INSTALLMENT 4—Saturday, May 26, 2007; Race #3 Team Time Trial
  

Race 3: Team Triathlon

Saturday, May 26, 3:00pm Start
24.8 mi Bike (approx., team drafting allowed) - 1500mi Swim (again, long but flat) - 6.55 mi Run

Bike Course Profile:  Notice that little bit of flatness.  BRILLIANT!!!

It sucked changing out of clothes into race gear again (we had showered, too, which as always, was the BEST SHOWER EVER, except no green slime this time, THANK YOU WETSUIT), but it had to be done.  At least this time we got a ride down the big hill to transition because our bikes were down there languishing in the sun like corralled race horses waiting for the bell.  At this point you want to save energy by not chewing and riding in a car for 2 minutes, and this race was easy to get set up for since we would start on the bike.  No messing around with the wetsuit thing until later.  Why think about something so far into the future?  Cindy and I had a little strategy session (don’t go too fast; strip each other’s wetsuit), and we lined up (oddly enough, in a line) to start the team time trial.
 
Well, I am such a dumbass, just before we made the turn to get onto a flat, I decided to shift into the big chainring, which was a disaster, as I threw my chain off and then had to spend about 4 minutes gingerly getting it back onto the rings without f***ing up the front derailleur.  I did it though, and I felt so bad about it because other teams went whizzing by us.  But Cindy, ever the team trooper, waited patiently and didn’t say anything to me because she knew it wouldn’t help.  I got the palms of my hands pitch black from all the grime on the chain but I didn’t care because my bar tape is black!  The only thing was I made a mental note to not touch my face in the normal way or else I’d end up looking like some poor tarbaby!  Somewhere during the ride, Cindy said something about hand sanitizer or Wet Wipes or something to remove the grime from my hands, but in my head I heard, “la la la la la la” because I could have cared less about my hands, and I thought the grime would come off in the swim anyway.  And even if it didn’t, so what.  Impishly, though, I thought to myself that if it didn’t come off me that I would just wipe some on Cindy!  Then we’d be tarbaby Crackheads!
 
So I get my bike fixed up and we take off, and we couldn’t just gun it or else we’d burn too many matches, which would be stupid, and violate our policy of making it through the end of the weekend in good shape (meaning that we would run, dammit).  So we more or less cruised during this ride, and this ride was the flattest of all of them—well there was that one flat area, anyway.  When we got to the big straightaway and were about 1 mile from the turnaround, we spotted the other female team in our division heading back—they had made time on us while I was fixing my chain.  All I said was, “CINDY!!!”  And I knew she knew I knew she saw them.  And I knew she knew I knew she knew that we had to overtake them. 
 
It was like the “Jaws” theme was playing—dunh-dunh dunh-dunh dunh-dunh dunh-dunh…or else the CHA-CHUNG from Law and Order (pick one, but make sure it’s Criminal Intent because Cindy and I absolute LOVE Vincent D’Onofrio—did I mention Cindy and Jovan are both lawyers?)—and since there was a slight tailwind after the turn, it was: targets identified, lock and load, baby!  I told Cindy to let me lead it out, and at this point, I didn’t care how many matches this would require.  As I said to Cindy in a matter-of-fact tone after the pass was complete, “It had to be done.”  I would give anything for a photo of us making the pass.  BRILLIANT!!!
 
Once we were plenty clear of the other team, we settled down a bit to cruise on in and hit the swim.  Since it was pretty hot out, we figured swimming would feel good.  Luckily for me, there have been many times when I’ve swam after running or biking, so I know how it feels.  But we had to get wetsuits on first.  THAT was entertaining.  Your body is all sweaty and it’s not much fun.  But I had put Bodyglide all over the inside of my suit, so it wasn’t that bad.  Cindy left her socks on to help get her wetsuit on, and I stepped into plastic grocery bags, which worked like a charm.  But getting that thing over sweaty skin was like the reverse of a snake shedding its skin.   It probably resembled a person being barfed out of a rubber tube.  Again, I would pay good money for video of the transition area while this was going on.  As we were doing this, the announcer was calling out who was entering the water.  It was a bit disconcerting with the bike/swim/run order, but on the plus side, it sort of made you think you were starting a fresh race, right?  Yeah, right, f***ing NOT!!!
 
That swim was uneventful, except for making sure your legs don’t cramp, which meant, under penalty of law, DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT KICKING.  I wiggled my toes a few times just to see what would happen, and bingo, my calves would start to cramp.  So I am sure we looked like a bunch of paraplegics (no offense intended) trying to swim with only our arms.  I finished the swim before Cindy, so I just waited and sat in the water taking off my wetsuit until she showed up, which wasn’t too long, because WE ARE A TEAM, DAMMIT.  No sense in me taking off on the run without her!
 
Since I had my suit off, I told Cindy to just run to transition and I’d strip her, which I did.  I had never done that to someone else before, but I guess from many Ironman races, I just sort of knew how to do it.  We donned our race belts with streamers, and we were off.
 
I brought more Coke for the short run (goes to show you how warped you are when your second 6.55 mile run of the day seems “short”) and this time I ended up sharing it with Cindy, which I think she appreciated.  Once again, we got lots of shouts of “GO CRACKHEADS” and comments on the streamers.  Although by this time, I was secretly annoyed at people calling them something different—we got skirt, pompons, hula skirt and some other names I don’t remember.  We just didn’t have the energy to go around correcting people! 
 
It was during this run that you could really sense a shift in many of the racers’ attitudes.  The effort no longer came happily or easily, and we started thinking about what lay ahead tomorrow.  If you were already feeling bad, you were going to hurt like a sonofabitch on Sunday.  Because of this or in spite of it, Cindy and I stepped up our joking around.  On the ascent, there was a pack of 4 guys barreling downhill, and right as we were side by side, I shouted, “FREE BLOW JOBS IF YOU QUIT RIGHT NOW.”  I don’t know where that came from, except that I thought it’d be funny to see how guys in a race would react to that.  I was surprised that Cindy said, “I can’t believe you said that!”  A few seconds later, we heard one guy say, “I’m stopping…”  But they didn’t quit, and this proves what the priorities of triathletes are.
 
I think it was during this race that while heading down, Cindy began singing her rendition of the Oscar Meyer bologna song: “My boloney has a first name—it’s O-S-C-A-R.”  So lest you think I’m the only crazy person here, I just wanted to mention that.  I sang PATT (Party All The Time), except I substituted “My Bike” for “My girl” (likes to).  I really was enjoying riding my bike!
 
When we were descending the big hill, we saw a runner zoom right past us, and I shouted to him, “Showoff!”  I do this occasionally not that I really mean that, but just to acknowledge what a good runner someone is.  The guy laughed and said, “Not to worry.  I’ll be dying tomorrow.”  And he was right about that—Cindy and I passed him and did a lot better than him the next day.  Still, thanks for playing!
 
Cindy and I finished in not too differently a time than the morning’s race.  Which meant our pacing strategy (slow and steady) was working like a charm.  Not only that, but we didn’t feel too badly.  At the finish, Mark and Erik showed up.  These boys were doing only the ½ Ironman on Sunday, and would be bunking in our cabin.  The first thing I said to Mark, who graciously volunteered to cart our bikes back “upstairs” was, “Can you wash the dishes?”  He said yes, and he DID do them by the time we got back.
 
Now it turned into a zoo in the cabin with 4 people racing and trying to shower, eat, get to know one another, and get ready for a big race the next day.  The race was Mark and Erik’s first ½ Ironman.  What possesses a person to choose THIS race as their first 1/2, I don’t know—but on the plus side, you are bound to set a PR at your next one.  Since Mark and Cindy had already registered for Miami Man ½ in November (I did the race for my first time last year—it’s pancake flat, and by pancake I mean take a pancake and flatten it with a hammer, and Miami Man is even flatter than that), I felt pressured to sign up again, since we all seem to get along just fine.
 
I did have a small concern as to what Mark and Erik (particularly Erik, being only 18) thought about two Crackheads running around with tiaras on their heads trying to get ready for a race the next day.  So lest they think we were jokers, I started to lay on the fear factor for them.  But they seemed to take it all in stride, and we had a ton of laughs.
 
Mark and Erik had pasta for dinner and some other stuff I wanted no part of (they are on some weird vegetarian diet which I will have no part of—I need my meat), and I had a little of the pasta (thanks, guys!), but my main dinner consisted of 2 cheeseburgers, a lot of chips, candy and I forget what else.  I do remember being so tired trying to eat the second burger and telling Jovan that my mouth was tired, yet knowing I needed to get it down since I was already fairly depleted.
 
My nutrition plan guesstimated I needed 5,000 calories for all of Saturday, and I managed to take in about 4,300 total, so I was only running a 700-calorie or so deficit, which wasn’t too bad.  At 9:30PM, I had to gracefully (or not—don’t remember) say goodnight to everyone and go pass out.  I was lucky—I had my own bedroom—and when I lay down I thought I might not be able to fall asleep because usually I like perfect silence.  So I listened to the continuing conversations for probably 10 seconds and it was lights out, Sheila.  I don’t remember dreaming or getting up once even to use the bathroom.  That, my friends, was the sleep of the nearly dead, with my brain secretly hoping I wouldn’t be stupid enough to wake up and try racing AGAIN.
 
Photos from this race can be viewed at http://www.flickr.com/photos/8737154@N04/sets/72157600336898968/