November 12 was the last race of the "season." I'm throwing up the quotations because it seems silly for a middle aged-dude to think of his life in athletic seasons. I haven't done that since I was a collegiate lacrosse benchwarmer. It's more appropriate for my almost 9-year old heir, Mr. Joshua Squishua Quigshua, whose seasons are Fall Little League, Winter Elite Little League, Spring Little league, and I Don't Feel Like Playing Soccer.
Anyway, the race. We packed the whole gang up in the suburban assault vehicle, stashed our transition bags in the trunk, and threw the bikes on the back, this time with a combination Kryptonite lock. The race gave us a sweet deal on hotel rooms--$77/night at the Holiday Inn express--so we celebrated by getting two rooms, in the hopes of having privacy. You can guess how that worked out. . .
I'd done an almost-as-hilly race rehearsal the previous week, going 56 on the bike and 13.1 running in 4:45. Online race calculators predicted a 5:15 to 5:35 finish based on previous race history and course conditions. I very much wanted to do as well as I could, as the results here would be the last impression of my abilities as I start to gear up for Ironman Coeur D' Alene next June.
The next morning, we showed up at the race sight unseen and a little late, after orienting a local babysitter from a nanny service to the kids, who stayed at the hotel. Turns out the nanny cost more than the hotel, which incidentally has been tossed around by our 11 year old daughter as a way to make money at races. . . We paid for peace of mind, though, as she was CPR/First Aid certified, background-checked, and very experienced.
Lake Mead is lovely, and the transition setup was easy and intuitive. As this was an inaugural event, there were only twenty-some odd entrants in the Half-Iron distance race, a couple of whom didn't show. I didn't see a whole lot of 40-44 year olds, so it seemed my chances of another age group medal were good.
The swim was, well, an open water swim. I hadn't worn my wetsuit since September, and it was mighty snug. This threw my technique off a little. I seemed to veer all over the place, and I had to look up frequently to stay on track. I quickly settled into a passable rhythm, and was the second one out of the water. As we slogged out of the primordial murk, the olympic distance participants, including my wife and adventure-mate, were starting to wade into the water for their 7:30 departure. It was fun to hear cheers.
T1 went OK. I'd vaselined my lower legs in the hope of being able to take off the wetsuit while standing up, but I quickly wound up on my arse pulling at my legs. Next time I'll just start there and spend less time fumbling.
The bike course was gorgeous and fun. It was very hilly (4,100+ feet elevation gain over 56 miles), and I made a point of ascending in an easy, low gear ratio, spin style, so as to save my legs, and grinding a little harder on the downhills. I was quickly passed by a young twentysomething, and I worked at not chasing him too hard. Then a thirtysomething passed me, and I was in fourth place overall. As the bike leg wore on, I was surprised to find nobody else passing me. I was alone among gorgeous sandstone hills and navy blue lake water, and started to feel more like I was on a recreational ride than in a race.
I'd started a little dehydrated, and there were only two aid stations on the bike. I stopped at the first one to drink a whole water bottle, and exchanged the other two. Luckily, it was also pretty cool out, so by the end of the bike, I was completely hydrated, re-carbed on the 400 calorie per hour Perpetuem/Carbopro/Endurolytes combo that seems to suit me, and stocked up on salt tabs (one per half hour). By mile 56, I was a little relieved to be getting my butt out of the saddle. The flying mount and dismount that I've done with every bike commute since early October is now second nature. Included in T2 was a visit to the facilities that was the best indicator of successful rehydration.
I knew I'd saved something for the run, and I set off at a steady, low tempo pace, spurred on a little by the smell of BBQ wafting over from the finish line. At 1 mile, Karen flew past in the other direction, finishing her Olympic distance run. The first half was mostly uphill, and I worked on form and not burning it too hard. There were plenty of aid stations, and I swilled as much water and electrolyte drink as I could stand, in the hopes of staving off the bonk. At the beginning of mile 5, I started seeing the speedy twentysomething bicyclist ahead of me, and noted that I was moving up on him steadily. In my head I tried to remember how many were ahead of me. I counted three. This meant, if I was right, that I was threatening to break into the medals. Meaning of course, the overall medals, something I'd not yet done. This was an exciting possibility, but I reminded myself that there were still 8 miles to go, and I had 62 miles behind me already.
The difference between third and fourth place is in many ways larger than that between first and second--recognition versus obscurity. Olympic Gold medal games/rounds are exciting, but the Bronze medal matches always carry more of a sense of urgency. . . Bit by bit, I edged up on him, trying to stay within myself and not let the pursuit instinct get the better of me. Then we hit a steep hill, and I saw him walking. Sorry, I thought. You're done. I still felt strong, and I knew that I would pass him shortly. Assuming I could keep from getting caught behind, this meant that I was headed for the medals. I tried to be encouraging when I passed him, as I'd been with everyone I'd seen on the run, but the disappointment etched on his face seemed impenetrable. I'm not sure I would have felt any differently. At the turnaround, I noted only two in front of me, far enough ahead that I likely wouldn't catch them, and nobody fast behind me within rifle range. A steady downhill run to the finish would net me a medal. I kept the speed up just to see what happened, and with 2 miles left, I started to see the next competitor in front of me.
Had there been a few more miles, I would have caught him. But I was starting to feel the beginnings of some serious muscular soreness in my hamstrings and glutes. Given that nothing short of a two mile dead sprint was going to get me past him, I just kept a steady pace into the finish. Chickensh$%, in retrospect, but I worry that 44 year old legs couldn't have withstood the sort of enthusiasm that comes from a far younger part of me.
Finishing time was 5:13:30. This was over 30 min faster than my last 1/2 IM, and 90 seconds better than my most lofty expectation!
It remains unclear how far I can go with this whole Triathlon thing. Perhaps to the Big Island, but that seems presumptuous given that I've yet to do a full IM and it's not clear where I am on my "learning curve."
Cruising into the finish line was fun. Being in the top three, and having the kids watch the awards, was better. The all you can eat BBQ was the piece de resistance.
