Poseidon's Wrath
With exams over and nothing to do this summer besides find a job and bum around a little while in the time I have left as a student, the Gulf Coast Tri was a very well timed event for me. The new, though not a personal record breaking, distance of 70.3 was one I was eager to conquer.
The race expo was the biggest I had experienced since Louisville. I availed myself to some of the vendors, making several purchases that I probably didn't need but had to have anyway. I met Russ there and we got our race bags and timing chips before heading our separate ways for the evening.
Back at Rev3, I made the mistake of not showing up to the transition area in a timely manner and didn't have nearly enough time to set up. I therefore elected to set my alarm for 0330 to ensure I had all the time I needed. Only a handful of others were there that early. Maybe I should've gotten an extra half hour of sleep after all. Whatever. A can of Monster outta solve that problem. I came back to my spot later to ensure I had everything where it needed to go and that the other guys in my age group sharing my rack hadn't knocked anything out of place. I noticed that nearly every other bike there was some sorta high-speed lookin' fully carbon tri bike, many times more costly than my own...If only I had money.
It was soon time for us to gather up on the beach, pay our respects to Ol' Glory and dive into the choppy waters. As this was my first real open water swim in the ocean, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. When I asked Braxton about this challenge, he assured me it wasn't much different than swimming in a lake. That may have been the case last year but not at all the case today.
It was finally my wave's turn. Despite my best efforts to calm myself down before the starting horn, my veins were saturated with adrenaline and caffeine. I barreled into the gulf, half walking, half diving for the first 30 meters until I decided freestyle would be the faster option. It didn't take many strokes before I figured out that this was no lake swim. Though we were past the breakers, the swell seemed to get increasingly dicey, making buoy-spotting a difficult task. I had never been out in the ocean this far without a boat. The comfortable rippled sands that were always no more than a few feet below my waist line were now disappearing under me. I was fully expecting to spot some sore of sharked-shaped silhouette 20ft below.
When I reached the turn around point, several swimmers from other waves were treading water near me, somehow even more disoriented than I was, no doubt trying to regroup and orient themselves. I often found myself swimming towards the wrong buoy or towards no buoy at all while the torrent kept rerouting my intended direction. I kept feeling some very slimy things slip through my fingers that occupied almost all the briny water I swam through. What were these things? Krill? Was I about to get eaten by a whale? And, if so, could he at least swim me around the buoys and spit me out on the shore? At one point, I could feel one of them slip into my mouth when I tried to breath. I coughed and spat for the hundredth time since I started the swim to avoid swallowing it.
I was hoping the return trip would be a little easier since the waves weren't working against me as much. I don't think this was really the case, though.
Approaching the shore the under toe was rendering my strokes useless. I had to wait for a wave and dive ahead with it in order to move forward. I struggled to get any footing on the water-soaked sand before I gathered myself up and ripped off my swim cap and unzipped my wetsuit almost purely out of instinct.
The transition area was clogged with slow moving competitors and made it difficult for me to move my bike onto the road.My flying mount went smoothly and I was on my way. The bike course was mostly uneventful. The flat, smooth roadways it took us over made for some high cruising speeds. I passed a good number of cyclists over the 56 miles. Since mine was the last wave I was expecting this. There were some pretty hard gusts of wind from time to time and it had taken a number of riders off guard, sending them flying off the road. Within the first 10 miles I saw at least two crash sites.
Fifty miles down and I was feeling alright about my pacing. I had been feeling powerful the last two hours and knew I was making up for lost time on the swim. And then I turned on to Front Beach Road, the one in Panama City Beach that parallels the white sands. I peered through an opening between hotel complexes and saw the red flag wavin' above the stormy looking seas. Just then a powerful gust nearly sent me to the asphalt. Then it started raining. The traffic didn't help either. Cars passed perilously close, that thin while line demarcating the bike lane the only thing keeping them from us. Headwinds blown by the gods themselves annihilated any hope of riding more than about 10 mph. My sunglasses were quickly coated with rain droplets, killing my visibility, but taking them off would have made it even worse. I hate this weather! I hate this state! I hate everything! Gah! Sweet Jesus, Make it stop!
The last six miles to T2 were a suffer fest. Part of me wanted the race to get called due to weather right then and there, but I had to endure. Drive on.
T2 was fast and smooth. The first 6 miles of the run were going well but by the time I reached the state park, the loop that constituted the turnaround of our out 'n back route, I knew I was starting to fade. The weather had changed again, the sun now bearing down on my back and chest. I was loosing energy quickly and no amount of Gatorade from the aid stations was helping much. I had to take a few periodic walk breaks. For a while I imagined myself at the end of an ultra. I was certainly feeling like this was the case. I can do this. I've been here before. Relentless forward motion.
Two miles left. My depleted condition continued its exponential decline. My form went to crap. I grabbed a bunch of water soaked sponges patting myself all over. My facial muscles kept tensing up. Relax. Finish.
The 12 mile mark came and went. I swear to you that last 1.1 was more like 1.5. I didn't let myself walk now, though I think even the fumes I was running on were used up. The last few feet of the race finally came into view. As much as the crowds cheered and I wanted to pass through that arch, I simply had nothing left in the tank for a fast finish.
My parents were waiting for me there and I told my mom I needed chocolate milk, stat! Lowe and behold she promptly returned with two bottles of the life nectar that quickly went to work replenishing my sun burnt, wave battered, rain pelted body.
Takeaways and Stats:
I think I've taken for granted how long it's been since I had some Suck as intense as this. I learned a lot about myself and about triathlon and what it means to pace on the bike, even without the use of timing devices or power meters. If I hope to complete the Beach to Battleship full iron in November, I've really got to take a closer look at how I train. Maybe I didn't eat enough on the bike or the night before. I'm not sure, but there must be something I could tweak to avoid the proverbial wall. Summer's training ought to smooth out these issues.
As it turned out, the amount of pain I went though got me some pretty spiffy results. I had the fastest splits for every event, including transitions among my age group of 20-24 year olds (though there were only 10 others competing) landing me on top of the podium among them . I placed 29th overall. My run split was disappointing as I only ended up averaging around 7:43/mile. On a good day I could sustain at least 6:45 on fresh legs for that distance. I was most satisfied with my bike split. Even with the impossible headwinds for those last six miles I averaged 22.5 mph, surpassing my expectations. So much for riding an expensive bike! My Trek 2.1 is such a champ.At the end of the day, there was really nothing I could be disappointed with. It is only my first year doing triathlon.
And that's how summer 2012 begins.
The race expo was the biggest I had experienced since Louisville. I availed myself to some of the vendors, making several purchases that I probably didn't need but had to have anyway. I met Russ there and we got our race bags and timing chips before heading our separate ways for the evening.
Back at Rev3, I made the mistake of not showing up to the transition area in a timely manner and didn't have nearly enough time to set up. I therefore elected to set my alarm for 0330 to ensure I had all the time I needed. Only a handful of others were there that early. Maybe I should've gotten an extra half hour of sleep after all. Whatever. A can of Monster outta solve that problem. I came back to my spot later to ensure I had everything where it needed to go and that the other guys in my age group sharing my rack hadn't knocked anything out of place. I noticed that nearly every other bike there was some sorta high-speed lookin' fully carbon tri bike, many times more costly than my own...If only I had money.
It was soon time for us to gather up on the beach, pay our respects to Ol' Glory and dive into the choppy waters. As this was my first real open water swim in the ocean, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. When I asked Braxton about this challenge, he assured me it wasn't much different than swimming in a lake. That may have been the case last year but not at all the case today.
It was finally my wave's turn. Despite my best efforts to calm myself down before the starting horn, my veins were saturated with adrenaline and caffeine. I barreled into the gulf, half walking, half diving for the first 30 meters until I decided freestyle would be the faster option. It didn't take many strokes before I figured out that this was no lake swim. Though we were past the breakers, the swell seemed to get increasingly dicey, making buoy-spotting a difficult task. I had never been out in the ocean this far without a boat. The comfortable rippled sands that were always no more than a few feet below my waist line were now disappearing under me. I was fully expecting to spot some sore of sharked-shaped silhouette 20ft below.
When I reached the turn around point, several swimmers from other waves were treading water near me, somehow even more disoriented than I was, no doubt trying to regroup and orient themselves. I often found myself swimming towards the wrong buoy or towards no buoy at all while the torrent kept rerouting my intended direction. I kept feeling some very slimy things slip through my fingers that occupied almost all the briny water I swam through. What were these things? Krill? Was I about to get eaten by a whale? And, if so, could he at least swim me around the buoys and spit me out on the shore? At one point, I could feel one of them slip into my mouth when I tried to breath. I coughed and spat for the hundredth time since I started the swim to avoid swallowing it.
I was hoping the return trip would be a little easier since the waves weren't working against me as much. I don't think this was really the case, though.
Approaching the shore the under toe was rendering my strokes useless. I had to wait for a wave and dive ahead with it in order to move forward. I struggled to get any footing on the water-soaked sand before I gathered myself up and ripped off my swim cap and unzipped my wetsuit almost purely out of instinct.
The transition area was clogged with slow moving competitors and made it difficult for me to move my bike onto the road.My flying mount went smoothly and I was on my way. The bike course was mostly uneventful. The flat, smooth roadways it took us over made for some high cruising speeds. I passed a good number of cyclists over the 56 miles. Since mine was the last wave I was expecting this. There were some pretty hard gusts of wind from time to time and it had taken a number of riders off guard, sending them flying off the road. Within the first 10 miles I saw at least two crash sites.
Fifty miles down and I was feeling alright about my pacing. I had been feeling powerful the last two hours and knew I was making up for lost time on the swim. And then I turned on to Front Beach Road, the one in Panama City Beach that parallels the white sands. I peered through an opening between hotel complexes and saw the red flag wavin' above the stormy looking seas. Just then a powerful gust nearly sent me to the asphalt. Then it started raining. The traffic didn't help either. Cars passed perilously close, that thin while line demarcating the bike lane the only thing keeping them from us. Headwinds blown by the gods themselves annihilated any hope of riding more than about 10 mph. My sunglasses were quickly coated with rain droplets, killing my visibility, but taking them off would have made it even worse. I hate this weather! I hate this state! I hate everything! Gah! Sweet Jesus, Make it stop!
The last six miles to T2 were a suffer fest. Part of me wanted the race to get called due to weather right then and there, but I had to endure. Drive on.
T2 was fast and smooth. The first 6 miles of the run were going well but by the time I reached the state park, the loop that constituted the turnaround of our out 'n back route, I knew I was starting to fade. The weather had changed again, the sun now bearing down on my back and chest. I was loosing energy quickly and no amount of Gatorade from the aid stations was helping much. I had to take a few periodic walk breaks. For a while I imagined myself at the end of an ultra. I was certainly feeling like this was the case. I can do this. I've been here before. Relentless forward motion.
Two miles left. My depleted condition continued its exponential decline. My form went to crap. I grabbed a bunch of water soaked sponges patting myself all over. My facial muscles kept tensing up. Relax. Finish.
The 12 mile mark came and went. I swear to you that last 1.1 was more like 1.5. I didn't let myself walk now, though I think even the fumes I was running on were used up. The last few feet of the race finally came into view. As much as the crowds cheered and I wanted to pass through that arch, I simply had nothing left in the tank for a fast finish.
My parents were waiting for me there and I told my mom I needed chocolate milk, stat! Lowe and behold she promptly returned with two bottles of the life nectar that quickly went to work replenishing my sun burnt, wave battered, rain pelted body.
Takeaways and Stats:
I think I've taken for granted how long it's been since I had some Suck as intense as this. I learned a lot about myself and about triathlon and what it means to pace on the bike, even without the use of timing devices or power meters. If I hope to complete the Beach to Battleship full iron in November, I've really got to take a closer look at how I train. Maybe I didn't eat enough on the bike or the night before. I'm not sure, but there must be something I could tweak to avoid the proverbial wall. Summer's training ought to smooth out these issues.
As it turned out, the amount of pain I went though got me some pretty spiffy results. I had the fastest splits for every event, including transitions among my age group of 20-24 year olds (though there were only 10 others competing) landing me on top of the podium among them . I placed 29th overall. My run split was disappointing as I only ended up averaging around 7:43/mile. On a good day I could sustain at least 6:45 on fresh legs for that distance. I was most satisfied with my bike split. Even with the impossible headwinds for those last six miles I averaged 22.5 mph, surpassing my expectations. So much for riding an expensive bike! My Trek 2.1 is such a champ.At the end of the day, there was really nothing I could be disappointed with. It is only my first year doing triathlon.
And that's how summer 2012 begins.
Comments
Post a Comment