Whom The Gods Would Destroy . . . (2001 SJIT RR)

San Jose Int'l Tri - 6/24/01

1.25k swim * 40k bike * 10k run

Executive Summary:
3:04:29 (PR)
S: 00:51:45
T1: 00:03:20
B: 01:11:08 (PR - 1st 20mph+ split)
T2: 00:00:48
R: 00:58:27 (PR for 10k run in a tri)

Overall: 912/1005
AG: 159/164
Swim: 999/1005
Bike: 476/1005
Run: 825/1005

Long version:
Ok, so apparently last year wasn't dumb enough for me. Those of you who read my race report last year may recall that I did the race on very little sleep after a late gig the night before. This year, however, the fates conspired to set me a bigger test.

As our calendar filled in in the months approaching the race, I saw that it was gonna be tough. We had two gigs on the day before the race, and the late gig would be in Santa Rosa, after which I would drive the 100mi or so back to San Jose for the race (the irony? In 2wks, I'm racing Half Vineman in Santa Rosa. Guess where I'm gigging the night before? Exactly. San Jose. *sigh*). In spite of the challenge, I remained steadfast in my intent to do the race. Coach Mike has me in the best shape of my adult life (in *spite* of how many workouts I still miss . . .) and I just love this race. I was quite eager to see what I could do with my new engine on a well-known course.

About a month before the race, however, my schedule for the week of the race became insane. Suddenly, I had 5 gigs scheduled over 4 days, several hundred miles of driving (the bane of musicians everywhere), and a full day of teaching all within the 4 days prior to the race. On the one hand, I was worried about what I was letting myself in for. On the other hand, I took a perverse pleasure in how much sheer activity I was taking on. I began to think of the race as merely the 7th, 8th and 9th events in a larger 'decathlon'.

So, while I could spend a few paragraphs here describing in detail the first 6 'events' of my decathlon, I'll spare you any further braggery and pick up the story in the transition area from event 6 . . .

Pre-Race Jitters
*CLIK*XXSHSHSHSH . . . The clock radio clicked on and filled the room with static, letting us know that it was now 5am. I lie awake, having arrived from my gig only 30min prior. CTB bustled about, getting ready, while I lay there and try to summon the motivation to carry through on my plans. CTB has proven herself once again to be the girlfriend w/ the mostest, having not only volunteered herself to work the race, but having recruited a couple of friends to do likewise. They're going to be here any minute, as we've planned to all meet and then caravan over to Lake Almaden at 5:30a. I drag my body out of bed and begin stumbling into my race gear. Soon enough, the posse arrives and we're off to the race.

At the lake, parking is the usual hassle. After a few false starts (including a slight altercation with an overly aggro guy who is barreling thru the light rail parking lot in *reverse*), we find parking at the water district and load up for the warm-up walk to the TA. Along the walk, I'm getting less and less excited about what I'm trying to do. If it wasn't for CTB and her friends already setting aside their morning and driving to the race for my sake, I woulda bailed.

We get to the TA and CTB and I part ways, she to the volunteer table and me to find a spot in the TA. It's pretty full, but I manage to find a spot I can live with and slowly set up my spot. I'm not feeling physically tired, but am in a kind of zombie state. By this point, I've been up 20-plus hours and can't summon any excitement about anything. I finally finish my preparations (running shoes here, cycling shoes here, helmet here . . .) and stuff myself into my wetsuit.

I still have some time, and I spend it watching the pros go off on their bike TT. The pros were competing in the 'Interwoven Challenge', a competition consisting of an initial bike TT and a swim prior to the AG race, and then a swim-run after the AG race. It's kinda cool, because you can actually watch the elites race, but you lose that I' m-doing-the-same-exact-race-as-Cam-Widoff thing.

. . . but I digress.

I watched Karen Smyers, Cam Widoff, Becky Gibbs, Nick Radkewich, and some other pros go off (I just missed Michelie Jones :-( ). All too quickly, though, it was time to get in the water.

Now, I'm not a good swimmer, at all. It is, however, a perverse measure of how much more comfortable I am in the water that I had no qualms about the swim despite the fact that I hadn't been in the pool in a couple of months. Or perhaps it was just a benefit of my crazy weekend; I no longer had the energy to worry about anything. In any case, I got in the water, swam a few strokes, then worked my way over to the start and seeded myself in the back. The countdown winds its way down, and with a yell (GOOOOO!)from the announcer, we're off.

I notice two things immediately. One; in spite of the fact that I'm hardly even trying to swim properly, I seem to be moving along faster than usual. Two; there are other swimmers from my wave swimming just as slowly as I am. In a weird analogue of déjà vu, one of the other swimmers suddenly swims over to the shallows and stands up right where I had my first dry-heave 'incident' two years ago.

'You alright?' I ask.
'I'm getting nauseous', he says.
'First time?'
'No.'

I infer from his brusque reply that I've inadvertently offended him by suggesting that his nausea indicates a lack of tri experience. Oh well. We wind up pacing each other around the perimeter of the lake; he due to nausea, and me just 'cuz, well, 'cuz I'm not feeling like working especially hard this morning and have deliberately decided to take it easy on the swim. For me, the race starts when I get on the bike.

However, as I hit the second turn of the course, round the buoy and into the rising sun (making it very difficult to sight on the buoy 'gate' in the middle of the lake), I realize I'm going much faster than I thought I would . . . or at least it seems like it. I begin to think I might be able to get around in 40min. I try to maintain the same 'pace' (if you can call a half-assed sidestroke a 'pace') and worked my way 'round the course. As I was approaching the arch to exit the water, I could hear Michellie Jones being interviewed over the PA. She mentioned the difficulty in sighting into the rising sun and I was pleased to find that I wasn't the only one who felt that way. In any case, by this time I realized that I wasn't going to break 40min. I wasn't even going to break 50. Instead, I finally touch bottom and wade out of the water in 51:45, about 40sec slower than last year. Oh well. Like I said, the race starts for me now.

I start stripping my wetsuit off as I jog to the transition area. I find my bike quickly and manage to get completely out of the wetsuit without too much difficulty. Still, I'm moving kinda slowly and am not really focused - it takes me 3min to get out of the wetsuit, get my socks on, get my helmet on, and get on the bike. I've left my shoes on the pedals for the first time, and I have a little difficulty getting my feet into the shoes as I'm trying to slowly pedal out of transition, but I manage to get strapped in pretty quickly upon leaving the main gate to the lake. I drop onto the aerobars and start hammering.

As we round the first turn onto the course, a very fit-looking guy pulls past me and a few bike lengths ahead. I decide to see if I can stay with him and so I up the tempo a bit and try to maintain the gap, but not drop back any further. I glance down to see how I'm doing, and realize that I forgot to change the battery in my cyclocomputer. It's dead. I have no speedometer. I decide that I'll have to use my effort and heart rate to gauge my speed.

By this time, my race is about an hour old, and I decide it's time to down a shot of Gu. I fish one out, tear off the top, and squeeze it into my mouth. I reach down for my water bottle and . . . it's not there. Doh! I realize my mistake immediately; I left it on CTB's bike. I try to dry-swallow the Gu already in my mouth and my throat rebels; I gag upon it and cough up a nice parabolic arc of chocolate gel all over my right arm and leg. I manage to get most of the rest of it down, and keep hammering.

It quickly becomes apparent that not everyone in the race is aware of (or concerned about) the drafting regs. I keep having to shout 'on your left' as I come by people who are riding way to the left on the course, and many of them fail to fall back once passed, but instead up the tempo and ride along beside me. One person even yells 'On your right' before proceeding to make the illegal pass on the right. I have to chuckle at that one. At least she admits it. I manage to avoid any drafting, however, and make pretty steady progress forward thru the pack.

I'm looking for CTB, as I know she's out on the bike course, and I see her friend Lisa first, calling her by name as I roll by. Shortly after I pass her, the course makes a slight left and we head up the first slight climb of the course. I quickly roll pass several people and am quite pleased; evidently my time on Hwys 92 and 35 is paying off. As quick as that, however, I'm up the rise and back down on the bars, hammering away. By this time, my HR has settled down in the 155-160bpm range, and while I could push harder, I opt to save something for later.

It's about this time that I find myself closing on a male racer. A lane for the bikes has been delineated with traffic cones, and he's riding along about 2/3 of the way over to the left side. I yell 'on your left', and find that he had no idea I was approaching. I startle him and he veers right in a panic, runs up on the curb, and goes down. I sit up and turn to look back at him and ask if he's alright. I confess that I don't stop, however. The crash didn't seem that spectacular or dangerous (except perhaps to his ego), and I figure he'll be ok. As I hammer away, I think to myself 'and that is why we stay to the right, folks'. Not the most generous thought at the moment, but that's what was going through my head.

I continue to hammer. It seems like I'm riding into a headwind, but I'm hesitant to accept that, recalling last year's race when what I thought was a headwind turned out to be a tailwind instead. I'm trying to estimate how far I've gone - I think the bike turnaround on the one out-and-back is roughly halfway, and I'm quite pleased and somewhat shocked to see that I'm moving much faster than I thought I could. I figure that I must be overestimating how far I've gone, and resolve not to get ahead of myself - I 'll know my time when I finish.

The course takes another left turn and then heads uphill onto the only real hill of the course. I quickly downshift and assume my Lance Stance (hands close to the stem on the bar, butt back on the seat, climbing seated) and get into a rhythm. Once again, I surprise myself by passing several on the climb, including several who I'd been unable to drop on the flats. I see my chance to put some of them behind me for good and so I up the tempo a bit, shifting into the smaller cogs as I approach the top, trying to launch over the top and into the slight descent on the other side.

I zip down the hill, but have to scrub off a lot of my momentum at the bottom to make the right turn. Unbeknownst to me, this is where Debra and CTB are; I'm so focused on catching and passing the next rider that I don't hear them yelling and cheering as I go by. CTB tells me later that she's surprised how strong I look, knowing how hard I've been pushing myself these past few days.

She rocks.

Anyway, I manage to maintain a good strong tempo over the rollers that follow, gradually descending back into the suburban area near the race venue. As I look at my watch and realize for certain that I'm in a position to post a 20+mph bike split for the first time, I begin to push harder. I decide that I don't care if I'm leaving my run on the bike; I want that 20mph split.

Soon enough, the lake appears again on the right, and I know that barring some bizarre crash on the way to transition, I'm assured of my split. I'm grinning and happy, feeling worked but not really wiped, as I roll into transition in 1:11:08 (21mph-woohoo!). I've been doing some more calculating; it's now about 2:05 into the race, and so I have about 55min for the 10k. This seems eminently doable, and so I now have a shot at breaking 3hrs for the first time. I get to my rack and quickly get rid of my helmet and gloves, shove my feet in my running shoes, tie 'em up, and I'm off - T2 is 48sec.

I'm pretty much cruising on the run - but not in a good way. I'm not really hurting or in much discomfort, running at about 155 on my HRM, but I'm having trouble with motivation. I feel a bit detached from my body and the race - in a sense I'm just going through the motions and all I really want to do is go to sleep. It's my mind that's breaking down - my body is a trooper, loping along at a steady 8:15-8:30 pace. I see Mark Dolley, foamy mouth and all, returning from the out and back as I'm on my way out, and we exchange greetings as we pass. He goes his way, and I continue to work my way around the course and back past the start/finish area.

As I head out on the final out-and-back leg of the course, I begin to slow down. I just can't seem to summon the will to keep going. My pace drops and drops, and I can't make myself pick it up, no matter how hard I dangle that sub-3hr time in front of my flagging resolve. Eventually, at the 5mi mark, I break into a walk. I'm not really upset about it - I've accomplished enough here today to be satisfied, even if it seems I could have done more. I walk 'til the 6mi marker, then pick it up and run the rest of the way in (feeling a little guilty as I overhear a spectator marveling at how strong my kick is . . .). As I round the turn and head into the finish gates, I hear and see CTB, Lisa and Debra give up a cheer. I cross the line and hit the stop on my HRM. 3:04:29.

4 and a half minutes. A half mile of running. Oh well.

To sum up, I'm very pleased with my race. I would've liked to have had more sleep, but the fates didn't deign to offer me that. That just goes with the territory of trying to do both triathlon and music in one of the most expensive places to live in the US. C'est la vie. If nothing else, it's a great chance to brag . . . <G>

In any case, I feel pretty confident that I could've gone faster on both the bike and the run, and think I can maintain this same pace over the longer 1/2IM distance at Half Vineman next week. We'll see . . . y'all stay tuned . . .

TriathRon the Insomniac