Deluge

The blades on the 20 meter tall wind turbine spun faster and faster, cutting into the air as the southern winds raced towards Lake Michigan just down the road. Volunteers at the race expo doubled their efforts to keep their sponsored tents pegged to the ground. Anxious age-group athletes huddled under the amphitheater's overhang watching the first drip drops from the dark clouds fall on their bikes already racked in the transition area. American flags lining the running paths in all directions flew straight and stiff as the first place finisher of the Armed Forces Championship sailed toward the finish line...


I first applied for the All Army Triathlon team at the beginning of last year. With little more than a decent cycling resume and outdated race results from my Auburn Triathlon days, my creds weren't up to the standard. After a year of getting coached, refocusing on tri, and several solid finishes within the state, they brought me on board for this year's Championship.


For the first time I think ever, our race was done in conjunction with a civilian race. Leon's Triathlon in Hammond, Indiana, just southeast of Chicago, has been running for something like 30 years and the man behind it is something of a local legend among the sport. As it so happened, my coach knows him as well and was able to feed me and the team a lot of information about the race.


It was my first draft legal multisport event, and a lot like my first (and second and third...) road race, I learned a lot about this style of racing very quickly. From the time my plane landed in Midway Airport to the morning of the race, I had all sorts of knots and anxious excitement in my stomach keeping me awake at night and twitchy during the day. All the athletes stayed in the same hotel so as I watched all these other competitors walking in with their fancy gear and matching jackets, I was starting to realize the quality of my competition.


There were five teams in total: Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps and this year, the Canadian military team came down and competed with us as well. I wasn't totally sure just how fast the field was, but I felt like a house cat in a field of lions at times. Never before a race did I have to employ proactive positive self-talk to calm myself down. I can only imagine what it's like for Olympians the days leading up to the games.


I had the privilege to swim, bike, and run with some of the people I identify most with on the days leading up to the race. My teammates were from all over the place in all sorts of specialties, as you would expect for an event like this; we had Apache pilots, med students, SF, National Guardsmen, and deep water divers to mention a few. There's only one event in the world that would bring us together like this and to compete at this field was really something special; this race will go down as a huge highlight of my career.


On Saturday, we took one last trip to the race venue to get in an open water swim along the course. The sun was shining, the breeze was pleasant, and the temperature agreeable. After working out some nerves splashing around in the open water, we headed back to the hotel and discussed race strategy. There are so many different ways a race like this could go down and your swim time is crucial so you can get in a bike pack you can draft with.


The night before the race, we had a dinner at the country club just across the road for the race venue. All the teams were there along with Leon himself and a few other race officials. My coach was nice enough to make the drive down and meet with me and the team. Without spending more time there than we needed, we got back to the hotel for one last bit of rest before dawn.


...The forecast was looking rough even five days out. I watched it like a hawk and was mentally preparing for contingencies. Would the swim get cancelled? Would we have to postpone? I did my best not to worry, not to think too much about it, but that proved difficult. After less than seven hours of sleep, race morning came early. We rolled out at 0540. The roads were dry, so far.


The transition area was about as close to the water exit as you could possibly get. This was going to be a fast race. Body makings, fresh air in the tires, helmet here, shoes there, rubber bands on the bike shoes, race belt, all the usual procedures. There's something calming, centering about going through the process to set up transition. After an hour, all the military athletes walked over to the stage for one of the most patriotic prerace ceremonies I've ever seen. The Canadian and American national anthems were sung, huge American flags were planted all around the venue, veterans of all sorts of America's wars were in attendance and every last Harley-Davidson flew the stars and strips and POW/MIA flags from their saddle bags. God Bless America.


Wetsuits on, we walked down to the pier. I got many reassurances from my coach and got in the water.


The gun went off then chaos ensued. Bubbles, murky water, splashing everywhere, feet on my face, face on my feet, the first buoy passed. So far, so good. I was feeling smooth. The nerves were gone and I felt calm. I've done this before, so many times before. I have nothing to worry about; the race is on. I relentlessly prepare for the race itself but spend no time preparing for the anticipation beforehand.


I zig-zagged a time or two but made it out of the water in time to join the second bike pack. My favorite bike was under my hands and feet and a group of five or six quickly formed up as we made our way through some roundabouts then out to the closed highway. After just a few kilometers, were formed a pack of eight as we caught a handful of loners. One fellow Army teammate joined me along with three Air Force, two Navy, and a Maple Leaf. The course was four loops of a 10k route, headwind one way, speedy tailwind the other. Whether unwilling, unable or a combination of both, the Navy team members refused to pull and when they were out front, killed our speed. We started out within a minute of the lead group. Nick Chase (AF), Nate Dressel (ARMY), myself and the Canadian took turns pulling hard. We had to make decisions: pull hard and catch up with those guys, maintain speed, saving a little energy, and try and catch them on the run, or force all eight members of our group to pull and risk losing time.  We could see that lead group on the turns and we gained on them at first but as we got tired and our wheel suckers proved to be dead weight,we just fought to maintain speed. I could tell they were struggling to keep up with some of our pulls and at the very least, I took pleasure in knowing that even in my draft they were suffering.


39k passed and we turned back into the access road. The sky grew dark and the wind whipped now this way and that. "It's gonna be a wet run, boys!"


Dismount, bike here, helmet off"STOP!" I was a bit dazed but kept going for my helmet strap. "STOP!" I froze. "You left your wetsuit outside the box." 15 second penalty. The thought went through my mind to place my wetsuit back inside our boxes but that thought never took action in the heat of the race. 15 seconds felt like 10 minutes. "OK." And I was outta there, my transition time still respectable even with the penalty. After looking at the results later, I would have had the fastest transition time of the day had I not been penalized.


It was like my very first footfall outside T2 matched the very first drip from the sky. As I exited, Graham was right there. "Time for the 10k of your life!" I passed a few guys quickly and my first mile was going well. 5:54. Then my quads reminded me what happens when you put out 400 watts at a time on the bike when you pull like that. I started to fade and the rain only got worse. It wasn't long before we were splashing through small puddles, then big puddles. Nick Chase past me around mile 1.5. I didn't feel too bad about it, though. He races in the pro field and it took him until just now to pass me. I could be doing worse.


I hit the mile two aid station and grabbed a cup of water to splash on my throat. Unnecessary, really, because now it was pouring. I could have just looked up with gaping maw. Then the suffering set in, that part of the race you try to forget about later. I wasn't gaining much time and at one point I just stopped looking at my splits on my Garmin. I knew I was running slow but I was hurting. I was pulling out every motivational mantra I could recite. What counts in battle is what you do when the pain sets in. Oh, yes, it had set it. Embrace the peaks, endure the troughs for both shall pass. I was certainly deep in a trough. Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Remember all those stories about Navy Seals and Green Berets! It hurts so much.


Within a mile of the finish, a Navy runner passed me. He wasn't that far ahead but my afterburners were all burnt out. He had me. Between waving flags, I could see the line at long last. I crossed in an hour, 58:58, enough to place 17th out of 58 servicemen and women finishers and third on my team.


After the line, I stood in the rain, reeling from the effort. Good ol' Graham was there, smile on his face shaking my hand.


If you want to be the best you have to beat the best and at this year's Championship, I was happy with my race but far from completely satisfied. I'm not sure how much faster I could have been if I hadn't hammered as much on the bike or maybe did a few more intervals in the pool or whatever, but, for now, I can rest knowing I had just competed among the very best of the military and came out in the top 50%.


I think it's going to be a good season. 


To Victoria!

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