Volunteering at races

Do it!  It's a great way to be around triathlon while you're training for other races. The higher the significance of the race, the better. But you really can't go wrong. Sure, it will be a long day, but you'll manage to make it through on the excitement and adrenalin of all of the athletes around you.

And, if you're lucky, you'll play a small role in the victory of an elite athlete. Whether it's pointing on the course, handing out water, clearing the course when they approach, or something else, you can have an effect.

It was the day of Timberman.  An Ironman 70.3 race in the Lakes region of New Hampshire.  The swim took place in Lake Winnipesaukee, and the bike and run took place in and around the town of Gilford.

Volunteering day started at 4:15am, since the race started at 7am, and I was 2 hours away, according to Google. After a quick few minutes waking up, I was out the door and on my way. I got to the remote parking lot around 6:20. Enough time to get on the shuttle and run down to make it for the swim start.

This race was enormous: 2741 athletes. It was so big and had so many waves that even as the Pros started in the water, some of the other athletes were calm and relaxed, well over 200 yards away, just hanging out around the transition area.

After all, they had well over an hour before they would even start, so why bother getting nervous?  Even though the swim is 1.2 miles, the pros don't leave you much time to wander around and check out the area. Case in point: Andy Potts was finished in under 23 minutes. By the time he reached swim exit (only after doing some dolphin strokes for the last few yards), he was 2 buoys ahead of the 2nd place competitor.

He dominated the swim, and ran off quickly to get on his bike. He was off riding the bike course before the 2nd guy was even out of the water.  A few more pro men came through the swim exit, but it wasn't long before Chrissie Wellington was on shore, peeling her wetsuit off.

She had a pretty commanding lead of the rest of the wave of pro women, and she didn't give them a chance to catch up on the way to the bike. She flew into transition, and was out in no time.

It's pretty crazy to consider that Potts and Wellington completed their 2+ hour bike portion without any competition breathing down their neck. It was a single loop, so there was no path crossing of their opponents, as would have been the case for an out-and-back. Sure, they've got people telling them how far ahead they are of the competition, but that's certainly different than having someone there with you, side-by-side, pushing you every step of the way.

Maybe the uncertainty, the solitude, is more of a motivator. Without knowing where they are, I guess Andy and Chrissie can only assume, "They're catching me. They're going faster than I am, because they want to catch up." And so no matter how fast they go, they can only figure that they're slowly being gained upon. That can be dangerous, since it might push a less-focused athlete too hard, causing them to falter on the run. But I imagine that Andy and Chrissie are able to couple their fear of being caught with their confidence in their abilities, allowing them to push themselves hard enough to keep a lead, but not so hard that they end up bonking.

Potts was first off the bike, and just bolted out on the run. He didn't take water at the first aid station, but just pushed through, on his way to a 1:16:00 half-marathon. Most, if not all, of the Pro men just blazed by the first aid station, not taking water. I think the initial part of the run is for them to focus on getting into stride, and really getting into the run. Stopping for water, if not absolutely necessary, is probably a hindrance.

Well, now I'll contradict myself, because Chrissie grabbed water coming off the bike. And you can't argue with Chrissie's choices, since she won the women's division, and detroyed plenty of men in the process. I guess it really just comes down to personal choice. So she grabbed some water. Or rather, she grabbed Gatorade, took one look at it and saw the nuclear yellow hue, and tossed it out. She wanted water, and only water. It wasn't just on a whim that she decided she wanted a drink. She knew exactly what she wanted; what she needed.

I continued handing out water to parched athletes.  The fellow volunteers and I tried to devise the perfect plan for handing out water and Gatorade.  Water on the left and Gatorade on the right.   No!  Water at the start of the aid station, and Gatorade at the end of it.  No!  Just call out loudly whatever drink you're holding.  What about the oranges? and the coke?  Where do we put them?  Obviously, we had plenty of time to think.

Finally, one of the girls had a brilliant idea to make signs that we could wear to identify what types of drinks we had.  I gladly donned the "Water" sign, and she wore the "Gatorade" sign.  Turns out, though, athletes don't like to take a few seconds to read while they're running.  I should've figured as much.  I certainly don't pay attention to signs when I'm competing.  So the rest of the day consisted of me wearing the sign, but still yelling "Water!" as people ran by.  Sometimes I yelled "Vodka!" or "Beer!", when I thought someone needed a pick-me-up.

About 30 minutes into my duties I realized that every athlete's bib, in addition to their number, had their first name printed on it.  I quickly took it upon myself to be friends with everyone, and yell their name as they ran by, to give a little more motivation.  Not sure if people were a startled by it, but I like to think it helped shave a few seconds off their times.

Did I mention that the run course was a 2 loops? Yep.  That meant that the pros would be circling around, and I'd have the opportunity to hand out water to them again.  A stupid thing to get excited about, but hey, I'm easily pleased.

I can't remember if Andy grabbed water the 2nd time around.  I think he did.  And he was still cruising, putting more time between him and the competition.  After a few more men passed by, Chrissie came into our sights.  She was really moving (and making a lot of guys look bad).  I figured that she didn't want Gatorade, since she tossed it the first time, so I grabbed some water and held it out.  She grabbed it, and flew away.  It's funny how different it is to hand water to a pro as opposed to a slower athlete.  The pros are moving at such a fast pace that the grabbing of the water is such an abrupt movement.  It's not graceful, as much as you try to lead them.

After providing liquids to many, many athletes I took a break and checked out the rest of the area.  I was close to the finish line, so I watched people cross for a while.  Totally inspiring.  And wait, who's that still at the finish line, handing out medals to people?  Well, it's Chrissie Wellington.  Wow.  After winning Timberman in dominating fashion, Chrissie still had the energy to stand at the finish line and congratulate people as they crossed.  What a class act.

I watched just about everybody cross that finish line.  It seemed that as the clock continued to tick, the finishes became more and more emotional.  These were people that were fighting to get to that finish line.  They had been on the course for 7+ hours, and were so close that they couldn't help but be completely elated when they crossed.

I stuck around for the awards ceremony, and then decided to hit the road.  Only problem was that in between me and my car was a 15 minute shuttle ride, which, at this point, 300+ people also needed to take.  So the waiting in line began.  Fortunately, I was able to chat with a fellow line-waiter, who happened to be one of the race photographers for the day.  He was a triathlete who worked as a freelance photographer.  He was pretty excited to be able to photograph all day at Timberman.  He even managed to get a shot with Chrissie and Andy (though I don't think he'll need to purchase that one through his company's website)

Soon enough, we were on the cramped school bus, waiting to get back to our cars.  We arrived shortly afterwards, and I began my journey home.  Another 2 hours in the car.

I was exhausted by the time I got home, but it was one of my best triathlon experiences.  And I didn't even race!

Moving too quickly?

One drawback that I've encountered with training is a diminished ability to focus outside of training. I either want to be moving at a fast pace, doing as many things as possible, or I want to be stopped and resting, not doing anything. I'm not sure if this is something that only I've come to experience, though it seems like a natural by-product of ramping up your body's metabolism.

I haven't completely lost the ability to find that middle ground, but I'm pretty sure that my attention span has waned a bit since jumping into a fairly consistent training schedule. Admittedly, I wasn't particularly wonderful at this level of focus prior, but still, I've noticed a difference.

In any case, there is definitely an imbalance occurring, and typically, imbalances are not good. So the question quickly becomes: "How can I balance myself out?"

I think the answer lies in the ability to find creative outlets. Creativity is something that, by nature, demands a relaxed pace, yet not a stagnant one. Not to say that creativity is something that comes without hard, intense work (it's as much a discipline as anything else), but it is something that manifests itself when the mind is in a state that lets it wander freely, yet still able to maintain a level of focus. It lets your brain get into that middle ground, between absolute rest, and intense movement.

Which is why, I believe, it is very important for athletes to find their creative side. Whether it is playing music, drawing, reading or anything else, it's absolutely necessary. Otherwise, we just become directionless masochists, who can't sit down long enough to figure out a training schedule, or take a step back to realize that sometimes our body needs a break. And that will undoubtedly lead to burnout.

I don't think it's coincidence that there aren't too many people who are extremely athletic and extremely artistic. It's usually one or the other (taking into consideration, of course, that being extremely good at anything usually requires all of one's time). I guess what I'm saying is that these things aren't tangential to each other. They don't feed into each other. Or, they rarely do. Running and swimming, by comparison, are tangential to each other. Swimming helps one focus on controlled breathing during running, and running helps one gain volume for swimming.

The best athletes aren't the ones who are just incredible workhorses and will obey a coach's every demand, but the ones who have the ability to occasionally take a step back, and consciously process all of the things that are occurring. It is creativity, I believe, that can help to cultivate this ability.

What this translates to is the potential to gain a competitive advantage. If you, as an athlete, can successfully tap into your creative side, you've done something that only a small number of athletes are able to do, and this will certainly help you on race day.

So pick up that guitar/paintbrush/book, and start training!

slow!

I believe the key to getting faster is something quite counter-intuitive: going slow.

Common sense tells us that the path to cycling, running and swimming at a higher cadence during a race is to train at or above these high cadences. Need to comfortably hit 100 rpm on the bike? Spin at 110 rpm or higher. Training is, at least partially, about increased ability through repetition. The more we train at higher cadences, the more naturally it will feel come race day.

While speed work is certainly an important part of training, a crucial piece to increasing the body's ability to move quickly is through slow and deliberate movements.

The natural reaction to this is: "How can I expect to go fast by training slowly?" This certainly holds a fair amount of merit. A classic pitfall of endurance training is having too much of a focus on building volume with long distances. "If you train slow, you'll get really good at going slow", is a quote that comes to mind for most triathletes. And so there seems to be this distinct separation between volume training and speed training.

The problem, as I see it, is that these things end up becoming mutually exclusive. Volume workouts end up being done solely to improve volume, and speed workouts end up being done solely to improve speed. What are the results of this? Essentially, proper form becomes an afterthought:
1.) There is rarely a focus on the mechanics of our form when doing long distance training sessions - We find "the zone" and shut off our brains. We buy indoor trainers for our bikes, which let us watch TV while we ride, and not even worry about staying balanced.
2.) Slow and deliberate movements aren't practiced when speed training - We try to go as fast as we can, paying no attention to our form. We don't employ the things we learned from our volume training to speed train with efficient, effective form.

In order to overcome this, I try to reverse my natural reaction to slow training:
"How can I expect to go fast if I can't go slowly, properly?"

Uttering these words during training sessions forces me to regain focus. I try to focus in on my form in the middle of long runs/rides. I try to step outside of my body and evaluate my gait to see if I'm letting my arms/legs/torso just sort of flop around. I try to maintain as much control as possible when I'm doing speed workouts. It's so easy to just explode with all of your energy to gain a little more speed, but the cost at which it's done is really not worth it. Sure, there are some times where you need to just empty the tank, and push yourself as hard as you can for as long as you can, but that is separate from speed workout.

For me, it's not just about going fast. It's about going fast deliberately. No movement should be left to chance. Every foot placement, every down-pedal, every flutter kick should be done because you decided to do it, not because momentum helped to move things along.

Once form has been mastered at low cadences, speed can slowly be added. This way, you'll ensure that when you are training fast, you're training correctly. You've left nothing to chance. Every move you make is deliberate.

An interesting drill to do is to train in slow motion. How slowly can you move and maintain a proper, fluid form? It's a lot tougher than it seems.

Recovery Week

Wow. I don't think there's anything better than a workout two days after a race. If all went well, you killed yourself during the race and managed to chug through the rest of the day on all of the nerves and excitement that are now present in your body, thanks to the multisport kickstart you had earlier.

If all continues to go well, the nerves eventually die down, the exhaustion settles in, and you crash for that night. You are out quicker than you ever have been before. You get a good night's sleep and in the morning awake, your whole body sore. But it's the good kind of sore. Proof that you put your body through a little bit of torture the day before. And now you get to rest. Of course, you have to go to work and do all of the normal daily things that you do, but, with the race being over, you get to relax, since nothing is on the horizon for a little bit. And, quite possibly best of all, you don't have a workout waiting for you when you get home at night. You've now got a couple hours of found time, and they are yours to do with what you please. Although this is a rest day, you can't help but find something semi-active to fill the void of working out. It's not a sit-and-watch-2-hours-of-tv 2 hours, but rather, a do-something-I-haven't-been-able-to-do-in-a-while-due-to-lack-of-time 2 hours. And it's glorious.

Sadly, before you realize it, the day is all but over. But if you're lucky, another good night's sleep awaits. Then it's back to the workout grind. Well, sort of. This is recovery week. You can start working out again, but it needs to be light. More of a maintenance period. This is time that's used to recharge the batteries; to settle back into relative normalcy before you start climbing that hill again.

And so you await your first workout of recovery week. Interestingly, you are actually looking forward to it. That day off really made a difference. But it gets better when you actually start the workout. It's an odd feeling; you're in a place which, by now, you've mentally associated with pain and hard work, but there's no pressure today. Today you get to go at your own pace. You get to do what feels comfortable. And so you begin to remember how much fun it is to swim. To run. To bike. Just out there. No pressure. No looming deadline. You're riding/running/swimming simply for the sake of it. No other reason.

And that's when you realize possibly the greatest reason as to why you bust your butt day in and day out: For fun. If you feel like it, you can go and do a nice light workout, with no pressure. You own the road, the trails, the water. The world just flows by with ease, and you're out there, experiencing and loving every second of it. It's pure recreation. While other people are struggling a bit as they swim/bike/run, you're simply playing effortlessly. As some other people training whiz by, your instinct kicks in, and you pick it up for a second. And then you slow back down. You remember that this is your time. It's not race time. Not yet. At some points, you can't help but diagnose your form, your cadence, your position. You are surprised at how relaxed your body is, and how, in hindsight, you realize how tense your body has been for the past several weeks of training.

It really is eye-opening, and you hope you can maintain this level of levity throughout the rest of recovery week. Sure, you've already scheduled some medium tough workouts, but you can shirk them if you want to. You even have enough wherewithall to say that you're going to take it even easier tomorrow. Which may prove tough, but then again, it may come naturally.

Tough training seems so far away. And with such a relaxing workout tonight, you feel that the next few days are almost unnecessary. You've centered yourself mentally and physically. But you know that you'll stick to the plan. Recover this week. There will be plenty of time for hard workouts before the next race.

Everything's moving at a slower pace, and you 0nly hope that things can stay this way as long as possible, before the next inevitability of life pops up.

But for now...Recover.

Urban Epic

The Boston Urban Epic. 2nd Annual. I'm not sure what I was doing last year on August 8th, but I sure as hell had no idea that there was an inaugural triathlon going on in, what is essentially, my backyard. If backyards can be 3 miles away.

What better place to run, bike and swim than in Southie. The same Southie made famous in movies like Good Will Hunting, Boondock Saints, The Departed, and plenty of others (well, maybe...I can't think of any others). This would be the first triathlon where I wouldn't wake up unnecessarily early just to hop in a car and drive over to the race course. I get to sleep in 'til 6am this time. A nice little bike ride over, with my transition bag on my back, and I'd be ready to go.

I woke up before my alarm, unsurprisingly, and felt pretty awake. I didn't have trouble falling asleep the night before. I wasn't completely riddled with nerves, so I was able to fall asleep easily. I got up, checked my checklist, ate some breakfast, and got ready to go. Everything seemed to be in order, so I headed out, just about on time.

I took a nice stroll through Southie to get to transition area. Pretty pleasant at 6:30am. Nice and easy was the pace. I showed up to a less-than-full registration and transition area, and found my way around the area. I quickly ran into Colin who had just gotten his packet, and we both chatted about how great it was to finally be here. After all, our first swim practice together was only months prior, at the same beach where we'd be soon swimming the first leg of the race. We got ourselves together, got bodymarked, and headed into transition. We had plenty of time and were able to calmly get our things in order. We chatted a bit with some of the guys next to us, though not deep, involved conversation, and let it all sink in. Colin wanted to go for a quick ride to get a nice warm up. I passed, having already ridden a few miles, and being nicely warm already.

I adjusted all of my gear, and got everything in the right order, and decided to start drinking some of my caffeine/water mix. I had been off of caffeine for 6 days now, and was hoping it'd give me a nice little boost for the race. I also wanted to find some more water, just to make sure I was well hydrated before the race (especially with the caffeine dehydrating me). One problem: There was no water near the transition area. There was a water station which was for the run portion, and they were beginning to pour water, but the cups were the size of shot glasses (quite literally, the size of shot glasses. Something you'd use to make jello shots). I would've had to down quite a few of them to get enough water. I had heard that there was water at the race start, so I figured I could load up there.

Colin got back from his ride, and we chatted a little bit, and started to get ready to go over to the swim start. I began to put my wetsuit on, but Colin pointed out that the race start was still more than 30 minutes away, and that we'd be pretty sweaty walking over with the wetsuits on and just waiting. Good call. I took it off. The good news is that the shitty stitching job that I did on a rip in my wetsuit held up pretty well. It's right around the right ankle, and I managed to to rip it wide open again while putting on/taking off the suit.

I took a couple puffs on my inhaler, and we headed out to the swim start. We took notice of the swim exit, and walked calmly over to the swim area. As soon as we got there, I headed to the water fountain to get some water. I felt a little better, knowing that I was getting some extra water in. We both threw on our wetsuits to get a nice pre-race swim in. That's probably the best thing that we could've done. Jumping into that water cooled us off nicely, and was really very relaxing. We got to burn off some energy as well, so it was definitely a good move. We took some practice strokes, and one thing I noticed right away was that the turn buoy out in the distance was very hard to sight through goggles. It was a little hazy, and the sun was right above the buoy, making it very hard to see. Good to know. It just meant that I'd have to put a little more focus on sighting for the first part of the swim. I took some more strokes back towards land, and bumped into a fellow triathlete. She laughed with her friends, noting that I need to work on my "spotting" as she called it.

Having finished our warm-up (or was it a cool off?), we got out of the water. I went to the bathroom quickly. Or as quickly as you can go to the bathroom when you're covered in tight-fitting rubber. I guess that's one of the downfalls to the wetsuit. You can't just pee in the ocean, because there's nowhere for the urine to go. It stays between you and your wetsuit. Not that I would ever pee in the ocean anyway, but just pointing that out for people who might be incline to pee in large bodies of water.

They gathered us together for the pre-race meeting. The guys at Tri-Maine seem like really cool people. They had the right attitude, and seemed to know how to put a race together. Will walked us through the course, just to give everyone a mental refresher of the things they'd be doing during the race. I think this is much more important than it seems. I like to visualize the race, so when I encounter each portion, it looks somewhat familiar. But to have it explained by a person who knows every little detail of the course locks it all into place. Plus, I'm sure its very helpful for people that maybe haven't envisioned the race course just yet.

Shortly after the meeting, they called the elites and our wave (pink caps again!) into the corral. They bunched us in tightly so they'd be able to fit another wave into the corral, making things go a little more smoothly once the starting gun (airhorn) was fired.

They had us pause for the playing of the National Anthem. Only problem. I didn't see a flag anywhere. And I don't think anyone else did either. Everyone still managed to orient themselves in the same direction. Given, it was in the direction of the speakers, but still, I found it a little funny that we were all just staring in a single direction, at nothing, yet imagining a flag waving in the wind.

After the anthem, they squeezed us in even tighter with the elites. They really wanted to corral as many waves as possible. We asked the starting line volunteer how shortly after the elites we would be going off. He wasn't sure, but the concensus was 3 minutes. That number had been thrown around, and a few of us confirmed it from reading the website, or having overheard it from someone else. But then the official word came in: We'd be leaving 1 minute after the elites. As if we might be able to catch them. ha.

The elites went off, and we shimmied up to the start line. Colin and I managed to get a front row view of the coming race course. They counted us down and we were off. I sprinted towards the water, took a few high steps over the ankle deep stuff, and dove right in. Boy was it crowded, even though it was a fairly small wave. It a was a fever pace, and it was all about getting a good 100 meters in to separate from the pack and then settle into a zone.

Only problem is, this is something I've rarely practiced. Funny, it's something I should've expected, but it didn't even cross my mind to train for a swim start. It's not an unfamiliar thing; we employed the same strategy in rowing during sprint races. High cadence for the first 250 meters to really get the boat moving, and then settle into a race pace. But it's something I totally glossed over. And many times. This was my 4th triathlon, you think I would've learned by now. Oh well. Now I know.

I felt good for those first 100-or-so meters. Breathing bi-laterally, every third stroke. Staying long in the water. But my inexperience quickly showed itself. Before I knew it, my form was struggling, and I was breathing every other stroke, unable to find that every-third-stroke rhythm. And something I realized after the race, was that breathing every other stroke is more damaging than you realize. For me, I'm still not used to breathing every third stroke, at least not for a long time at an intense pace. It's too much time in between breaths. So this forces me to drop to breathing every other stroke, which is not enough time in between breaths. Doing this forces your breathing into an unnaturally quick rhythm. You're not inhaling and exhaling at full capacity. This can really put a strain on your chest/diaphragm. And so by the time you exit the water, you're not only tight, but you're breathing is much more labored than it should be. It feels like its borderline hyperventilation. Very very uncomfortable sensation. I guess that's why they invented the run from swim exit to transition. You can really use this time to regain your focus, and hopefully relax those damn breathing muscles.

But anyway, back to the swim...

Sighting in general went pretty well. I was able to see the guide buoy and stay pretty tight to it. My sighting isn't perfect yet, but I'm generally pleased with my abilities. I sighted the turn buoy, and realized that the glaring sun wasn't making it tough to see. That's good news. I swam to it, made a tight turn and headed to the other turn buoy. It was going to be a short distance, and then we'd get to head back home.

After the turn, it was really tough to see the swim exit. I tried a few times, but couldn't find the arch. For some reason I though there was an inflatable arch for the swim exit, but I couldn't find it. After a couple failures of sighting, I focused on the guide buoy, which, as they explained, did not need to be passed on the left, but was purely for guidance. I had noticed earlier, while on land, that the guide buoy wasn't in line with the quickest route to the swim exit, so I begrudgingly used it as guidance. It's all I had. I feel like I zig-zagged a bit, on my way to the buoy, along with another competitor. We must've crossed paths 3 times. I think we were both equally bad at sighting.

Finally, after passing the guide buoy, I could see the exit. I was feeling a little more relaxed, and managed to focus on my form to finish strong. Kind of funny, considering about a minute earlier, I was cursing the fact that I would have to bike and then run after this dreaded swim was over. It's not the first time I've said to myself, "I can't believe I have to bike and run after I get out of the water. I don't wanna do that." The good news is that it passes quickly. While it's a little disturbing, it's something that I'm able to beat, mentally.

The swim exit was fast approaching. I followed a small piece of advice that I had read somewhere about determining when to get up to run out of the water. Or, I guess I adapted it. The advice was something about when you see the ground is getting close, take a stroked and straighten your arm down. If you feel sand, get up. I saw the ground, felt the sand, and decided to take 2 more strokes to be sure, and then got up. It may have been a little premature, I'm not sure. I felt myself picking my legs up very high to get moving out of the water. Oh well. Soon enough I was up and out and running to transition. I wasn't moving as fast as I had wanted, due to my short breathing fits that I explained above. I still managed to pull of my goggles and cap, and secure them in the wetsuit sleeve as I pulled it off of my torso (I just let go of my goggles as I was pulling out of the wetsuit...neat little trick I read somewhere). I made it to transition and headed to my bike rack.

Oops. wrong rack. I ducked in one rack early, and was on the wrong side for grabbing my stuff. I ran around, and got to my bike.

Weird thing about transition (with a wetsuit on), is that trying to move too fast will impede your transition. I was trying to frantically to get my wetsuit off, and I needed to take a deep breath to focus on getting it off. Once I did that, I was ready to go. Only needed to throw my helmet on and I was off and running.

This would be the 2nd time I attempted a running mount with my bike shoes already on the bike. The first time had gone pretty well, and I had practiced the day before. However, the practice hadn't gone all that smoothly. For whatever reason, I wasn't able to focus on a smooth mount, and was screwing up all over the place. Fortunately, the mount during the race went pretty well. No major issues. By the time I was out of the parking lot and onto the main drag, I was secured, and moving. My running mount had made up time on the guy in front of me, and I quickly passed him.

I was able to get some good speed going, but was still breathing pretty heavily from the swim. There was salt water dripping from my nose. Presumably, it was one of many drops of water that I managed to accidentally get in my mouth/nose while swimming erratically.

I knew that I would need to start hydrating immediately. Only 10 miles on the bike to get some liquids in, and it would be over quickly. I grabbed some gatorade, and then kept on moving. I knew that Colin was ahead of me, but I wasn't sure how far ahead he was. It was a pretty uneventful ride up to the turnaround. I was feeling good, because every second that I didn't see Colin meant I was that much closer to him. I got pretty close to the turnaround before I saw him. Maybe I was a minute behind?

After the turnaround, I realized why those first miles felt so good: I had some help. There was a pain-in-the-ass headwind smacking my face that had been an ever-so-nice tailwind just a few minutes ago. I tried to maintain a high cadence, even in the wind. Another uneventful set of miles back to transition, where we'd turnaround again. I got very close before I saw Colin again. Maybe 45 seconds behind? I made up some ground on a competitor at the turnaround. For the first loop, you had to stay left, and the guy in front of me faltered for a second. I was able to overtake him since he slowed to correct his minor mistake. Then it was back out on that flat, fast course for one more loop. By this point, other waves had finished the swim and were moving out onto the bike course. There were no problems with merging, but there were a bunch of people on the course now. Not a problem. I stayed left, and just cranked, and passed a bunch of people.

I got passed the original point where I saw Colin. I was definitely making up ground. And when I saw him this time, I managed to look at my watch so I could gauge how far behind I was. 30 seconds. Not bad, but I should really be catching him more quickly.

I hit that same headwind, and tried to push through. As I got closer to transition, I didn't see a ton of runners on the path, and knew that I was close to the front. Sure there was about 1/4 mile which didn't run along the bike course, but I was betting that there wasn't a huge pack of 50 runners just out of sight. Maybe a couple here and there, but not many.

I came in hot for the dismount, and did a nice rolling dismount, having unstrapped my shoes and stepped over and off my bike. I pretty much threw my bike back onto the rack and tossed off my helmet. Now just to put my shoes on. Oh, and the jellybeans.

I had decided to bring some jelly beans for energy during the run. I made sure to put them in my shoe so that I wouldn't forget to bring them along. I tossed the bag in my shirt pocket, threw my shoes on, and headed out. I didn't get a good look at how many bikes were back in the racks, but guessed that it wasn't that many.

I felt somewhat ready for the run. Those damn jelly beans, though. The bag was too big, and it was sloshing around way too much in the pocket. I decided to pour some out into the pocket, and then throw the rest away. I managed to do this within 20 feet of transition, where there was a trash can waiting for me. As I threw the bag out, I grabbed a handful of beans and tossed them in my mouth. No sense in waiting right?

My chest was tight again, probably because of dehydration, and was struggling to get moving. I was able to shake it off though, and settled into a good pace. I think a guy passed me after about half a mile. I hit the Mile 1 water station, and was running about 8:20 pace. I threw some water on my head, which felt great, and I was able to keep moving at what felt like a slightly faster pace. I had run the course before, so I had a good idea of what to expect.

I got close to the initial slight turn before the turnaround, and the elites were passing me. There was a USAT official clearing the right of the running lane (we shared the going and coming for a bit on Day Blvd.) A few guys blazed by me, and I kept on heading towards the first turnaround. I hit the turnaround, and was able to see a couple guys were right behind me. One guy came up on me shortly after and passed, but I was able to hold off the next guy for a while.
I headed down the walkway to the 2nd turnaround, and got a big boost. This walkway was basically a glorified jetty that reached out across the water, and connected to another piece of the walkway at a small "island" gazebo type structure. I mention this, because there was lots and lots of cooled air coming up off of the water, which really made the world feel like a good place, after all. Also it was blowing as a partial tailwind, so it was cooling me and giving me some free speed at the same time.

Maggie was stationed in no-mans land, by the 2nd turnaround, and she cheered me on, telling me that I was in the top 15 or so. I had recently crossed paths with Colin, and he was about 1 minute ahead of me. Only about 5 guys were in between us. He was moving nicely.
I threw some more jelly beans in (they were melted at this point), and kept moving. The then tailwind was now a headwind, and was slowing me down a bit. It was over quickly enough, and I was back onto Day Blvd, heading towards the end. One more guy passed me, and I worked on keeping up with him, which I did a decent job of.

I could see the cones for the turn onto the beach, and picked it up a little more.

I hit the beach (which, I believe is where the race actually ended, because the sensor mats were right at the point where you run onto the beach), and then had about 200 feet to the finish. It is a pain in the ass running in sneakers in the sand. I picked up my legs and was able to make a strong finish. Colin was able to cheer me on for the last 50 feet, having just finished.

We recovered, chatted, drank some water, and just generally felt good. One of the other competitors mentioned to Colin that he though Colin got 2nd place. Not too shabby.

We figured we'd pay a visit to Maggie, so we headed back up the course, cheering on some of the other competitors. We got to the walkway, and the cops were being kinda hardass-y about letting us walk up while the race was still going on. I can respect that. If I was racing (and, hey, I just was!) I wouldn't want to see people walking on the course, especially if they had already finished the race. So we decided to cut our losses, and head back to the beer tent.

We went into the beer tent, and each got a beer. I didn't get halfway through it, when I started to get a pounding headache. I guess I needed more water. I gave what was left to Colin, and told him that I needed to get some water and Gatorade. He went back to transition to grab his phone. Oh, but not before checking the results. He got 2nd and I got 3rd place! Yea! I'm honored to share the podium with that beast.

I continued to down lots of water and Gatorade, and stayed in the shade, under a Muscle Milk tent. I was not feeling good. I certainly wasn't feeling any better. Yep, it was getting worse. Maggie's post was finished, so I grabbed her, and we hung out by the tent, while I drank more.

They announced that they were going to have the awards ceremony soon, so we walked back over the party area. I still felt kinda bad, but thought that I was getting a little better. Colin made it back just in time to stand on the podium, and we celebrated. The podium felt good, but it was short-lived. I was really feeling bad, so I sat inside with some water, trying to gain myself.

I was getting nauseous, and headed to the bathroom. I was pacing a bit, getting pretty bad, and a volunteer walked in, saw how shitty I looked, and offered to call the Medics for me. I took him up on it, and walked out to the lobby of the building. I sat down, and shortly after a couple of lifeguards came in and helped me cool down. They had some ice, and told me to drink water slowly. I think the ice on the forehead really helped. They offered to call the medics, and this time I said yes, thinking that they'd be able to put in a quick IV line right there, and I'd be all set.
After about 15 minutes, they showed up, and asked me how I was. They ran through their battery of questions and tests, and offered to take me to the hospital. I was slowly feeling better, and since they had established that it wasn't anything life threatening, I decided to decline going to the hospital (which wouldve been hours and hours, I'm sure). They were very professional, and very courteous. And calm. they brought a very big sense of calm to the situation, which was refreshing.

During all of this, Colin had headed back to get his truck, since it probably wasn't safe for me to be riding in my condition. Right around the time he got back, I was feeling a lot better, and the lifeguards, who were also great people, headed out, having done their job. The one kid was a really cool guy who was one of the top 100 high school hockey players in America. We chatted for a bit about hockey, and how drafting works, and what colleges he was considering. You could tell he loved the sport (why else would you wake up at 4am every morning for most of the year), and he loved to talk about nothing more than he loved to talk about hockey. Remember the name Scott McKena, he'll be a great player someday.

I was recovered and ready to go home. Next time, let's not get dehydrated.

Pre-Urban Epic

So I stopped drinking coffee about 5 days ago, in preparation for the Boston Urban Epic Triathlon (aside from 2 sips at Charlie's on Saturday along with breakfast...you can't not order coffee at Charlies). I figure I'll have a little pre-race caffeine boost, and see how that works out. Last time I overloaded on caffeine, I feel like I really bonked on the run, but I think that was due mostly to the heat, and the fact that I didn't really control my caffeine intake. This time around, it'll be a quick shot before the race. Not an overdose, but enough for my body to remember it's old friend Mr. Caffeine, and put me into a good place for the race.

I think I've trained well since the Philly Tri. I had a nice little practice Tri in New Bedford, where I was generally happy with my performance. I always could've trained harder, longer, smarter, but I've been very consistent with training for 6 months now, and am feeling pretty good.

Had a nice day off on Friday, which is prescribed (the day before the day before). My legs were itching to do some sort of workout, ready to crank out a nice ride, but I managed to do very little. I did a decent amount of walking around Boston Friday night, finding a place to sit down and eat after my packet pick-up, but overall, a light day.

Saturday included some light transition practice, with some quick bike sprints around the block, followed by a run to the gym to swim some laps...and then the run back to the apartment. All done at a generally relaxed pace, but enough for my body to know it was getting the juices flowing.

I rode/ran the race course the week before, so I have a pretty good idea of what's in store. Although they changed the course a bit from last year, it's still essentially the same. The swim portion was the biggest change, and I need to just do some mental prep on that one.

Here we go...

Philly Tri

Ahh, Day of the Philly Tri. I had driven into the area the night before, had done some last-minute preparation, and was in bed by 10:30. Registration was from 5am-6am, so we had to be on the rod by 5:10am. Good times. We headed out, taking local roads, rather than the highway. Traffic at 5am on a Saturday? Not a chance. The local roads were clear. Of course, this route did take us through (around) some kind of rough areas in Philly, which are always interesting to see at 5am on a Saturday. One wrong turn down a gloomy street, but we got back on track quickly. We found our parking area, unloaded, and headed to the registration tent. I went to find my bib number, and found 2.


Someone else with my name was racing as well. He was 40-something, so he was in a different age-group, and that was noted in the entrant list, so I got the correct bib number from the list. I went to pick up my packet, and discovered that they like to give the Clydesdale group hot pink swim caps (they had done it the year before, as the volunteer happily pointed out). I also found out that wetsuits might not be allowed. I overheard another one of the volunteers mentioning that participants might be allowed to wear them, but they'd have to be the last wave, and their time wouldn't count. We headed to the transition area, which wasn't that crowded, since most people had probably registered the night before, thus relieving them of having to be there before 6am to pick up their packets. It felt good to be there. There was a slowly building excitement. People were trickling in, the day was getting brighter, and there was more and more chatter. It was game time. I got myself marked up, and headed into transition. Set everything up, had some water, ate some bread, and I was relaxed and ready to go...Only about 2 hours to race time, great.


I found my buddy Colin, and we talked and hung out for a little bit. He went to set his area up, so I wandered around and took in the sights. By now, the transition area was about 75% full, so there was a lot of energy. It felt really good to be in that area again. I'm not talking about the transition area, per se. I'm talking about the area where you're surrounded by fellow athletes, all nervously going through the tiniest details, walking around, listening to music, doing jumping jacks, and just trying to focus in on the race. Whether they're doing it seriously, or goofily, they're all there, sharing the same excitement. The transition area feels miles away from everything else, even though friends and family are separated by a thin plastic fence.


They were closing the transition area at 7:15 for the elite start at 7:30am. Meaning, we all had to be out of the way for the elites once they came back from the swim, and for the bike. We didn't have to be completely out of transition, but just had to clear paths down the center, and away from the bikes. They tried to corral us out, but there were too many people to get out of the area. Plus, we weren't going to start racing for over an hour, so there was no reason to leave. I needed to take my inhaler about 20 minutes before the race, and also a GU packet for some extra fun, so I didn't want to leave my post just yet.


The elite wave went off, pretty much right on time, and they really tried to get all of the triathletes out of the area, because they would be running through transition before our wave even left for the swim. Combination of these guys being superfast, and us being in the 11th wave, spread 5-6 minutes apart. I took my Gu, and a couple puffs of the inhaler, and we headed out of the transition area. First time racing with the inhaler, so I was interested to see if it would make a noticeable difference.
We moved to the end of the transition area, but still had plenty of time, and didn't want to stand out in the sun, so we found some shade near the back of transition area, and sat down to relax before the wave started. I had to go to the bathroom, but really didn't feel like standing in the long lines. Fortunately there was a bank of porta-potties right outside the transition area near us. I just needed to hop the fence, and I was free to do my duty. I was able to poo in peace.
Finally, they called our wave to the starting area, and we waited around while the couple waves in front of us got started. Our wave was the Clydesdales (the self-proclaimed "fat guys" by one of my fellow competitors) and the under 19 males. Quite a difference in body types.
They ushered us into the water, which was a warm 84.0 degrees (or around there...warm enough to prohibit wetsuits). I found myself front-and-center of the pack. Somewhere I wasn't too comfortable being, since this was my first time doing an in-water start with 90+ other guys. But it wasn't so bad. I figured it wasn't worth the effort to try to tread over somewhere else. Besides, I had a good spot. Why give it up? I felt confident enough in my training to keep up with these guys. After treading for a while, the countdown began, the air horn blew, and we were off. There was a little bit of traffic, but I was able to get into a fairly open area pretty easily. I felt a few feet near my face and sides, and felt a few hands near my sides, but never really crashed into anyone.
I was able to swim comfortably breathing bi-laterally for a few minutes. The water was warm and brown (just how I like it?), and it was pretty easy to sight the bridge opening up ahead. Pretty big target...not a small orange buoy 300 yards away. I passed a couple people, at most, and felt like I was getting into a good pace. I remember thinking that the buoys for the turns should be immediately after crossing under the bridge, but they were still a decent way down, which threw me off a little bit, but it wasn't that bad. I made my way to the first turn, having sighted everything pretty well, and made the turn. This was about where I passed someone from the wave ahead of us (yellow caps, I believe, the 40-44 men). Of course, that's going to make anyone feel pretty good, so I was able to turn it up a bit, and swim hard to the next turn. By this point, I had switched to breathing on one side. Definitely something I need to work on. Funny how the most natural thing a human can do becomes the toughest thing to focus on during a swim.
I passed another bunch of people, one while passing back under the bridge. I had to take an inside track to get between them and the bridge structure. Again, since they were in the previous wave, I was able to get past them pretty easily. I was moving at a comfortable pace. I'm still not 100% used to open water swimming, so I was sprinting through the water. I still need to find my optimal race pace. I was felt pretty good with my pace, though, so I was happy.
Now it's off to the finish line, which was about 100 yards further down river from where we started. This, combined with a curve in the river/course, threw me off a bit. I had sighted swim exit but didn't see the two buoys I had to pass on the left in order to get to the finish. I didn't exactly swim a straight line, but I didn't get so far off course that I added a ton of time to my swim.


I finally made it around the final buoy, and had a clear line to the exit. I powered through a bit, and finished strong. The drop off on the Schuylkill is pretty drastic, so even 4 feet from the banks is deep enough that you can't stand up out of the water. You need to get right up to the bank before you can touch ground. It was a little crowded, but I was able to sneak in and run up the minor hill out of the swim exit. I felt good, but a little unbalanced from my single-side breathing. I grabbed some water, and threw some on my face to cool down a bit...yes, I was already heating up. Unfortunately, some water got in my eyes ( I guess that's what happens when you throw water in your face), and my contacts got a little out of sorts. Both of them. so I was half-blind for about 20 yards of the run to my bike. I was trying to figure out what I'd do if I couldn't get my contacts back in place. Do I still ride? Do I pull out if I lose both of them? The good news is that I was able to get them back in place by the time I got to my bike. Good thing, because I don't think I was ready to stop racing just because I couldn't see anything. Which would have been bad.
I was hoping the 50 yard run to the bike would let me get a little more oriented, but I was still a little off-balance, and was breathing a little hard. I threw on my tri shirt, and ripped one side off of my bib. O well. I put the socks on as best I could while standing wet and off-balanced, threw the shoes on, and ran out to the bike mount. T1 ended up being more than 2 minutes...definitely room for improvement. My mount kind of sucked to, but soon enough I was off and riding. I felt alright, but needed to settle into a good pace. The first couple miles is pretty straight, maybe a small false flat, but easy enough to get some speed going. The course then takes a pretty tight 180 degree turn to go back in the other direction. I'm not too experienced with crowded, tight turns so this was a little slower than I had hoped. Again, something to work on for later.
Now the course is a slight downhill until the on-ramp to the Strawberry Mansion bridge. Rode by some riders, and got ready for the on-ramp. I had studied the course a bit before the race, so I knew about what to expect. Even still, the ramp slowed me down. I hadn't found my legs yet, so they weren't fresh and ready for the climb. And I don't think I've done enough hill workouts. I was still able to pass a few people on the climb, and take a left onto the bridge. Picked up some speed, but as soon as the bridge ends, there's a slight left into an uphill climb, which is a little longer than the on-ramp climb. This slows down a lot of people, but is over with pretty quickly. The rest of the ride going down river on the East side is pretty fast with a couple of turns that require a little bit of technical ability (but not much).


Just before the turn to head back in the other direct, there's a slight downhill that lets you work up some good speed to get up the next nice little climb. I don't know why, but not everyone seemed to be taking advantage of the free speed, as I passed a bunch of people on the climb, purely from momentum (I also made sure to push to the top of the hill, which helped). The road narrowed a bit, and winded a bit but was still pretty manageable.
Coming out of the first loop is a slight downhill with a false sharp turn (the turn is partially obstructed by some trees/bushes, and the way the road flows, it looks like it's going to turn sharply to the left). The first time around, I had slowed a little too much, and after I realized it wasn't as sharp as a turn, had to come up out of the saddle to get back up to speed. To get to the next loop, there was actually a sharp left turn, which I was able to snake by on the inside the first time to gain some ground. By this time, I was trying to keep up with a fellow clydesdale (or so I think). We had jockeyed back and forth a few times already, and at this point he was ahead of me. By the time we came out of the loop, I was pretty close to him (I think he was bib 4875). Now comes the fun part, a nice, quick, shaded downhill back to the bridge, where you can pick up some really good speed. Unfortunately, it's short-lived, since at the bottom of the hill is a 90 degree left turn to get back onto the bridge. I couldn't figure out how much speed to build up on the bridge, since it's another left turn to go down the down-ramp. I saw it as a good chance to crank a little, and then coast to the turn so that I could grab some water. Down the down-ramp, and it's maybe 3/4 of a mile to the turn-around for lap 2. Another tight turn in some traffic, and it was off for the second 7.5 miles.
This lap was pretty much the same, with a slight bit more wisdom of the course, since I had just completed it. I was able to anticipate the climbs, hills and descents, and could adjust my speed/tactics accordingly.



With a couple miles remaining, I finally passed my buddy Colin, who had beaten me out of the water by 1:38 and had a T1 which was 20 seconds quicker. So I was able to make up 2 minutes over about 13 miles. I really should have caught him earlier. I passed him (along with the guy in bib 4501...I was 4500. He was pretty amused that we ended up side by side). I picked up speed as I passed Colin, hoping I could use the last few miles that I had to put some distance between us. All that was left was the downhill section to the bridge, the bridge, and the final leg to the transition area. I used the last bit of the bike portion to get some last gulps of water. I notice that I had not even come close to drinking both of my bottles. Looking back, that was probably not a good thing. I easily go through a water bottle before I even finish my light swim practices...and that's indoors in a pool with a reasonable temperature. Certainly not 84 degree water and 90 degrees out of the water. So I hadn't drank enough water to rehydrate from the swim, let along the 45 minutes of biking, I was about to complete. Add to that the fact that I put a packet of 2x-caffeine GU in each of the bottles, and I was probably pretty dehydrated. Not a good thing for the run.
Just before dismount, I loosened my bike shoes, and started to wiggle my feet out. As I was doing this (and coming to a stop), my left shoe disengaged from the clip, and I feel on the ground. I had to grab it quickly and run back to transition holding my shoe. I got bike and hurriedly tried to switch shoes and get going on the run. I was definitely hurting a bit, and knew that I didn't have much ground on Colin. As I got my shoes on and started heading out, I saw Colin bolting ahead of me. He had kept up with me on the bike, and because he didn't have bikes shoes, he didn't have to switch his shoes. He's a stronger runner than I am, so I knew I was in trouble.
I was hurting, but felt okay for the first 50 yards. I threw some water over my head, and tried to get some speed up. But before I got through the park area to the road, I slowed down pretty hard. My chest was really, really tight, and I couldn't get a deep breath even though I wasn't running that fast. I couldn't tell why my upper body was so tight. Was I clenched during the entire bike? That might have been it, but I've done longer rides, followed by runs, and I had never felt this tightness before. It was a combination soreness and tightness. Then again, racing is not training, and my intensity may have had something to do with it. The heat and dehydration were both probably another factor. I need to research to see if dehydration can cause this sort of sensation.

Anyway, I got out onto the road and plodded along at a pathetic pace. I knew I was going slow, but was pretty disappointed to see the 9th minute go by on my watch before I hit the 1 mile marker. I was able to do a 7:07 split for a 4 miler just 2 weeks ago, and had been feeling really good about my run training recently. What happened? I don't think I over-exerted on the swim, and same for the bike. But here I was, sucking ass (and wind) on the run.
Finally, about 1.5 miles in, my chest loosened up, and I at least felt a little more comfortable running, but my pace was still dreadful. I threw a cup of water over my head, and it cooled me down nicely...for about 3 seconds. In those three seconds, though, I could tell how much the heat was affecting my run. In those three seconds, I thought I'd be able to really pick up the pace, and start moving. But when those 3 seconds were up, my body was getting way too hot, and I was struggling again. I need to do more training in high heat and humidity. I slogged through to the turnaround, having seen Colin pass me already. Halfway there, and I was able to pick up the pace only slightly. Aside from running under a bridge and getting 20 feet of shade, there was no hope of relief from the sun until the very end, where some tree cover would be waiting. Around mile 2.5, a small woman came up from behind me, and passed on my left. She wasn't going much faster than I was, and for some reason I locked onto her pace. This gave me a little boost, and I was able to pick it up a little bit. That pretty much carried me through to the 3 mile marker, where I was able to pick up to a quick run for the final 0.1 of a mile. I finished, and immediately was not happy with the run. I knew it was bad.
I struggled to take my chip off, grabbed a water, and headed out to some open area to find my family and Colin. They were easy enough to find. I found Maggie first, and then my sister and her husband quickly got over to me. I saw Colin and we converged together. My parents made their way over from where my dad was taking some pretty good shots of me and Colin crossing the finish line. I downed a bottle of water, but that wasn't nearly enough. I was starting to feel faint. It was coming in waves. I would feel a little tired, and then a rush of dizziness/weakness would come over me. It wasn't overwhelming, but it wasn't pleasant. After chatting for a little while, I sat down on the curb for a little bit to gain myself. But not before grabbing two more water bottles and chugging them. And Colin brought me a third bottle while I was sitting. 64 ounces of water, no problem. Yea, I think I was dehydrated. Not to mention the two 24 ounce Gatorade bottles and the single bottle/box of ReGen drink (and probably another bottle of water in there somewhere). Couldn't really eat, though. I forced a couple of bites of a turkey hoagie (extra philly accent, please), and a couple of bits of a cookie, but that was all I could handle.
We hung around the festivities for a while, and chatted with Colin and his buddy, and then it was time to get out.
One thing we did notice was a bunch of fire trucks on the other side of the river (Kelly Drive). They seemed to be carrying a large ladder down to the river banks. We couldn't figure out what was going on (Gavin suggested that a triathlete had got caught in a tree, and they were saving him).
It wasn't until later that night that we found out what was going on: A first time triathlete had drowned. He was in one of the last waves, and hadn't come out of the water more than an hour after his wave started. It's one of those things that really sends chills down your back. His wife and kids were waiting anxiously at the swim exit for him to come out, but he never exited. None of the lifeguards or spotters had seen anything out of the ordinary. It's really a sad story, and raises a lot of questions. There are lots of theories and opinions out there, many of which I've played through in my head, but none of which I'll try to assert. The fact remains that a man died as a result of the swim portion of triathlon, and it's a tragedy regardless. I have contacted race directors and have asked them to keep me abreast of the facts of the various investigations. If I am unsatisfied with the responses, I will work on getting involved. I won't, however, sit and make assumptions and accusations without actually doing anything. That's a pointless activity that makes absolutely zero progress.
I'm hopeful that this will raise questions to the proper people, and we will move forward as a triathlon community.

In any event the Philly Tri is over, and I think we've all been able to learn something from it.

Philly Tri - Revisit

It's funny how you can spend hours and days trying to figure out all of the components of a race (down to the smallest detail), but it only takes a single race experience to really make it click in your brain. I knew there were a bunch of things I had to focus on, but the Philly Tri really pinpointed my weaknesses, and showed me what things required more focus/training/practice. Shortly after the race, it wasn't hard to come up with 10 areas of improvement for my next race. Some are very broad areas, and some are specific, but these were the items that popped into my head. And surely, each of these areas can be broken down into several sub-categories, giving me plenty to work on for next time. In no particular order:

1. Hydration on bike and run - During the swim, you obviously don't have a chance to hydrate (at least with water of your choosing). So coming out of the swim, you're already in the hole, hydration-wise. Add to that 84 degree water, and there can be a considerable amount of fluid loss. I had done a good job of staying hydrated before the race began, so at least I wasn't going into the swim dehydrated. I had water bottles on my bike, so I was prepared, but during the 15 mile ride, I managed to only finish about half of my water. There was a lot of urgency and action during the ride, so I didn't want to continuously reach for my water bottle, even though I really should have. Each time you grab your water, you slow a little bit, and you hamper your breathing, since you're forced to breathe through your nose for a couple of breaths each time. I didn't feel like I was losing a ton of liquid (a fairly shaded bike ride with a nice breeze is very deceiving), so I thought I was okay. It all hit me when I dismounted off the bike, and headed out for the run. My body was running hot and dehydrated, and it was taking a toll. (I've since run a few times in the heat, and really took notice of how much the heat affects me...It's surprising). I need to make sure that I suck down whatever water I have on the bike, to set myself up for the run.

2. Running after biking - Heat and dehydration aside, I wasn't strong on the run. While dismounting from the bike, running to T2, changing out shoes, and heading to the Run Out all seem like pretty simple things, they can be a bit disorienting during a race. I was making transition with a good amount of urgency (not too much so that I'm going nuts), but I didn't take time to reset myself before the run. But again, putting that aside, I had only done a handful of bike/run brick workouts, and they weren't at race pace/urgency. The heavy legs and disorientation were new feelings, and I wasn't focusing on the right things.
3. T1 - Shirt on - Sounds stupid, but Throwing that small, stretchy Tri shirt on after a run is a pain in the ass. Especially if you've pinned the bib to tightly on the shirt that it rips as you're putting the shirt on. I had planned on wearing it under my wetsuit so I wouldn't have to worry about putting it on, but decided to swim only in spandex and put the shirt on later.
4. T1 - bike mount - While I want to work up to a running jump mount (with shoes on the bike), I still have a ways to go. I had trouble with a standing mount while wearing my bike shoes. Something to work on,
5. proper amount of energy gel - I thought that putting an energy gel (with 2x caffeine) in both of my water bottles would be smart, but it was probably overkill. As I've learned, my biggest enemy is dehydration, and caffeine is no help. I think eating well right before the race, and focusing on hydration during the race is key for me. Maybe one gel packet somewhere in the bike portion. And possibly something on the run... But not 1 full one before the race (in addition to eating well, which I did well on this race), and 2 in the water bottles for the bike.
6. swim form - My swim form could use work all around, but I think my biggest inefficiencies are with my arm stroke during breathing. I lose all focus when I come up for a breath and my pulling arm just drags through the water, far from my body. A close 2nd place is with my kicking. I don't have a good rhythm for my kicks (and I don't think I have particularly good form either). Both things I really need to work on.
7. bi-lateral breathing - Of course. I started out well, but fell into a rhythm rut with breathing every other stroke. It's so much easier, but I need to be disciplined enough to do bi-lateral breathing. You become so disoriented after breathing on one side for 16 minutes straight. I really think it affects you for the rest of the race.
8. sighting - I did alright with this, but could stand to become a little more consistent. I think I zig-zagged a couple of times, and added unnecessary distance to the swim by not sighting often enough. But in general, I was pleased with my sighting
9. managing hills better on the bike - I had done some hills in training, but not enough. The hills on the course certainly weren't these large forboding climbs, but they were enough to throw me off. The hills that I had done during training weren't focused enough. I didn't assess them, and focus on keeping a steady cadence up them. I also didn't focus on powering through them after having reached the top. I think the key for hills is to not have your legs do these slow, pounding pushes; but rather to keep the cadence high and let your legs move as freely as possible, so as to reduce that nasty lactate burn once you reach the top.
10. higher cadence, higher gear - I had only recently been focusing on high cadence, so I was being very conscious of not switching into the smallest ring. I wanted to force myself to keep a high cadence. Problem is, I wasn't going as fast as I could have gone. I'm still not 100% efficient with my high cadence riding, so I lose a little bit. I haven't found the perfect cadence yet, and defaulted to going too fast, rather than too slow, which was not making me any faster. It was just making my riding choppy, if anything.
11. bike dismount / T2 - Not something you typically practice a lot, as it seems pretty basic, but it's still a skill to be mastered. I had un-velcroed my shoes, prior to the dismount, and was working my feet out, but one shoe became unclipped and fell to the ground. I had to scramble to pick it up and then run over to my rack in Transition. I hurriedly threw my bike on the rack, took my helmet off, and worked to get my shoes on. It wasn't the worst transition in the world, but could definitely use improvement. My socks were still only half-on, (from T1), so it was a little bit of a pain getting my shoes on. And I definitely need some focus strides once I started heading to Run Out. Those 50 yards need to be used to gather yourself for the upcoming run.

Sport technology

Getting clipless has been on my list of items to purchase for such a long time. Popular opinion is that clipless pedals/shoes are really one of the first investments you should make, as the performance improvement is significant. You can buy pointy helmets and all sorts of other things, but the performance gains are small. You need to be near-professional in order to really justify the cost vs. the gain (though many people have gear that is well above their ability). But the clipless system is huge. It makes your motions more stable; It allows you to use your hamstrings to pull up on the crank rotation; It allows you to increase your cadence comfortably; It smooths out your pedal stroke. All of this can end up making you 2 mph faster. The return is well worth it. Of course, it's not completely free speed. You still need to focus on your stroke, your cadence, your position. Though it's damn close to free speed.

I've been riding (off and on) for about 6 years now. Surely, at some point, I should've made the jump to clipless. But I didn't. Sure, the price can be a bit prohibitive, but I've dropped more money on stupider things in the past 6 years. I can guarantee that. So why did it take so long? Well, for one, I've only recently gotten into competitive cycling (via triathlon), but that only partially explains it.

The real reason, I believe, is that I didn't want to be the guy who had fancy gear that was way above my ability. As one triathlete put it, "Some people have more money than they have sense.". I think that's particularly true in cycling/triathlon. You see people on race day who have spent insane amounts of money on all of their triathlon gear. And it's intimidating. You think that you're surrounded by seasoned professionals who are going to kick your ass in every leg. And then the race starts. There really is no better feeling than passing a guy with a pointy helmet on the bike leg. Especially while in sneakers. How much must it suck to be passed by someone with none of the fancy gear that you've spent thousands of dollars on? My guess is that it sucks quite a bit.

And so the reason is really two-fold: I didn't want to be a gearhead, and I didn't want to get passed by someone without clipless. Of course, I'm sure I'll get passed by people without clipless, but at least they should be fairly legitimate cyclists.

My general approach with buying technology to improve speed is that I have to meet 2 criteria:
1. I have to consciously think about why the technology is necessary. Let's face it, I never would have thought to invent a clipless system for cycling. Thankfully, someone else was smart enough to figure it out. Because of this, it thrusts focus on specific parts of the pedal stroke that I may or may not have figured out on my own. This gives me the opportunity to manually emulate the technology. In the case of clipless, it forces good form into your stroke. However, it doesn't force perfect form into your stroke. It's entirely possible to use clipless in a less-than-optimal manner. Which would suck. So before purchasing, I can pretend that clipless doesn't exist yet, but that the optimal form has been figured out. Then I can work on matching my form to the optimal form. So when I actually install my clipless, I'll know exactly what is supposed to be happening, and the technology can be used the way it should be used.
2. I have to earn it. Simple as that. Understanding the technology is one thing, but if I don't work at it, day after day, it's not going to help me in the long run.

My goal should really be to minimize the effect that the technology has on my performance. If I'm doing everything perfectly, technology will give me slight gains, and let me focus on another part of my technique

Pine Barrens Tri

May 23, 2010. My first real triathlon. They had cancelled the swim part for the Hopkinton Tri, so this would be the first time that I've ever swam competitively in open water. Kind of nerve-racking, especially considering that this was a .5 mile swim, and I had been focusing on a .25 for the Hopkinton Tri. And I figured I'd have at least a .25 mile open water swim under my belt before this race. Oh well.

A few things worked in my favor, though, so some pressure was relieved:
1. This race was in my backyard. Not literally, but pretty darn close to literally. I grew up less than 10 miles from Atsion Lake, and everything about it reminded me of home. Atsion Lake, like most of the lakes in the area, is a cedar water lake. Meaning, it looks like someone dumped about 1,000,000 tea bags into the lake and let them steep for 20 years. At first sight, it looks dirty, but, being a local Piney, it brought me comfort. I grew up swimming in cedar water lakes, and it felt like I was a kid again. Even though you can't see 2 feet in front of you under water because it's so dark, it was a familiar place. Plus, my parents, brother and nephew were all able to make it, further adding to the feeling of home.
2. The second reason was not quite as psychological. For some reason, there were only 38 people at this race. In years past, this race drew up to 200 people, but not this year. People conjectured as to why (the race director didn't totally have it all together last year; there was a bigger Tri going on in Wilkes-Barre; who knows), but the fact was that there were only 38 people racing. This greatly reduced the tension in the transition area. Everyone had plenty of room to get ready, and there wasn't that feeling of chaos as people run around trying to get their things in order before the race. This really set the tone, and kept me calm leading up to the swim.

I had trained well for the race, but was still very worried. Again, I had been focusing on true Sprint Tri distances (.25, 10, 5k), but this "sprint" tri was .5,24,4. Admittedly, I signed up on impulse because it was a race close to home, and the distances were an afterthought. After signing up, I checked the distances a few times, hoping that I had just misread them...Nope. Add to that the fact that I was fighting some sort of mild sickness since Thursday (probably from over-extending myself the weekend before in Chicago), and I had plenty of mini-demons to fight for this race. The 48 hours before the race weren't crazy, but they weren't relaxing. The 6+ hour drive from Boston and the day full of visiting family around NJ and PA added to my general under-the-weather feeling.

Fortunately, I was able to settle in on my brother's couch at a reasonable hour on Saturday night, and got some pretty good sleep. I woke up at around 7:30, surprised that I was able to sleep that late (oddly, my nerves weren't acting up the night before, I think I was on the border of exhausted, and my nerves were too tired to get me riled up. My nerves did manage to smack me around a little bit while I was getting ready to leave. I was overcome with a feeling that I was late, and that I wouldn't have nearly enough time to get ready for the race. I booked it out of my brothers, and sped to the course. I popped in some Joanna Newsom to help calm my nerves. It actually worked! She's got a heavenly sound, and really put me in a good spot.

As I was driving, I happened to catch myself in the rearview mirror. "Oh Shit", I yelled at myself. For some reason, there was a Fu Manchu mustache on my face. Well, actually, there was a good reason it was on my face. The day before, I had gone over to my sister and her husband's house for a barbecue which they had themed as a "Mustache Bash". Of course, I had to partake in the Mustache-y goodness, so I shaved a Fu Manchu out of the week of stubble I had managed to grow. The only bad thing is that when you're rushing out the door to head to a triathlon, your brain rarely says, "I should probably check to see if there's any odd facial hair on my face". And so there I drove, with Fu Manchu, to Atsion Lake.

I arrived, and saw the area was very empty, which calmed my nerves yet again. I was in a good, mellow zone.

I unpacked my gear, picked out my own bike rack (yes, I had my own bike rack, that's how small the field was) and took a look around. I tried to gauge the competition, but quickly found out that it's tougher than I thought. I assumed that since this was a somewhat unknown race, that only legit triathletes would come out. And the gear these people had seemed to support that. Quality road bikes, all with clipless, and a bunch of Tri-specific gear. Some guys with the pointy aero helmets, and other expensive looking things. I got a little nervous for a second, thinking I was in way over my head. I don't have clipless. My bike's not even a proper road bike (it's a cyclocross). Were these people going to blow me away on the bike?

In any case, I registered, got marked up and took it all in. I kept forgetting that I had a Fu Manchu, so I couldn't figure out why people were looking at me oddly.

The race director gave us some basic instructions, and then it was time to head to the swim start.

I chatted up a guy from the Princeton area who had been doing triathlons for about 20 years. Damn, that's a lot of experience. We waded in the water up to our feet, just hanging out, getting ready for the deep water start. I hopped out quickly to say hi to my parents, brother and nephew. Gave my 7 year-old nephew a high-five, and I was ready to go. I headed back into the water, and moved closer to the start.

The race director, seeing that everyone was in the water, figured everyone was ready to go, and started a countdown for the start. Problem is, not everyone was ready, and we certainly weren't all at the same point in the water. Some people yelled and told him to stop the countdown, but he either couldn't hear, or chose not to hear. And before most people knew it, the race had started. Everyone scrambled to get going, and soon enough we were all headed out to the turnaround buoy.

This being my first open water race, I was a little concerned. With a bunch of things. For one, sighting. I had practiced sighting a very small amount in the couple of open water swims I was able to do during training, but they weren't concerted efforts. I had to put some more focus on sighting this time. I cheated a little bit. I looked up occasionally, but was fortunate enough to have someone right next to me that I could use to gauge my direction. Of course, that's not a foolproof system. I certainly zig-zagged too much, and bumped into a buoy because I wasn't being attentive enough. Something to work on for next time.

Getting through the swim was my 2nd concern. I had been training well, but was definitely intimidated. I figured I would've had a .25 mile open-water swim under my belt from my first Tri, but as I mentioned, they cancelled the swim for that triathlon. So I was going in fresh. I had a little trouble catching my breath initially, but eventually settled down, and focused on getting into a comfortable zone. Bi-lateral breathing was out the window. I can find my rhythm with less effort by breathing on one side. I settled into a good pace, and tried to swim smart. This was 1/2 a mile of open water swimming. No point in underestimating the distance and being totally spent by the time I finish.

The swim was pretty uneventful, and I got back to the beach in the middle of the pack (remember, this was only a 40 person race...total). The breathing-on-one-side was now going to take revenge on me. Swimming while breathing on one side for 16+ minutes completely throws your balance off. Something you don't realize until you stand up and start running out of the water. I felt like I had done about 100 of those "dizzy izzy"s, where you put your forehead on a baseball bat and run around the bat over and over. I may not have been running sideways, but I sure felt like I was taking a very large arc over to the transition area. I got to my bike, and starting changing for the bike. I was more or less leaning on the rack while putting my socks on because I was so off-balance. It's amazing how much concentration is needed to put your socks on when you're tired and dizzy.

Finally got myself together, and was headed out to the road. Out of the park area and onto good ol' route 206.

Right away, i passed a couple people. I was able to get up to speed pretty quickly, and was still burning off some nervous energy. I actually thought that maybe I was going out too strong, and that I needed to hold back for the remaining 24 miles, but I just kept going, knowing that I'd settle into a good pace.

I tried to focus on keeping a high cadence, rather than getting into a high gear and sluggishly cranking out the strokes. In hindsight, I think I may have been to wary of this, because my form isn't perfect at high cadences, and I was teetering between a comfortable rate, and an erratic rate. If I had bumped up a gear, I probably would've been better off, but I was afraid to fall into too slow of a cadence.

A couple of guys passed me within the first 4 miles, but I managed to stay within reach for a while. We actually jockeyed for position a couple of times, which is crucial to keep yourself from falling into a trance, pace-wise. the roads were fairly smooth. Certainly not freshly paved smooth and silent roads, but pretty reasonable flatness, with few bumps, cracks, holes.

I passed another cyclist, as did the other two guys who I had been jockeying with. Still felt pretty good. One odd thing, though. Snot. My nose was running like I had a cold. I had to clean it a bunch of times. Pretty odd, but I think it's actually a pretty normal occurrence.

The course was fairly flat, except for a few short, gradual hills. When I reached down to crank through the hills, my legs didn't respond as quickly as I had hoped. They were getting a little sluggish. I was sure I was going to get passed, but I guess I hadn't slowed too much (or, anyone behind me wasn't going to make a move on the incline).

I got to the turn onto the final long road of the course, which brings you just about back to the transition area, and I knew I had to pick it up a bit. I gained a bit on the two guys that had passed me earlier on. The road was very flat and smooth, and I felt like I was able to get some good speed going. Near the end, I passed a guy in a pointy helmet (which always feels good). I got close to transition, and was probably 100 yards from the two other cyclists.

The dismount line came up quickly, and I had to brake hard to get off. Not very graceful. I ran to my rack, threw the bike on, and was off. I didn't yet have bike shoes to change out of, so I could just go.

I needed some water, certainly, and there was a station right at the beginning of the run. I took some and was off into the trails for the run. I must say, trail running was really cool. A little tougher than road running, but worth it. It was a very winding trail, with mostly packed dirt and pine needles as the ground cover. There were some parts which were gravel, but most of the course was a straight-up trail. I got passed by a guy who was nice enough to give me some words of encouragement: "Wow, you're a big guy...good job".

He almost took a wrong turn off of the trail, but I yelled up ahead to keep him on the path (he was only a few yards in front of me, so we actually both negotiated the turn together. I had noticed the arrow pointing left, but he had missed it).

The trail got very curvy, and was like an ATV course. The turns were tight, with high banks, like a mini-Nascar track. There were miniature rolling hills/bumps, which made it tough to keep a good rhythm...for me at least. I quickly got passed by a guy who would end up with 6:45 splits on the run. He was chugging along, and had no problem taking everything the trail threw at him. The trail curved and wound, not letting you see more than 50 feet of the trail at a time. There was one straightaway, which was thick, uneven white sand "road" which was a bitch to run through. It was tough to figure out where the most firm part of the trail was, and even if you found it, it would quickly become very very loose. The trail veered off of this "road" but kept going in the same general direction of the road. After about a quarter mile, you meet back up with the road, but take a quick 180-degree turn, so that you're running the opposite way back down the road. Which means that you're running towards your competitors that are only slightly "behind" you in time. An interesting motivation. The course turns off the road again, so you're not actually running past any of your competitors. As quickly as you saw them, they vanish just as quickly. Now it's time to head back to the finish. The course takes you back onto the same trail you ran earlier, at least for a little while. Now, you're passing people on their way out to run through the woods. Finally, the woods start to clear and you open up into a nice picnic area. The finish is close, but you still can't quite see it. Your only guidance at this point are some yellow ribbons tied to a few trees, which give a general direction to run in. Then, out of nowhere, the finish line popped up, and the race was all but over.

I think I crossed with a little too much left in the tank. I felt good, though. I met up with my parents, and stuck around to see the other people finish. Small crowd, but still a really neat feeling. Some light rain sprtized on us, cooling everyone a perfect amount.

I stretched, walked around, and waited for the results to come in. They had apples, bananas and bagels for everyone, which were perfect post-race foods, as usual.

My swim was 16:10 for 1/2 mile.
My bike was around 1:08 for 24 miles
My run was 31:19 for about a 4-mile run

It was enough to earn me 3rd place in my division (which is not tough when there are only 40 people total in the race). Still, I'll take it.