St George Triathlon
May 10, 2008

Took the whole family (wife and four boys, 8, 6, 4, and 1.5) to St George on Thursday. We arrived at about 10pm, got settled, and around midnight we were snoozin’.

Check in was on Friday (no race-day check in). After checking in we went to the Sand Hallow Reservoir to check out the scene. I had never worn my wetsuit in the water, nor had I ever swam in open water. I got the wife a wetsuit for Mother’s Day, and gave it to her on Friday morning. So she was in the same position as I was, and we both wanted to try out the new digs. And, after all, since I was racing the next day, I thought some open water experience might be a good idea.

The winds were blowing, and the water was rough. I loved the flotation from the wetsuit, and I found rolling from side to side was really easy and natural. The wetsuit felt a bit restrictive (mostly in the chest and biceps) and a bit awkward, but not uncomfortable. About 250 yards into the swim, the rolling waters made me sea sick. Feeling the urge to puke in the water was a strange sensation.

Ironically, prior to Friday’s preparatory swim I felt quite comfortable about the swim leg of the race. But after spending some time in the water I was wigging out. I was nervous about swimming in the rough water, and I didn’t like being sea sick. I had residual nausea all evening.

I didn’t sleep well. I managed to convince myself that the water would be smooth in the morning, since the winds are typically highest in the afternoon. That must have done the trick, because I finally got some shut eye - about five hours.

Alarm went off at 5:15am. I rode up to the event with a coworker so my wife would have the Suburban. We parked about a mile from the marina because of inadequate parking space on site. I put on my back pack with all my transition gear, mounted my steed, and made the short ride to the transition area. Got there at about 6:15. Winds were howling.

Setup my transition area. Looked at all the high-dollar bikes and cool aerodynamic equipment around me. Felt intimidated. Made the necessary pre-wetsuit trip to the john. Suited up.

I was scheduled to start in the first wave, so I made my way down to the water. According to the park officials, the water temperature was about 60 degrees. Because of my swim on Friday, I was prepared for the chilly water. I jumped in the lake and did a few strokes. My first impression was not encouraging. I pretty much thought I was going to die. The chop nailed me every time I rolled for a breath. I was choking on lake water before the gun ever went off. My mind was quite unsettled, and major doubt set in.

The moment finally arrived, and I pushed ahead with about 200 other 30-39 year old males. The first stretch was with the wind. So, aside from the waves and the chaos created by other swimmers, it wasn’t too bad. I haven’t learned how to site, so I took on water a few times while trying to figure out where I was going.

After what seemed like an eternity, I rounded the first buoy. I quickly found myself grateful that I could breathe to my strong side and be facing downwind. I had a terrible time staying on course, though. Every time I looked up at the next buoy, I was way downwind. I had to make significant corrections three or four times over that ~200 meters.

Rounded buoy number two and turned straight into the wind. Holy crap. I think I just learned what hell feels like. Every time I looked up to site, all I saw was the next wave about to pummel me. I drank the whole freakin’ reservoir. The only way I could see where to go was to make a few breast strokes to pull myself up onto a wave. I wasn’t sure it was even possible to swim to the next buoy. Doubt set in, and hard. I flipped onto my back and tried to relax for a minute. But it didn’t take long to realize that I was losing ground. The wind was blowing me backward. Rest over. Face down, I started swimming again. All I could think of was Dory in “Finding Nemo” – “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…”

Several times I looked up to find myself all alone. The waves twisted and disoriented me. I had to look around to find anyone else. More than once I was at least 100 yards off course. If the shortest distance between two points is a straight line, then the longest distance between two points may very well be the path I took.

As I passed buoy number three, I noticed a large rock a few feet below the surface. I thought that seemed a bit odd since I was way out in the middle of the lake, so I decided to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I stood up on the rock. Yip, it was real. From the top of the rock, the water hit me at about the waist. I stood there and looked around. I noticed all the flailing swimmers. Some were stroking with everything they had and making no progress against the waves. Eventually the water knocked me off balance and I went back to work.

After an eternity (or two) I reached the last buoy. As I rounded the buoy and headed back into shore, I started to feel really good. This stretch was somewhat sheltered by a jetty, and the wind that came through worked in my favor. At that point I thought I could swim another mile without any problem. I felt great, and was slightly disappointed that the swim was coming to an end. As I sited myself into the shore, I noticed that none of the swim caps around me were the same color as mine. Yeah, I was getting passed by people from the later waves. Bummer. But I really didn’t care. I made it back to dry land, and it never felt so good to walk bare foot up an asphalt boat ramp.

I found my bike without any problem. Peeled off the suit, grabbed the helmet and shoes, and made my way to the bike exit.

My gut was terribly bloated. No surprise – I was carrying about half the reservoir in there. It was terribly uncomfortable, and I couldn’t get my mind off it.

I love the bike leg. I’m not terribly fast, but I enjoy every minute of it. This ride, however, was a bit scary. The cross winds were heavy enough to buffet me around the road. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to keep the rubber side down. In a couple sections the road was covered with sand drifts. This being my first Olympic distance race, I was really concerned about pacing myself, especially with the winds. I didn’t dare push too hard for fear I wouldn’t be able to finish the run. There was a good hill (~8% grade) in the first three miles, and of course the wind was blowing right into my face. I let my cautious side rule, and I took the hill pretty easy.

The road surfaces were really bumpy. Not like pot hole bumpy, but like vibration bumpy. I got the same sensation on this bike course that I get in the car when I drift off the side of the freeway. I’ll estimate that three to five miles of the ride was smooth asphalt. The rest was better suited to a farm truck than to a road bike. This definitely took a toll on my sit bones. On the plus side the scenery was nice, the course was well marked and patrolled, and traffic was minimal.

At about the eight or ten mile mark I had to move down off the big chain ring to get over a hill. My trusty steed let me down. The chain jumped off the ring and got locked up in the crank. D’oh! I slowed, dismounted, and did my best to free it. Several minutes and one dirty, greasy hand later, I mounted up and continued onward.

After finishing the loop, I found myself back at the big hill. Only this time I was at the top. Much better! I began the descent, and maintained the aero position. This freaks me out a bit, but I managed. In fact, I loved it. Most the people going up the hill at that point were pushing their bikes. I bombed it all the way down the hill.

There were three ambulances, a police car, and a fire truck at the bottom of the hill. I thought they were probably there as a precautionary measure because of the likelihood of a nasty crash right there. I was partially right. At least one bad accident had already happened. I moved out of the aero position and started dragging the brakes. I didn’t have my speedometer, so I don’t know what my exact speed was, but I’m guessing I was at about 40 mph. What a rush!

From there the marina was just a couple miles and a short, gentle climb away. I made my way into the transition area and looked for my bag. And looked some more. And then looked some more. Who took my bag!?!?! Nobody did, of course. I was lost. I finally found it four rows away from where I thought it was. I was a tad upset at myself for that.

Dropped the bike, helmet, and shoes. Grabbed my socks and running shoes. Thought about sticking my fingers down my throat to clear out my painful, bloated gut. Decided against it.

I started out on the run. I wasn’t going very fast. My gut hurt too much. I could barely stand up straight. I wanted to sit down. Or puke. Or both.

Then I saw my wife and kids. They were walking up the road to the marina. Seeing them was enough to take my mind off my gut. I gave them a high five as I ran past them. Based on the time projections I gave my wife, I should have been on my second lap by then. But alas, no.

This race has a reputation for its run. Once you leave the transition area, it’s all sand and rocks. I was told that one section involves a steep climb up a sand dune. The first part of the run is upgrade, and I started thinking that was going to be the worst of it. Nope. The hill is nasty. It’s steep. The sand is soft. There are rocks mixed in with it. And the blowing winds picked up the sand and threw it in my face. Fantastic! Getting to the top is quite an accomplishment in and of itself.

I kept plugging along, but not very fast. At one point I realized I was breathing calmly through my nose. Since I’m not a very good runner, this is odd. I also realized that, in spite of the hills and wind on the bike, and in spite of the sandy run and “sand hill,” my legs felt really good. But my gut hurt so bad I couldn’t make myself move any faster.

I came around the hill and saw the transition area. This is refreshing for two reasons: One: I’m half way done. Two: The transition area is the only asphalt on the entire run. I ran through the gates and saw the clock: 2:46. D’oh. I was hoping for a sub three-hour race. That wasn’t going to happen. Unless, of course, I opted out of the second lap and headed for the finish chute. I’m embarrassed to admit that the thought did cross my mind. I couldn’t imagine how I could possibly run another 3.1 miles with my gut the way it was.

I thought the second lap would be worse than the first because of fatigue. It wasn’t. Legs actually felt great, and my breathing was fairly relaxed. I stopped behind a big tractor toward the beginning of lap two to take a leak in hopes it would relieve some gut pain. Nope. I took a drink at an aid station (one every mile), but found that it made my gut ache worse. Sharp pain. The rest of the run became a balancing act between staying hydrated and avoiding the pain.

Once again I stumbled up sand hill and completed the trail around the top of the bluff. Hitting the asphalt again never felt so good. I managed to pick up the pace just a tad for that last half mile. That was the first time from 6:15 that morning (when the winds and waves just about scared me away) that I actually believed I would finish.

I crossed the line at about 3:17. I was disappointed that I didn’t come in under 3 hours, but thrilled at finishing the event. The greater the challenge, the greater the reward. My first open-water swim. My first Olympic-distance race. Knowing that I completed the race in these difficult conditions means any other events of the same distance should be a breeze. Right?

I learned later on that they canceled the swim leg after the first four waves. It was getting too difficult to supervise, boats and kayaks were getting tossed around, and swimmers were making little progress against the wind. I also learned that quite a few swimmers were brought back to shore on the pontoon boats (last word was that at least four separate boats loaded with swimmers returned to shore). With that in mind, I feel pretty good to have finished at all.

What a blast. The emotional highs and lows are amazing. The sense of accomplishment is almost unparalleled. I can hardly wait for the next one. Without the wind, please.

Final Results
Swim (1500 meters): 0:41:53
T1: 0:04:40
Bike (25 miles): 1:26:02
T2: 0:03:07
Run (6.2 miles): 1:01:27

Total: 3:17:11

Overall Place: 192 (out of 505)
Class (35-39) Place: 40 (out of 102)

Other Notes and Statistics
Total Entries: ~1465
o Olympic/Intermediate: 505
o Sprint: 909
o Relay: 17 teams (~51 people)

Total DNF: ~427 (29.15%)
o Olympic/Intermediate: 170 (33.66%)
o Sprint: 242 (26.62%)
o Relay: 5 teams (~15 people) (29.41%)