Love Thy Competition
Sunday morning at 7AM I sat on the 95th Street pier jutting out in to the Hudson River, thinking I knew how the NYC Triathlon/ParaTriathlon National Championship was about to unfold. The only one-legged man to ever beat me in a triathlon was sitting 15 feet to my right, five years older than he was when we last raced. That’s only meaningful because that makes him 50, presumably a bit slower that he used to be. However, his comment just minutes before we entered the water, strategically placed perhaps, that he just won the 50-54 age-group (able-bodied) at Brazil’s National Championships left me thinking he hasn’t lost too much.
Historically, he’s always buried in the swim and it’s a flip who’d beat who on the bike and run. This year I figured swimming with the current would deflate his lead some and perhaps I could better him on both the bike and run and we’d have an exciting sprint to the finish.
My 16:34 swim was solid and I came out not too far behind him, in stride with Jeff Glasbrenner and just a few seconds in front of J.P. Theberge, who’s been creeping closer and closer to my finish times over the past several years. For the first time in our many matchups, I was in transition along side Rivaldo, who took longer than I would expect to get out on the bike.
As I’m leaving T1, my aero bottle was all but falling out of its holder, which required me to stop and waste about 30 extremely frustrating seconds trying to fix it. I knew if I didn’t I might potentially suffer far worse losses from dehydration. In the meantime Rivaldo pulled away and both J.P. and Jeff joined me simultaneously in the chase. This was shaping up to be an exciting race. Never before have the first two, never mind the first four BKs, been so close to each other in any world-class triathlon, ever.
In the 12 miles that took us out to Yonkers, I relinquished about five seconds to Rivaldo. After the turnaround I didn’t see J.P. coming the other way, but presumed I had been opening up the gap as he has yet to match me on the bike. No sooner do I wonder just how far back he is, when he passes me! I was sincerely impressed and sincerely appreciate the competition. Rivaldo remained in our sites as the two of us exchanged leads over the next few miles.
Then he opened up a gap that kept getting bigger. His slightly inefficient body English told me he was working very hard, harder than me, it seemed. I didn’t have too much more power to provide and I opted to let him go and chase both him Rivaldo down on the run, which has been pretty good to me lately.
I entered transition after a 1:08:06 ride (not my fastest nor my slowest of my six consecutive NYC Tri’s) as JP exited and was out about five seconds behind Rivaldo when crossing the T2 exit mat (like in T1, he wasn’t so speedy in T2). I passed him before too long and kept up the best pace I could—not a terribly fast one but the best I could muster. Even on 72nd St, where athletes could see a good stretch in front of them, I didn’t see JP and wondered just how fast the guy was running!
Along that stretch the four inch long rubber tread on my run prosthesis became nearly completely unglued and was flapping underfoot, not tripping me but on every step it would drag across the pavement, and occasionally I’d step on it as it folded underneath, leaving me terribly frustrated. Beside the course I saw my prosthetist and Amy Winters, our Team A Steap Ahead manager, about a mile later. I barked out my issue hoping they might have an answer. A couple minutes later Amy pulled up next to me on her mountain bike, pulled a couple hair bands out of her ponytail and temporarily secured my tread. That only took 15-20 seconds and I was right back in the hunt. (I acknowledge that this would be considered “outside assistance,” reason for disqualification under USA Triathlon rules, I believe. If anyone reports me, so be it.)
Some of you might recall that in T2 of the last triathlon I raced, I forgot to switch my bike liner for a fresh run liner and PR’d the latter discipline. This gave me all the reason I needed to purposefully forgo the liner change in pursuit of J.P. Whether or not replacing it would have made a difference I really don’t know, but the leg got a bit lose and Stumpy began to moan about Mile 3, and I didn’t stop until Mile 4 for a reboot. Nice big pink open blister looked up at me. With the liner and leg back on securely I got back at it. By Mile 5 I had to stop momentarily for a leg dangle as both the blister and gimp-side calf cramp called for it. I hadn’t seen J.P. in a couple of the longer stretches I could see in Central Park and all but bowed out of the quest for first. Just then Rivaldo passed me, which gave me all the motivation I needed to tough out that last mile as fast as I could.
My 46:27 run (again, I’ve gone both faster and slower here…and I was expecting something faster) was almost two minutes slower than J.P. and I crossed the line 20 seconds ahead of Rivaldo.
The close battle with my former nemesis—seems I’ve got a new one now—was very much expected. Getting schooled by J.P. was a little bit of a surprise, but not totally. The man’s been strong since he entered the scene several years ago and has been getting faster every race. And every ear I hear “J.P.’s fit and looking fast this year.” I believe we last raced in 2007 when I got him by a 13 minutes.
So, all due respect Champ, but it wasn’t you I was worried about. I can honestly say that I’m impressed as hell by your commitment and dedication to training—with a real job and three kids—with the goal of taking that top spot. Furthermore, I appreciate the fire you’ve stoked not only under me but also my wife who has just granted me two hours of training each day to catch you at Worlds on September 12!
PS - I’d like to thank Affinia Hotels for providing phenomenal accomodations for my family over the weekend.
All in a week’s work
Today, my flight was delayed. Again. That was good. Because the alternator went on the drive to the airport. In the cab.
Just a little twist to cap off a great week. Three states, two speeches and one golf game later, I’m flying home, currently somewhere over Jersey, I’m guessing.
It began on Monday with a trip to Tulsa to do my thing Tuesday morning in front of the attendees of the Oklahoma Society of Association Executives Annual Convention. Went well, no tomatoes, eggs or the like.
Home late Tuesday night, got to bed around midnight. At 5:30am Sharon woke me up to say good-bye, off to work a 24-hour shift. I fell back asleep. At six-thirty Luke and Jack woke me up with, “Daddy, get me outta bed!” That’s a direct quote from Jack. Luke was just, “Daddyyyyy!” Love it. Love it. Love it.
Spent the majority of my day feeding, changing, reading to, etc, with a mid-day break to Doug Pond for Jack’s swim lesson and Luke’s fearless aqua antics. Throughout the day, when I got a chance, I took care of business and packed for my trip that night. Grandma came over to cover for the night since Sharon was on call ‘til Thursday morning. After putting the boys to bed, I departed for Connecticut at 9:30 for The Hartford’s Paralympic fundraiser golf outing the next day. My job Thursday morning was to say a few welcoming words to the wonderful employees of the company’s Group Benefit Division who willfully took a personal day to support our nation’s world-class challenged athletes. Then I was obliged to play golf. Good work if you can get it. I played OK—a few good shots, a few bad shots, typical.
Straight from the golf course to Hartford’s Bradley airport for a trip to Destin, FL via Atlanta and the Ft Walton Beach airport. I scored a earlier standby flight for the latter leg and was in my bed at the fabulous Sandestin Hilton by 11pm. Ninety minutes ahead of schedule.
Up at 6:30, enjoying fabulous blackberry sauce-covered crepes by 7:15 and addressing the Mississippi Bar’s Young Lawyer Division’s Annual Conference by 8:30. That, too, went well, and like the Oklahoma gig, the audience was kind to buy nearly all the books I’d shipped in ahead of time and a couple of CDs to boot.
Never made it outside to enjoy the white sandy beaches. Never made it outside for anything until I got back into a cab at 11:15 for a trip back to the Ft Walton Beach airport. That’s when the cab broke down. As mentioned, the flight, which I actually would have been on time for, was delayed 40 minutes. Back up cab was there in 15 minutes and my week continued to come together.
Life is good when you give it a chance.
They come in threes
Even after 80-85 triathlons over the span of 15 years it seems the rookie has yet to leave the building. In the course of last night’s Pat Griscus Memorial Sprint Triathlon the “green” monster reared its head not once, not twice, but thrice. You could even say four times if you count the one that actually helped me!
This Middlebury, CT event was founded twenty-plus years ago and soon renamed in honor of local triathlete Pat Griskus who was the first leg amputee to complete both the Hawaiian Ironman and Boston Marathon. The motivation for me to drive a couple hours to the other side of Hartford was primarily to honor the man who bushwhacked the trail many of us have followed. I had done this race several years ago, while living in Colorado, so it was appropriate I get back to it before leaving Boston next month—to return to Colorado.
Goof #1: I forgot to get body marked! I’ve gone on record stating that one of my favorite aspects of triathlon is getting my race number and age written in black marker on my arms and legs by the sports most valuable participants, the volunteers. These volunteers are typically right next to the transition area. Yesterday they were over by registration and I just plain didn’t see them and spaced it. Nothing that was gonna kill my race, just an embarrassment.
Goof #2: I failed to properly prepare my bike and in grinding up the first of several steep hills in the granny gear, my chain continued to “dance” around the cog, requiring me to pull back on the shifter and keep pressure on it to hold it in place. This didn’t totally wreck my ride, but made things a little less efficient and rendered getting up out of the saddle impossible, which would have come in handy on a few occasions. The problem was an improperly adjusted rear derailleur cable that was quite easily fixed after the race.
Goof #3: The big one. I was fortunate to be fairly close to the front where there weren’t many other riders. I came upon a four-way intersection with a cop waving traffic to pass by him. Keyword here: traffic. I wasn’t traffic, I was a racer. I figured this out about a half mile and two steep climbs later. The moment I passed the intersection I pondered what happened to the cyclists I could previously see in the distance, thinking they must have crested that hill in front of me quicker than expected. I looked behind and saw two guys following me and kept in mind that that cop just looked me in the eyes and waved me through. At the top of the second hill I slowed up to ask one of my followers what he thought. He shrugged and kept hammering. I turned around and headed back whence I came. I saw no one headed in my direction and concluded that I just went off course for the first time in my triathlon life.
Back at the intersection I stopped and asked the cop why he waved me through. He said, “I didn’t wave you through, I’m in charge of traffic, she’s in charge of racers,” pointing to a volunteer on the far corner. Apparently this volunteer wasn’t aware that not all of us had the course committed to memory.
For the first five miles of the 10-mile ride, I thought about the good race I was experiencing; the strong swim, the developing ride…then all shot to hell. I lost some psychological momentum with the latest goof and managed to get some of it back over the the last couple miles of the bike. I entered transition feeling little pressure to perform; a sprint race leaves little room for a four-plus minute error. Once the bike was racked, I noted how quickly I was out onto the run…
…Goof #4. For the first time ever, again, I completely forgot to reboot with a fresh liner for the run! Yet, my suspension felt alright and I figured I could at least run for a spell before I’d be forced to pull over and fix it. I just kept running… and running… and running. Next thing you know I’m picking off lots of competitors, the leg’s feeling fine and I’m not cramping in the gut like I always do early in the run. The 20:03 5k run was the 29nd best of some 450 athletes and 5th of 39 in the 40-44s. Might think about goofing up like that more often.
And all this after limping up to the line with some funky tender spot on Stumpy that had my questioning my ability to run pain free. Over the course of 1 hour 13 minutes yesterday, when it mattered, I had no issues. Things got worse last night, I was stuck on crutches and tough rolling over in bed when Stumpy brushed the sheets. This morning I went to the doc and had my the infection lanced and drained. A couple hours later and I’m back in the prosthesis en route the beach for Jack’s swim lessons! I haven’t a thing to complain about…
