A Better Showing

This past Saturday was race #2 of the season for your fearless triathlosopher. Sadly I have no existential analyses of previous cryptically referenced topics to share. This is good news, however, as it means I was concentrating on pedalling to the finish as quickly as possible rather than formulating prose. That's right this time I actually played the game. And the results were gratifying.

It also means that the philosophical nonsense I keep promising will have to wait another post or two. Basically, the internal battle is so bloody my faithful readers need to be protected from it. For those of you who can't wait, a less cryptic mention: I'm finding it difficult to understand how someone can be as superstitious as I AND believe in fate and karma at the same time; and I am finding it even more difficult to explain why it is that confuses me so much. If someone wants to write that post for me, you know where I am.

So since your humble scribe failed to deliver the goods once again I'll do my best to provide an adequate substitute. Since a lot of you have probably never been to a race, and some of you may be planning to participate in or be a spectator for one this summer (in support of Team Molly Bear), I offer you a day in the life of a recreational "triathlete" - June 23 to be exact (technically starting June 22):

Friday, June 22, 2007, 5:30 - check all bolts and moving parts on bike; take front wheel off and place in the back of the car; collect and lay out all necessities for race day (some people use a checklist; I am not one of those people).

6:15 pm - consume a healthy dinner consisting of grilled chicken and whole wheat penne pasta with tomato sauce.

7 pm - go over all necessities again before packing my bag. The list of things going in the bag looks something like this: wetsuit(s), goggles, race shirt, bike shoes, sunglasses, helmet, running shoes, visor, large black towel, small black towel, sunscreen, race belt (to hold race bib with number).

There are also nutritional essentials for the race: two bottles for bike (one with sports drink, one with water) and one orange flavored gel (basically food in a pouch).

And nutritional essentials for pre and post-race: two bottles of water, one Gatorade, PBJ, banana, cereal bar(s).

And some details the superstitious freak in me tends to: I lay out my clothes for the next morning (khaki cargo shorts [which are worn over], race shorts, flip flops, long-sleeve black shirt, Miller Lite hat). I also take off my chain and wedding ring; put the ring on the chain; and put the whole thing in a small pouch containing a rosary. That pouch then goes in the pocket of the khaki shorts along with my iPod.

8 pm - leave packed bag by front door; put all drinks and PBJ in fridge; put cereal bars and banana in cooler bag; gel in bag with race gear. Go downstairs to lie down in front of the television.

8:10 pm - fall asleep on the floor with Molly.

9:30 pm - Go upstairs to shower and get in bed.

Before this race I slept like a rock. For the previous race I slept probably three hours before waking up for an hour and then falling asleep for two more hours. Before my first race last summer I slept for three total hours (you may remember me telling you this, or perhaps you read it as a quote from my wife in the Trenton Times?).

5 am - wake up; brush teeth; get dressed; go down for breakfast (oatmeal); gather everything.

5:15 am - pulling out of the driveway doing one last mental check; driving to Pittsgrove, NJ.

6:30 am - arrive at Parvin State Park and find a parking spot; leave everything in the car and head to registration. They make me sign a waiver that I believe says something about being physically able to perform the tasks ahead and agreeing not to file suit if it turns out I overestimated my fitness level. A young lady asks me how old I am, hands me a blue swim cap, and tells me I am in the first wave. I throw up a little in my mouth.

6:45 am - return to car with goody bag of stuff I'll never use and a T-shirt I'll never wear; eat cereal bar; unload car (it's freezing outside, I am literally shivering. I decide to leave the sleeveless, short wetsuit in the car and go with the full suit).

6:50 am - set up transition area: basically this is a parking spot for your stuff. It's where you go between the swim and bike, and then again between the bike and run; you hang your bike up on the rack and then lay your stuff out next to it in some organized fashion. As you may imagine, I prefer mine very neatly organized with everything laid out in the order which it will be used: large black towel flat on the ground; bike shoes at the foot of the towel with helmet on top of them and sunglasses/gel in the helmet; shirt on top of helmet; just above that pile are my running shoes with visor on top of them; in front of that, at the top of the towel, my bag (filled with all the things I will have removed from my person) and my small black towel draped over it; I hang my belt with race bib from the seat of my bike.

7:01 am - call my wife and tell her I am there, all set up, and in the first wave. I inform her it is freezing and I am slightly terrified. Disconnect promising to call as soon as I am done.

7:04 am - go to the end of the line for the men's room.

7:10 am - get to the front of the line where I realize I have waited for six minutes to access one of three urinals that have gone seemingly unused for the entire time I stood in line.

7:15 am - race director makes his first announcement - and I am paraphrasing: a bridge on one of the roads on the bike course was washed out in a storm earlier this year. Bike course is now 15 miles instead of 12. Sorry.

7:17 am - go down to the water to check the temperature (warmer than the air) and see how the buoys are laid out for the swim route.

7:25 am - change iPod from Carrie Underwood to The Game (I know, my iPod is the only place those two will ever perform back-to-back) and begin stretching. I am fairly certain I am going to throw up.

7:40 am - return to transition area; turn iPod off; put everything into my bag; put cell phone into seat pouch on my bike (I like to put it in there in case I get bored on the bike ride...or in case I need to call for help for any reason); start getting into my wetsuit.

7:45 am - wetsuit is on just in time for pre-race meeting; one final check of transition area set-up; slap on my swim cap and grab goggles.

7:50 am - walk down to the water realizing I heard not one single word of the pre-race meeting; I'm positive I am going to throw up; and I could really use that urinal again (but it took me five minutes to get the wetsuit on and I am not about to mess with that).

7:57 am - in the water waiting for the countdown; I get myself just inside the far left start buoy so I start from the farthest point away from the buoy to which we're swimming, but I have a good angle to that buoy and a high likelihood of swimming out on my own since people tend to take the shortest distance.

8 am - gun goes off for wave one of four; 150 arms start swatting around in the water; I get out with relative ease and limited contact with other swimmers.

8:04 am - I am to the farthest buoy, making a turn around it; I look back and see a ton of people behind me. There is plenty of energy left in the tank; considerably less water has been ingested than previous open-water swims.

8:08 am - Out of the water; light-headed; short of breath. I am running up the beach and people are cheering; it's kind of like being in one of those flashback scenes from CSI (the real one, none of the Miami or NY garbage) when all the background images are blurry and the voices and sounds appear to be coming out of an old tape player that's really low on batteries).

8:08 and change - I am pulling my wetsuit off and drying my feet on the towel; I pull on my race belt; throw on my shirt; stick the gel in my shorts; put on my helmet and buckle the strap; put on sunglasses; step into shoes; grab my bike and jog out of transition (I make it sound fast, but from the time I stepped out of the water to the time I jogged out with my bike nearly three minutes elapsed).

8:11 am - jump on the bike; clip into pedals; start pedaling.

This is the worst part of the race, in my opinion: It's the longest segment and it's pretty lonely. It also happens to be pretty uncomfortable.

I try to get into a groove at 20 mph or so, and get comfy in the aero position. The course is flat and has long straightaways, so this is not so hard to do.

8:30 am - suck down the orange gel and wash it down with water.

8:50 am - after sipping from the bottle of sports drink I attempt to return it to the bottle cage attached to the vertical bar on the lower part of my bike frame; I miss the cage and the bottle falls. This happens to people all the time. You just leave it. They're like $4. However, this time the bottle didn't fall all the way to the ground. It actually got stuck between my left foot/pedal and the bike frame ao that I was unable to pedal. This at roughly 20 mph (though decreasing rapidly). My options are to slow down and eventually stop so I can extract the bottle, or, what I decided to do, continue at current rate of deceleration and carefully reach down for the bottle. After some forceful pulling the bottle came free and I was able to pedal again. A young lady flies by me and says, "great save, that could have been ugly." I thank her, try to increase my speed, and watch her butt get smaller and smaller in front of me. I finally caught her at the bike dismount eight minutes later.

8:59 am - rack my bike; take off helmet and replace with visor; take off bike shoes and replace with sneakers; run out of transition. Takes just over one minute. As I run out I look down at my watch to see that I am at exactly one hour and know that with a sub 25 minute run (which is always my goal) I can beat my target time of 1:25 (which was set thinking the bike course was only 12 miles). Incidentally I have run a sub 25 minute 5k in exactly zero competitive events. In fact, just six days prior I ran a 26:45.

9:08 am - I throw an empty water cup on a pile of empty water cups and realize I've just passed the one mile mark in under eight minutes. My calves are really sore. I have never experienced the feeling of cramping calves before.

9:13 am - we reach the turnaround; the volunteers standing there tell us we're all doing great and we're half way there. I note my pace has slowed.

9:18 am - I grab a cup of water and don't even try to drink it, I just throw it toward my mouth realizing I need to giddy up for 1:25.

9:21 am - realizing there is not a lot of time left I pick up the pace. It seems like a good idea at the time. I have no idea where the finish line is, but I know it has to be close because my target time is approaching.

9:24 am - cross the finish line; hit the button to stop my watch; look up at the clock. The clock and my watch are off about three seconds, so go with their official time at 1:24.25.

I give my timing chip back and run straight to the bathroom. Not surprisingly, I no longer feel the need to throw up.

9:26 am - call to tell my wife I finished; Gavin answers the phone and yells, "did you win, Daddy?" Smiling I make my way to the post-race food where, since I know I have a PBJ and a banana in my car, the only thing that appeals to me is a chocolate covered donut.

9:30 am - pack up transition area; share a couple well-wishes with a few guys in my area; head to the car.

9:40 am - back on the road heading toward home. I eat my PBJ and banana and start sipping on my Gatorade. I estimate arrival around 11:05 am.

11:05 am - bumper to bumper traffic on the NJ Turnpike northbound, 30 miles from my exit. Suddenly I'd like to throw up again.

So that's about what it looks like. And let me tell you: I am not even a serious triathlete. There are guys out there who are far more intense, and do this almost every weekend. But hey, look at all the stuff I got done before 10 in the morning. Not a lot of people can say that about their hobbies.

We're taking Molly to the doctor in the morning to talk about her hearing. She has been feeling great lately and has been happy Molly again. All is good. I'll post again tomorrow after we see the doctor, and I promise to actually talk about Molly this time.