Polar Bear results are posted and my blissfully ignorant "I think I did OK" is now "I wonder who just totally kicked my bootay all over the missile range?"
Sarah Crewe.
That's who.
I have no idea if this is the same Sarah Crewe mentioned in Don Fink's training book: "Be Iron-Fit: Time-Efficient Training Secrets for Ultimate Fitness."
Or, if this is the same Sarah Crewe with a sub 12 hour Ironman under her belt, and multiple Ironman results, including Lanzarote, Florida, and Placid.
Unfortunately, the Polar Bear results lack splits.
I came in 7th of 30 females overall, second in my age group, with a grievous mid-winter run, and a 20+ mph bike under windy conditions.
Sarah Crewe was 1st female overall, and first in my age group.
Yeay to my age group!
I would have dearly liked to see her bike split, as she was 3.5 minutes faster than me on the run, but 9 minutes faster overall. With a 5:32 IM bike, (if this is the same Sarah) then Sarah can ride a bike.
Plus, she uses a disc.
When will I ever learn?
I can see that Sarah Crewe has been showing up at the local races: Ruidoso and Santa Fe--all races I didn't do this year.
Whether or not.
Sarah of the IM results or a new face in the crowd.
Hats off.
And,
Welcome to the neighborhood.
Showing posts with label Polar Bear Triathlon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Polar Bear Triathlon. Show all posts
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
36 degree early morning temps with a predicted 20 mph wind...
T and I signed up for the Polar Bear triathlon before we knew it was actually going to live up to it's name and be a truly COLD race.
We signed up for it because we had earned a year end award for the Southwest Challenge Series (SWCS), and the awards banquet was going take place right after the Polar Bear race. The dedicated SW Challenge administrators (Flip, Mark B, Mariana, John and his wife) put a lot of time into the awards and food, and we felt if they were going to make the effort on their end, then we were going to make the effort to be there.
Each year, I kind of wonder why I sign up for a race in the middle of winter. I say "kind of wonder" because it's a legitimate thought that just barely makes it to the surface of my awareness before getting steamrolled by years of habit and thoughtless race commitments.
Thoughtlessly and based on habit, I signed up for this race in November, when I was a month out from my final '08 race and squarely ensconced in the "off-season."
A month off from triathlon training colors all things triathlon with a rosy glow.
I spent a few more weeks doing nothing and feeling invincible. After all, I was the '08 SWCS champion for my age group, so I must be doing OK.
Two weeks before the race, I started to get a niggle of worry.
From the depths of my not very attentive brain, I started to remember how difficult the race had been the year before. In particular, one memory stood out--me coming off the bike, fumbling through transition with virtually nothing left, feeling overcooked and feverish, holding onto my goggles and barely moving toward the pool, then looking up into the eyes of the number one guy, as he encouraged me--and how embarrassed I felt. I didn't include that moment in my race report, but I did include memories of how sore my muscles were after the race, and how ill prepared I was.
Flash back to 2003, when I had a very up and down year, and T named my training efforts, "The Eight Day Training Plan." That was the year I met Bones, who took me under his wing--and I believe it was the following year that TriTeam Southwest was formed, which eventually morphed into our current Outlaws triathlon team. In 2003 everything triathlon just seemed so hard. I couldn't run three miles hard without feeling wiped out, and I certainly couldn't swim. T was gone at the time and I had a hard time focusing on training but I still, somehow, made it to 6 races that year--all due in part to my 8 day training plan. This plan consisted of procrastinating for as long as possible, than galvanized by the specter of totally making a fool of myself, squeezing in a few key workouts before the impending event...
It was this memory that cropped up as the Polar Bear neared, and I realized I had done virtually no training, except for the very occasional run, since the Longhorn 70.3 on October 5th. My memory of the Eight Day Training Plan gave me some confidence--despite the fact that I also remembered how hard those races were. I had done it before, I could do it again.
Here's a brief summary of my calendar entries for the month before the Polar Bear race:
Week of Nov. 16: 2 days "Sickish," 2 days of rock climbing, 3 days of "no exercise."
Week of Nov. 23: 2 days "short run", 3 days "no exercise," 2 days of Thanksgiving hullaballoo.
Week of Nov. 30: 3 days of "headache," 3 days of "no exercise," 1 day of rock climbing
Week of Dec. 7th: This is where my EIGHT DAY TRAINING PROGRAM kicked in: 7-mile run, 29-mile bike ride, 1500-yard swim, 3-mile run, 1 hour indoor trainer ride, 2 days of rest, then RACE DAY.
Unfortunately, I can't report on how I did, because the results are still not up. However, I felt pretty good throughout the race--turned in a decent run, caught a bazillion on a very windy bike (OK-maybe only 20, since not that many people did the race), and didn't panic in the swim.
The best indicator of how my fitness has improved over the past year? Not one iota of muscle soreness, except in the back of my neck, from not being used to the aero bike position. The race was a 5k run, 40k (25 mile) bike, and 400 yard swim, and I finished in 1:59+, second in my AG. I'm sure when I see my times, I'll wish I had gone faster, but I right now I feel pretty good about the ability to push my limits--especially with the kind of prep I had.
Now, it's firmly back to the off-season for me--especially since its snowing outside right now...
We signed up for it because we had earned a year end award for the Southwest Challenge Series (SWCS), and the awards banquet was going take place right after the Polar Bear race. The dedicated SW Challenge administrators (Flip, Mark B, Mariana, John and his wife) put a lot of time into the awards and food, and we felt if they were going to make the effort on their end, then we were going to make the effort to be there.
Each year, I kind of wonder why I sign up for a race in the middle of winter. I say "kind of wonder" because it's a legitimate thought that just barely makes it to the surface of my awareness before getting steamrolled by years of habit and thoughtless race commitments.
Thoughtlessly and based on habit, I signed up for this race in November, when I was a month out from my final '08 race and squarely ensconced in the "off-season."
A month off from triathlon training colors all things triathlon with a rosy glow.
I spent a few more weeks doing nothing and feeling invincible. After all, I was the '08 SWCS champion for my age group, so I must be doing OK.
Two weeks before the race, I started to get a niggle of worry.
From the depths of my not very attentive brain, I started to remember how difficult the race had been the year before. In particular, one memory stood out--me coming off the bike, fumbling through transition with virtually nothing left, feeling overcooked and feverish, holding onto my goggles and barely moving toward the pool, then looking up into the eyes of the number one guy, as he encouraged me--and how embarrassed I felt. I didn't include that moment in my race report, but I did include memories of how sore my muscles were after the race, and how ill prepared I was.
Flash back to 2003, when I had a very up and down year, and T named my training efforts, "The Eight Day Training Plan." That was the year I met Bones, who took me under his wing--and I believe it was the following year that TriTeam Southwest was formed, which eventually morphed into our current Outlaws triathlon team. In 2003 everything triathlon just seemed so hard. I couldn't run three miles hard without feeling wiped out, and I certainly couldn't swim. T was gone at the time and I had a hard time focusing on training but I still, somehow, made it to 6 races that year--all due in part to my 8 day training plan. This plan consisted of procrastinating for as long as possible, than galvanized by the specter of totally making a fool of myself, squeezing in a few key workouts before the impending event...
It was this memory that cropped up as the Polar Bear neared, and I realized I had done virtually no training, except for the very occasional run, since the Longhorn 70.3 on October 5th. My memory of the Eight Day Training Plan gave me some confidence--despite the fact that I also remembered how hard those races were. I had done it before, I could do it again.
Here's a brief summary of my calendar entries for the month before the Polar Bear race:
Week of Nov. 16: 2 days "Sickish," 2 days of rock climbing, 3 days of "no exercise."
Week of Nov. 23: 2 days "short run", 3 days "no exercise," 2 days of Thanksgiving hullaballoo.
Week of Nov. 30: 3 days of "headache," 3 days of "no exercise," 1 day of rock climbing
Week of Dec. 7th: This is where my EIGHT DAY TRAINING PROGRAM kicked in: 7-mile run, 29-mile bike ride, 1500-yard swim, 3-mile run, 1 hour indoor trainer ride, 2 days of rest, then RACE DAY.
Unfortunately, I can't report on how I did, because the results are still not up. However, I felt pretty good throughout the race--turned in a decent run, caught a bazillion on a very windy bike (OK-maybe only 20, since not that many people did the race), and didn't panic in the swim.
The best indicator of how my fitness has improved over the past year? Not one iota of muscle soreness, except in the back of my neck, from not being used to the aero bike position. The race was a 5k run, 40k (25 mile) bike, and 400 yard swim, and I finished in 1:59+, second in my AG. I'm sure when I see my times, I'll wish I had gone faster, but I right now I feel pretty good about the ability to push my limits--especially with the kind of prep I had.
Now, it's firmly back to the off-season for me--especially since its snowing outside right now...
Saturday, February 16, 2008
A Little Ingenuity
You've been doing race events for several years now.
After a 4 month break, it's time for the first race of a new season.
So you mark the date on your calendar, send in some money, and make a hotel reservation.
When the date arrives, you pull out your race kit from the previous year and pack up the truck.
You savor the familiar feel and routine of getting ready, while at the same time feeling the unfamiliar--it's been awhile.
Each year, the first race of the year is held at White Sands Missile Range. This year the race runs into some glitches. You end up leaving your truck outside of the base gate, and riding in with your race gear on your back. The delay at the gate means there is less time for pre-race prep.
So with minutes to spare you hurriedly rack your bike.
Then.
You pull out your racing flats.
As your shoe leaves the cloth storage bag that it's been in since the last race of last year, you suddenly get that sinking deja vu, "oh yeah, didn't I use that shoe lace for something?" feeling... and your left shoe makes it's appearance--naked and incomplete.
Then you remember: That sudden stop on the I-25 on-ramp when 3 dogs decided to cross just as you were starting to accelerate to merge onto the highway. You avoided hitting the dogs, but the person behind you made a remarkable dent in your rear bumper (fortunately, no injuries), and you tied on your broken and bent license plate with... your shoe lace.
Now, the race is about to start.
So you dig out two plastic zip ties (one white and one black) and attempt to close the shoe gap.
Then, your girlfriend donates the shoe-string-like lanyard from her key ring.
The result looks like this:
After a 4 month break, it's time for the first race of a new season.
So you mark the date on your calendar, send in some money, and make a hotel reservation.
When the date arrives, you pull out your race kit from the previous year and pack up the truck.
You savor the familiar feel and routine of getting ready, while at the same time feeling the unfamiliar--it's been awhile.
Each year, the first race of the year is held at White Sands Missile Range. This year the race runs into some glitches. You end up leaving your truck outside of the base gate, and riding in with your race gear on your back. The delay at the gate means there is less time for pre-race prep.
So with minutes to spare you hurriedly rack your bike.
Then.
You pull out your racing flats.
As your shoe leaves the cloth storage bag that it's been in since the last race of last year, you suddenly get that sinking deja vu, "oh yeah, didn't I use that shoe lace for something?" feeling... and your left shoe makes it's appearance--naked and incomplete.
Then you remember: That sudden stop on the I-25 on-ramp when 3 dogs decided to cross just as you were starting to accelerate to merge onto the highway. You avoided hitting the dogs, but the person behind you made a remarkable dent in your rear bumper (fortunately, no injuries), and you tied on your broken and bent license plate with... your shoe lace.
Now, the race is about to start.
So you dig out two plastic zip ties (one white and one black) and attempt to close the shoe gap.
Then, your girlfriend donates the shoe-string-like lanyard from her key ring.
The result looks like this:
.jpg)
The system is adequate, but loose.
So, you dig one more time into your race bag.
And you end up with this:
.jpg)
The race goes as well as can be expected after a 4 month hiatus.
You don't even notice the duct tape and plastic on your left shoe.
It's your RIGHT shoe that becomes untied, which requires a stop to re-tie.
Still, you enjoy the competition and finish 5th place overall.
There's something to be said for a roll of duct tape
and
a little ingenuity.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Polar Bear Triathlon
The hard part about racing a race that you hadn't planned on racing is not how hard it is to push when you haven't been training--that parts easy, because you're usually nice and rested--the hard part is just how sore you feel the next day.
The day after doing the year-end, first-race-of-the-year, Polar Bear Triathlon (Dec. 8), I had a nice case of DOMS--delayed onset muscle soreness--a soreness that not only was delayed, but continued to progress as the hours passed. By that evening, I was barely able to mobilize my quads to allow me to step down two steps into the garage--a good excuse as any to NOT do the weekly laundry.
The Polar Bear triathlon is one of those events I used to avoid due to the possibility of the inclement weather that the name implies. For some reason, I went with T last year, and now I guess it's become one of our standards--at least this year it was just assumed that we were going and I went went with the flow, not thinking about what doing a race event, when I hadn't been training, might entail.
We drove down the night before. T set up everything, including a portable dinner for on-the-road feeding, so that I only had to wiggle my way out of work (5:10 "early"), grab my already packed bag, and jump into the truck. I always look forward to driving trips. They remind me of the years we spent driving out of town each weekend for camping and climbing trips. We'd pack the car with music, food, good books, and our coziest comforters. We'd drive away from the bright lights of the city and into skies that went on forever with an unbelievable number of stars and clean, crisp air. Even though I know that the drive down to the race is 3 hours of endless, gray highway, I still look forward to it. The feeling is that ingrained in me.
Race day morning, we headed to the White Sand Missile Range checkpoint/gate. Unfortunately, we ran a little late by somehow dropping our keys under the truck, and were unable to locate them in the dark. The gate at the base is notorious for bottle-necking the entire field of entrants, so our slightly late gate arrival at 6:25 am put us about 7 cars back in line, but about 40 minutes away from reaching the gate. By the time we reached the gate, we'd started grousing--only to have the security contractor find that our car registration was expired--and turn us back from the gate (T had moved recently, and his registration notice must not have been forwarded). This could have been grounds for more than "grousing" but as I had car-pooled in a vehicle the year before that did not have current car insurance (with the three "M's"), I was familiar with procedure and knew that we only had to park outside the gate, and ride in with all of our gear--which we did.
Somehow, there is a continuous disconnect between the private contractors hired to secure the gate, the current Threat Level ("alpha" in this case), and the race director and staff who are trying to get the race started on time. As was usual, a number of event participants don't make it through the gate on time, and the race director, caught between a military procedure that he has no control over, and expectant participants (many of whom had driven some distance), opted to start the race on time, and then allow the late arrivals a late start.
Due to gate delays, we barely made it to the 8:00 am start on time. Finding that I needed to hit the restroom just as they were calling the pre-race meeting, I ran to the nearest single stall toilet, which was occupied, and informed the occupant that the race meeting was being called--a gentle hint for her to galvanize herself and exit quickly, so that I could use the facilities myself-- a bit self-serving, but not outside the truth of the matter.
T's pre-race set up was occupied with creating a shoelace for the shoe that he brought that didn't have one. A key chain cord, plastic zip tie, and duct tape did the trick...
Even though the day was cold, and windy, I wore a sleeveless skinsuit. The wind, which had been gusting hard earlier that morning, dropped as soon as the sun rose and it was nice not to be wearing long sleeves. I actually wished the sun would go back behind the clouds.
The run was tough. Without training, a sprint race can really take it out of you. John L. passed me on mile 2 and was kind enough to say hello, then excuse me with a reminder that this is the off season. Thank you, John!--there's a reason for my huffing and puffing...
I did a lot of thinking during the start of the run, assessing myself, and mulling my options, and decided to run "for myself." I didn't want to focus on how others were doing, and decided not to look up to see where or even if my competition was present. I wanted to see how I would do compared to previous times and check on my early season fitness. I even fooled myself into thinking that I could just settle in, gauge my fitness, and enjoy the pre-season push.
Part way through the run, Eddie passed me. Eddie is significant as the partner of Mary, my Age Group Nemesis, so when I saw him, I knew SHE must be here, too. Thus, began the "I'm only racing for myself" vs. the "I need to go faster" internal dialog that pushed my untrained legs for the run and the bike. Still, I continued to opt not to "race," and pushed myself, but not too far.
The run was a relief to finish. Because I had missed the pre-race meeting, I thought is was a 5K, so the 7 K distance was unexpected and I lagged for the last mile.
The bike was WINDY through the first 20K, and the challenge was to continue to give my best without becoming demoralized. With 10K to go, my rear wheel felt slightly mushy, but I figured I was just imagining the loss of air. The tailwind for the next 5K was great, but the last section into the gate seemed the windiest and hardest of all. At the end of the race it turned out that I did have a flat, and, as T put it, he pulled out the "mother of all goatheads" from my rear tire.
When I hit the pool, I was tired, and concerned that I might panic, as I hadn't been in the water except for one session since August. I walked the transition, despite the encouragement of a fit looking finisher. When I reached the pool, I swam in a rather befuddled, tired, tentative way--looking so bad, that T said he didn't yell encouragement because he didn't want to overwhelm me. My fingers didn't thaw out until the third lap, and Cody swept by me in a tidal wave on about the fifth. When I finished I was happy to climb up the ladder, and into the waiting towel that T held out for me--but then noticed a bevy of people watching by the side of the pool--my Age Group Nemesis among them. Drat, yes, she had finished ahead of me, but then again, did it matter? I was happy just to be done, and to be there.
As I toweled dry, Age Group Nemesis came over to say hello (surely), but the first words out of her mouth were "Dale wants to know if you're 45," and thus, just like that, my warm fuzzy pre-season feeling disappeared, and the Age Group gauntlet for the 2008 season was laid down.
Age Group Nemesis, Dale and I finished 1-2-3. The unofficial results show that I was somewhat over one minute behind first place. Dale is the new-comer to the group, and if this race is an indication of things to come, I expect she'll add an element of spice. Judging from our finish times, if I choose to follow the challenge, this will be one heck of a triathlon season.
On a brighter (less competitive) note, I had a great lunch with Eddie and Age Group Nemesis, then headed over the to the year end award ceremony to collect my giant hand-painted and personalized Magnum of Champagne for being last year's Age Group champion. The best part of an already great day was seeing so many familiar faces and saying hello to so many people. Our series sponsor put on a great party with good eats. A HUGE thank you of appreciation goes out to all who made it happen.
To close the day, T slept all the way home, so he could return to his studies once we arrived, while I swigged diet caffeinated drinks and ate deep fried crunchy food to keep my sagging self awake. From such lofty heights to such nutritionally icky depths! Still, the caffeine did the trick, and 3 hours of grey highway somewhat sailed by.
BTW, T placed second in his Age Group, and collected a bottle of champagne also.
There's an awful lot of champagne in this house--
Now for some celebrating.....
The day after doing the year-end, first-race-of-the-year, Polar Bear Triathlon (Dec. 8), I had a nice case of DOMS--delayed onset muscle soreness--a soreness that not only was delayed, but continued to progress as the hours passed. By that evening, I was barely able to mobilize my quads to allow me to step down two steps into the garage--a good excuse as any to NOT do the weekly laundry.
The Polar Bear triathlon is one of those events I used to avoid due to the possibility of the inclement weather that the name implies. For some reason, I went with T last year, and now I guess it's become one of our standards--at least this year it was just assumed that we were going and I went went with the flow, not thinking about what doing a race event, when I hadn't been training, might entail.
We drove down the night before. T set up everything, including a portable dinner for on-the-road feeding, so that I only had to wiggle my way out of work (5:10 "early"), grab my already packed bag, and jump into the truck. I always look forward to driving trips. They remind me of the years we spent driving out of town each weekend for camping and climbing trips. We'd pack the car with music, food, good books, and our coziest comforters. We'd drive away from the bright lights of the city and into skies that went on forever with an unbelievable number of stars and clean, crisp air. Even though I know that the drive down to the race is 3 hours of endless, gray highway, I still look forward to it. The feeling is that ingrained in me.
Race day morning, we headed to the White Sand Missile Range checkpoint/gate. Unfortunately, we ran a little late by somehow dropping our keys under the truck, and were unable to locate them in the dark. The gate at the base is notorious for bottle-necking the entire field of entrants, so our slightly late gate arrival at 6:25 am put us about 7 cars back in line, but about 40 minutes away from reaching the gate. By the time we reached the gate, we'd started grousing--only to have the security contractor find that our car registration was expired--and turn us back from the gate (T had moved recently, and his registration notice must not have been forwarded). This could have been grounds for more than "grousing" but as I had car-pooled in a vehicle the year before that did not have current car insurance (with the three "M's"), I was familiar with procedure and knew that we only had to park outside the gate, and ride in with all of our gear--which we did.
Somehow, there is a continuous disconnect between the private contractors hired to secure the gate, the current Threat Level ("alpha" in this case), and the race director and staff who are trying to get the race started on time. As was usual, a number of event participants don't make it through the gate on time, and the race director, caught between a military procedure that he has no control over, and expectant participants (many of whom had driven some distance), opted to start the race on time, and then allow the late arrivals a late start.
Due to gate delays, we barely made it to the 8:00 am start on time. Finding that I needed to hit the restroom just as they were calling the pre-race meeting, I ran to the nearest single stall toilet, which was occupied, and informed the occupant that the race meeting was being called--a gentle hint for her to galvanize herself and exit quickly, so that I could use the facilities myself-- a bit self-serving, but not outside the truth of the matter.
T's pre-race set up was occupied with creating a shoelace for the shoe that he brought that didn't have one. A key chain cord, plastic zip tie, and duct tape did the trick...
Even though the day was cold, and windy, I wore a sleeveless skinsuit. The wind, which had been gusting hard earlier that morning, dropped as soon as the sun rose and it was nice not to be wearing long sleeves. I actually wished the sun would go back behind the clouds.
The run was tough. Without training, a sprint race can really take it out of you. John L. passed me on mile 2 and was kind enough to say hello, then excuse me with a reminder that this is the off season. Thank you, John!--there's a reason for my huffing and puffing...
I did a lot of thinking during the start of the run, assessing myself, and mulling my options, and decided to run "for myself." I didn't want to focus on how others were doing, and decided not to look up to see where or even if my competition was present. I wanted to see how I would do compared to previous times and check on my early season fitness. I even fooled myself into thinking that I could just settle in, gauge my fitness, and enjoy the pre-season push.
Part way through the run, Eddie passed me. Eddie is significant as the partner of Mary, my Age Group Nemesis, so when I saw him, I knew SHE must be here, too. Thus, began the "I'm only racing for myself" vs. the "I need to go faster" internal dialog that pushed my untrained legs for the run and the bike. Still, I continued to opt not to "race," and pushed myself, but not too far.
The run was a relief to finish. Because I had missed the pre-race meeting, I thought is was a 5K, so the 7 K distance was unexpected and I lagged for the last mile.
The bike was WINDY through the first 20K, and the challenge was to continue to give my best without becoming demoralized. With 10K to go, my rear wheel felt slightly mushy, but I figured I was just imagining the loss of air. The tailwind for the next 5K was great, but the last section into the gate seemed the windiest and hardest of all. At the end of the race it turned out that I did have a flat, and, as T put it, he pulled out the "mother of all goatheads" from my rear tire.
When I hit the pool, I was tired, and concerned that I might panic, as I hadn't been in the water except for one session since August. I walked the transition, despite the encouragement of a fit looking finisher. When I reached the pool, I swam in a rather befuddled, tired, tentative way--looking so bad, that T said he didn't yell encouragement because he didn't want to overwhelm me. My fingers didn't thaw out until the third lap, and Cody swept by me in a tidal wave on about the fifth. When I finished I was happy to climb up the ladder, and into the waiting towel that T held out for me--but then noticed a bevy of people watching by the side of the pool--my Age Group Nemesis among them. Drat, yes, she had finished ahead of me, but then again, did it matter? I was happy just to be done, and to be there.
As I toweled dry, Age Group Nemesis came over to say hello (surely), but the first words out of her mouth were "Dale wants to know if you're 45," and thus, just like that, my warm fuzzy pre-season feeling disappeared, and the Age Group gauntlet for the 2008 season was laid down.
Age Group Nemesis, Dale and I finished 1-2-3. The unofficial results show that I was somewhat over one minute behind first place. Dale is the new-comer to the group, and if this race is an indication of things to come, I expect she'll add an element of spice. Judging from our finish times, if I choose to follow the challenge, this will be one heck of a triathlon season.
On a brighter (less competitive) note, I had a great lunch with Eddie and Age Group Nemesis, then headed over the to the year end award ceremony to collect my giant hand-painted and personalized Magnum of Champagne for being last year's Age Group champion. The best part of an already great day was seeing so many familiar faces and saying hello to so many people. Our series sponsor put on a great party with good eats. A HUGE thank you of appreciation goes out to all who made it happen.
To close the day, T slept all the way home, so he could return to his studies once we arrived, while I swigged diet caffeinated drinks and ate deep fried crunchy food to keep my sagging self awake. From such lofty heights to such nutritionally icky depths! Still, the caffeine did the trick, and 3 hours of grey highway somewhat sailed by.
BTW, T placed second in his Age Group, and collected a bottle of champagne also.
There's an awful lot of champagne in this house--
Now for some celebrating.....
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