame. I knew my race was done. After walking this time my muscled had cooled enough to let stiffness seize them. There would be no more running today. Thankfully, spectators on the course understood I didn't need cheers, I need to left alone. People somehow understood that I was in a place that I usually am not. A place of personal failure, not to be tormented by their false hopes that a cheering effort would do anything besides piss me off.
I lost close to 100 places from the T2 to the finish line. I saw numerous styles of "running" as people passed. The hardest part of the race was at mile 10. As I was walking past the mile 10 marker I felt a hand pressed firmly on my mid back, it was my friend Dave Norman. He was genuinely asking if I was okay. He slowed to a walk to make sure I was fine. The fact that Dave stops running to see what my deal was goes above and beyond. I somberly said, " I will be fine, go ahead Dave." He reached out his hand for an extended hand shake. Pretty good guy. I walked the rest of the way back to the finish.
At the finish shoot some real doozies actually told me I was "doing great and looking good." Seriously! Are you really that big of a moron? Does it really make sense for some fast-looking people to walk the finish shoot, coming in behind 100 other people and an hour slower than what they are capable? Is that a great day? L'Heureux, Halpin, and Norman were at the finish line. I gave Dave a hug and "you're a good guy, Dave."
I won't ever forget Norman stopping, something that kills me to think about because I don't think I would do the same thing in race. He's a real class act for sure. Our posse wasn't genuinely pleased with our respective performances so we kicked rocks about as fast as possible. Driving as fast as we could in an attempt to forget the race. I left with some funny moments, like Halpin telling me how funny it was to watch me walk the finish area and how pissed I looked. I also think it is quite funny that my bike split was 30 seconds faster than my run split. Now, I don't really care about the race, I am not a robot and am bound to have blowups every now and again. I am sure it won't be my last. The strength I draw from this is I know I am better than this, I know I am faster than this. Above all I had the worst race of my life, stilled finished and lived to fight another day.
"This is far from the end of my Grand Columbian Quest. I won't stop until I conquer this race..."
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