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…
