A Beautiful War - The Big Finish

eehhhmmm... errrhhh, um... emerging from the murky swamp of an endless sentence.



Act 2....

In a semi-delusional state I mumble to Kari, "It's time." Unfortunately she hears me and begins to gather necessities and the room key and moves toward the door. I was hoping, somehow, for a response of, "hey, did you hear they postponed the start for 8 or 9 hours ?"

Kari and I head toward transition where I will leave her in hopes of returning as an Ironman. We say our goodbye's, I accept her wishes of luck and in a cloud of nerves and excitement mixed withhealthy dose of exhaustion, I turn and pass through the gates of no return.

Tires re-checked, morning clothes dropped, wetsuit donned...

The Swim

On the banks of the Lake Okanagan I take my place amongst the 2600+ athletes about to embark on 140.6 miles of pain, doubt, strength and self discovery. Moments after finding what I believe is the right place to start my journey, the Canadian anthem begins bouncing off the water and through the hills that surround Penticton, afterwards a stillness followed by the start of the Pro race. Now it's real.

Waist deep in 68 degree water, my eyes closed I take a deep breath and ask God to keep me moving forward. I thank him for my family, my friends, their health, safety and happiness. I say hello to Grandma in hopes she's settling in nicely in heaven and that her and Grandpa were able to get good seats for today's event. With my eyes still closed my attention turns toward the race, Coldplay's performance of "Lost" with Jay-Z at the Grammy's takes over as the sound track in my mind, my head now moving to music I begin to visualize the next 15 hours, the swim, the bike, the run and crossing that line.

"Just because I'm losing doesn't mean I'm lost."

my eyes slowly open and the gun (ok, air horn) sounds.

I quickly tredge forward amongst the masses as if I've been caught in the exiting crowd of major sporting event, after about 20 yards the crowd lowers and starts to swim. Because of the ease into the water and the lack of sleep, I don't seem to have the energy to get nervous or anxious as I usually do at the beginning of a race. There's no talking my self down, no panic to breathe or reagain ryhthm.

Every stroke seems to find my hand on another's foot, another grab from someone else to my leg and I've been smacked in the head enough already that now I'm expecting it.

After a quarter mile of desperately seeking space I finally find it and get into a groove. I'm out far left but I'm happy and it feels like I'm just out for a great morning swim. The first turn to the right comes quickly, with the congested start and quest for open water half of the swim is in the books and I'm close to making the turn for home. The next quarter mile or so is much of the same until I'm once again slammed into by a fellow competitor. This has me surging a bit so I can re-slot myself into an open lane, however, with this somewhat sudden movement my left calf cramps and completely throws me for a loop as I've had foot cramps in the pool, but never leg cramps and I'm not exactly sure what this means. How do I work out a cramp while swimming amongst thousands of other people during an Ironman? What does this mean for the rest of the Race? Am I now going to have to battle leg cramps throughout the race? Is it because I didn't sleep?. ...deep breath (as deep as possible given I have to re-insert my head into the lake), relax, ok....I manage to slow the cramping by focusing on kicking with only the right leg for a bit and then slowly work the left back into the mix.

I don't seem to have fallen off my original pace and now when I sight I can see the shoreline approaching and briefly hear the crowd welcoming folks back to the beach. This re-energizes me and gets my mind off my calf. Knowing the end to the swim is close I focus on quick and efficient strokes and head for shore. At this point the congestion returns but doesn't seem to be a factor, the bumping, hitting and scrambling for position are overshadowed by the fact that 112 miles on the bike await.

I'm just about home and can see folks ahead of me getting to their feet and stumbling through waist deep water. I swim until my hands begin to hit the lake bottom and I too get to my feet. In doing so I realize that the crowd has worked themselves into the water forming a finish chute into T1. This is awesome... This is Ironman Canada.

The Bike...

Out of the water and into transition, I reach the wetsuit strippers. I had been battling all week about whether or not I'll utilize these fine upstanding strippers of wetsuits, so when they seemed to all be taken I decided to move on and take my own suit off, but before I had the chance I was being asked to assume the position... so, um... I did and wow, these guys are good. I think we should have personal apparel strippers for all occasions...ahh, ok, moving on.

Sans wetsuit I jog hurriedly toward my swim to run bag and don my bike gear. Extra tube and air in my jersey pocket I head around the back side of the change tent to my bike. As I affix my helmet I hear the familiar and needed voice of Kari. Luckily she’s just beyond the transition area fence and I’m able to say hello and that I’ll see her again in about 7 hours.

On the bike I begin the journey out of town scanning the sides of the road for the rest of my family. Unfortunately I don’t see them, but I know they’re out there somewhere with words of, “sweet, now we can get breakfast.”

The first 40 miles of the bike course are flat or downhill except for a small hill at about mile 11 or 12. On this quick stint upwards I hear a shotgun blast in the distance; someone blurts outs, “they’re picking off the stragglers!” Great, I’m doomed, 12 miles in and I’m being shot at. Come to find out this is some measure to keep pesky creatures out of farmland and vineyards.

Once up the hill it’s smooth sailing to Richter Pass, the first real climb. As I approach Richter I can see the droves of wheels and spokes about a mile off to the right, all pointed towards the sky. The first real test is here. Once into Osoyos I make the sharp turn to the right, drop to my smaller gears and spin.

I stick to my plan of being very conservative on climbs just because I have no idea how my legs will react to this bike course and running a marathon afterwards. Richter is somewhat lengthy but very manageable and not as steep as it could be. It was actually a great deal of fun with the incredible support we had lining the street all the way to the top. There were times where it felt like I was peddling through a tunnel of personal cheerleaders, all cheering for forward progress.

Richter is a set of 4 back to back climbs, it’s one hill, but you get 3 breaks. During the steepest portion the sweat builds and my legs are now well aware of the task at hand. With the top of the hill in sight a calming satisfaction hugs my inner being as the largest hill on the course is in the books and has my sweat all over it.

After Richter it doesn’t necessarily get easier as now we tackle the rollers, this is where much of the damage can be done to your legs. The pros power through these with ease, but I must be as efficient as possible, both on the downhill and up.

I manage to escape the rollers with gas in the tank and take on the generally flat section that lies between me and Yellow Lake. This stretch seems to be the longest, and now some lovely headwinds have joined the party. Trying to break the course up in my mind a bit my goal now is to get to special needs in the middle of the out and back loop, grab my sandwich, stretch and gear up for the home stretch.

I reach special needs and notice that the bikes behind me are thinning out. It now hits me that I’ve probably let the headwinds beat me up some and I’m dragging. Sandwich down I continue to peddle towards Yellow Lake and home. Funny enough I am now looking forward to my next climb as once it’s here and once I tackle it I’m home free, almost all downhill to the transition area.

Wish granted….. we’re climbing. 20 minutes pass…. we’re still climbing. Wow, I have nothing but slow in me now. I’m not hurting by any means but all added effort seems wasted. Out of the saddle, in the saddle, focus on efficiency, focus on power… nothing. Slow and not so steady I make it up to the lake. Wheeew! All good. A fan yells out, “you’re up! no more hills. All down from here.”

Liar, she is a Liar. I find myself encountering yet another hill. I’m sure if I go back to take a look at this beast it will seem like nothingness, but right now flat seems like up and this up feels nothing short of rude.

I manage to peddle past the next two short uphills and now we’re truly headed in the right direction, down. Catching my breath, resting legs and consuming calories I cruise back into Penticton, happy. Now it feels like I could go another 112, but I opt not to and I’m all grins heading into the transition area and to that lovely dismount line. I am greeted by the beautiful sound of my family cheering my return. I can sense in my Mother’s exuberance that I was supposed to be here an hour ago.

The Run

Changing into my run gear I take my time, re-apply sunscreen, stretch yet again, breathe and head out. Having no idea what my legs have in store for me I jog cautiously out of T2, wave to the Fam and begin the last portion of this little adventure. Funny enough, with 26.2 miles ahead of me, I feel good, I feel like somehow I’m almost done.

Thrilled to no end, my legs are moving and although I’m no where near my normal 7:30 min pace, I’m ru…jogging. Miles 1 through 5 down and I’m almost out of Penticton. Approaching the aid station at mile 6 reality hits and it brought leg cramps with it. Almost limping into the aid station I have to stretch out 2 separate cramps, right quad and left calf. I walk through the aid station, grabbing some Gatorade and water, and slowly work back into a run.

This is the pattern all the way to the turnaround in Okanagan Falls, run mile to mile, stretch when needed, walk the aid stations and repeat. Sun setting and without reason, I feel a little nervous that I have 13.1 miles left and 4, 4 and a half hours until cutoff, just because of a slight fear that my legs will lock up and I may have to power walk all the way home.

Outside of 2 hills early in my 13 mile return to Penticton I am able to run, I continue the practice of walking through the aid stations until about mile 18. As I start to reach city limits I am engulfed in childlike giddiness. I’m gonna do this, I can almost see the lights of the finish line, I’m gonna do this. I reach 23 or so and I am greeted by a fantastic surprise. Dan had jogged out from the finish line and found me on the course just before I make the turn into the city. Jogging along side me we chat about the day of being super endurance spectators, here is where I learned that through a meeting of the minds a decision has been made to check out of the Lakeside Resort and Casino and head for Kelowna tonight, away from club Sleepless. Without breaking stride Dan jumps on the phone to announce he’s found me and I’m on my way home.

Dan continues with me to the next aid station and then breaks off as I tap the tanks and kick it into final stretch gear. The next 2 and a half miles seem to be the easiest. About a mile out I’m at the finish line and need to make one last little out and back before I’m into the finish chute. Reaching that turnabout I’m greeted by fast approaching lights and loud roars as finishers are announced and the grin returns to my face, I’m home, I’m here, I’ve finished.

Into the Chute…

I hit the lights, the stands are jammed, the speakers and PA system are shaking. Although I am most likely at the same pace I feel like I’m sprinting to the line, as I get to the screaming masses I’m greeted by Journey (singing)…”Just a small town boy….” High fiving fans lining the finish chute I want to turn around and do this again, perhaps I can spend the next 2 hours just repeating this experience over and over and over again. The clock reads 14:57….nope, I am crossing that line under 15 hours. Refocused and half way down the chute, palms to the sky, I motion both hands upward in a sweeping motion in attempt to get the crowd even louder. They do, holy #@%& they DO! Incredible. Fans screaming, I cross the line..

A Beautiful War - the Finale (act 1)

7 p.m., Saturday August 29th….it’s the night before race day. In the morning I will gather with 2600 of my closest friends on the edges of Lake Okanagan where at 7 a.m. we’ll begin our 140.6 mile adventure through the beautiful British Columbia countryside. I survey the room for the 100th time, ensuring everything is in its place for the 5 a.m. wake up call. Race kit? Check… breakfast? Check… bottles for the bike? Check… girlfriend digging into her book and preparing for the early night? Check.

With everything indeed in its rightful home I slip into bed and attempt to focus some aimless attention toward the T.V. We find My Cousin Vinny playing on one of the local channels and settle on it with hopes that there’s no chance I make it to the credits and in no time we’ll be greeted by race day morning….. wait, Race Day? You mean as soon as I shut my eyes and drift off it will be the morning of race day? The day I’ve been focused on for the last 7 or 8 months? Sweet, here goes my mind… looks like I’m taking in the entire show.
The riveting courtroom drama that is My Cousin Vinny wraps up with Marissa Tomei and Joe Pesci racing down a highway and I’m instructed to find “what’s next.” I keep it on the same channel hoping there’s another similar adventure to lose myself in… nope; just some “my space ship is better than your spaceship” show and at this point I could care less what’s on, just want the noise in the background. I hand the controls off, adjust the pillow and begin to fade.
At a moment of peace, knowing it’s 8:45 p.m. and I have plenty of time to fall asleep and get a full nights rest I notice the channel flipping has ceased and it looks as if we’re settling in on the next mindless adventure. The scene: opening credits to a deep ocean view… no or inaudible music…. Credits continue, both of us now anticipating the title of our next film de jour, the music begins and the volume slowly increases…. Fantastic, Kari has settled on JAWS.
After a moment of laughter the channel is changed and a more appropriate show is found. Now, with little interest in the happenings on the tube, I slowly begin to fall asleep with thoughts of race day still managing to slip through.

9:30 p.m….. not quite asleep, but close.

OK… I need you to close your eyes (fine, pretend they’re closed or have someone else read this paragraph to you), take yourself back to that Thursday night in college where it was time to take on the weekly tradition of Thirsty Thursday at your favorite get your groove on establishment. No doubt someone in your gaggle has just said something about them just wanting to DANCE and they had no care for any potential suitors this particular night. Now, find yourself at that moment where the bouncer has just checked your ID and without looking any where near your direction waves you through. You open the door and the latest, but freshly remixed by DJ Jazzy Jumper Cables, hit song greets you with profound concussion…. This is now my life. Club Doesn’t Give Hoot just opened their doors below us and for the next 5 hours my sleep will be thwarted by the styling’s of Mr. Jumper Cables and his wheels of steel.

After countless trips to the restroom and to the non-functioning air conditioner I re-position for what seems to be the 954th time (sorry Kari). I grab my phone to check the time, I have yet to fall asleep… the phone reads 2:30 a.m. Now I begin the “if I fall asleep now I can still get 2 and a half hour's of sleep” game. I do this for the next 2 hours and 15 minutes. Its 4:45 a.m. race day morning, now…. I just have to get up.

In my delusional state of consciousness I put on my race gear and attempt to throw down breakfast. With the first round of breakfast down I grab my special needs bags, my air pump and my nutrition to install on my bike then make for body marking and the special needs drop off all while convincing myself that I can indeed do this with no sleep.

Body marked, bike tires filled with air and special needs bags dropped I head back to the room to relax, grab some more calories and put on the wetsuit.

With my wetsuit on half way I take in the sunrise from the balcony….it beautifully calm. This is where I begin to not have the most accurate view of the day’s accounts. Kari steps out to the balcony with her camera to capture the morning and my preparations. I strongly believe my reaction was one of humor with the quip of “you can’t take my picture… my mouth is full” (must read in purely exceptional tone and timing)… later accounts have me “snapping” back with something along the lines of “don’t get me in the picture, I’m eating”…. I have requested the security tapes from the Lakeside Resort and Casino for further review.

Intermission

…. This is where Eric formulates the best possible jab for me writing a novel to this point and we haven’t even hit the water yet……….

To be continued….9/16

A Beautiful War - Part 1

8:30 p.m., July 18th, race day eve and I'm going through the list one last time:

Bars... check

Gels... check

Race kit... set out on the chair waiting to greet my early a.m. rise...check

Sun block...check

Running gear... out at T2 already, check

Bike Tubes...check

Air... check

Bike... check

Sun glasses.. check

goggles... check

All race numbers and bibs are in their place. Now I look for more to prepare, back and forth, car to hotel room, transition bag to bike.. there's more right? If there's not I have to go to bed, if I go to bed I have to go to sleep, if I go to sleep it will be morning, if it's morning, well, it's time to race.

8:45 p.m., lying in bed watching grown men bounce off oversized whoopie cushions and being thrown about by gyrating piston powered trampolines my laughter momentarily keeps my anxiety at bay.

8:59 comes all too quickly and credits roll on this genius of a program they call wipeout. Brushing teary remnants of the hilarity from my face I shut the television off, wrestle the 23 pillows into a position of somewhat comfort and start to drift off.

9:15 p.m., the ceiling is beautiful this time of night, I really love what the America's Best Value Inn has done with the place.

9:23 p.m., SLAM! jolted from my drift into the night I realize I now have neighbors and what's left of the walls are thin, holding nothing back.

9:30 p.m., running through race day in my head, trying to get myself to thoughts of readyness, calm, peace. It doesn't come, but I drift off back into the land of dreams

Swim

It's 4:45 a.m., I'm rested and awake. I grab my alarm and shut the 5:15 a.m. wake up call off and grab breakfast. Bike now into the car, race kit on, checked out of the ABVI (America's Best Value Inn), one last look around the room, door shuts and I'm off and down the road where the Russian River awaits my entry.

With the sun peaking out over the horizon through fields of drunken fruit I venture north on Highway 101 and onto River Road toward Guernville, a town so lost in Patchouli oil it failed to spell check it's own historical snapshot written on the welcome sign (next time you visit, check out the sign outside the Safeway parking lot).

I arrive in sleepy Guernville and park in a vacant lot which is currently being pimped out by the local high school at 5 bucks a pop, donations of course, no requirement... an "it's all good man" approach," get me on the way back". I happily fork over the 5 bucks but quickly make them aware that if a certain father figure shows up he's going to be quite miffed there's no lemonade stand and if this donation is going to the high school why are those darn kids still in bed and not out here at the crack of dawn with everyone else?

Swim and bike gear in tow I head down to Johnson's beach to set up transition. I stumble through the crowd of anxious athletes and find myself aware that I have not been keeping the best track of time. The pro field is taking to the gates and I'm up in 4 waves. Still I have some time and I find a place on the appropriate rack, set up transition, get body marked and take a deep breath. On my walk out of transition I run into my PowerBar teammate Nicole, wish her luck as I pass and then take to the water.

The Russian River, which takes it's time babbling through wine country is currently hovering around 75 degrees and is about 10 degrees cooler than the outside air. For this 1.2 mile swim I'm choosing to go sans wetsuit, a first in a race for me but the water is just too nice to put a wetsuit on.

Some hootin and hollerin then a squeeze of an airhorn trigger, we're off. I take a nice slow approach to the open water start, get into a good rhythm and begin to slip through the shallow waters. About a quarter mile into the swim I breath to my right, take a stroke, another, sight, stroke, another and again another, breathe...then, abruptly, I come to an immediate stop, crashing into a fellow competitor, who is... um... STANDING UP?! He quickly see's the errors in his ways but, standing? really? Who stands?

This quickly becomes a theme between the 1/2 mile mark and the 3/4 mile mark. I don't give in to the trend and continue to plug along, swimming the traditional freestyle stroke. As I continue to sight every 50 yards or so I get snapshots of the river seen in Brother Where art Thou. A bit of a come to Jesus scene and not one that I was anticipating. It's difficult to laugh and swim at the same time.

Johnson's beach quickly returns to view and we're home, task one of three in the books. I emerge from the river as if I have just returned from a leisurely swim and somehow come to find myself exiting the water amongst a bunch of crazy triathletes. Up the beach to the bike I take my time and go through the Mom checklist: Socks, helmet, food, extra tubes, apply sunscreen, put everything neatly in my transition bag so everything makes it back to the finish line.

Bike

Bike mounted, .01 of 56 miles down. Up the hill out of the beach and East down River Rd. All is smooth and all is well, just taking in the incredible scenery.

Mile 5 we make a right turn off River Rd. onto Sunset. This tight turn was something the Race Director warned us about and without fail there's an ambulance at the turn, but as I get there, slow and make the turn there's no carnage, no fall, nothing. I motor on.

Approaching mile 7, now there's stirring about, some excited movement from the lady with the number one go finger telling us to make a right turn. As we make the turn we see what the fuss is about. There's a tree down covering the entire roadway. We approach, un-clip and duck underneath where we can. In the background there's comments of "wow, I didn't expect an obstacle course," "Do we get points for making it through without un-clipping?" "Man, this is a hard cutoff, seems early." All of this chatter stops when, as we get to the otherside of this fallen member of Mother Nature's army, we find ourselves staring at a downed athlete. Attended to by Emergency crew members he doesn't look at all ok, ice pack on his head, moans from his lips and frantic other riders attempting to explain what took place. With help here we were left to fill in our own blanks and continue on.

After shaking the sight of a downed fellow competitor the miles begin to slip to the rear. A beautiful rolling course through Sonoma County's endless vineyards. This rolling along came to a halt at about mile 30 where I was greeted by my first ever flat tire during a race. I pulled over and began the repair process. Since I'm awesome at changing bike tires this takes some time, I did however get to see Nicole again as she went flying by after making sure I was ok. Which I was, just bummed that I lost about 10 to 15 minutes.

Wheels healed I'm on the road once again. I pass many of those who came by during my timeout and got back into a rhythm. The last 26 miles seem to fly by and I rolled right into transition where for the first time I realized it was frickin HOT. No matter, dismounted the bike and jogged it into T2.

Run

In T2 I found my shoes which after pleading and pleading with higher powers did not turn into rollerblades. Laced up, bathroom breaked, I'm off onto the last portion of this journey.

Mile one flys by, and although I can feel my pesky hamstring it doesn't at all feel like it's going to get worse and this is a huge relief. One foot in front of the other I make the left turn into the first aid station grab some gatorade, hit the homemade misting station and continue with the whole one foot in front of the other thing.

Mile 2 seems to take longer to get to and I find myself now scanning ahead to see where the next opportunity for shade is. It's hot enough now that I'm thinking about it and not about the run.

Mile 3 is a bit of challenge and the shade is beginning to become more and more sparse. I hit the aid station yet again grabbing two drinks, one for inside and one for out. At this point there's a guy on-course on his bike encouraging athletes, but for some reason I'm just annoyed. This is most likely due to the fact that this is an out and back course and most of his words of encouragement are for those at mile 10, a place I desperately want to be.

Mile's 4-7 are more "in the zone" like and stomach issues I was having early were fading. For the first time "rhythm" could be a word associated with my current state. At mile 6.5 / 7 is the turnaround and where a sweet misting station is. It was difficult to not stand there, grab some soap and shower up.

Mile's 7-12, these were the absolute worst of them to the point I'm petitioning to have them removed. At mile 7.5 my inner dialogue had me patting myself on the back with encouraging words of, "man, I haven't had any cramping issue's all year, not since Switzerland a year ago." Mile 8 I was joined on the run by a cramping right leg. What started and stayed in my quad just above the knee also included the calf and foot. The weirdest thing was the foot as I could barely feel it and it was doing stuff I wasn't telling it to. I stopped for a sec and stretched, this slowed the cramping and it never returned to that severity, but made the rest of the run slow and controlled, not sure I would even call it a run.

Amongst the cramping was some overheating, or what I think was overheating. I could feel the heat, I knew I was hot, but I was getting the chills which really threw me for a loop. Just felt uncomfortable, never got to a "I'm losing control" area, but definitely lingered in a weird zone.

12 to 13.1 - This was a great stretch and a horrible stretch, all at the same time. This same road back into Windsor High School that I quickly ran out was longer this time around, this time it was sweltering, dogs were leashing their owners and pulling them toward air conditioning, runners were frequenting the sidelines, some of which looking as if they may not make the last .5.

Out of the high school parking lot and onto the grassy fields that the finish line was currently calling home. No longer cool with the sun I cross the finish line and let one of the many awesome volunteers soak my everything with cool water.

Finisher medal in hand I find recovery beverages (no, not those... protein) and shade. It doesn't take me long to recover and once I am ready to stand again and take on the world I tour the countryside once more collecting my car and bike and then I point all of my belongings south and head towards Los Angeles.

Next.... Canada.

Cats and Dogs - Boise 70.3 Race Recap

Tossing and turning I sit up scoot to the edge of the bed and reluctantly put my feet on the ground to get up for what feels like the 10th time tonight. A combination of constantly hydrating and thoughts of 70.3 miles keeps my sleep in constant intervals and never deep.

After flicking the switch in the restroom back to the off position my thoughts turn to hoping that I am not keeping my bed mate in the same state and she somehow sleeps through my restless night.

After a few position changes mixed with strange and un-connecting dreams I drift off just barely and wake around 8:30 a.m. ready to get the day's race prep started, which for this race seems a bit drawn out.

A day earlier, after having it tuned, I took my bike up to the swim to bike transition, racked it and affixed my helmet to the handle bars. Today I must bring my bike to run transition bag downtown and place it where, hopefully, in about 8 hours I'll re-rack my bike and throw the running shoes on and hit the run course.

10:45 a.m., Saturday, June 13th - all bags are dropped, bikes racked and butterflies are beginning to lightly make their way around my stomach. Now we sit and wait, wait to load the bus and then once at Lucky Peak Reservoir wait to put on the wetsuit and get into the water.

After ample time to let the nerves really kick in, transition closes and the color guard begins to belt out our country's anthem. I pull on the wetsuit, bid farewell to my race support and make my way to the swim start queue.

Moments laters...

The pro's are off and charging through the chilly and oddly turbulent waters of Lucky Peak, then off go the first two age group waves and now, no turning back, I'm in and adjusting to the waters where I'll venture 1.2 miles prior to jumping on my bike for another 56.

Horn sounds and I'm off . With the first few strokes my heart beats a little faster and thoughts of "am I ready for this?," "am I going too fast" "do I breathe every other stroke or every third?""what's rhythm anyway," begin to rattle off in my brain. For some reason I have yet to start a race without a brief moment of panic creeping in, but, sure enough that panic quickly turns into focus on the task at hand.

The first quarter mile or so go pretty quickly, some jockeying for position and random run in's with the next door swimmer, but all in all a good start. As we take the first turn to the right and on to the longest stretch of the swim the choppy waters make their presence known and it's a fight with each stroke. I quickly learn that keeping my head down and slipping through the rough waters is best way to get through this and stay somewhat efficient. Another 1/4 mile in the books and we're about halfway to the next buoy and next right turn. The waters at times begin to show some streaks of violence but never really get too dirty, however, for one swimmer they seem to get to be a bit much as he does his best fish out of water routine and winds up on my back legs. He quickly rights himself and removes his tantrums from my lower half, this wakes me up a bit and forces me to once again re-gain a rhythm.

Another quarter mile down, then another, I am absolutely sure that the swim is taking longer than it should and I'll be getting out around 40 minutes rather than 35. I look up to sight and once again see the docks and the fans surrounding it, my tardiness is now an afterthought as I'm absolutely thrilled that the swim is in the books and I'm about to be off on the bike.

I rise from the reservoir a la The Swamp Thing and begin the walk,run,jog,walk,run, struggle to find the chord to my wetsuit zipper, run, walk, continue in my struggle to find the zipper chord,run,walk, jog to my bike. On my way up the ramp I catch a glimpse of the girl, my breathing slows back to normal and I find my way up to T1.

Wetsuit off, bike shoes race belt and sunscreen on I grab my bike and jog out of transition through a melting, not so inflatable arch, mount the bike and venture out on to a great bike course.

Heading out on the bike down a hill and away from the reservoir, the beginning of the bike course takes you alongside a river with towering rock on each side, and incredibly beautiful beginning to the next 56 miles. Once some distance is put on the reservoir we cross the river and head down Highway 21 and past the airport. Just beyond the airport, around mile 10, the skies open up and heavy rains join an already tough headwind.

Around mile 15 or so we get into some rolling hills and mix in a few climbs while the rain mixes with a touch of hail and then tapers off to light and steady. We make a right off one country road onto the next, then after a mile or so a left onto another. Here we tackle our first substantial climb and the skies begin to open up once more, riders are coming back down this same hill I'm trucking up with cries of "ahhhhhhhhh!!!" mixed one noticeable high pitched "OUCH!" as hard rain beats down on cyclists reaching speeds of 30 to 35 miles an hour all while concentrating on keeping both wheels on the ground.

I make it to the top of the hill, which to my delight resembles nothing of Nasty Grade, make the loop and head back around. It takes seconds to get down as I retrace my steps back on to that original country road and head to the right, away from Boise.

At one point as we climb the pro's pass us at their mile 40 and Chris Lieto has the lead and is absolutely flying, I now feel like I'm crawling and someone is behind me pulling on my bike. I should really be able to make this thing go much faster. Chris was followed by what looked like Craig Alexander (the reigning IM World Champ) and a host of other riders ranging from 2 to 5 minutes back.

For the next 25 miles, it's rolling hills, long flats, puddles and raindrops. We finally get back into town and the last 5 miles are flat to slightly downhill and fast. On my way into town I can hear the race announcer call the men's finish, from the sound of it Chris Lieto and Craig Alexander are coming down the chute together and after 70.3 miles of racing will fight for first in the last 50 yards, unfortunately I don't hear the outcome. I reach T2 with a bike of 3:21 or so, rack my bike and put my soggy feet into my running shoes. After some stretching and a bathroom break I head out onto the run.

As I get out onto the run I pass Samantha McGlone, a PowerBar athlete, as she comes in to finish. I cheer her on as she passes and then turn my focus on knocking off miles and staying at a steady pace. Unfortunately I'm really feeling my hamstring and that pace is a slow one. It's an odd thing this pesky hamstring as it doesn't feel hurt just weak and that if I run too fast it will tighten and then I'm not sure what would be in store.

I'm feeling relatively good, but continue to run the pace that my legs allow. The first 6.5 miles seem to take forever, and as it turns out it felt that way because they did (59 min first lap...yuck), I come upon the turn around point which taunts you with a clear view into the finish chute, a wickedly cruel gesture. I make the turn around, back facing the finish line and make my way back onto the course. I take my first gel of the run, stop at my first aid station and relish in the fact that this is the last lap of a two loop course, every step bringing me closer to the finish line.

At about mile 10 of the run I find my self in back of two runners, (who I refer to as the soggy bottom boys due to the rain taking it's lovely toll on both pair of bike shorts and this amuses me to no end). These two gents are running together and having the most boring, self promoting conversation and it annoys me that I can't shake them. We're running on a small run/walk path along the Boise greenbelt with runners going in both directions, space is at a premium. These two fellas find it appropriate to run side by side while taking up the entire path. I am content to stay behind them for now and look for my chance to pass in about a mile where I hope to pick it up through the finish.

I reach mile 12 and now it's time for the homestretch, water logged shoes and all I pick up the pace a bit, pass the Soggy Bottom Boys, and head for home. Once out of the greenbelt and back onto city streets the finish line is within view and a grin takes it's place on my face and I head for home. Once I reach the finish Chute, PowerBar snowfencing on each side of me, I once again catch the eyes of that beautiful girl, the grin gets bigger, the pace quickens, the speakers call out my name and I cross the line. I am Half an Ironman.

-------

Not that any of them will read this, but I must bring attention to the 1400 volunteers at this race. All of them had the best attitude throughout the long day, attended to the needs of over 1500 athletes, spent countless hours setting up, handing out and breaking down, all with a smile on their face and in the pouring rain. All for a T-Shirt

In the next few days I will add the story of the road trip home, which in itself was a wonderful time and adventure.

-d

Plan B

So, as training, work and that other life stuff begins to be all consuming my remaining posts will be race reports as to ensure quality of content and reduction of ..well, guilt for not updating my blog... there, I said it. FINE... Whew!

Big training weekend ahead, then end of next week I'm in Boise for the IM 70.3 which will be my first race of the year and a good check point.

next up, Boise race recap...

Following posts with be a Vineman 70.3 (half Ironman) recap at the end of July and then the big one first of September, recapping Ironman Canada.

-d

Are we there yet? How Much Longer? I have to ............

So, I think I'm going to change things up a bit.  As training gets longer, work get's busier and sleep becomes a dream in itself I am going to attempt to write more frequently but shorter as to convince myself that I can and I want to take the time to put my thoughts down here. Every once and a while, when I'm bowled over with motivation I'll throw a bit more down for your reading pleasure.

Deal? Deal.

As I sit here in the west...no, sorry, northeast wing of my estate studio de third o' gara'ge with frozen broccoli on my lower left calf and frozen mixed veggies on my hamstring, I revel in another week past which had me taking more steps beyond my bout with swine sars flu (common cold, but still, got pretty gnarly for a sec) and two more training sessions that took me to new places.  

Saturday I rode 110 miles on the streets of Orange County in and around Irvine, Mission Viejo, Lake Forest, Orange and Irvine Lake.  Although a very tough day towards the end I am ecstatic that I have somewhat of an understanding of what the Ironman bike portion will be like, at least the total miles.  I did, however, feel as if I rode right up to the "Road Closed - Dead End" sign of my fitness level.  Miles 97 - 110 were the toughest I've had. Not necessarily a tough course, but I was done and I wanted to be off the bike and shoving calories down my throat.  All in all a great day... if only because I ended up at the doorstep of lovely lady who did, after much pleading, let me in.

I used Sunday as a day to recover and mixed in a little house/apt hunting and then hit the pavement once again tonight for a 2 plus hour run.  The lungs felt great, the body is a little beat up, but that's to be expected.  I'm simply thrilled that I can run 20 minutes without laboring to breathe... sickness is dumb

on to another week... will write again soon.

Break Check

Alright... back to the blog.

It's been a very busy 3 or 4 weeks.  A great deal of work, work travel and training thrown in the mix....obviously I've been slacking in the blog dept.

First week of April had me running an 1:40 in downtown Milwaukee then home for a long ride and another long run.  The next week I was in Boston running side by side with the Charles River and trying to figure out how to get a ride in with no bike, my solution, a longer ride the following weekend.  The last weekend of April was one for breaking a few more barriers, got in my first 90 mile ride and 2+ hours on the run.

After last Sunday's baseball game and 2 hour run the table was set for this weekend, my first race, a half Ironman in Bradley, CA called Wildflower.  An awesome event where thousands of athletes, families and friends camp out at Lake San Antonio for the weekend and either participate in or cheer on 3 different events, the long course (half ironman distance), the mountain bike on Saturday and the olympic distance held on Sunday. 

I woke up Monday to sore legs, expected, and the beginning of what felt like a cold, unexpected. I was ok with it as Monday was an off day and I began the precautionary Zicam and Airborne doses. On Tuesday I found myself with confirmation of a cold, not much relief from the Zicam, but still got through the easy 50 min spin on the bike. Made final preparations on Wednesday for being out of the office again Thursday and Friday... and, um, did a portion of 4 weeks of laundry.  

Thursday morning I made the drive up to Wildflower and continued to battle this awesome cold. Made it to camp, set up the tent and got a few items in place for the arrival of some PowerBar athletes.  I was met shortly after my arrival by a fellow competitor from PowerBar's event Marketing agency, Steve.  Steve and I went out for a 35-40 min run and followed with a quick swim. During the run I found my self laboring to breathe, now I began to hate this cold. Although the swim went alright I struggled a bit to get warm again aftewards, but didn't think much of it. Friday, the day before the race, I went out and rode the first 5 miles of the course and headed home.  In the first 2 miles of the bike course there's a decent size climb to get out of the park, once again I found myself struggling to breathe when I know my fitness is at a much better level and my heart rate seemed high as well, but I don't have the fancy gadgets so I'm kind of guessing at that point.  After being heckled by overly concerned joggers that I need to put on my helmet (I forgot it at camp, was completely aware of it, and if I had it, it would be ON) I headed back down to put the bike away and get to work. 

Friday was a full day, first day of the expo, Chris Lieto (super triathlete, could be top 10 in Kona this year) signed at our booth for a bit and then we had a Team Elite function at the PowerBar campsite.  After all was said and done on the work side I began to think about race day, I put everything I would need for transition into my bag, put my kit in the tent along with warm clothes for the walk down to transition in the morning then headed to dinner. At dinner I found myself unable to focus on conversation around me and on the walk back to the campsites, which is uphill, it hit me a little harder, I can't breathe and this is getting worse.  I tried to stay up for a bit but couldn't hang so I went to bed in hopes that one more night of sleep would have me feeling much better and ready for race day.

Race day morning comes. I continue to delay my rise from the tent knowing the questions I must face, but finally with the rustling of race day preparations around me I get to my feet and out of the tent. This new day, however, did not bring with it health and as it grew close to time to head down to set up I had to make a decision, can I and/or should I race?  If the answer is yes then great, but there's no way I'm not finishing it if I start it, even if I'm helping shut down the final aid stations on my way in. The decision I come to feels like the right one, unfortunately it's not the easy one and not the one I wanted to even entertain... no.

Facing that decision has been tough. I feel like I was asked to go to battle and I said no.  There were those who understood and said it was the right decision which helped a bit, but there were also some who felt that I needed to hear why it was good that I wasn't out there like, It was hot out there, the run was brutal, atleast you don't have the sunburn everyone else has, etc.  See, that's just it, I want that sunburn, I want to work that hard, I want to be in there with the troops.

The drive home Saturday night was tough as I left the park on some of the same roads that over 3000 triathletes were just racing on. On those roads I began to think of the many conversations I've had or heard where an athlete was asked to describe their toughest race, toughest game or most challenging moment of their career.  Those questions where always answered with some awesome and at times incredible stories.  It was over 100 degrees, I forgot my nutrition on the run course, took a spill on the bike, etc.  Although I've not yet heard this response, after this weekend I truly feel that the worst race, most challenging game or toughest event is the one you can't start.