The First Leaf to Fall

The chain link fence surrounding the West Valley High School track was still locked up. Either someone had lost the key to the pad lock or didn't feel like getting out of bed when perhaps they should have. I suppose I can relate. I quickly hopped over to join the others who had done the same. The intervals these days seem to appear on the training plan much more regularly, my track shoes not used to kissing the brown-red Tartan more than maybe a time or two a month before now. Let's see, what was I here for today? 800's? 1000's? Or was today mile repeat day? How many more of these sessions do I even have before my next race, anyway? My Garmin buzzes to let me know it has connected to the big computers in the sky and I begin.

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About a five hour drive away south of here, Montana Creek Campgrounds is situated alongside a popular fishing spot just off the Parks Highway. Kinsey and I parked the Jeep in the lot she reserved and we took a short evening stroll across the pedestrian bridge overlooking the tributary. Salmons of different shapes and sizes wound their way ever closer to their breeding grounds.

It was getting late but, of course, the sun was still burning bright. We pitched the Kelty and did our best to ignore the light and the noisy, probably intoxicated, campers the next lot over.

The Alaska State Triathlon start was another 50 something miles down the road. We both had training the next morning and we determined that I would drop her off along the highway (with her bike), and finish the drive to the race venue to do a warm up along the course. The water was perfect. Clear, smooth, warm. The weather was something to cherish. Everything was in place for a fun race the next day.

After we linked back up, devoured some monster sub sandwiches from a local joint, we stayed the night with our good friends down in Anchorage, Shawn and Julie.

Race morning came and, as predicted, the weather was gorgeous. There were something like 45 racers out there and I ended up racing pretty well. First out of the water, nearly fastest bike split, and the quickest run of the day landed me with the victory. While I was a little disappointed that a certain few strong individuals did not come out to race with me that day, I was happy that training was going well and that this race got put on at all this year.

Once Kinsey and I rolled back into our driveway, 8 hours and 350 miles removed from the end of the tri, I had a chance to chat with my coach about the effort and looked at some numbers and splits...Not bad, but is that really all I got? I was running alone after all, no one next to me testing my fortitude. We had another six weeks to prepare for the big one.

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Soldiers from 1-25 Stryker Brigade Combat Team marched in heavy uniforms along the River Road on the East side of Ft Wainwright, opposite the Chena. In this weather, PT must have been a breeze compared to what's around the corner. 

I could see a puff of breath for a brief second before it dissappeared, the white whisps coming more quickly now as the pace picked up. After passing a number of formations, I turned onto another jeep road and opened up the legs. The goal of these workouts is to randomly change up the pace every 1-2 minutes, forcing your body adapt to uncertain speed changes, or something like that. Fartleks pop up on my training calender in abundance. I try to keep it fresh by running with the Army 10-miler guys about once every other week.

 August came and went even faster than its preceeding summer months; the leaves in the Tanana valley quickly changed from green to yellow-orange just as quickly as they budded four short months ago. Kinsey and I have already had to scrape ice off the wind shields before work. It's not so much that I am dreading the winter than just missing the summer. A week from now, though, I'll get one more dose in 80 degree Chicago around the Buckingham Fountain surrounded by the World's fastest triathletes on their way to Rio.

Maybe my Illinois tan can last until the snow arrives.