Bryan Brosious: J. Clarkson Memorial Triathlon

Somethings in life happen in an instant, but sometimes those same things last forever.

Saturday marked my return to the J. Clarkson Triathlon. I have won the race two years in a row and would (humbly ) consider myself the local favorite as everyone seems to know me. I hoped that my legs and lungs had the drive to reward their cheers and make it a “spree for three.” It adds a lot of pressure when people “expect” you to win, but it is fun to be a local celeb for 1 day per year so it is worth it.

We arrived in West at about 8 am, I got checked in, setup in transition, and said hello to all the people working the tri. I had my regular spot in transition, up front and strategically placed. I finished with the other tasks, sunscreen, tires, suiting up, pre race meeting etc, and made my way to the lake.

This is a hard race for a few reason, the first is I have to ride a road frame, the Murder Machine is not invited, I spend quite a bit of time on a road frame throughout the year but the muscle combinations being used in a road position are different than a TT position.

The second challenge of this race is the water temperature. The water was really cold, like 8 degrees Celsius cold. My bad, stupid metric system…cold, like sub 50 degrees Fahrenheit. For the first time ever, the water actually felt too cold to swim comfortably. I was so cold after the swim that I had numb feet, and did not even start sweating until 15 minutes into the run. Everyone in the race that actually completed the swim (some actually were pulled out) deserves an award because that was a test for even the best swimmers.

The third challenge is the elevation. West is almost 7,000 feet above sea level, as you go up in elevation the atmospheric pressure gets lower. The lower pressure means less oxygen density, thus every breath you take at 7,000 feet has a lower amount of oxygen molecules than a breath at sea level. This would account for my uncomfortable feeling during the swim and headache on the run… Mid stroke I pulled at the collar of my wetsuit, “I think I am suffocating.”

My swim warmup was really a swim freeze up. Within minutes I was numb, I approached the start line after 10 minutes of swimming, shivering and being cold. Before the swim a girl in a shorty wetsuit mulled her way up front. I worried that she was in for a rough swim but she must have been a swim sprint champion because when the gun went off she was like torpedo. I started at a full sprint and she went by me like I was dragging and anchor, holy moly lady.

At 100 meters I regrouped and swam side by side with the human torpedo and another athlete. At 200 meters torpedo started to slow down and I eased ahead. I swam hard, begging for more oxygen and still freezing, until the turnaround at 500 meters. I checked the swim gaps to the field and it was sufficient to grow my confidence. I kept swimming hard while watching the swim exit get closer and closer.

I faintly felt my numb hand hit concrete signaling me to stand up and run up the boat ramp towards T1. I checked the swim gap with a glance over my shoulder; it looked to be over a minute, maybe 90 seconds. “I can work with,” I muttered to myself. In a flash of ankle zippers and garment peeling I was set free of my wetsuit. I put on my mountain bike shoes, helmet, sunglasses, and race number. I flew aboard the Kona and fired all cylinders within a minute of exiting the water.

Once on the bike I rode full power while negotiating the shifty dirt of the corners, and mud puddles. I knew the pace was not sustainable and I really started to fatigue. I made a judgment call that I had to back down the pace or I wouldn’t be able to run well. I backed down the pace briefly before seeing a huge bison on the bike course. I rode full power past the enormous creature standing less than 20 yards from the road. “Please don’t charge me, please don’t charge me.” ”Holy ---, that’s a buffalo on the bike course!”

I continued to ride hard, blowing through aid stations so fast that it sent the volunteers scrambling to their positions of dispersing drinks. While they frenzied their way around the aid station I would zoom through, casually smile and say, “no thanks, I’m good.”

At 25 minutes into the bike I knew I wasn’t having a great day, my legs were really tired. I decided at that point to rest the remaining 20 minutes or so it would take to finish the bike. I cooled the jets to about 80 percent power and focused on being smooth through the corners. After following the twisting road and forging a few mud puddles I found my way back to transition. The crowd was cheering insanely loud for me and it felt great. I hopped off my bike and ran barefoot over gravel and my numb feet did not even feel a thing.

I was making an even swap of my helmet and bike for my running shoes when a volunteer asked me, “do you want anything?” Hmm, well mam, since you asked I will take a Sam’s Cola and a delicious smelling burger that is cooking over there. Oh and hold the mustard and make it to go because there are a bunch of people chasing me and I am kind of in a hurry. I settled for a, “no thanks” while exiting T2. Despite the cheers I picked out my mom’s voice, her inflection pleading me to win. I saw Corrie out of the corner of my eye snapping another great picture and cheering.

I started the run conservatively determined to not run any harder than I need to. Mile 1 came and went. I had no idea where second place was. I was still running conservatively at mile 2 when the bikers began to pass me, still no idea on the second place runner. At mile 3 I had my answer. The course hairpins at the three mile aid station, I have never seen anyone there in past years but there was someone there this time. The guy seemed to be running really fast. I immediately went to damage control. I reasoned, “Stay calm, don’t start taking off and burn out before the finish. I am confident enough to give back the whole time gap and out sprint him at the line if I need to. I will do what it takes to win this race.”

”Run tough, you can do it.”

I lifted the pace and pain level slightly navigating the forest service road. I blocked out every distraction of being chased and focused on keeping my foot strike at 90, my arms loose and working, and my breathing under control. It would have been very easy to get caught up in being hunted but if I wanted to win I had to focus.

At about mile 3.5 or 3.6 I was fighting my urge to take a look over my shoulder. I reasoned that I would sneak a peak on the next straight stretch, “you can look, but if you see him you have to run the wheels off.” DEAL. I glanced briefly and did not see anyone.

After every corner I kept hoping to see the pink flagging tape that escorted us across the main road and into the finishing area. “Please see pink, please see pink.” Finally I saw pink! Then I saw the finish line and the crowd! I glanced back again, no one in sight.

My pace slowed as I entered the finish with a huge smile across my face. I glanced again to make sure 2nd place wasn’t going to make a move, nothing. I absorbed the finishing cheers while saturating the feeling of winning again. I blew off a few seconds enjoying the finish before crossing the line smiling and feeling, well, indescribable. Second place crossed the line 9 seconds later.

I won this race by being smart. 2nd place out paced me on the bike and the run, but I raced smart and had a wicked fast swim. I executed the best game plan and dug down when I needed to. I did what it took to win; nothing feels better than winning such a tough race with my family and friends cheering me on. Some things happen briefly but last forever, this is one of those things.

PS Janet’s parents have picture from 2009 when I won the men’s race and my sister won the women’s. Janet’s mom said the picture “made the living room, right among the grand kids and family portrait.” Ha ha I better send them a copy of this one, maybe I can make the fridge. “Grandma who the heck is that guy?”