Worlds
Michigan mist filled the dark air above Grant Park in downtown Chicago as the early bird triathletes set up their bikes and running shoes in the soggy transition area. Transition wouldn't close for another three hours, but in their relentless pursuit to reduce as many variables as possible, some racers spare no expense, even if that means waking up at 4:00 for a 10:30 race.
The night before, an armada of swollen cumulus nimbus clouds unleashed inches of pelting rain and clapped thunder in flashing succession. Even on the lower floor of our Hampton Inn, I thought I could hear rain falling on the roof. I rose just after midnight, shaken from my five hour pre-race nap, to use the restroom before another attempt to resume my slumber. Surprisingly, I didn't have the usual oh-crap-I'm-late-for-the-race-and-forgot-to-bring-my-bike-and-running-shoes dreams, though I had plenty else going against me in the weeks leading up to the race. I had spent the last two weeks fighting a cold and a terrible and sudden knot that gripped my left shoulder. After lots of massaging and vitamin C, I made it to the Windy City in as best triathlon shape as I've ever been in.
The International Triathlon Union Grand Finals was a four day affair with races for just about every multi-sport athlete. While they had some races that were open to the public, our race was for qualified personnel only. Last year in Milwaukee, just a few hours up the road, I just barely made the cut-off for a top 25 spot in my age group. I had to make the decision with a $50 deposit then and there if I was going to race in 13 months. While I wasn't sure what kind of job I would have then, if I would even be able to get away for that race, I pulled the trigger on the off chance that I did. Since then, ITU Worlds has been my focus. On race day, I tried not to think about how upsetting it could potentially be if something went wrong.
By coincidence or divine appointment, my coach happens to live within relatively close driving distance to the last three major races I've had in the lower 48 and supported me in all three in some capacity. This time, I stayed the night at his house and got some personal swim, bike, and run lessons in the days leading up to race morning. Following his training plan, I've been able to hone in on race day, and I've gone nowhere but up under his tutelage. I owe a lot of who I am as an athlete today to him ever since we started just before last summer.
My engine primed, transition good to go, and just a few short minutes to the race start, I exchange hello's and good luck's to fellow Team USA racers. Two of my USMES teammates had made it down as well and we stuck together for a lot of the pre-race activities. My roommate from the Armed Forces Triathlon, Barrett, ended up leading our age group at the end of the day.
For being the most competitive race I've ever done, I felt unusually calm. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. I may have just burned up a lot of nerves during my warm ups.
The clouds were still grey, the wind gusts made the water a little choppy, Monroe Harbor was cast in shadow when the "take your mark" command was given. Our wave contained only half the field of our age group. The race organizers thoughtfully limited the number of racers in each wave in an attempt to keep the course reasonably uncrowded. The water temperature was perfect. The horn sounded and we headed north, parallel to the shore. I could see spectators walking alongside. Seven hundred meters had past and I could already see red-capped swimmers I was passing, swimmers in the wave ahead of me. Ok, I'm not doing so bad.
The return journey South, towards the aquarium, proved a bit more difficult than the first half. Small waves, courtesy of the Michigan winds, buffed our sides and I had trouble at times swimming straight. I would start drafting off another swimmer only to find myself slapping his feet, then I would correct my line, sight, and realize the next bouy was over my right shoulder and I'd correct again. By the time I hit the shore, about 22 minutes from the start, I think I was finally properly warmed up. Time to shift into my favorite leg.
With yells of encouragement from my parents behind the barriers, I ran my way up to T1, wet suit sleeves dangling. I had heard a lot about this course, how it was technical and not like any other bike course I've ever ridden. Mounting, spinning up to speed, I put my head into the now sunny wind. About two miles later, I entered the subterranean part of the course. Between concrete and steal supports, rays of light bouncing off the city skyscrapers illuminated intermittent splotches of asphalt. I saw my first target ahead of me. I may have an average swim but I'll be darned if anyone passes me on the bike. I bore down on him and sliced an inside corner, dropping him quickly lest I get called for a drafting penalty. Like a strobe light, a mix of natural and artificial beams turned on and off to my right; I felt like I was zooming through the tunnels at the speed of sound. I made the first 180 degree turn and sped back towards the next intersection where I was met with several 90 degree corners in quick succession, descending down onto the Busway. My crit racing skills helped me brake at just the right time, kiss the apex, pedal to the floor, more competitors in my rear view. After two laps of mach one racing, I posted a bike split that landed me among the top 4% of all male racers that day.
My heart rate was getting close to redline as I racked my bike and got ready to finish this race. It was a long run from the dismount line to transition. With that fun out of the way, it was time to slap the running shoes on and suffer. I yelled something that probably translated into encouragement to a Team USA racer and we made for the exit. The run, unknown to me at the time, had a bonus 0.35 miles at the end of it. We made our way down Columbus Drive, hit the turn around, made for Buckingham Fountain and ran past the finisher's chute. One lap down. My Garmin was beeping my mile splits at me: 6:05, 6:04, 6:04, Ok, not bad. Keep your form but make it hurt. If anyone passes you, make them pay for it.
Abdominal cramps that typically wreck my body at this point in the race were pleasantly absent, though there was plenty of other pain to make up for it. Though my effort seemed to be slightly increasing, I could tell my pace was slackening a touch. I held on as well as I could, I convinced myself to welcome the pain back that I hadn't felt since the last race. From the sidelines I could hear my coach yelling insults and profanities at me; what a guy.
I made the last left turn from the asphalt to the cobblestones around the fountain; the end was near. A runner in my age group was ahead of me but wouldn't be for long. Cobbles gave way to blue carpet, my strides grew longer and I flew to the finish...only to find out the guy I sprinted past still hand another lap to go. I was sprinting against myself.
After most races during the season, I can only think about one thing: how can I be faster next time? With so much put into this race, all I felt this time was how satisfying it was to cash in. I certainly have room for improvement and I'm definitely looking forward to the upcoming off season, but considering how this is my first year competing in one of the most competitive age groups and placing 28th of 98 of the best amateur racers in the world, I'm very pleased with how things are going.
The night before, an armada of swollen cumulus nimbus clouds unleashed inches of pelting rain and clapped thunder in flashing succession. Even on the lower floor of our Hampton Inn, I thought I could hear rain falling on the roof. I rose just after midnight, shaken from my five hour pre-race nap, to use the restroom before another attempt to resume my slumber. Surprisingly, I didn't have the usual oh-crap-I'm-late-for-the-race-and-forgot-to-bring-my-bike-and-running-shoes dreams, though I had plenty else going against me in the weeks leading up to the race. I had spent the last two weeks fighting a cold and a terrible and sudden knot that gripped my left shoulder. After lots of massaging and vitamin C, I made it to the Windy City in as best triathlon shape as I've ever been in.
The International Triathlon Union Grand Finals was a four day affair with races for just about every multi-sport athlete. While they had some races that were open to the public, our race was for qualified personnel only. Last year in Milwaukee, just a few hours up the road, I just barely made the cut-off for a top 25 spot in my age group. I had to make the decision with a $50 deposit then and there if I was going to race in 13 months. While I wasn't sure what kind of job I would have then, if I would even be able to get away for that race, I pulled the trigger on the off chance that I did. Since then, ITU Worlds has been my focus. On race day, I tried not to think about how upsetting it could potentially be if something went wrong.
By coincidence or divine appointment, my coach happens to live within relatively close driving distance to the last three major races I've had in the lower 48 and supported me in all three in some capacity. This time, I stayed the night at his house and got some personal swim, bike, and run lessons in the days leading up to race morning. Following his training plan, I've been able to hone in on race day, and I've gone nowhere but up under his tutelage. I owe a lot of who I am as an athlete today to him ever since we started just before last summer.
My engine primed, transition good to go, and just a few short minutes to the race start, I exchange hello's and good luck's to fellow Team USA racers. Two of my USMES teammates had made it down as well and we stuck together for a lot of the pre-race activities. My roommate from the Armed Forces Triathlon, Barrett, ended up leading our age group at the end of the day.
For being the most competitive race I've ever done, I felt unusually calm. That wasn't necessarily a good thing. I may have just burned up a lot of nerves during my warm ups.
The clouds were still grey, the wind gusts made the water a little choppy, Monroe Harbor was cast in shadow when the "take your mark" command was given. Our wave contained only half the field of our age group. The race organizers thoughtfully limited the number of racers in each wave in an attempt to keep the course reasonably uncrowded. The water temperature was perfect. The horn sounded and we headed north, parallel to the shore. I could see spectators walking alongside. Seven hundred meters had past and I could already see red-capped swimmers I was passing, swimmers in the wave ahead of me. Ok, I'm not doing so bad.
The return journey South, towards the aquarium, proved a bit more difficult than the first half. Small waves, courtesy of the Michigan winds, buffed our sides and I had trouble at times swimming straight. I would start drafting off another swimmer only to find myself slapping his feet, then I would correct my line, sight, and realize the next bouy was over my right shoulder and I'd correct again. By the time I hit the shore, about 22 minutes from the start, I think I was finally properly warmed up. Time to shift into my favorite leg.
With yells of encouragement from my parents behind the barriers, I ran my way up to T1, wet suit sleeves dangling. I had heard a lot about this course, how it was technical and not like any other bike course I've ever ridden. Mounting, spinning up to speed, I put my head into the now sunny wind. About two miles later, I entered the subterranean part of the course. Between concrete and steal supports, rays of light bouncing off the city skyscrapers illuminated intermittent splotches of asphalt. I saw my first target ahead of me. I may have an average swim but I'll be darned if anyone passes me on the bike. I bore down on him and sliced an inside corner, dropping him quickly lest I get called for a drafting penalty. Like a strobe light, a mix of natural and artificial beams turned on and off to my right; I felt like I was zooming through the tunnels at the speed of sound. I made the first 180 degree turn and sped back towards the next intersection where I was met with several 90 degree corners in quick succession, descending down onto the Busway. My crit racing skills helped me brake at just the right time, kiss the apex, pedal to the floor, more competitors in my rear view. After two laps of mach one racing, I posted a bike split that landed me among the top 4% of all male racers that day.
My heart rate was getting close to redline as I racked my bike and got ready to finish this race. It was a long run from the dismount line to transition. With that fun out of the way, it was time to slap the running shoes on and suffer. I yelled something that probably translated into encouragement to a Team USA racer and we made for the exit. The run, unknown to me at the time, had a bonus 0.35 miles at the end of it. We made our way down Columbus Drive, hit the turn around, made for Buckingham Fountain and ran past the finisher's chute. One lap down. My Garmin was beeping my mile splits at me: 6:05, 6:04, 6:04, Ok, not bad. Keep your form but make it hurt. If anyone passes you, make them pay for it.
Abdominal cramps that typically wreck my body at this point in the race were pleasantly absent, though there was plenty of other pain to make up for it. Though my effort seemed to be slightly increasing, I could tell my pace was slackening a touch. I held on as well as I could, I convinced myself to welcome the pain back that I hadn't felt since the last race. From the sidelines I could hear my coach yelling insults and profanities at me; what a guy.
I made the last left turn from the asphalt to the cobblestones around the fountain; the end was near. A runner in my age group was ahead of me but wouldn't be for long. Cobbles gave way to blue carpet, my strides grew longer and I flew to the finish...only to find out the guy I sprinted past still hand another lap to go. I was sprinting against myself.
After most races during the season, I can only think about one thing: how can I be faster next time? With so much put into this race, all I felt this time was how satisfying it was to cash in. I certainly have room for improvement and I'm definitely looking forward to the upcoming off season, but considering how this is my first year competing in one of the most competitive age groups and placing 28th of 98 of the best amateur racers in the world, I'm very pleased with how things are going.
What a great day of racing!!! Loved being there!!!!
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