Race Report- Keuka Lake Triathlon 2019

A word about my training lately= _____________. See there are no words to describe my training since there really hasn't been a lot of training lately. For all you kids out there, this is not the most ideal way to prepare for a competition. If one wishes to see results, one must put in the work. Shocker- I know.

Well, fresh off my successes at Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish) formerly and currently known as Quassy, if I were to be open with you, I wasn't in a great place athletically. I had learned from that race that I was clear to start run training again. I had also learned on that following Monday that I really couldn't walk. Muscle soreness was immediately apparent. Couple that with DOMS and I had a double helping of chaos in my quads and my calves. Of interest, my hamstrings were still as fresh as could be. The discomfort in my legs led to several sleepless nights where I was just battling to lie down without whimpering.

When you match the inability to walk with the inability to sleep, most of your energy is focused on surviving through the day and not get fired from your day job. After the day job is complete, you get to do what you want, which in my case was returning to a drooling vegetable. If only drooling on yourself counted as training.

It wasn't until the next Saturday that I actually felt like I could do something athletically. The major problem with this feeling was that I had a backlog of chores that also didn't get done while drooling and I had the Keuka Lake Triathlon Olympic distance race scheduled for Sunday morning. Honestly, I didn't want to do the Olympic distance race because:

1. I'm still way out of running shape
2. I want to start run training soon and the longer the race, the longer the delay
3. Oly distance races are the devil

I contacted the race director and asked if he wouldn't mind me switching from the Olympic distance to the sprint distance, or halfway to the goal. This is a welcomed request for the RD since the Oly is more expensive than the sprint. They get all my money for half the work. The request was approved.

Race morning arrived and I got to campus early for the Banter; T-minus 30 minutes before they close transition. Most people have already been there for an hour. I sincerely have no idea what they do to pass the time. I went through packet pick-up, bike set-up and placed all of my gear in transition in about 20 minutes. They weren't kicking me out for another 10 minutes and I didn't know what to do with myself. Even worse, the sprint tri gets started about 45 minutes after the Olympic people. There's something special about the 'hurry up and wait' mentality of sport. I flirted chatted with Pants and several other hotties athletes that were racing in the later heats.

My race strategy for today was going to be similar to last week's half-iron. Swim hard. Bike hard. Do something resembling running.

Above is a profile view of my wave. Seriously, I'm the guy in front. I won my heat by over 30 seconds and was 2nd overall in the swim. I got beaten by some high school boy, who edged me by about 15 seconds. He was in the 1st wave of the race to my 2nd wave. Neither of us knew anything about each other.

The HS boy took 2 minutes 28 seconds in transition while I took only 56 seconds. In years past, I been even slower than this kid. My transitions weren't pretty. It was one of the major improvement areas I identified and worked diligently to correct. So I started the bike in 1st place. The data suggests that I passed him on the bike. Weird wording, I know. The kid beat me out of the water by :15, lost transition by about :90. Therefore, I was winning by time. But because he started the race 5 minutes earlier than I, he was physically further down the course than me. He was in front but I was in the lead.  I have no idea who he was when I passed. (Aside: Of course, I knew exactly zero of these stats, including my placement in the race until much, much later. /End Aside 2)

I started the bike not caring where I was in the race. That's because there were a lot of races happening at the same time. The Olympic distance losers racers were in full swing. There was an aquabike race happening. There was a duathlon happening. There was the 1st wave of the sprint tri happening. That means there was a steady stream of people out in front of me all for different reasons.  The only course of action was to hammer the bike.

The bike course is a semi- out and back. You go down this clunky lakefront road. Turn right onto a main highway. Go up a hill, down a hill, turn around and go back up and come back down. You turn off the main highway just shy of the clunky lakefront road. I posted the 2nd fastest bike time of the sprint triathletes. Because of our differing swim skills, I was able to finish the bike 2 minutes ahead of the guy who posted the fastest bike time. Not that there were any spotters or stats-giving people on the course. I was pretty sure that I was near the front. I didn't know that I WAS the front. I have never been here before, being in position to win the race.

The problem with my current skill set was that I had no legs to run on. As recently as 2 days ago, I didn't have enough health to go for a jog. In the prior month, I had only done 1 total run, and that was a 13.1 mile run leg of a race. Sprint triathlons are poorly named in that there is no actual sprinting involved. There is, however, some much harder efforts than all of the other distances. In my visions of the race, I was gunning to hold 8 minute mile paces (<-- not champion-type speeds). I came out of transition giving it my all.

Possibly the best race pic ever taken of me.

What most people don't tell you about taking a hiatus from running is the burn in your lungs when you restart the discipline. Did I take up smoking and not know it? Your alveoli seem to shrink with the lack of effort. So, not only were my legs on fire from trying to outrun my fitness, my lungs were on fire from trying to outrun my fitness. The run was also an out and back with the turn around 1.5 miles away. I clocked the first mile at a 7:29. That was 30 seconds faster than I thought possible. With the sensations emanating from the legs and chest, I didn't think it was sustainable. I made the decision to stay on the throttle until biology forced me to slow/ stop. I hit the turn around and the volunteer in charge of that location wasn't expecting anyone yet. That should have been a pretty good sign. I didn't have the brain capacity/ oxygen to adequately analyze her reaction.

As I headed for home, I was able to see that I was being followed. Some of those athletes were going to turn around, others were going to continue on to the Oly course. Some were duathletes, for unknown reasons. Most were going faster than me. My only option was to work as hard as possible. I got a few pick-me-ups from seeing my most excellent tri-peeps. The Boy was heading out on his Olympic tri bid. One of the guys on my tri club, the Grim Reapers Fitness NorthEast, was closing in fast. Pants, who gave out a high 5, was doing her best to run down Mr. Pants (she almost made it!). My second mile clocked in at a 7:32. Still way speedier than any metric would have predicted.

At mile 2.5 out of 3.1, I got passed. A very tall and very speedy athlete went by as smooth and as graceful as a runner could be. A quick glance down at his calf and I saw that he was in my race but not my age group. Honestly, at this point, I was gunning for an age group win, meaning that I didn't think I was directly competing with this bloke. Even if I was directly competing with him (which I was), there was absolutely no way that I could have ran with him. Perhaps if he was running 3 while I was running 1 mile, I might have had it in me. The Banter tank was nearly depleted. At mile 2.9, I passed the Wife and dogs who were spectating and cheering. I was so happy to see them. Between the pass, the Wife, the doggies, and the prospect of finally being done with this race, I managed to speed up for the last mile which beeped in at a 7:20. I crossed the finisher's line about a minute later.

I went up to the guy who passed me and congratulated him on an excellent run. He outran me by roughly 3 minutes and crossed the line 34 seconds in front of me. He asked me the same question that I wanted to ask him, "Where are we at in the race?" Neither of us had any idea.

A few minutes later, they posted the preliminary results. The tall runner guy was in 1st place over all. The Banter took 2nd! I was sincerely surprised and dumbfounded. The highest I've ever finished overall in a race was 4th place. This was my first time on the overall podium. Ever! My GRFNE teammate took 3rd.

Special shout out to the excellent accomplishments of the mini tri-family:

The Outlaw- 1st place overall (in dominating fashion) in the Oly
The Boy- 12th place overall/ 4th in age group in the Oly
Pants- 22nd place overall/ 4th amongst the womens/ 1st age group 

As I reflect on the race, I'm still relishing in the effort on the day. I executed as well as I could have hoped for. Second place in the swim, second place on the bike, and 23rd place on the run was good enough for 2nd place overall. (Aside 3: The champ was the guy who posted the fastest bike split and the fastest run split. He's the real deal. /End Aside 3) I can't help but wonder how I would have fared if I had been able to do any run training in the past couple of blocks of training. I use those thoughts to fuel the next block. I've started running again.

IMCT 70.3(ish)- The Run

This is the conclusion of a 3 part series where I recap the shenanigans of my weekend at IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy. Part 1- The Swim can be found here. Part 2- The Bike can be found here.

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Allow me, if you will, to paint the daunting picture of the challenge that lied ahead. In mid April, I developed a hamstring injury. At first I thought it was something I could run through. Nope. At second I thought it was something I could take a couple of days off and get better. Nope. At third I thought I could take nearly 2 weeks off and get better. Nope. At fourth I thought I could take an entire month off and get better. This race was going to be the test that decided if the 4th hypothesis would be validated or refuted. To sum up, had only run twice in the past 45 days, for a grand total of 7 miles and my last run was roughly 1 month prior, to the day. To make the picture even worse, I wasn't much of a runner to start with.

In case you were brought here against your will but for some reason decided to stay anyway, allow me to explain. No, there is too much, let me sum up... 70.3 races typically feature a 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, and a 13.1 mile run.  IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy did not feature a 1.2 mile swim (in their defense, they really wanted to but Mother Nature had better ideas).  IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy did not feature a 56 mile bike. It was closer to 53.5 miles, which was pretty okay due to the ridiculously challenging hill profile. Well, IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy finally did something right in the form of the run distance. Just my luck.

When asked about my race goals, I had a clear picture of what I wanted to accomplish. I wanted to run without hamstring pain. That was it. I had predicted that I was going to be in a significant amount of discomfort on the run due to attempting a half marathon on no training. I was allowing myself to hurt pretty much anywhere with the exception of the back of my left thigh. And I had a strategy in place towards that end.

As I came out of transition, I was surprised as to how well I was actually feeling. I expected to be a bit more stiff due the crash while entering transition. I also feared that I over-biked. My bike plan allotted for about 215 watts (normalized for those who understand what that means). What I achieved was 229 watts. This translates to about 8% harder than I wanted and the 215 number was already at the top edge of what I was supposed to bike and feel good, according to science. As I started to run, I honestly felt like I could run, ya know, relative to myself anyway.

My run strategy was simple. Don't run too fast. (That was a joke and you were supposed to laugh. Running fast is never an option for me.) The concept remains, I needed to control the effort especially early on.

The hill profile was against me. The first mile was a nice, extended downhill. Downhills are good for speed, bad for leg injuries. The problem is that as you stride, your leading foot lands a couple of inches lower than it launched. Not only does this extend your leg a little further than normal, which can exacerbate a tight muscle, the extra vertical distance results in higher impact forces as your foot lands on the asphalt. I made it a point to stay nice and relaxed without attacking that section of the course.

It was obvious that I was the only one on the course with this strategy. As I controlled my descent, I got passed. And passed. And passed. The stream of people who ran by was relentless. I smiled anyway. Because I was running!

Now, before I got ahead of myself, I still had to remember that during one of those failed healing hypotheses, I felt good for about 3.5 miles before the injury popped up. Therefore, I was looking for excuses to slow myself down and not race the run part of the course. At mile 1.3, I stopped to go to the bathroom. At mile 4, I had a conversation with the girl handing out gels so that I could get a flavor that wouldn't make me hurl. At mile 6, I mixed a nice batch of ice and water so I could get something cold to drink. When the water was gone, I dumped the ice down my pants. There's nothing like a numb crotch to keep the pace at bay. And, the main point of this part of the story is just to brag that I was still running!

The course featured a lasso-shape. You ran down the handle and out to the loop. You did the loop twice, including the annoying out and backs designed to regulate the distance and ensure that we did the expected number of miles for at least one of the disciplines for the day,  and hit the handle again for the trip to home base. As I started my second loop, there were still swarms of people passing and passing. And there were even more swarms of people entering the course. The passing parade was going to continue. It didn't matter. I was still running!

Right around mile 9, my lack of run training started to rear its ugly head. Fatigue was settling in and building a house to ensure permanency. I was searching for some kind of encouragement. As I crested one of the hills, a small crowd of people started cheering for me by yelling, "Go Kristy, go!" I didn't have the heart to tell them that my name wasn't Kristy because it was the perk I needed. Shortly thereafter, a woman ran by who was clearly struggling too and I felt bad since no one was giving her any attention. I was still running!

At mile 10, the hurt locker was officially opened. It was at this point of the run where the aforementioned yet highly predictable pain made an appearance in my legs. It started with early warning signs in my lower quads. I ran on. By mile 11, I had stepped into the hurt locker completely. Both legs were starting to cramp. Every once in a while, the right one would attempt to seize. I entered negotiations with my legs. I agreed to walk for 30 seconds out of every 2 minutes and the legs agreed to not fall off at the hips. My previous pace was now slow shamed as I made the turn off the loop, onto the handle, and headed for home. This is the time when most runners would get a boost and the end simply feels near. Not this guy. The passing parade was in full force. I was still running(ish)!

To add insult to potential injury, the hill profile was conspiring with my legs to work against me. Remember that 'problem' I was discussing at the beginning of the post about the dangers of running downhill? Yeah, well, running up that hill wasn't much of a picnic. (Aside: Come to think of it, at my pace, I could have busted out a picnic without too much of a dent in speed or dent in the picnic. /End Aside.) To put this in perspective, my pace for mile 9 was 8:40. Mile 10 was 9:39. Mile 11 was 10:40. Mile 12 was 11:26. Mile 13 was 12:22. My average pace fell from 8:45 to 9:30. You could watch the misery unfold just through the numbers.

At the end of the day, my official run time was 2:05.00. This was the 108th fastest in my age group, 634th fastest versus the boys, and 825th fastest overall. All of that swimming, biking, and plodding left me with an official time of 5:05.15 for 370th place in the race, 47th in my age, and 319th in my gender. And, my legs hurt everywhere, except, ironically for my hamstrings. I'll call that a win!

For your effort in making it through the series, I'll reward you with the many race faces of the Banter. Thanks for reading.

IMCT 70.3(ish)- The Bike

This is part 2 of 3 in a series where I recap the shenanigans of my weekend at IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy. Part 1- The Swim can be found here.
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Transition 1
When last we left our hero, he (meaning me) had just come out of the water in pretty decent shape. And I use the word "shape" liberally here. I've been in kind of a funk lately due to a hamstring injury. When people asked me what my race goals were, I answered honestly, "To race without hamstring pain." That's how bad it's gotten for me. The typical follow-up question was, "What are you going to do if it hurts?" Honestly, I had absolutely no idea. This day was going to be an adventure.

The run from the lakeshore to transition was to be my first major test. All I had to do was exit the water and run up this little path to my bicycle. I'd be lying to you if I told you I wasn't a little nervous about this feat. I was faced with unknown choices that were roiling around in that chunk of mostly blank proteus material known as my gray matter. One potential outcome was that the hammy would hurt so bad that I would dnf in transition 1. Another was that I would feel some sort of twinge and continue racing, while evaluating the sensation on the bike. The final, best case scenario, was that I would feel absolutely normal (as if there's anything that could be considered 'normal' in my world) and forget that I even had an issue in the first place.

I know, the suspense is killing you. Well, since I've been openly clear that this post is part 2 of 3, I clearly did not dnf in T1. As to the real result of the test, I don't have a great answer. I did feel some tightness in my hamstrings. However, this was a different type of semi-discomfort than I remember from a month ago. It could have been the injury poking it's head through the effort or it could have been caused by the fact that I have the flexibility of a recently timbered piece of lumber. Since option 1, dnf'ing in transition, was officially off the table, I headed for my bike.

The Bike
True story, I don't have a lot of friends, (Note 1: By choice. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. /End Note.) I prefer quality over quantity. So, if there's any chance that I've donned the title of 'friend' upon you, there's a decent chance that you are a quality individual. Enter Pants (<-- which is an hysterical statement on multiple levels). Pants is the most recent addition to my inner circle of people that I've befriended. Honestly, this is an awkward introduction for Pants (linky to her bloggy thingy). For 1, she's one of the few females that have made their way in. This is partially because I'm horribly intimidated by womens. And this is partially because most womens can't stand me. Pants, for some reason, chipped her way through my inferiority complex and tolerates the weirdness emitted by my presence. I don't get it either. (Note 2: At some point, I might have to explain why she's called "Pants". That point is not now./ End Note 2.)

Click to see the Bottle of Unusual Size

The only reason I'm even discussing Pants at this point in the story is that she got me a gift right before the race. She bought me a water bottle with the caption of "Have fun storming the castle". Whereas this might not seem blog-worthy, I can assure you that it's quite significant. First, rarely do any of my friends feel the need to spend their hard-earned cash on the likes of me. Second, Pants has taken the opportunity to learn about my true loves in life. I'm a huge Princess Bride fan. In fact, I can't think I've ever met anyone who is a bigger PB nerd than myself. This homage to the PB was an excellent addition to ease my pre-race concerns. Bonus- it's a 26 ounce bottle, meaning that I my pre-mixed liquid nutrition bottle was less concentrated and more palatable. Pants has scored additional, unexpected points with this gift!

The bike ride at IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy is currently the most challenging on the WTC's half iron circuit. Take a gander at the elevation comparison which I found somewhere on a social media feed. My Garmin listed the elevation gain at 3891 feet, to make the ride a little more challenging than advertised. To add to the difficulty, the course wasn't slated to be the full 56 miles. I clocked in at 53.66 miles, which is pretty close to what the race organizers mapped out. This is also the reason why the race gets an (ish) disclaimer, since it wasn't even projected as a full 70.3, even if you disclude the shortened swim.

I left transition with a pretty good knowledge of the course, at least with as much knowledge as one of my limited intelligence can boast. The Outlaw and I drove the course yesterday and highlighted several of the more interesting points on the course. That excursion took about 90 minutes in the van. All I can remember is that mile 22 was the harshest and there was 1 point on the route which could be considered 'technical' due to the downhilliness and S-curved shape of the road. My hope for the ride was that I could exceed 20 mph while keeping my power levels at a manageable limit, which is around 215 watts.

As I undulated around the outback of Connecticut, I was reminded as to how spoiled I am for living in western New York, which might be the only time I'll ever admit this. I will often publicly complain about the dismal state of my residence. I will, from here on out, never complain about the condition of the roadways in my vicinity. One of the reasons that the ride was not a full 56 miles was due to road construction on the course. I'm guessing that the entire state of Connecticut repairs about 3 total miles of road surface a year with a smidgeon of this year's allocation going to a part of the race course. That's a win for future generations of Quassians, since the rest of the course was an endless vibrational existence.

I deluded myself into thinking that the mile 22 hill would be met with a rather benign ride back to the park. I didn't anticipate that the never ending thud-thud-thud of the roadway know as middle Connecticut would mess up my aerobars. At mile 25, my right arm plummeted a few inches lower than normal. I thought for a moment that there was something majorly wrong with my bike. I successfully pulled my right pad up to it's normal position. It stayed there until the next major bump, which was roughly 7 seconds later. Boom, back down to the uncomfortable position. I was able to pull it back up.

This process of bump, uncomfortable aerobar position, pull back up repeated itself for the duration of the ride. That included the technical S-curved section of the road. Now, I have minimal skills in most things sport. Descending is on my relative short list of strengths. It's weird to me that not everyone has the ability to relax and go downhill efficiently. It's free speed without doing any work. Just sit back and let gravity transfer out the potential energy that you've worked so diligently to store up and release the kinetics. As I traversed this section, passing several people on the way down, I slammed on my brakes around the 2nd half of the S-hook. There was a guy lying face down near the end of a guard rail. His bike was nowhere to be seen. Several athletes/ saints had abandoned their race to provide aid to this guy. I was ready to toss in my race to ensure that this bloke survived the day. One athlete took charge of the situation and waved athletes through the crash. He didn't want to cause a greater commotion for the next wave of athletes attempting to navigate this section of road. (Note 3: It's fun to be on the receiving end of excellent people who have the best interest of others in mind. The world needs more people like this guy! /End Note 3.) I made a pledge to find the next place where there were police, race officials, or anyone associated with the outside world to send emergency assistance to this guy. About 3 minutes later, there was a batch of sirens as police and first responders raced their way to the accident.

Aside: Further research has learned me that the guy skidded out underneath the turn's guardrail. His bike was in pretty bad shape. He suffered a broken clavicle and was in the hospital recovering from the incident. /End Aside.

The rest of the ride featured me battling the clock and that pesky aerobar problem. A successful ride of that distance, to me, means that I enter transition at 20 mph or faster. According to the Garmin, my bike time was 2:42.23 a speed of 19.8 mph. Not bad but just under my window of success. According to the official race results, I biked 2:42.29. So 6 seconds slower. However, they posted my speed at 20.2 mph. I'll go with the official!

Aside 2: Normally, I'm one of the more graceful entrants into T2. I've got it down to a science. I loosen my velcro bike straps and pull my feet out of the shoes. Then, as the dismount line approaches, I side-straddle the bike with both legs on the same side. As I cross the line, I step down and hit the ground running. Well, there was a dude just in front of me as we approached the line. He took to the middle of the lane. Totally acceptable and I took the right side. Just as he crossed the line, he biffed something resulting in a lost shoe. This lost shoe resulted in him veering sharply right, directly into my path. The pavement wasn't as dry as it could have been due to the high humidities and fog levels. When you combine the speed of my approach, lost shoe, dude in my path, and wet pavement, my ability to take evasive action was reduced to skidding on my backside with the bike on top of me. And I lost a shoe of my own. I was able to recover myself, shoe, and bike before the other bloke was able to gain his shoe. Sub-Aside: He actually expected me to give it to him. I was a bit tiffed at the encounter, was not exhibiting very sportsmanlike behavior, and ignored his request. I entered transition ahead of him. /End Sub-Aside. On the bright side of this mini-crash, I had completely forgotten about my hamstring problem as I ran my bike into transition. This amnesia wouldn't last long. /End Aside 2.

The bike effort gave me the 18th best bike split of my age group, out of 324 athletes. This was 144th fastest time amongst men (no idea how many dudes were in the race) and 150th fastest overall (roughly 2000 people). I am pleased.

The most challenging part of the day remained- The Run. Tune in shortly to hear that debacle. Same Banter time. Same Banter channel.

IMCT 70.3(ish)- The Swim

Okay, just in case you are unfamiliar with the blog or have minimal skills of deduction, this is a triathlon focused site. Once upon a time, I did an awful lot of race reviews. It's time I dust off that old ambition and get to writing things I know about... Which are really recaps of things I've already completed. For those of you who have access to my data feed, don't worry, there's some stories to tell. So, without further adieu (because really, who actually wants more adieu anyway?), I bring you my race report from Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy. Be forewarned, these can get a little wordy, so buckle in.

Pre-Race
Early this year, I found myself in the hunt for an early season half iron race. In years past, I would hit a semi-local race called the Pain in the Alleganies. It was the most difficult and most fun half I've ever done. Sadly, only about 7 other people agreed with me and the race was canceled. Luckily, there was IM Syracuse 70.3. I did that a few times. Then they canceled that race. (Note: I am suspicious that I might be the half-iron kiss of death./ End Note) I hit the interwebs looking for a June race that would pique my interest.

There were basically 2 that I could find in my time frame. They were Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy (hillier and harder) and IM 70.3 Eagleman, formerly and currently known as Eagleman (fast and flat). I reached out to the Outlaw (link to his bloggy thingy), friend, athlete, triathlete, client, and all-around excellent guy. He was looking to do a race right around that time, too. He made the mistake of letting me choose. I had to resort to the data to help in the decision. See, I have this unwritten race time to travel ratio rule. The rule is simple, I don't want to travel more hours for a race than the number of hours I'll be racing. So, that means about 1.5 hour travel for a sprint distance (Note 2: I round up to the nearest half hour for those of you getting ready to balk at my times. /End Note 2). I'll go up to 2.5 hours for an oly, 5.5 hours for a HIM, and roughly 79 hours for a full iron. Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy is 5.5 hours away (right on the edge of the rule) while IM Maryland, formerly and currently known as Eagleman is 7+ hours. Ironman Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy wins. (Note 3: The Outlaw really wanted to do the other race but was too pansy to speak up about it. /End Note 3)

IMCT Connecticut 70.3(ish), formerly and currently known as Quassy, is located in the middle of a nowhere state. Seriously, other than a minor college or two, I can't think of any reason why someone would visit the state. The race listed as being located in a town called Middlebury. I can't think of a more appropriate name for a town in this setting.

Check-in to the race was on the Saturday before race day. Due to the copious numbers of people registered for the race, they divided the check-in based on race numbers. Smaller numbers got to register early. Bigger numbers got to register late. The Outlaw is an All World Athlete (AWA), meaning that he got a small number. The Banter is an All World Nobody, meaning that he got a large number. (Note 4: Ironically, they assigned me #1974, which is my birth year, so I ain't complaining about an awesome coincidence!/ End Note 4) In theory, we were supposed to check-in several hours apart. I had intention of schmoozing a volunteer or 2 to let me check-in early. As it turns out, I didn't need my schmoozing skills (which are outstanding, by the way). The volunteers couldn't have cared less as to your race number, AWA, or AWN status. I checked in with the cool people.

They left us instructions as to how to rack your bike. I think I nailed it!

While there, we took a walk around the park to check out the venue. We saw a sign that summed up the triathlete's creed towards training.

I only wish I were joking. I met no fewer than 3 blokes on race morning who informed me that this would be their first swim of the year. Not first open water swim, but first actual swim. The swim course looked rather pleasant. It's a 1-loop triangle shaped path with the buoys on your right.

The Swim
One of the major concerns about this race is the lack of parking anywhere near the venue. Yes, it's in an amusement park called Quassy. I had these delusions of grandeur. And then I saw the park. It's slightly larger than your local summer carnival, if carnival grounds came with a couple of water slides. With a 6:30 am race start, we had to drive to a distant lot and get on the school bus/ shuttle to get us to the park. The Outlaw, traditionally, is one of the first people to arrive to any given race. The Banter, traditionally, arrives as they are kicking people out of transition. We split the distance and arrived on site about 5:45 am. That gave us about 15 minutes to set stuff up, or about 10 more minutes than I need, or about 90 minutes less than the Outlaw needs.

A quick glance around showed that the day wasn't as bright as it could be. There was a distinct haze in the form of a nice fog obscuring the view of an otherwise picturesque scene. At about 6:15, I was standing in line at the port-o-potty trying to perfectly time my last elimination of the day when it was clear that the race wasn't going to start on time. For 1, there were still athletes arriving from the shuttle bus system. For 2, there was no one yelling fervently as these athletes to 'hurry up' or 'you can't go in' or 'gtfo'. For 3, the excitement in the air was at an all-time lull, which is contrary from what you'd expect for a line that might be a few minutes longer than time left before the start.

After finishing my business, I moseyed on down to the lake front. I was circa 6:40. Buzz was that the race was now slated to start at 7:00. At 6:50, they made the announcement that the swim was to be shortened from a 1.2 mile swim to a 750 yard swim or about 0.4(ish) miles. A collective sigh went out amongst several athletes. Roughly 12 people, including the Outlaw and myself, started cursing our luck. We should have read that swim sign suggestion far earlier in the season. (Note 5: I was honestly supportive of the change. Due to the safety concerns of the swim and the collective triathlete's propensity to not be as prepared for that leg of the race, the lifeguards needed to be able to spot struggling athletes. Visibility was maybe 30 yards from the shore and got less as you made your way out into the lake. A shortened swim is far greater than a canceled swim. /end Note 5)

While awaiting our now re-postponed swim start, I met a guy named Frank. He would have been racing if it weren't for his recovering from a surgery (I think). Frank was taking pics of friend of his. I busted out the schmoozing skills I didn't use yesterdayand got him to snap a pic of me. Then I got him to text it to me. He is a much better photographer than I, and tossed in a bonus shot of the depth of the field, including the fog, for your viewing pleasure. I look forward to racing Frank in the near future, should life allow it.

Doing my best to not stare at the hotties on my left and right sides

Photo courtesy of Frank 

The swim was slated to be a rolling start. This was my first attempt at this style of racing. I had this vision that a rolling start would be similar to how they start runners at major marathons. You line up according to self-seeded abilities. The gun sounds and the athletes funnel into the water, already pre-sorted on shore. What I got was different. We were supposed to be called into the water in groups of 2-6 at a time separated by 3-8 seconds. This is more what a time trial start is like. Sadly, the first 50 athletes or so, including the Outlaw, ignored protocol and just went for it. There was a second, smaller group that waited their tiny amount of time. That's when the swim organizers stepped up their blockade game and got the athletes under control, which just so happened to be about 10 feet in front of me. They went to the 2-4 athletes every 3-8 seconds or so. I honestly couldn't figure out how they decided who and how long in between. They were using the force, or something similar. (Note 6: Word on the street is that they abandoned the rolling start protocol even before they made it halfway through the field, when it was clear that they wouldn't get everyone in the water in a timely manner. The race began and ended with a mass swim start, with a rolling start in between. /End Note 6)

As I entered the water, the swim and spotting was perfect. As I made the turn around the first buoy, it was clear that spotting the pathway was more challenging than the view on the shore would have led me to believe. This gives credence to the shortened swim decision. I found myself spotting the kayaks as much as the buoys. The way back into shore was especially difficult to navigate, since there were clearly athletes that had seeded themselves poorly, causing congesting and the need to go around several athletes. Plus, the fog had thickened.

The Garmin had the swim distance at 880 yards for a total time of 11:58. The official results said that my swim time was 11:58. Score 1 for the Banter and his ability to hit the lap button at the appropriate time. Minus 1 point for his inability to swim straight (although I doubt I did an extra 130 yards). Note the Finisher's Pic below and the level of fog.

I'm the guy with his cap already off

That 11:58 was good for 5th in my age group, 63rd amongst men, and 77th overall. Not to shabby.

Tune in later for more exciting action as the Banter takes to the middle of nowhere's version of a bike ride. There's lots more to tell.

Triathlon's Little Surprises

It should come as no surprise that I'm a big fan of triathlon. There are lots of reasons. To name a few:

• It keeps me healthy
• It's 200% more fun than it's single sport constituents
• It allows me to wear skintight clothing in public

And every once in a while, triathlon tosses me a surprise which boosts my admiration for sport. One recent such surprise happened this weekend at a tiny, local Olympic distance race affectionately called "A Tri in the Buff".

To be honest, the day didn't start off as pleasantly as I'd have wished. The park manager had cancelled the swim (more on this in a future post) so I walked into transition in a foul mood. ATITB and I do not have a good history together. If there's any race that I've flubbed up something, it typically happens here. I don't do it on purpose and I can't explain why. For instance, I've gone awry on the swim course. I've missed my turn on the bike course. I've actually ran on the run course. All of these were freak accidents. Right after they cancelled the swim, the name of the race magically transformed to "Du-ing It In The Buff" which sounds fun until you realize that they replaced the swim with yet another run. I had, at this moment, considered getting in my van and brooding all the way back home. But that was about a 2 hour drive and they promised hot dogs later. Sigh. I went searching for a spot to rack my bike.

So while I begrudgingly hunted for a place to set my wheels, I was becoming increasingly frustrated with the incompetence of my fellow competitors who didn't understand that you are supposed to stagger on the racks. On one slot goes a bike facing east. The very next slot is now available for a bike pointed west. Continue ad infinitum or until the end of the rack. If you rack 3 slots away, you've messed up the system and made it nearly impossible for the late risers, such as myself, to get a spot on the rack. Sure, I could try and get there earlier but, since I'm an American, I'd prefer to blame everyone else and not myself. Regardless, my point still stands.

Luckily for me, one of the guys on the east side was a friend of mine. I was able to persuade him to move his bike over 1 slot, thus allowing me to finally place my bike and get set up for (crap, that's right) a run. In the slot immediately next to me was that of this cute unknown Asian woman. I had absolutely no idea how old this person was. Nor am I competent in my Asian identifying skills to pinpoint which region of Asia supplied the DNA she's inherited. (Note: I originally thought that she was Hawaiian. I learned differently later and had to project back to re-write my memory history. /End note) According to the stereotype meme, she could have been anywhere between 18 and 50. Granted, I could have just looked at her calf to see the number printed there but I didn't want my gaze direction to be mistaken, then to be labeled any more of a creep than what an overweight, middle-aged male with a penchant for wearing spandex in public already bears.

After setting up, I do what I typically do, ogle the ladies start talking to the people in my near vicinity to pass the time. See, they force you to get on race site ridiculously early then make you stand around and wait. Triathlon is many things awesome, time efficient is not one of them. (Also not on the list is triathlon's lack of ability to have a decent backup plan should the park manager cancel the swim.) Remember that friend who moved his bike? Well, we started chatting about the course and what to expect where. Since I've made pretty much every mistake in the book, most of them here, I was able to answer questions with utmost confidence. My rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman of indeterminate age was listening in with much attention.

Since I was the local expert, she gathered up the courage to even asked a few questions of her own. Most of her concerns were of the bike course, understandably since they took away the swim. (<-- okay, that might have been my last snipe on this topic, at least for this post. Might.) I laid out the route and included a couple of the tougher spots. When she asked if one of the turns was difficult to find, I simply told her that it all depended on how good of a runner she is. <Awkward silence in the conversation, which was a lot more apparent when reflecting on the talk.> Finally I added that her running prowess was probably moot since she's in the second wave of runners and there's bound to be at least 3 or 4 people who could out run her by 5 minutes over a 1.8 mile run 1. <Second awkward silence in as many minutes.>

The race got started, boys before girls, separated by 5 minutes. The turn around was about 0.9 miles away in an out-and-back format. I was plodding around in the 2nd group of plodders. About the 1.2 mile mark, the men were on their way back while the women were on their way out. And, really, it was just one woman. Yup, it was my rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman runner of indeterminate age. At the half-mile mark, she was almost 2 minutes up on the field. I wasn't even that far behind the male run leaders. Yes, my ego started to kick in and I sped up in fear that I would be caught by this badass of a female specimen on the first leg. (Spoiler alert- at least that didn't happen.)

We went out onto the bike course, which was a slower day for the field compared to years past. I got passed by exactly zero people on the bike and passed several. By the time I started my official run, I estimated that I was in 8th place. We had a 2-loop run which started with that same out-and-back we did on the swim portion of the run. That portion of the course gave me an opportunity to try and validate my standing, which ultimately failed since there was more than one race happening and we had intermingled by this point. Of note, my rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman badass runner of indeterminate age was roughly that same distance behind me as she was during the first leg of the trip. And she was gaining quickly. No ego surge would have saved me from that reality. She went by at about mile 2.5. I cheered for her in the form of, "Go rackmate," which actually came out less awkward than the silences back in transition would have led me to believe. She thanked me for the attention (which is also weird for me) and ran on.

After  I finished the run, I was hobbled up in the finish area coral attempting to breathe and suck down some water. Here comes my rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman badass runner of indeterminate age looking as fresh as could be, wheeling her bike out of transition. I asked her how things went. She said that even after all those awkward silences, she still biffed the bike course. The bike course is a lasso with a really short handle. You ride up the handle, turn left, do the lasso-loop twice, and return to the transition area via the handle. She came down the handle after the first lap. Apparently, she had a gut feeling that something wasn't right, turned around and headed back onto the lasso. She reported that she'd lost about 30-40 seconds.

Since I was apparently the resident area guru on all things Du-ing It In the Buff, she was curious about the awards and if the prize was anything worth waiting around for. Her reasoning- she had a long drive ahead. Understandable, at least from my perspective. Typically, ATITB offered your run of the mill medal or trophy or trinket coupled with a little bit of swag. At some races by the same race company, they give away bottles of wine, but not at this venue. "I'm allergic to alcohol," she responds. <Third awkward silence of the day.>

While she was busy finding out about the awards and making a decision on her appearance at the ceremony, they posted the preliminary results. I went and searched for my name. The Banter=7th place overall and 6th amongst men. Not bad. My rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman badass alcohol-allergic runner of indeterminate age= 2nd place overall.

I told her of her placement and there was an immediate dismay in her eyes, which (I'm assuming) had nothing to do with my spandex. She asked by how much she lost. Luckily, I did look this up. Mostly because I wanted to see by how much I lost and by how much I got chicked. A brief mental math moment later told her about 2 minutes. She relaxed. "Phew, I thought that bike blunder cost me the win."

Later on, while perusing the internets, searching for something to keep me occupied, I looked up the race results. I do this after every race and scrutinize the performance. Then, I did something I have never done in the past. I searched for one of my competitors. Guess who? Sure enough, and I'm at least 58% sure of this, my rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman badass alcohol-allergic runner of indeterminate age is a professional triathlete. Here's a link to her website, from which I usurped her picture. I'll be rooting for her in the future.

Let's add this to the reasons I love triathlon. No other sport on the planet allows for a rackmate Asian-Hawaiian hottie woman badass alcohol-allergic runner turned professional triathlete of indeterminate age to commingle, ask questions, and embarrass on the course with riffraff like me in a podunk local race in the middle of nowhere NY. I'm only left wondering if she can swim...

The Race Results Loophole

Remember when you were growing up and you had those awful standardized tests? Guess what- they still have them. They're still awful. But, that's besides the point. The point was that you had to take them and now you don't (hopefully).

If your teacher was worth anything, you learned some test taking tips. These were especially valuable on multiple choice sections. Here's some examples of good tips:

• Don't draw patterns on your bubble sheet
• When in doubt, guess C.
• Answers with the word 'monkey' in them are likely correct
• The words 'always' and 'never' are almost always never the right answer

Triathlon isn't much different than your average standardized test (except that, for some reason, race distances aren't as standardized as we'd like them). You spend a year in training attempting to get better at the skills that will give you a good performance on the test, AKA race day.

Now, I'm a competitive bloke by nature. This means that, come race morning, I pretty much hate you. Sure, I'll be smiley and congenial while we are setting up in transition. Inside, I want to slash your tires and toss your running shoes into the trash. Of course, I don't do this because if you take away your competition, there is no race. It's just you again. I paid money to go head to head against other people so I might as well allow you on the course. But, deep inside, I want to crush all of your hopes and dreams of beating me.

One thing that's also clear to me is that I don't want to race a bunch of old women on crutches. Whereas I find those people completely inspiring and believe that they are truly more awesome than me, I don't have any pride in beating them in a race. Some day I'll be racing old women, not today. I cherish a good challenge and I want to race against the best. It's for that reason that I train hard. It's also for that reason, I gave the world the sure fire way to beat me in a race. To summarize:

The only way to beat me in a race is to swim, bike, and/ or run faster than me. Good luck to you. (Ideally, you should get to the finish line before me. But, with wave starts, you never can tell.)

I'm pretty sure that most of you didn't read that closely. The answer is pretty obvious. If you started in my wave and I beat you to the line, well, I beat you. Always.

Nope. Enter 2 dudes, Darren and Lee. I have never met these guys before. I don't know what they look like. I do know they found a loophole in my "How to beat the Banter" system. They know how to take a test and they passed, beat me, even though I made it to the line ahead of them. I have learned their secrets, which I will now share with you.

The Story of Darren and Lee versus the Banter
(Just to be clear, the story is fiction, but the data is real).

Darren and Lee are twins with different last names who live in upstate NY. Their favorite past times are riding horses and tormenting the Farm Boy who lives there. His name was Banter, but they never called him that. They occassionally dabble in the sport of triathlon.

One day at a race, Darren and Lee lined up against the Banter in a race called the Keuka Lake Olympic distance race. All had their wetsuits on and were ready to go. As the gun sounded, it was clear that Darren was the superior swimmer of the 3. He beat both Lee and the Banter out of the water. The Banter was close, only a measly 18 sec behind. Lee didn't fare as well and was almost 2 minutes back.

In transition, Darren had a problem. Apparently, someone has slashed his tires and threw his running shoes in the trash he struggled to get his wetsuit off. The Banter beat him out of transition by a good margin because he knows how to unzip his suit while moving. Lee was also faster in transition and was now within a minute of Darren but still a couple of minutes back on the Banter.

On the road, it was clear that Lee and the Banter were evenly matched. Darren did not ride so well. The Banter kept his 2 minute lead on Lee but Lee had eliminated the gap on Darren. Lee and Darren were reunited in transition 2. Darren, still frustrated with what had happened in T1, put forth a little extra effort. Lee was relaxed and confident, yet a little slower. Darren and Lee ran out of T2 together. Little did they know that the Banter was a significantly better transitioner than they. His margin of lead had increased to about 2 min 30 sec.

On the run, the twins were evenly matched and ran like Dave and Mark in the famous IronWar. The Banter was plodding along at just a bit faster pace. But, if you are a faithful reader you'd know, the Banter's run started to fall apart on the 2nd half. Darren and Lee had each other to keep the Ego boost alive. They started to reel the Banter step by agonizing step.

The joke was on them as they were running out of space. The run was only 6.2 miles long. Darren, frustrated with their race strategy, decided to put on a surge at the end. Little did he know that the Banter had already crossed the line. Darren's last minute effort allowed him to beat Lee by about 18 seconds. The Banter had been standing around for about 90 seconds watching all of the drama and silently dreaming up poetry.

But, when you, me, Darren, or Lee
Check the results sheet, their names
Are listed ahead of the Lames's.
"How could that be?" I pleaded to the RD.

Via email, "Good question" said the RD.
After 12 hours, I waited and waited
The response was slow, feeling baited
The Director to ask the referee.

A good day past my patience flee,
The Ref said I made a mistake.
Surely this must be a fake!
I was assessed a pen-al-ty.

Near the water I broke a rule.
My wetsuit early I did unzip
To better run at a faster clip.
The ref noted, twas not cool.

Let this be a lesson to thee
The rule says 'keep wetsuit intact'
Don't pull the cord down your back ----->
Or you'll be punished, like me.

The ref clearly did not want to see
Wetsuit on but zipper down
Much like this guy, the clown
Two minutes slower now is he

All that work in SBR and T
Proved futile in the race.
He kept a superior pace
And was still beaten by Darren and Lee

So there you have it. A disagreement between me and the rule book resulting in a time penalty. Darren and Lee are good students of the sport and have rightfully (although begrudgingly) found a loophole in the "how to beat the Banter in a race" sweepstakes and came out on top. My 22nd place finish was dropped down to 24th. I was still 3rd in my age group and I learned a valuable lesson that day. Always make sure to slash tires and trash shoes know the letter of the law when it comes to race specific rules.

2013 KLT Race Review and Results

Pre-Race
It was a dark and stormy night. Literally. It was one of those nights when you weren't sure that they were going to put on a race tomorrow. Race Directors have something against lightning and Mother Nature was angry that night. When I awoke in the wee hours of the morning, she was still crying and howling. I got on the Internets and checked the race website. No new news. I checked the radar and focused my sights on a town many a mile south of my residence called Penn Yann (which I'm pretty sure is Amish for 'middle of nowhere'). The rain was scheduled to stop in the very near future but had a chance to return later in the morning.

I ate my breakfast, packed the rest of the gear, and got out of the house earlier than predicted. I have a tendency of arriving at the race site near the end of the acceptable period. This morning, I was a little excited about the first triathlon of the season and I wanted to turn over a new leaf. According to my best estimates, I was 15 minutes ahead of my norm (a new Banter record). Ten minutes down the road, I started swearing and promptly turned around. Whereas I did forget to put the Wife in the car (she opted for additional sleep- queue jealousy), I also forgot to put my wallet in the car. You can show up for a running race completely empty handed. For a triathlon, however, you must show your government issued ID and your USAT membership card to get in to the race. Plus, they also ask you for a blood sample, a cheek swab for your DNA, an iris scan, a unique identifying birthmark, and 7 security questions. A failure to provide proper ID= no race for you.

After leaving my driveway, round 2, I was now about 5 minutes behind schedule. AKA- business as usual. I arrived on race site and picked up my packet. To my surprise, I was not the last person to arrive. I was 4th to last. (Only because last place was a relay team which I'm counting as 3 separate competitors.) Welcome to the Keuka Lake Triathlon.

From this moment on, I had about 15 minutes until transition closed. I was about 0.25 miles away from the transition area. No problem. I hopped on my bike, donned my helmet, and covered the distance in a short 2 minutes. The KLT volunteers won't let you in to transition without being body marked. For those of you who don't know what this means- it's one of the nuances of triathlon. Not only do you have a race number on your body. You also have one on your bike. Plus, they feel the need to decorate your skin. I got my race number drawn on both backhands and both quads. Then, on one calf they posted my race age (which is different from your real age for every single triathlete except for a person born on December 31). On the other calf, they put a large "I" signifying that I was racing the Olympic distance event. Makes sense, right?

I set up my stuff in transition, which I do rather efficiently. Years of arriving late helps you learn how to streamline the process. Then, I got into an argument that slowed me down tremendously. The Garmin refused to cooperate. Normally when I turn her on, she beeps, pauses, then starts up. This process takes about 5-10 seconds (see pic at left). Today, she stayed at the start-up screen for a couple of minutes. I turned her off (pic at left) and tried again. No luck after a couple of minutes of hoping (again, pic).

After she won the argument by refusing to start up, I resigned myself to leaving the transition area knowing that I would be racing without the Garmin. It was also quite apparent to me that I was, by far, the last person out of transition. I've been in this situation before.

The Swim
Since I was the last person out of transition, it makes logical sense that I was also the last person to arrive to the swim start for my wave. I was in the 2nd wave and in no hurry to make it down to the water. Everyone else was in the swim coral but no one was waiting for me. I made it before the 1st wave went off. I.E. Plenty of time.

Off went number 1 and in went #2. We had about 5 minutes before our horn was sounded. Three days ago, the water temperature was 56º. Since then, the atmospheric thermostat had been turned up. The water had risen to 65º. It was still pretty chilly and I was happy for my wetsuit. I did my normal swim warm up of diving down under the surface, stroking for about 10 yards, turning and returning back. Or, roughly 30-45 seconds worth of work. My head was wet. My body was semi-acclimated to the temps. I was ready.

The horn sounded and I went off with the fast pack. The swim is just under a mile long so I knew I had to pace myself early. I also know that there's a bike and a run coming up so I try to manage my energy. I'm confident I could have stroked a little harder but I was concerned about going blind what affect it would have on the rest of my race. I found some feet that were heading in my general direction and at about the pace I wanted to hold. I stayed on them the entire route.

Thanks to the dude that pulled me around the course. He kept a good pace. He swam straight. He knew how to meander through the back of the early pack. Good work! Here's how the swim looked like after the last buoy, heading for home.

Upon exiting the water, it was obvious that I was working hard in the water. My breathing was high and labored. Immediately, we were thrust into peril. Not only did we have to navigate life on land again, but there was a large set of stairs. The KLT has this rule about not allowing wetsuit removal near the water's edge. I was feeling a bit constricted in my wetsuit once on land and decided to unzip. I was warned by no fewer than 800 people yelling at me to keep my wetsuit on. So, with the back of my dress unzipped, I made my way up the stairs and into the transition area.

My time out of the water, including the stairs was 24:44. This was good enough for 17th place overall. Further, I won my age group (yes, by only 1 second, but I'll take it).

Even better for me was my improvement in transition 1. Last year, I had a dismal time in T1. T1- 2012 version at this race- was 2 min 55 sec which was the 226th fastest time of that day. T1- 2013 version- was 1 min 39 sec, which was the 27th fastest time of the day. Even better... The Garmin decided that she wanted to race. There she was waiting for me to press her button (where's that pic?). However, she was sitting in a running mood and I had to convince her that we were biking first. This cost me a couple of seconds that I did not mind, since I was no longer racing alone.

The Bike
This was my first race in an aero helmet. I recently purchased a Giro Attack. These things are expensive and supposed to make you a little faster. Completely worth it! One of the benefits of the helmet is that it comes with a shield. A shield can be used to thwart off men on horses with spears, dudes in armor with swords, or bugs on a bike ride. It basically replaces sunglasses. I waxed my lens with Rain-X before the race, just in case the rain forecast held true. Collateral benefit- sweat wicks off the lens faster.

The ride starts off with a short, slight downhill. Then, we turn on to the main road and are greeted with 2 main challenges. First, there is a climb. Second, there is a steady head wind. The winds were in our face at ~10 mph for roughly miles 1-9. At mile 9, we turned around. But, that when we started the longer, steady climb.

Up and up we went. Then we turned right, meaning that we now had a cross wind. We went up some more nearing about 1000 feet of climbing for the day. Then we turned right again. The road started to flatted out. But, then we were back in the wind. My average pace was going from respectable to disappointing. Then, something happened just before the 16 mile mark. We turned around.

At this point, we had the dual benefit of going downhill with a tail wind. It started to rain slightly around this point. I didn't care. I was in a good position and heading in the right direction. Water was beading off my lens. Between miles 17 and miles 24, my slowest split was 26 mph.

When I dismounted my bike, I had completed the ride with the 27th fastest time on the day. My average pace was 21 mph with a time of 1:11.40. As a comparison, last year, under similar conditions (less wind but more rain), I held 20.1 mph on the same course and was 3 minutes slower. That aero helmet is looking better now.

I hopped off my bike and headed for T2. I found my spot, racked my bike, put socks and shoes on my feet, and headed out to the run. My T2 time was a whopping 57 sec, which was the 28th fastest time on the day (I'm seeing a trend here).

The Run
I was hoping to hold 7 minutes per mile. I thought this within my skill set. I set out at what I considered a hard, but comfortable pace. My first mile clocked in at 6:58. How's that for pacing?!

At around the 1.5 mile mark, the crowd thinned out. No, not because I'm awesome and my blazingly hot pace put the others in the dust. It's because that was where the duathletes and sprinters turned around and headed for home. I was exceptionally jealous. My orange cone was still way off in the distance. I paced on and hit my second mile on a 7:03. I had slipped a little.

Didn't happen

It was right around this time that the rains came. The RD had given out ample warnings before the race that, should there be lightning, the day was over. Part of me wanted the sky to charge up and I could stop running guilt free. Part of me wanted it to keep raining. I did notice that running in the race was rather pleasant. I was able to pick up the pace and stay cool.

Something worse happened. The rain stopped and the sun came out. Now I'm saturated in a combination of my own filth and the grime that Mother Nature provided, while running down the road next to a lake, as the heat is starting to rise. The humidity was relatively close to the max meaning that sweat wasn't able to do it's job. I was starting to boil in my own excrement and I still had a couple of miles left to go.

I'd be lying if I told you that I didn't want to stop and walk. My right brain was rationalizing the decision to slow my pace drastically at an aid station, take in some water, and cool off. My left brain was saying that there was only 2 miles left, or about 15 minutes, and that I can suffer through almost anything for that duration (save a Nicholas Cage movie). Apparently the neuroscientists people might have been correct. I'm right handed and therefore my dominant left brain won the war. I didn't stop.

That's not to say that I kept my pace. I was suffering pretty good and I slowed from sub-7 to low-7 and then to mid-7. I would scoop up a cup of water from the handy volunteers. A little for the mouth and the rest for my head. The cool sensation of the liquid flowing down my drenched clothes had never been so welcoming.

When I made it to the finisher's arc, I crossed the line with as much satisfaction as I could muster. It was clear that I left nothing on the course. My run time of 44.55 was welcomed as I traditionally have a sub-45 min goal which I rarely accomplish. My run was the 51st fastest in the field (more proof that I really need to do some long term run improvement).

The Results
I crossed the line in 22nd place overall and 3rd in my age group. My clock time was 2:23.35. This was a good 7 minutes faster than last year's race. I had bested my previous swim time, T1 time, bike time, and run time and by good margins too. The only aspect of the race that was slower than a year ago was T2. In 2012, T2= 56 sec. In 2013, T2= 57 sec. I'm slipping.

I scanned the results sheet only to see that the #1 and #2 guys in my AG were in 5th and 6th overall and significantly better cyclists and runners than me. I had no hope of catching them anytime soon. At least I beat them out of the water.

I stuck around race campus for a while. This gave me a chance to meet Al. It also gave me a chance to take advantage of the best post-race food on the planet. (Seriously. I'd recommend this race to anyone and everyone, if for nothing else than to get invited to the smorgasbord of happiness that they serve in the cafeteria.)

I was debating about leaving after brunch but before the awards. I was a little nervous about getting an award. Last time I did a race by the Score-This people (who, by the way, have never failed to put on a high quality show!), they handed out bricks as prizes. Whereas I could use a few more bricks to build a patio... Anyway, I was talked in to staying by a couple of other racers. It's a good thing that I did. Here's what they had to offer.

It feels like the KLT knows me.