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.
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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
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