Beaver Freezer
Silver-grey clouds fresh off the Pacific Coast shrouded the Willamette Valley in a grey, damp mist, promising imminent showers. The forecast hadn't budged for five days of its predictions of strong winds and gusts of up to 50mph. En route to race morning packet pick up, the roads were dry for the time being as the anemometers rpm's steadily rose.
Kinsey and I got our packets and set up our transition areas without much thought or fuss. Though nearly seven months separated me from my last triathlon, this practice of delicately laying out bike, shoes, and accessories was well worn enough that it wasn't long before we had nothing left but to warm up before the pool swim start and watch the developing situation overhead. A few blue patches began to poke through the thick canopy but I was still counting on a downpour.
This years' season opener on the OSU campus, while not USAT sanctioned, provided an opportunity to refine our practice and get out of the off-season mindset. When training regularly for half a year outside the context of a race to prove yourself, one has a tendency to get comfortable with the routine of the daily grind. There's nothing like a race to refocus the cross hairs, perhaps even more so in a sprint distance.
The plan is simple, go as fast as you can for about an hour. The swim was divided into an odd assortment of waves which prevented me from being able to race right next to my competition so I had to simply assume that someone out there was swimming, riding, or running faster than me at all times. After what felt like as smooth a 500 swim as I could manage, T1 and the following mile out of the campus went by in a blur, as I shared lanes with runners at one point, found myself rolling along a brick-paved road at another, but it took less than mile before I was on a straightaway. 11 miles left.
The most difficult part of a ride this short is knowing that at almost all times, you can go faster. One must evoke enormous concentration to stay at a power output that high, but this can be a difficult task when you have to deal with traffic on a course that was not closed off, other riders that started before you, and 30mph gusts of wind from random directions. I had to pull my thoughts back together again and again to bring my focus back to my legs so I could keep pushing.
With a mile left before T2, I made a 90 degree turn directly into a gusty corridor. Scraps of leaves and dust got sucked into my shoes and stuck to sweat against my feet. My front wheel twitched and I had to briefly get out of my aero bars to correct course, but still keeping power through the pedals. Despite a half hour of pedaling as hard as I could, my body still had enough to gasp through an extra 5k of running. That's the curious thing about sprint races: if you treat the bike portion like it's the end of the race, at that point, you will probably have gone hard enough. The run is short enough, the muscle groups are different enough, and your threshold lasts just long enough for another 17 or so minutes of suffering.
The three loop course on the run offered Donna and George and the rest of the spectators a great show of misery. I couldn't take anything for granted. I wasn't watching my run splits but went by feel and by assuming that another runner was breathing down my neck. To my great fortune, the recent nagging knee pain I'd been dealing with was kept at bay today, if only for 5k. Half way through the third and final lap, I decided I would try and start my finishing "kick" a bit sooner than normal. My biggest objective for the day was to finish with some amount of confidence that my tank was dry when the day was done. Tearing through the last 200 meters, my flats slipped across cherry blossom pedals, my cadence picking up even more now the finish line was in reach.
Crossing under the final banner with rabies-like foam around my mouth, I was 80% sure I went at least 90% hard as was possible; not bad for a season opener. Not half an hour after completion, the swollen rain clouds let down their torrent, washing away so many chalk lines on the ground, so much adrenaline infused sweat, cleaning the earth and the triathletes so both were ready for another day.
Kinsey and I got our packets and set up our transition areas without much thought or fuss. Though nearly seven months separated me from my last triathlon, this practice of delicately laying out bike, shoes, and accessories was well worn enough that it wasn't long before we had nothing left but to warm up before the pool swim start and watch the developing situation overhead. A few blue patches began to poke through the thick canopy but I was still counting on a downpour.
This years' season opener on the OSU campus, while not USAT sanctioned, provided an opportunity to refine our practice and get out of the off-season mindset. When training regularly for half a year outside the context of a race to prove yourself, one has a tendency to get comfortable with the routine of the daily grind. There's nothing like a race to refocus the cross hairs, perhaps even more so in a sprint distance.
The plan is simple, go as fast as you can for about an hour. The swim was divided into an odd assortment of waves which prevented me from being able to race right next to my competition so I had to simply assume that someone out there was swimming, riding, or running faster than me at all times. After what felt like as smooth a 500 swim as I could manage, T1 and the following mile out of the campus went by in a blur, as I shared lanes with runners at one point, found myself rolling along a brick-paved road at another, but it took less than mile before I was on a straightaway. 11 miles left.
The most difficult part of a ride this short is knowing that at almost all times, you can go faster. One must evoke enormous concentration to stay at a power output that high, but this can be a difficult task when you have to deal with traffic on a course that was not closed off, other riders that started before you, and 30mph gusts of wind from random directions. I had to pull my thoughts back together again and again to bring my focus back to my legs so I could keep pushing.
With a mile left before T2, I made a 90 degree turn directly into a gusty corridor. Scraps of leaves and dust got sucked into my shoes and stuck to sweat against my feet. My front wheel twitched and I had to briefly get out of my aero bars to correct course, but still keeping power through the pedals. Despite a half hour of pedaling as hard as I could, my body still had enough to gasp through an extra 5k of running. That's the curious thing about sprint races: if you treat the bike portion like it's the end of the race, at that point, you will probably have gone hard enough. The run is short enough, the muscle groups are different enough, and your threshold lasts just long enough for another 17 or so minutes of suffering.
The three loop course on the run offered Donna and George and the rest of the spectators a great show of misery. I couldn't take anything for granted. I wasn't watching my run splits but went by feel and by assuming that another runner was breathing down my neck. To my great fortune, the recent nagging knee pain I'd been dealing with was kept at bay today, if only for 5k. Half way through the third and final lap, I decided I would try and start my finishing "kick" a bit sooner than normal. My biggest objective for the day was to finish with some amount of confidence that my tank was dry when the day was done. Tearing through the last 200 meters, my flats slipped across cherry blossom pedals, my cadence picking up even more now the finish line was in reach.
Crossing under the final banner with rabies-like foam around my mouth, I was 80% sure I went at least 90% hard as was possible; not bad for a season opener. Not half an hour after completion, the swollen rain clouds let down their torrent, washing away so many chalk lines on the ground, so much adrenaline infused sweat, cleaning the earth and the triathletes so both were ready for another day.
Number one, done and dusted. Always a good read.
ReplyDeleteI love your discourse and feel closer to Oregon as I read. Thanks for making me laugh out loud all alone here in my office:) Reading this makes me miss you.
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