INSTALLMENT 5—Sunday, May 27, 2007; Race #4 Team Time Trial ½ Ironman

Race 4: Team Time Trial

Sunday, May 27, 7:00am Start
1.2 mi Swim - 55.5 mi Bike - 13.1 mi Run
 
Bike Course Profile: Repeat following crap TWICE.  The spike just after 5 miles is called “Godzilla.”

 
 
This race is also known as Little Smokies, and “regular” people (non-Triple T participants, also known as “losers” to some of the Triple T racers) also participate.
 
5:00AM Sunday morning and my alarm clock goes off.  I rarely use an alarm at home, so it was a bit jarring.  I had slept really well (for all intents and purposes, I had been dead), but felt quite heavy/groggy upon standing up.  My brain feebly tried convincing me NOT to race—especially not a ½ Ironman!  But I said to myself, “I came here to race.”  A few years ago, I was at an ad hoc training camp in the Carolinas, where the objective was to bike a lot.  I also ended up running a lot, running twice on Saturday—once before riding, and once after.  As I got suited up for the (relatively) early morning run, someone said, “You’re going running again?”  And my answer was the simple, “I came here to train.” 
 
With that brief attempt at bagging it, I moseyed over to the evil coffeemaker and vowed to have my way with it this morning.  I about broke the thing making sure the lid was securely fastened shut, but managed to make a full pot of Kona coffee (whenever Cindy and I train or race together, I always supply the Kona coffee) without incident.  The rest of the crew didn’t get up for at least 20 minutes, which was fine by me, as I had time to organize and get some caffeine in me.
 
And then the activity began—if you’ve ever seen A Clockwork Orange (my absolute favorite movie of all time—for some reason I identify with Alex), it reminded me of the scene where Alex is having a 3-way with 2 young devotchkas, and it’s shown in fast-motion accompanied by the William Tell Overture (by Rossini, who is also the composer of La Gazza Ladra, the name of my bike!), also speeded up.  Here come 3 more racing bodies all fixing this and that and choking down food and loading bikes and bags.  At about 6:25, I said, “Time to go.”  Cindy looked at me all quizzically.  I told her the race started at 7:00 today.  Normally, this would induce sheer panic in a triathlete, but this is Triple T, and all we’ve been doing is racing all weekend, so it was no big deal.  As much fun as Cindy makes of me and my spreadsheets and checklists and all that, I hope she is grateful for it.
 
It was time for the Triple T’ers to kiss their collective asses goodbye.  We DID see an ACTUAL ASS while biking the day before (or am I dreaming that?), which I was happy to point out to other racers, but they didn’t get it—what’s up with that?  We knew we had a ½ Ironman to do, but we were also in denial.  During one of the rides we went through the town of Nile, and I distinctly remember saying it should have DE- in front of it.  If you were stupid enough to think about all you had done in the last 1.1 days, you might lose it.  If you were dumb enough to think about mistakes you had already made, you weren’t going to make up for them today.  So I would describe the mood in transition as “I really don’t give a f*** anymore, but I’m racing anyway.”  Apparently, whatever they put in the water at the park was working.  We were suited up and going to race AGAIN.
 
I get to transition a bit ahead of Cindy and realize I forgot my on-bike bottles.  Normally, this would cause a minor panic, but I knew that Jovan could head back up to the cabin and retrieve them.  I described the bottles, and then Cindy (damn, we make a great team—she’s BRILLIANT!!!) added to just grab anything that looked like race nutrition and bring it.  Minutes later, Jovan shows up with my bottles plus a few extras, one of which contained coffee creamer.  I told him I wouldn’t need that for the race unless I needed it to induce vomiting.
 
Now we were mixed with “regular” people doing the Little Smokies ½ Ironman.  Even without the special jerseys on the Triple T’ers (I wore mine Sunday because I was using a Fuel Belt and don’t like wearing it over bare skin), you could tell the two groups apart.  Little Smokies peeps had all game day faces on.  Triple T’ers were like, “What, there’s a race?”  And we were supposed to begin at 7:00AM, but people were waltzing into transition with 5 or less minutes to spare.  I’m sure the RD counts on this, so he began gently coaxing us to get over by the water at 7:00. 
 
I think we actually started going off around 7:10.  Triple T’ers first, then Little Smokies.  Today, when Scott would say, “GO,” he said it almost like he was apologizing to us for making us swim AGAIN.  No worries, Scott—we already knew what a bunch of dumbasses we are, and yet we went into the water, lemming-like, hoping we could fool our bodies into thinking this was a race or something.  I think Scott said to each person going in, “It’s TWO loops.”  Every swim except for Friday night was 2 loops, and again, I think he knew it was mentally punishing to tell us one more time.  Either that, or he knew our brains weren’t quite 100% and we might forget to swim around twice.  Since I like to count strokes in races to help me know how far in I am and to keep me relaxed, I knew about how much more 1.2 miles would be than the 1500 meters, but since the courses were long both days, on Sunday I pretty much abandoned hope for keeping count, and instead, focused more on drafting whenever possible.  There should have been a sign at the beach start: ABANDON HOPE ALL YE WHO ENTER HERE. 
 
When it was time for Team Crackheads to start, we head into the water, and I’m ready to start swimming—let’s get this show on the road.  I’m yelling at Cindy to come on so she can draft off me, and she’s just standing there behind me, and she says, “I’m still peeing!”  At this point, it takes too much energy to either laugh or be mad, so I just dove in and started swimming.  Hard to laugh with your face in the water! 
 
I didn’t feel too bad in the water—a bit slower than the day before, but not by terribly much.  Here is where my endurance is really kicking in.  I passed some tired people, and I had people drafting off of me.  In the end, I really didn’t slow down much between Saturday and Sunday, but it’s hard to say because, you know, all distances are approximate.  The swim was definitely more than 1.2 miles (felt like 1.5 to me).  At the end of Loop 1, I leisurely stood up and said to one of the lifeguards (the RD astutely placed more guards in the water for Sunday because, why?  Bunch o’ dumbasses in the water, that’s why!), “I feel like f***ing Nemo—KEEP SWIMMING, KEEP SWIMMING!”  I got a good laugh from the guy.
 
I finished swimming a little ahead of Cindy (and was surprised, AGAIN), but no worries, today is a long day.  I think I waited for her at water’s edge, and I had company from other team members waiting for their other half.  It was like we were hanging out swimming, not racing.
 
Cindy and I, believe it or not, RAN into transition so we could begin the stripping party.  Again, video here would be priceless.  We were pretty fast with the stripping.  To think we had started all this crap together 7 years ago! 
 
Déjà f***ing vu.  Same right turn out of transition, gentle uphill, and then another right turn (I remembered to not shift here), and pretty soon, what the hell?  WHAT THE HELL???  We are at the bottom of some climb, and written on the road in big letters is GODZILLA.  This can’t be good.  Oh well, nothing to do but settle in and climb.  Godzilla was a picturesque set of switchback climbs that really wasn’t bad (see at this point “not bad” means anything that isn’t a 90-degree vertical), I guess, if you had been pacing yourself correctly all along.  Maybe I can convince Jovan to dress up as the Grim Reaper next year and stand at the top of Godzilla.
 
But we did see people suffering on the first loop (yes, folks it was TWO LOOPS on the bike course today—2 on the swim, 2 on the bike and 2 on the run).  You didn’t want to think about having to do this again, but having done Ironman Wisconsin 3 times, where the main bike loop is pretty hilly and you do it twice, I wasn’t really worried.  But at least on the Triple T bike course, you’d do a huge climb and then you’d get an incredibly tasty descent.  Or at least, this is what the brain likes to remember—the fun descents.  Normally, I suck at descending, but on La Gazza Ladra, I got better and better at it as the weekend wore on to the point where I was just having a blast and felt fully in control and bombed down the hills as fast as I could go.
 
A lot of this ride was a blur (have I used that word before?), but there were a number of fun spots.  At one point, we rode up on Shelley, or was it the reverse, and we spent some time riding together.  We chatted up about blogs, being a team (I felt bad for Shelley because her testosterone-laced teammate had abandoned her), the fact that we were all going to Lake Placid again (it was the first Ironman for all of us back in 2001), and generally had a bunch of chuckles and had a big draft festival.  Who is out there watching us?  NOBODY.  Like if they were what kind of penalty would they give us?  “Excuse me, girls.  You are laughing too much and going TOO SLOW.”  There was some horse dung in the middle of the road at one point while we were riding together, and you know how in a pace line you point out stuff in the road?  I took great pleasure at pointing at it while shouting, “HUGE PILE OF S***!!!” 
 
It was at a potty break that we told Shelley to keep going, and I guess Cindy and I lollygagged a bit.  There was this local man on a rise watching us pee (er…LEERING—as far away as he was, I am sure he was missing some front teeth), and he made some comment that there were porta-potties up the hill (uh, yeah, right, I’ll be walking uphill to pee—NOT!), and then going with the flow, Cindy asks him if he has any beer.  It was the quintessential redneck moment.  People are riding by asking if we are OK, and one or the other of us would say, “We’re PEE-ING.”
 
Mark and Erik came by us at one point, and they slowed down to give us encouragement, and we returned the favor.  They looked great!  Well, anyone who wasn’t doing Triple T looked pretty good, but some of those folks were ragged—again, pacing in this s*** is all important. 
 
There was a nice downhill into transition where we picked up our stashed bottles.  It was just a table full of bottles.  Cindy and I had placed ours near one another, and they were easy to find with the Barbie post-its used as identifiers.  Surprisingly, we didn’t dilly-dally much, as we knew what lay ahead and wanted to get back into it. 
 
I can’t count how many times I would turn to Cindy while riding and say, “Whose idea was this?”  The first few times, she would enthusiastically say, “YOURS!”  As the miles and hills wore on, her replies alternated between a slightly angry and resigned tone, but since I guessed Cindy was suffering a bit more than me, I was happy to try and keep her engaged mentally—or was I just trying to keep my own spirits up?  It really didn’t matter.  We played $64,000 Pyramid (today I guess it would need to be called $200 BILLION) a few times.  The categories I chose were, “Things with Condoms” and “Things that Suck.”  Cindy failed at the first category (I won’t mention the obvious clue, which I didn’t use, but some of the others were a water tower being painted, a Totes umbrella and a non-skinless wiener), but for the second she was lightning fast with the correct category after only 2 clues: a vacuum cleaner and Monica Lewinsky.
 
Godzilla wasn’t so bad the second time around for us, in fact, the climb seemed much shorter, because of—you guessed it—pacing, which of course, meant we were BRILLIANT!!!
 
More riding, more hills, more descents, more peeing, more “GO CRACKHEADS,” aaaaaaaaaand we’re back.  In transition, that is.  Inside my head all weekend, every time I would get into the transition area, I was playing talk-show host like we had just returned from a commercial break.  I crack myself up.  Which is a good thing when you are trying to do something like Triple T.
 
For the last time, we donned our race belts with streamers, I strapped on my giant Fuel Belt loaded up with enough Ultra Violence for dos Crackheads, and we are off.  I think the RD announced that Team Crackheads were off to run, and we headed across the grassy knoll (this is what I called it inside my head—it helps to turn as many things as possible into a festive mood) to the big hill. 
 
It was a bit warm by now, and as soon as we got onto the hill, there were a lot of people walking and looking, well, bad.  Big surprise, huh?  Nope.  Of course, it’s normal that when you are racing and observe someone who looks bad, inside your head you are thinking, “Do I look that bad?  NO.  BRILLIANT!!!”  Again, our prime directive was to finish well, finish running and no death marching.  Sure, we took turns pointing out a rock or stick or pile of either or both combined, that we would run to and then take a short walk break, but we were running better than (I think) either of has ever run in an Ironman, and it was uphill, baby. 
 
We weren’t very far in when this really tall girl comes running by and tells us how proud she is of all us Triple T racers (she was doing only the ½), and I got all choked up.  I told Cindy I needed a moment, we stepped off-trail, I had a brief cry, and Cindy acted worried that I was totally losing it.  What happened is that I thought about my Mom who passed away just a year ago, and all the times she told me how proud she was of me.  It was as if Mom was there giving me encouragement through this stranger!  Cindy gave me a hug, which helped, and I told her I was OK.  I choked back a few more tears, and it was onward and upward.  Later during the run, I told Cindy how proud I am of her for suiting up for this and being such a good teammate.  I hope the comment didn’t sound motherly or condescending. 
 
That little incident proved how emotionally raw and vulnerable we all were by Sunday.  On the one hand, feeling that way sucks, on the other hand, it makes you feel completely alive.  I love being on that edge—as long as you expect it, it allows you to experience flow, and that, my friends, is one of the main reasons I do this s***.  I’ll take raw, emotionally vulnerable and f***ing, stinking tired any day over the despair of the common man.  I’ll take just about to collapse from working extremely hard on a training ride over waking up with a hangover from partying too hard.  I’ll take actively and openly lusting after someone with my eyes (sometimes more) who’s sharing hard core training and racing stories with me because we understand each other’s mindset over lusting after a new car (OK, but maybe not over lusting after a new bike J--er, maybe the lust is even more amplified if it is a bike).  THIS IS MY DRUG.
 
There were several times when one of us had to pee, and unless we were at the one porta-potty, we just pulled slightly off-trail and did our business, after ensuring we weren’t in a stand of poison ivy, and nobody batted an eye.  Since I was just wearing a swimsuit bottom (with tri pad!  But no wings !), I just spread my legs to pee.  I’m sure if anyone caught a glimpse with the streamers and all it was probably both gross and hilarious.  I didn’t care!
 
While all this is going on, we are both taking water at the aid stations and ice when they had it.  It was so warm that I barely felt the ice in my hat.  I also put it in my pants, having learned at Miami Man last year that ice in pants is very effective at bringing down one’s core temperature, yet I rarely observe other racers doing it.  Word to the wise—it works!  I also put ice in my bra.  A couple times after I’d load up, I’d say to Cindy, “I can do anything with ice in my pants!”  Yes, by now, I know you think I’m crazy.  Good for you!  Did you race Triple T?  No?  Loser.
 
My quads didn’t really hurt—this is the beauty of trail running PLUS I had toughened myself up in Colorado Springs.  Cindy turned her ankle at one point, and right away she said, “I’m finishing this even if I have to drag my foot behind me.”  I had this image of the movie Saw and thought we may have to chew off her foot, but we’d figure out a way to get her across the finish line.  I have no idea of the pain Cindy was in, but at this point, there was no acknowledging pain.  I listened to her statement of pain, and we kept moved onward.
 
Like I said earlier, I can turn into stealthy “mean girl” sometimes when I’m with Cindy, but all in good fun.  There were a few times we’d see Little Smokies racers, and I’d call them losers to Cindy.  It was just my way of patting myself on the back for all the crap I was putting myself through.  I would never say that to someone’s face though, and none of them were losers!  I also remember that Cindy saw some guy that she knew from back home that was part of some tri group or something, and she told me she couldn’t remember his name.  My response was, “That’s OK—he’s ugly.”  I have no idea where that came from, but it proved that things were going slightly haywire upstairs.  It was such a disjointed comment—kinda like asking someone whether they want cream in their coffee and getting a response of, “I’m going to Paris.”  I know it was hilarious to me at the time.  I made the statement, and then I got all giggly after realizing what my brain was doing.
 
Of course, Cindy and I had to have the male shaving discussion.  It’s a tradition with us.  When we are out just riding around, we will issue random “shaving violations.”  We are noticing a disturbing trend amongst male triathletes—there is less shaving of the legs.  I think we are going to form a lobbying group to put a stop to this nonsense.
 
I think Cindy was underfueled even more than me from the day before, so I took to telling her when to drink the Ultra Violence (not to mention it lightened my carrying load) to keep her mentally sharp and full of calories.  At first, I think it didn’t sit too well in her stomach, but then she took to it like a duck to water.  The stuff is magic, I tell you--BRILLIANT!  The issue with getting used to it is that it’s very concentrated calories, but ah, double the caffeine of Coke!  I’m sure people wonder what that bright red stuff is around my waist, but no way I’d give it to anyone else besides Cindy.  Sometimes people ask me if I have a sugar or caffeine crash while using it, and I tell them, “No, because I don’t stop drinking it.”  Like what a dumb question is that?  Isn’t that what Fuel Belts are for?  So you can have your personal caffeine supply?  The other question that I get is when do I start drinking it during the run?  Answer?  Right away.  What the hell, I was drinking caffeine the entire time while on the bike, why stop now?  *NEW, IMPROVED CRACKHEAD—WITH CAFFEINE*
 
Cindy had her period, and at one point, I think on the second loop on the way down, she said she needed to remove her um…”product.”  I told her I’d been through this many times in races, and that her body probably wasn’t even bleeding at this point, because excessive exercise (did I just say that?) has a tendency to make a woman’s body shut down unnecessary activity.  So she goes into the porta-potty, and I figure I may as well pee behind it while she’s in there (as always, saving time for the sake of the team), but she pops out in like 2 seconds flat and I’m surprised, and she says it just came out, and I’m like OK great, it’s all downhill now, let’s run, as I hurry up and pee for the last time.
 
And run we did.  We barely stopped on the way down, except when Cindy noted that she was light-headed and worried about tripping.  I told her I’d been light-headed for miles now, and I had expected it to happen.  I remembered my “practice bonk” from the week before, and I was fine.  All you can do in an event like this is try your best to stay with or slightly behind your caloric needs, and I think it’s harder to do when you are stopping and starting rather than continuously racing like in an Ironman.  But when Cindy felt it, I listened to her, and I told her to take little baby steps going downhill, and I was behind her watching her.  She looked almost drunk, and I, of course, was so giddy, I was having a laugh riot in my head.
 
I knew when it was time for that last blast of Ultra Violence so we could run in well to the finish line.  We drained my entire Fuel Belt!  Yeah, baby!  See, for me, the Big Bertha belt holds enough Ultra Violence for just me in a marathon, so it was perfect to share between dos Crackheads in a ½ marathon (or whatever the distance was).  Once again, we were about to hit the grassy knoll, and we needed to prepare to finish!
 
Right before you almost hit pavement, there’s this big dip in the grass, and out of all the up and down we had done, this one felt the hardest, but we kept moving because God forbid some spectator would see us not running! 
 
And we’re about 50 yards from finishing, and I look at my watch, and I tell Cindy, “Hey—we negative split the run!”  Was that f***ing cool or what?  Cindy says the final, “Prepare to finish!”  I order, “Hands in the air!” and we rolled into the finish line side by side, almost in lockstep, and finished our LAST RACE OF THE WEEKEND!!!.  As tired as we were, there was no peeling the huge smiles from our faces.  We did it, we knew we had beat the other team in our division, we ran, we didn’t feel rotten (rotten being a relative term), we got our fabulous finishers shirts and a medal, and yet we kept talking, joking and laughing.
 
Our normal ½ Ironman time is about 5:30, give or take, but this race took 7:33, accounting for hills, prior races, and even pacing.  Our total time racing for the weekend was just under 15 hours, for more total distance than an Ironman, which is a “cruising” pace.  Obviously, we both hope to go a lot faster than that at Ironman Lake Placid!  Next year at Triple T, the ½ objective will be sub-7, and the total time 14 hours or less.  We shall see!
 
Photos from this race can be viewed at http://www.flickr.com/photos/8737154@N04/sets/72157600336898968/