PITA- Running

Here it is- The last part of the last race report for the 2012 season. So far, the swim has been mediocre, the bike was abysmal with surprising results, and now it was time to run.

I had some gaffes coming off the bike. Could something in the race please go right!? Soon. Please. Here's what happened... I have an above average skill set in mounting and dismounting the bike. For the dismount, I unstrap my proximal velcro keeping the distal securely in place. I back my feet out of the shoes so that my heels are out but the toes are in. This gives me an opportunity to pedal until I arrive at the official dismount line. Next, I pull one foot completely out of the shoe, swing that leg over the bar, and coast with my body side-saddle-style until about 16 inches before the line. I step down with the unshod foot and slip my other foot from its holding cell. I hit the ground running into transition.

All of that actually happened exactly as I described. However, my second foot took the bike shoe with it. I must have rotated my ankle and unclipped. Now, I had one shoe on foot with one shoe on bike. I imagined that feeling was akin to when women break a heel, who for some reason start running. Very unbalanced and awkward.

On the bright side, the presence of the shoe confirmed a sneaking suspicion. I still had feet. It had been a while since I actually felt them. With the pre-race temps in the mid-40s, the water temps in the low 60s, and the chilly air on the bike, I hadn't had a real sensation south of my talus in over 4 hours. I still didn't feel anything now. But the evidence of the shoe clinking against the ground was enough to convince me that I was not walking on stumps.

Transition 2 was significantly faster than T1. Bike in rack. Shoes on those cold things below my ankles. Glasses, gloves, ear warmers off. Go Go Go. I posted the second fastest T2 time on the day.

The run course itself was a 2-lap, cursive T-shaped looking thing. Unlike the bike course, it was well marked (sorry, I just had to jab). We came out of transition and almost did a full lap around the lake. This was kinda nice as you could sometimes hear the announcer and the music out on the run.


The run was deceptively hard. There was only 1 noticeable hill, right around mile 2, which was the same hill around mile 6, then again at mile 8.5 and finally at mile 12 (all distances are approximated). The rest were all hidden. For example, the rolling hills between mile 2.5 to mile 3 (and then again later on) were false flats. I remember checking my Garmin and wondering why I was running such a slow pace compared to my effort (which would have been slow for just about anyone). The hill profile helped solve that issue later on.

The PITA run course was sparsely littered with some of the greatest volunteers. Normally when I do long stuff, there are lines of volunteers waiting on your every whim. In contrast, each aid station on race day was typically stocked with 1 adult and 2 children (mostly 10-year-old girls, IIRC). Obviously, the kids were doing all of the work while the adult was yelling at the kids to do all the work (most adults, in my experience, are super lazy in the presence of children). They had a system and I wasn't going to intervene. I dubbed a volunteer at each station "Water Girl." My reason for this was 3-fold: 1) I carry all of my gels and therefore only need water on the run course. 2) It is helpful to the volunteers when you communicate clearly your needs. 3) They were girls; 'Water Boy' would have been insulting.  Seriously, from the bottom of my heart, thank you to all of the Water Girls who took care of me during my run. Thank you very much.

There was another volunteer on the course that I'd like to thank as well. He was positioned near the 3.5 mile mark. This was the turn-around at the top, right end of the lake. He was playing his banjo, singing and having a jolly good old time doing so. 

Dear Sir,
I love you (ya know, in a platonic way). Just the simple fact that you came out to support our race shows how amazing of a man you are and the high quality of your character. I would also like to commend you on your musical talent for both the voice and the banjo.  Having said that, please don't take this the wrong way. Whereas your version of, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" was well played, having that particular song in my head for the next 7 miles was more than a bit annoying. If you had been banjo-ing out something more inspiring, such as "Hells Bells" by AC/DC (which I'm certain sounds awesome on the banjo), I may have had a faster run time. I am not blaming you for anything, simply making a musical request for something a little more masculine than a Judy Garland tune. The Beatles tune, "A Day in the Life" was a step in the right direction on lap 2. Again, thank you for your service.

With the make up of the course, it was easy to see my fellow competition. I needed to pass 5 people without getting passed myself. It was clear that I wasn't going to pass anyone on my first lap. I made it back near the transition area and headed out for a second round of Pain. By now, the sun was shining and things were starting to heat up to the upper-50s.

By mile 9, I might have actually been sweating. I was racing to 5th place but still had not made up ground on too many people. I passed one dude and was sitting firmly in 9th place. Then, it was clear that some bloke in a green kit had dropped out, or started walking, or was hanging out with the Water Girls. The point was that I just didn't see him anymore.

I was holding a pretty-good-for-me pace the entire way. The second lap featured a lot more PITA-thletes as more and more finished their bike leg and had entered the run course. I was able to spot, reel, and pass. This kept me motivated. I was ready to experience the normal cramping, bloating, pansy-type symptoms that plague me on most of my distance races. None came.

It was apparent, however, that I was running out of steam late in the race. Each successive mile was getting slower. Mile 10 was a 7:55. Mile 11 was an 8:00. Mile 12 was an 8:10. Mile 13 was down to 8:24. I stole competitor number 7's spot in the line-up in the 13th mile. He was hurting more than me.

I ended the race in 7th place. Ironically, I posted the 7th fastest run time. Had I not taken that 5-mile jaunt to nowhere at the beginning of the bike leg, I would have taken 5th (assuming all else equal).

For my efforts, I did manage to win my age group. Like I said, I took home a prize. The RDs decided to add just one more twist to the PITA. They gave out bricks as trophies. That was just the thing I wanted to carry back to my car after a long day of racing. And, should I win my AG in about 300 more races, I might have enough for a full patio.

PITA- Biking

At this stage in Banter history, I'm dead smack in the middle of a half-Iron distance triathlon called the Pain in the Alleghenies, belovedly know as the PITA. Thus far, I have dropped enough fertilizer to cover half the state of Iowa, swam through a forest of clumpy things that I hope were weeds, stubbed my toe on some shallow water rocks, and submerged myself in some muck. All in all, it's been a rather enjoyable, if not chilly, morning.

I came out of the water just behind Mike. Normally, I would have let a fellow competitor run his way into transition all by his lonesome. I'm not that quick in changing from swimming to running and I completely suck at removing my wetsuit. Most of the time, I'll stop in or near the water to disrobe. Not today. It was cold outside and I wanted to keep my neoprene jacket on as long as I could.

Luckily, Mike wasn't in a hurry either. We were both in the front row of the bike rack, his was just further down the alley. Watching us compete through transition would have been akin to watching a foot race between two slugs. I am proud to report that this slug won that race by a good 10 seconds (Aside: This should not be taken as a brag- it was a pretty horrible T1 time. At least I was warm. Except for my feet, which I couldn't feel anyway. End Aside.)

Heading out onto the bike, I was ready. Until about 1/3 of a mile later when I met this lady on her bike (Mike was right behind me). She was at an intersection and yelling out, "Do you guys know which way to go?" Honestly, I didn't. I had looked at the map. But, the road in real life looks much different than the little blue line, especially when you arrive on site before sunrise. She yells again, "I went both ways and saw nothing."

It was Banter-decision-making time, which is never really a good time. I turned right. True to the report, there was nothing. Not a marker, cone, sign, nor dead deer (whereas I'm not sure exactly how that last one would have helped me, I can attest that there was indeed no carcass).

Roughly a 1/2 mile down the road I hit pay dirt. I found a volunteer. And a cop. And a cone. (Still no meat.) Both the cop and volunteer pointed to turn down the bike path, a left hand turn. I do remember a left hand turn on the map. I'm on my way.

I followed the path for a short distance. It was a beautiful ride through the middle of a forest. Even better, none of the real cyclists were catching me just yet. I powered on thinking that I was going to get passed anytime soon, as is the norm for my races. The bike path ended onto a road. Since there was no sign or person stating otherwise, I kept the same general bearing. At one point, I risked a look back over my shoulder as I was certain someone was coming soon. Nothing. No one in front. No one behind. This was my first ping that things were not as they should be (which should have happened roughly 1.5 miles back).

I soon received my second, extra-loud ping: my road was coming to an end as it merged onto Route 86. Now, I don't claim to be an expert in, well, anything but I'm pretty darn sure that they don't allow triathlons to compete on the interstate. I turned around and headed back.

I finally made it back to where the volunteer and cop were stationed. I stopped and chatted with a different officer, "Do you happen to have a map?" Nope. But, he did admit that someone, his words now, "F____ed up." (Yup, me.) He told me that they had someone out there directing traffic now and there were many people who went askew on the ride. I should just head back and they'll point me in the right direction.

I was livid. I wanted revenge. I was ready to go on the war path. I was going to settle for nothing less than any of the following options:

• Refunded entry fee
• Free entry to next year's race
• My extra time biking to Jamestown, PA removed from my overall time
• The RD's first born child

I finally made it back to the real bike course and my Garmin said it was just over 20 minutes and just over 5 miles. (The map at the right, starting from the lake to the "Red House" was unique to only my route.) Having reached this spot after about 2 minutes into the race, simple math told me that I was only 18 minutes out of the way. I was darn near ready to call it a day as I knew the RD would never grant me his first born.

Ya wanna know what kept me in the race? (Hint: it wasn't the pleasant day and warm temperatures.) It was the drive. I didn't want to get back in the car and drive the near 3 hours back home having done less than 1 hour of racing. I now understand my 2 hour rule more clearly. I want my race to be longer than my one-way commute. Glad I nailed that down. Now, it was time to ride.

I had looked at the elevation profile many times in the past month. It does not do the ride justice. What you see (assuming you ignore the first 5 miles), but do not feel, is a 6 mile winding climb for the part of the bike. Then a 6 mile downhill. Then a brief, semi-flat (compared to the rest of the ride) out-and-back. Then an 8-mile climb. Succeeded by an 8-mile descent. And, just when you are starting to feel good about yourself, you have to start all over. When finished, you'll have climbed for 3800 feet.

I got to pass many, many people (including Mike). By the time I made it to the second loop, I noticed a couple of things. 1) There was indeed someone out there directing traffic to ensure losers hit the course correctly. 2) Fellow competitors were few and far between. 3) Biking in the rain and then the sun and then the rain and then the sun and then the rain and then the sun isn't that great when the temps have climbed only into the low 50s. It was the second fact disturbed me a little bit. Since I was late getting to the climb, I had no idea where I stood in this race. I assumed that the top athletes were almost done.

Shortly after starting the last climb, some woman in a car came by in the opposite. She announced that I was in 12th place. I had a hard time believing this intel. How could I have risen this far in the ranks? I remained skeptical. Not far off on the hill were 2 other cyclists (one of these people was the lady who started my ride before I went off in the wrong direction). I eventually passed them and deluded myself into thinking I was in 10th place.

Sure enough, I posted the 12th fastest bike time, even with the bonehead time penalty. According to the race results, I hopped off the bike in 10th place. I choose not to be too excited about my position. I had just biked 61 miles compared to the field's 56. I am not that good of a runner and have blown up several times over the course of 13.1 miles.

But, there was a carrot hanging out in front of me. I knew that the sponsors of the PITA had put up some really great prizes.

1st= Disc wheel.
2nd= New Wetsuit (hopefully one that could come off over your ankles).
3rd= Aero Helmet.
4th= Zoot triathlon shoes.
5th= Fuel belt.
6th-Infinity= Finishers medal and possibly age group award. 

If I were to get a good prize, I had to net pass 5 people. I did come home with a prize. I'll tell you what in the very near future.

WW- On Unnecessary Signs

I just got back from a busy, yet rewarding, trip to Arizona. Busy meaning that I got relatively little sleep. Rewarding in that I now have a sore throat and suspect I may have strep.

I was hanging out in Tucson, near the U of A (go Wildcats!) and would wake up an extra 30 minutes earlier than the rest of the clan to go running. The runs weren't anything special nor anything long. They were just enough to get the blood flowing and wake up the mind. I failed on both accounts but at least I got in some exercise.

Tuscon has this great running path that borders the Santa Cruz River Wash. For those of you who don't know about a Wash (I got disciplined by the locals for my ignorance), it is NOT a dead, dried up river despite its appearance. Apparently there is water during the rainy season, which, to my understanding, happens between April 1st and April 3rd. I stood corrected and apologized for wondering why they also didn't build a dam to keep the rocks in place.

One of the great aspects of this path was that they didn't force you into automobile traffic at intersections. In many places you could run under the road. However, at each underpass, they conveniently posted a sign that stated "Do not enter when flooded."

I laughed at the idiocy of the sign. Seriously, do people not already know this? Are there people who would look at the flood waters and go, "Hmm, I think I can make it,"? Sadly, I bet that sign was posted after an event happened. Some people just couldn't figure it out on their own. Naturally the government's only recourse was to post a sign. (As opposed to the highly unpopular policy of adding candidates to the annual Darwin Awards.)

Then I got to thinking, what are some other signs that are out there and shouldn't be necessary? (Ya know, because what else is there to do when running at excruciating slow paces in unfamiliar territory than think about the idiocy of others?) Of course, I asked my good friend Google for some help. There were a bunch. So I narrowed my search to water related incidences. Here's what we came up with:

As a triathlete, I probably would have swum for it.

Too bad they didn't post a reason why.

Stuff they don't teach you in science class.

Where?

Good thing they warned us.

This was all in good humor until I came across this sign, made especially for an idiot.

PITA- Swimming

This post is may just be the last of my race reports for the 2012 season. There's a good chance that I'll break it up into 3 separate posts. The reasons for this are as follows:

1. It was a Half Ironman, or 70.3, distance event and I seem to dedicate more writing time to longer races.
2. This may just be my last race report for the 2012 season. It's definitely the last triathlon report. Why would I want to rush that?

Without further adieu, I bring you the

 Pain in the Alleghenies- Swim Report

As always, the race report is set several hours before the gun goes off. I originally hemmed and hawed about doing this race, mostly because of the travel time. See, I am a lazy, lazy man and I hate driving any more than 2 hours for a race. This one was roughly 3 hours away and outside of my comfort window. I decided to bite the bullet when I recognized that I had some unfinished business in the sport and there weren't many opportunities left above the Mason-Dixon line.

Having just come off a less than stellar taper and an extra long and arduous week at work, the alarm went off at 3:00 am. I surmised that if I could sit on my arse for 3 hours before a race that I might as well be doing it behind the driver's wheel. Before I left, I made sure to practice good nutrition (I ate some toast with peanut butter) and good hydration (I had 1 cafe mocha in house and one for the road). Here's how the morning went:

• Before leaving, go to the bathroom
• Walk outside, notice the chilly 42º air and crystal clear skies.
• Pee one more time
• Drive about 90 minutes. Stop to stretch urinate
• Drink some sports beverage
• Drive about 60 minutes more. Pull over, turn on flashers, jump out of car, and run to a bush for an emergency liquid evacuation
• After 2 hours 45 minutes from my departure, finally arrive at the Alleghany State Park
• First order of business, hit the bathroom to relieve myself

After picking up my race packet, I went to transition to set up. They had assigned areas for the different races happening. The closest group of bikes was reserved for the duathletes, the middle area was for the sprint triathletes, the furthest away was reserved for the idiots half Iron athletes.

Normally when I tri, I am a minimalist. Not so today. Here's a pic of my bike set up (black ride, second in facing you). On the seat, you'll find my shirt. I decided to swim topless (pic unavailable- lousy censors). I reasoned that with the near freezing temps it would be more tolerable on the bike ride if my shirt wasn't pre-saturated with lake water. In the helmet, I placed my usual sunglasses. Then, I added arm-warmers (thank you Mommy for last Christmass' gift!), socks, and gloves (not normally needed for summer racing).

As this was the day after the equinox, Mother Nature decided to prove summer was indeed over by making the high temperature for the day in the low 60s (in hindsight, I doubt it actually got there) and serenading us with no less than 5 separate rain showers over the course of the day. I felt justified with all of the gear.

After racking my bike, I felt it only appropriate to go to the bathroom (it had been only 20 or so minutes since my last potty break). Upon returning, I decided it would be a pretty good idea to crash the duathlon. They were blocking the path between me and my bike. Neither them nor me were too pleased with the situation. Since there were more of them against my lonesome, I decided it would be worth while to move out of the way. 

The swim course was to take place in a small pond. The 2-loop course was tucked nicely under a backdrop of precious landscape. Having never been to the Allegheny Mountains, I was grateful for the view during an otherwise dismal day.

The water temp was a blustery 62º which, while being significantly warmer than the air, was still quite chilly on my feet. This was yet another race that had no good starting position in the water. We waded out to about thigh deep level. Some dude arbitrarily stopped (I think he had to pee) and the rest of us morons stopped with him. There was not a marker or cue. We just lined up next to that guy like a bunch of lemmings ready to charge off the cliff. Most of us were too cold (me) or too busy peeing in our wetsuits (also me) to think deep thoughts about the exact position of the starting line.

Shortly thereafter the horn blew and we were off. There is one thing I can say about the Score-This people in triathlon race organizers, they can find a weed-laden pond in the middle of nowhere and force a group of losers to swim right through with the best of them. The Summer Sizzler featured a well-grown crop of underwater vegetation.

The PITA lived up to its other acronym during the swim portion, mired with clumps of tumble-seaweed. This was the kind of mass patches that, once you realized your weren't being attacked by the Swamp Thing, was debilitating to my stroke. Finding a rhythm was more than a challenge.

To top things off, the back nine wasn't so deep. Should you go askew by even as little as 3 meters from the direct line between the buoys, you'll be met with only 16 inches of water in which to swim. Go on, ask me how I know this. Further, that portion of the lake bottom was quite rocky, which is not so comfortable on now-numb feetsies.

After the second lap, we were able to get out of the weeds as we headed for the swim exit arch. My typical triathlon swim technique calls for me to swim as far into shore as possible. I know how to alter my stroke to get very close to the shore. Once my altered style hits bottom, it's time to stand up. As luck would have it, the PITA continued with its swim course surprises. We only thought we'd reached land. Soon-to-be-benounced to us was the fact that there were about 12 inches of fine, slush-like sediment material coating the pond floor. Naturally, one cannot expect to stand firm on poorly packed silt. Nor can one expect to run quickly though the sludge.

I finally exited the water in just under 33 minutes, which was good enough for 11th place overall. I would have guessed that my swim time would have been significantly slower.

Little did I know that in the very near future, things were about to get much worse for me. Stay tuned for the next exciting episode in the "Banter's Idiocy Chronicles" AKA the PITA-Biking report.