Elephant Butte

Pack fill.
That's what T calls it.
I'd never heard the term before, but it's when you don't bring up the rear--and you're certainly not up at the front.
It sounds anonymous and generic. No recognition of the effort it takes to finish and no indication of place--just a space occupying reference, which is how I felt after finishing the race today. Pack fill.

Of course, I should know better by now. I'm not, and never have been, an athlete on the sharp end.
Meaning, I don't lead.
I plod, and work, and eke out every minute of gain that I make.
I am a model of economy of success.

Where I live, I sometimes have the opportunity to be a big fish in a little pond--but only because the pond is so small. The big fish don't show up to the little races, because they have bigger ponds to contend with--which makes it easy to forget who and where I am.

But not today.

Today was actually impressive because more big fish showed up to race at one time than I have ever seen in a local race.
What a reality check.
I had actually given up an earlier, smaller race to opt in on this event--the Elephant Butte Triathlon--in order to get more race time in the water, and because I wanted a free weekend for longer mileage just before our foray to Colorado for the Harvest Moon Half.

The Elephant Butte Triathlon is a sort of Olympic distance event with a swim that's longish at 1700 yards (almost Half IM distance), a bike that's 26.5 miles, and a 10k that's short 2/10's for a 6 mile run. Odd. I didn't know it was one of our premier local events. Nor did I know it was that hilly. Or that there was approximately a mile of sandy trail running involved. I was just focused on more swim practice and getting through the swim.

Which I did.
And with NO panic.
The first time this year that I felt OK in the water.

I did start off very slow, in anticipation of the onset of panic. And then every time I started to pull harder and settle into a rhythm, I would bring myself up short and worry that I might get carried away and tip myself into a panic, but in the end, it was just a decent, calm, but longish swim, with a bit of chop from passing swimmers, and some difficulty sighting due to the rising sun, and the lack of a buoy to mark the finishing chute.

I attribute the success of this swim to a number of factors--
-that I had just experienced a nightmare of a swim two weeks prior, and lived through it,
-that the water was exceptionally flat and warm at 74 degrees, which allowed for wetsuits without the corresponding coldness to take my breath away,
-that I took the advice of Shirley to heart about my sighting difficulties and did some preparatory scouting to help me find my way,
-that with T coming home at the end of summer, I've finally been able to get in some open water swim time on the weekends.
But most of all, I think my lack of panic had a lot to do with feeling surrounded by a group of understanding people--people who come in from all parts of the state who I've seen at these races for years; team members and training partners for those longer mileage rides we've been doing; friends who would come to my rescue in any way, shape, or form, if I really needed it. It was like I finally realized that if I didn't make the d*rn swim, it wouldn't matter and my friends (and fellow triathlon and exercise groupies) would be there to pick me up anyway.

It was a nice feeling, and I finished the 1700 yards successfully in a predictably slow time of 46:49, the 7th slowest out of a field of 80 women.

The outcome of the race was another story.

Because I have been doing longer distance training, I forgot that the Olympic distance is still one to be respected. I actually thought of it more as a "sprint" type race, because the distances were so much less than what I have been doing for training. Which meant that I went too hard on the bike and didn't eat or drink enough.

My time for 26.5 miles of some fairly decent hills was 1:23:58 or 18.6 mph, for the 9th fastest female bike. A good showing for the terrain, and I passed a number of people--many of whom passed me back on the run.

My run time for 6 miles of more hills was 1:00:14 hours, not bad for me, but oh so frustrating because I just don't see how people can run so smoothly and fast, passing me with ease, while I plod and fatigue. It was here that my "sprint" perspective came back to bite me--as I realized I had left my legs out on the bike course and I just couldn't pick up the pace the way I wanted to, which told me how tired I was. Several of my AG competitors passed me with ease. Somewhere between mile 4 and 5 I realized I was hungry and subsequently realized I might bonk before I got to the next aid station. It's bad when you're asking for gels to finish the last mile.

In the end I placed 9th in my Age Group. In any other Age Group, I would have placed 1st through 6th. But not my Age Group. Ahead of me were women whom I totally respect and admire and who compete on the sharp end at a level I can only dream of, and they are my age. That speaks volumes to me and on so many levels.

Still, I had a successful swim, which really was the whole point of the race, and most of all, I enjoyed seeing everyone and all the hugs. I can't say that I don't wish I was faster, and leaner, and taller--because I do--but in the end, it's really all about myself and what triathlon training and competition means to me--not how I compare to every other human out there. On another note, I can't believe I only earned 2 points towards the SW Challenge series, when Mark B so kindly pointed out before the race that I "only" needed 3 points to make the podium!

Wrapping up a Loose End Before the End of the Year--Polar Bear Results

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.

Longhorn 70.3--after the race....

T and I got back to the normal routine of things on the day after the race--stumping around at work on a level of soreness that T called "Worse than moderate," and that I defined as "Moderate?! I can't @#k&* move!"

I spent the day in a way that no one who has that kind of muscle pain should have to do, crawling around on my knees, stooping, kneeling, smiling and swallowing my "ooufs"--jealous of a fellow co-worker who had done the Xterra Championship race in Nevada the same day, and who had wisely taken Monday off...

Monday afternoon my tummy felt a little off and by that evening I was sure I had picked up some kind of food poisoning from workplace cafeteria food. A miserable night followed.

Then a miserable day.

Another miserable night.

And another miserable day.

Epidermal hypersensitivity.

Almost no food intake--a little broth, instant mashed potatoes, half a banana.

No one else at work had a miserable tummy, so on the second day it dawned on me that I might be ill from the water I had swallowed in the lake during my pre-race practice swim on Saturday.

It did cross my mind that I might have gotten ill from Austin tap water--which tasted like dirt and algae--just not quite as strong as the lake water, but nearly so--then realized that T wasn't sick. Only I.

I was sick through Wednesday. Fortunately, my tummy cleared on Thursday--the same day my legs finally felt good enough to allow T and I to truly start our "off" season with our first rock climbing session in almost a year.

After that, T and I were pretty much recovered--just continuing to allow ourselves to completely lose all muscle fatigue and regain our desire. 8 days after the race, the following Monday, I went for my first run, a brisk, at-tempo 5 miler, that felt fresh in a way I hadn't felt for some time. Triathlon training doesn't leave much time for "fresh, fully recovered legs" running, but this run felt just like that. It brought back the fun and made me look forward to more.

The bad part of this recovery was the several nights without sleep (unhappy tummy nights) combined with the poor nutritonal intake for several days after a big race effort for a definite double whammy to my system.

The good part is that I took off a few pounds--allowing me to feel confidant about fitting into my costume (built around a $3 find at the Kaimuki Goodwill a few years ago) for the upcoming Halloween bash in 2 weeks.

The moral of the story is be cautious when it comes to drinking Austin water--whether from a lake or the tap (it really did taste bad).

Walter E. Long Lake aka Decker Lake, Austin, TX

Austin in a Weekend: The Longhorn Ironman 70.3

This was our PLAN:

Thursday: Work until 5, drive as far as possible, spend night on the road.
Friday: Wake early, finish drive, start pre-race check-in-drop-off-race-course-preview busy-ness.
Saturday: Finish pre-race check-in-drop-off-race-course-preview busy-ness--THEN get race gear ready.
Sunday: Pre-race rigamarole, RACE, drive as far as possible, spend night on the road.
Monday: Wake early, finish drive, then go to work.

Kind of like taking the red-eye Sunday night, back from Hawaii, so you can get to work on time in NM on Monday morning.

OR, kind of like a whirlwind race weekend--only with a 70.3 thrown in and a destination in another state...

This is what WE GOT:
A deep blue quiet night on the edge of a lake, complete with Milky Way and the distant light of large trucks.
A city with wall to wall traffic--even during non-commute hours.
A blueberry, walnut, and strawberry pancake breakfast--hand cooked in individual skillets--with like minded pre-race focused tri-athletes
A cool swim in a 300 yard long crystal blue sink-hole--chill enough to take your breath away, but refreshing on a warm 94 degree day.
A drive by Mellow Johnnies and Juan Pelota.
The Whole Foods mothership. Man--that was a LARGE and temptacious store.
A race day saved by partially cloudy conditions.
Pleasant lake water that you could actually see your feet through.
A run course that caused both of us to dig deep.
Some new PR's.
And a TON of cool schwag--including race towel, long sleeve tech T, mesh hat, pound of coffee (each), swim bag, race nutrition samples (notice the pleural), almond butter and sunscreen samples, the ever-present Longhorn water bottles, AND
burritos, tacos, beer, and ice cream.

This is what WE DIDN'T ANTICIPATE:
Getting lost.
Downtown traffic.
Lightning from one side of the sky to the other, and non-visibility conditions.
WIND.
4 hours of sleep, followed by a 4 am alarm, and the mesmerizing sameness of the open road.
Sore, SORE muscles--the kind where you can't take a step, much less get into and out of the car without groaning....

Fun. In spite of it all.

AND, the happy surprise of seeing an Outlaw uniform on the course (even if you did call the guy by the wrong name, so he didn't even know you were there...)

The SWIM:
The magic of the swim was me JUST DOING IT.

A bit of a big deal, because I was sure I was going to DNF, but secretly hoping I wouldn't.

T was so concerned for me, that the first thing we did when we got to Austin--during the afternoon commute traffic hour--was seek out the lake, so we could jump in and check out my panic factor.

It was pretty much a given that the water would be too warm for wetsuits, same as the year before. But when we got in the water, the coolness of the water didn't jive with the 88 degree temps noted for the week before. We did a small out-to-the-buoy-and-back swim in which I felt fine, and we exited ready to get to check in. It wasn't until the next day practice swim, when the wind came up, and I swallowed water, then went into a panic and had to hang on a buoy, that I became concerned about another DNF.

I hung on that buoy (200 yards off shore) and wondered if a boat could come out and rescue me.
I started envisioning how when I got old, that I would look back and remember all these DNF's.
I started making plans for my future in meditation and yogic body control.
T hung with me and stabilized the buoy, especially when I yelped, "Why is it moving?"
He said, "Because it's not anchored," so I promptly envisioned floating further out into the lake while hyperventilating and clutching this bobbing, floating, slippery, uncontrollable object that I had THOUGHT was put there for my own safety.
It was a bit disconcerting to look up and see all the super-fit, lean, shaven athletes congregating on the shore for their practice swim.

Fortunately, I was able to get my breathing under control and swim easily back to shore (so no boat needed), but my confidence was beat up.

T decided to bring the wetsuits on the chance of a chance that it might be wetsuit legal--and at the last minute, word came down that the lake was 77.8 degrees. Phew! What a way to save my sorry, sinking, non-swimmer swim.

Still I was concerned.

DNF'ing a large race doesn't go away easily, and I'm obviously still traumatized by the DNF in Idaho (even if T does tell me that Idaho was the "perfect storm" of cold, wind chop, and noisy, overstimulating conditions).

But the EndorFun way of doing the race just made everything so easy, casual, and yet, really well organized. Which kept me relaxed. And made it a whole lot easier for me, then being corralled in a pen and being limited on my warm up....

As per Ironman 70.3 organization, my wave started after the pro men and women, and the 50 plus men. Once again, I got lucky, as the swim course was changed to allow the initial swim leg to parallel the shore. I knew this would give me confidence and allow me to warm up and get going before the middle of the lake swim started. My plan was to step into the lake and start all the way to the right, so as to avoid the pack, and be closer to the shoreline. Seems like most of the women had the same plan also. Instead of being out to the side and isolated, I ended up standing in a large group--so I quickly made my way back toward the shore, and waited for the pack to go without me.

You feel pretty exposed when you're the only one standing in the shallow water, as your age group peeps swim away from you, and there are at least 2000, if not more, people standing behind you on shore--all looking at your back and feeling sorry for you...

This is what happens when you wait for everyone else to swim first.
That nice clear water gets churned into a brown muddy mess.
All the plant life growing on the lake bottom gets broken off and you end up somewhat clawing through large handfuls of floating greenery.
The kayakers think you don't know where you're going and try to herd you onto the main swim path, which you are emphatically trying to avoid.
Since you are the only swimmer, you can hear what's going on around you--and suddenly you hear this ever-growing wall of noise, as the 35 -39 year old men come charging (swimming) from behind.
Near panic sets in as the noise grows louder.
I made a hard turn to the right to get out of the path of the focused, PR seeking men, then asked a kayaker if he could paddle along next to me "not too close" for a little while.
How nice to have my own guardian angel in a red kayak.

By the first buoy turn, I was comfortable enough to pick up the pace.
By the second buoy turn, I got too warm in my wetsuit.
But, voila, it was a triangular course, so at this point I just finished up the swim, and got the heck out of dodge...i.e., I ran up the long grassy hill to transition.

The BIKE:
Since T and I hadn't previewed the course, I had no idea where I was going.
Rolling hills to start, followed by stretches of relatively flat, curving road.
Wind. Lots of it.
Bumps and cracks everywhere.
The bike course was crowded. 2000 participants.
You had to have good bike handling skills and be polite at a fairly high rate of speed, while trying not to draft.
Lots of chatter to let people know where you were in relation to them, since there was so much passing going on.
Eyes focused on the bikes constantly jockeying for position around you, and not the surrounding countryside--which could have been pretty, but I never noticed.
I received the comment: "N! I guess we're going to get to know each other, since we're passing each other so d*mn much!" (Our names were on our bibs).
My problem was that I would slow down on the uphills, than regain speed on the downhills.
That bike course just seemed to go on forever.
I literally wanted to fall asleep on the bike.
I felt like I couldn't keep my eyes open.
A reflection of the sleep deprivation I obviously had.
By mile 40 I had a thought which I have never had before in a race, "Just get me off this d*** bike."
The last section went hilly again, which was just plain cruel and tortuous.
But I survived it with a 2:57 PR--wind, hills, sleep deprivation and all.
Which, what with all the wind, hills, sleep deprivation and all, probably meant I had gone out too hard...

The RUN:
Ugh.
A hilly and unaesthetic course.
Hot.
By the second mile I knew it wasn't going to be a good run.
I felt encased in a sticky, sweaty layer that wouldn't let my skin breath.
Elvis, Batman, the Joker, and the Pusherman lightened the day.
The Pusherman made me laugh, by whispering sweet enticements into my ear--which meant, obviously, that I was walking.
But it was a good laugh.
The 12 bands advertised turned out to be 5 or 6 bands, but each was welcome, and I wished there were more.
I poured ice down my shirt and under my run hat. Sponges for each shoulder and the back of the neck. Water, Gatorade, Coke. 3 gels.
Eventually, I did another first. I walked for several short distances.
The downhill into the bat-zone was too painful for my sore quads.
Funny enough, I actually ran the Quadzilla hill.
On the second lap, when I asked someone the time, I realized that I had a slim chance for a PR, so suddenly, and from somewhere deep, I picked up the pace, up the hill, through the dry, dusty forest, and around the corner to the finishing chute. I have no idea how I was able to run so fast for that last 1.5 miles, and conversely, why I had been running so slow previously.
My finish was a PR by 7 minutes.
Just think, I could have jogged in that last mile, and still PR'd.

What a painful day.

The after race festivities were characterized by live music, lots of food, a lot of wandering around, and a previously grassy transition area now turned to dust.

When we were ready to pack up, we found that the roads were still closed for the final racers, and the shuttle buses weren't going to start running until 5 pm. This meant we had a 3/4's of a mile walk to get to the truck.

Since my quads were so sore, I was happier to walk than ride my bike.

At the truck we did a quick clothing change, packed up, and headed out of town.
Our drive was delayed by a HUGE lightning storm with downpour conditions between Fort Stockton and Sheffield in Texas.
By midnight, we were in NM, setting our alarms for 4 am, and laying down for a few hours sleep in the deep quiet by Brantley Lake.
Daylight brought another few hours of driving, and a happy arrival at home.

What a weekend.

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.....

A Fun Sprint in Cotton Country (Oil Wells Included)

This entry is dedicated to Kenneth O’Connor, my partner in pace. Ken and I got to know each other long before we ever spoke or knew each other’s names. He was a presence at most of my early races, first running away from me, now running closer. I used to see his name in the results, just next to mine. I learned to look for those long legs, and try to keep up. Ken is 68. We race each other. I’m fortunate that through the years, we’ve continued at a similar pace. It gives me a familiar person to look for, and a smile and a talk after a race.

On Saturday, September 15, we both participated in the Cotton Country Sprint Triathlon in Levelland, TX. I had thought the race was in Loveland or Lovelland, but found out that it was really “Level” land—as in extremely level. No hills here. Just fields and fields of cotton (which I thought were rose bushes), a smattering of oil wells, and a big stinky smell, which I now attribute to the ethanol factory somewhere in the area, although I could be wrong.

The race was held on the South Plains College campus. Low brick buildings, green lawns, locker rooms about as old as the ones you remember in high school. One toilet hidden behind a curtain. The humidity was visible. The cloud cover and relative coolness a nice way to start a race.

Race start was 9:00 a.m. for the initial 3 mile run. I was happy with that, as we had driven 5 hours the previous evening, gotten the last room in our hotel (Best Western), and gone to bed at midnight. Turns out that Texas time is one hour later than our time, so we lost an hour on the drive. The start was divided up into two waves, men first, women two minutes later, to decrease the crowd in the swim pool for the last leg of the race. When the gun went off, some women went with the first group, and two turned back when they realized their error, but it was hard to know if there were other women in the large crowd of men.

“Right, left, right” were our run directions, and they were apt. Sharp turns around corners led us off campus and out onto a small two-lane road with fields on either side. The water station was less than a mile from the start, on a corner, that was easy to access on the way out, but hard to access for the lead men on the way back, due to the women still making their way from the later start. I was lucky enough to find a runner who was slightly faster than my pace, to pull me pretty much through the entire 3 mile run. I was trying to run hard, knowing there were 6 women in my age group, and that both Helen and Marti could swim faster than me. A good gap in the beginning might allow me to place ahead of them.

I gave thanks for the extra oxygen at a lower altitude.

I chuckled internally at the distraction of our race numbers, which noted we were running for the NCAAA national championships for Cleveland Athletics (now, where did they get these numbers?).

I just about choked on the petroleum product smell that wafted thickly in the air.

I saw the lead male, Bobby Gonzales, flying towards me, well ahead of any nearby competition.

I saw my Law-School-Guy-Who-Doesn’t-Have-Time-To-Train-Anymore, following him in 7th place.

I finished 10th female overall in the run, after sprinting to pass a woman just before the transition area.

My transition stunk. Because I’d sprinted just before the finish, I was now out of breath, and couldn’t move well. I was panting so hard I didn’t drink any water. I’m lucky I didn’t put on my aero helmet backwards.

The bike was a left turn out of the transition area, then “left, right, left” onto a two-lane highway. The headwind was deafening. Not to mention, mind numbing, and leg crushing. I always dump into a larger gear as soon as possible, but the head wind wouldn’t let me. It wouldn’t let me do anything, like make head way, pick up my speed, or feel good about myself. The rough road reduced forward momentum even further. Flip passed me with his usual large-geared, low-cadenced effort, but this time he was surprisingly silent, the usual roar of his disc blown away on the wind.

I saw Law-School-Guy-Who-Doesn’t-Have-Time-To-Train-Anymore had moved up to 5th place. Eventually, he hit T2 in 3rd place. Bobby was still out in front.

The turn around was one of the scariest, for me. There was no one around to stop or warn traffic, or warn the cyclists of cars coming up from behind. There were no orange cones or signs warning traffic of a bicycle race, or that bikes would be crossing the road. I turned to look back, but it’s hard to be 100 % sure at high effort, and the turn just flat out scared me. I’ve never done a high speed race turn around across a road without a grounded human to help me out. I didn’t like doing that.

The return on the bike was high speed and smooth. The reward for the outgoing head wind was the tailwind going back. The high speed made the sandy turns apprehensive. I almost caught up with Flip. I was fortunate enough to move up to 3rd place on the bike.

T2 was characterized by donning a swim cap with my sunglasses on.

The barefoot run to the pool was fine, but once inside the pool area, the slippery, puddled tile was a high-risk fall area. Law-School-Guy-Who-Doesn’t-Have-Time-To-Train-Anymore actually slipped, with a controlled lower to the floor—but it could easily have been worse. Does signing a liability waiver mitigate race director responsibility if someone takes a fall with injury? I almost tiptoed to the pool ladder, losing time but saving my skin, unaware that, at this point, I was looking at a top three podium finish.

The pool swim was a short 300 yards, 6 narrow 25-yard lanes, out and back in each lane. The pool was crowded. Somehow, a number of very large men turned out to be behind me, because they all passed me in the pool. It was a splash fest. Bobby and Law-School-Guy-Who-Doesn’t-Have-Time-To-Train-Anymore were watching from the side of the pool. “Wow,” said Bobby, “I’m glad I don’t have to swim in that.” Never thought about that, but that’s one of those first place perks I guess I’ll never get to know.

I was passed by one woman in the pool (amazing, since usually, it’s the whole field) for a 4th overall finish, but first in my Age Group, 1:15:04.

Law-School-Guy-Who-Doesn’t-Have-Time-To-Train-Anymore finished 4th overall, just 11 seconds out of a third overall podium finish, also first in his Age Group, 1:00:32

Bobby won the whole dang thing in 53-plus minutes. That's for a 5K mi run, 13mi bike, 300 yd swim.

Ken, my partner in pace, won his Age Group. He said he looked for me, but the wave starts separated us by too much.

We all took home miniature cotton bale awards, wrapped in blue, for first place.

All in all, a nice day, with the friendliest, nicest race staff and fellow triathletes. The petroleum smell would probably be the only reason for me not to return—and I’ll probably have forgotten it by next year.

Other Outlaws of the day included (but are not limited to): Helen (my competition, 4th AG), Stuart (6th AG), Carl (1st AG), and Brian (1st AG).