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…
Back to The Rock
San Francisco is known to have a few free-spirited citizens. It’s known for a notorious former federal penitentiary. It’s known for steep hills. My fellow triathlon teammates from Team A Step Ahead had the pleasure of experiencing all three and more this weekend when we tackled the Escape From Alcatraz Triathlon.
I had two goals at this year’s race, primarily to win the physically challenged division and to better my 2003 time of three hours, two minutes. Nine guys with parts missing lined up this year—that’s seven more than when I raced there six years prior. (Legendary One-Armed Willie Steward being the hold-over.) .
What makes this race a “check list” event with highly sought after slots are not the unique experiences of the city itself but that of the race logistics. Athletes begin their journey by climbing onto a bus near the finish line for a trip to the ferry dock. There the wet-suit clad endurance-junkies board the ferry for a trip out to Alcatraz Island. Parked a few hundred feet off The Rock, upon completion of “Stars ‘n Stripes,” 1800 athletes receive the word and leap off the deck—at three separate launching points—within a six minute span and begin their 1.5 mile swim to the beach just west of Marina Green. Check out these swim pics, http://bit.ly/14dVHH.
Before the race even began I added a new item to my check list with a simultaneous check: en route back from registration to our hotel on our race bikes, Team A Step Ahead found itself entering an intersection simultaneously with 30 or so nude cyclists! Mostly not-so-fit men. Like a train wreck, it was painful to watch yet held our attention. Teammate Jeff Glasbrenner, from Little Rock, AR, claims the boys back home might not believe him.
Training volume as of late ain’t what it used to be, so I was relying on experience and better prostheses from A Step Ahead Prosthetics and Orthotics to attain the day’s goals. Pool time has been a notch above bare minimum; I’ve managed two to four swims a month this calendar year, which got me about what I was hoping for: 2003 swim time was 45 minutes; 2009, 46 minutes. Overall Swim Rank: 665. A tad behind schedule while Jeff, a fellow below-knee (BK) amputee, was already ahead of me by three minutes. BK teammate and national marathon record holder Tommy Koehler came out of the water right behind me and a nice little race was heating up.
Felt pretty good on the three-quarter mile run to transition and looked forward to the next discipline. No question if I was going to beat Tommy and catch Jeff, I’d need to lay it down on the bike. I’ve managed to get in reasonable riding time between power-developing efforts pulling Jack and Luke in the bike trailer and good cardio on the “Expresso” stationary bike at the YMCA while the Y’s child-watch staff entertained the boys.
I caught Jeff about half way through the 18-mile ride and put time on Tommy in the process. 2003: 55 minutes. 2009: 55 minutes. Rank: 62.
I set off onto the eight-mile run with limited confidence that I’d hold off my chasers. Unlike the ‘03 race, I had little to no debilitating gut cramps and only minor prosthetic problems. I rebooted the leg within the first mile only because I had donned it somewhat sloppily in transition and opted for a better fit. A challenging trail climb led to a fast, paved descent before we hit the quarter-mile beach sand section approaching the turn-around at Mile 4. That deep, soft sand was as energy-sucking as I remembered. Upon heading in the reverse direction I saw that neither Jeff, Tommy, nor Andy May (last year’s gimpy champion), nor any other in our group were imminently on my tail. Applying the “out of sight, out of mind” rationale (it’s psychologically much easier to catch your prey if you can see them), I laid it down as hard as I could to reach the infamous “sand ladder.” Once at the base of the 400 steps up a steep sand/log climb, I knew I had at least four minutes on everyone.
From the top of that section, it was only a few hundred more feet to crest of the hill before a long descent down the steep trail that we’d ascended earlier. Before heading down I rebooted to relieve Stumpie of the present discomfort, which made the funky footing required a bit easier to control. I kept the heat on when I reached the flats with just two miles to go and both goals in mind: first and faster.
The race also boasts one of the largest spectator counts in all of triathlon and the cheers we all welcomed along that last mile grew and grew as we approached the 100-meter grass landing to the finish arch. With half the chute behind me a smile broke out when I saw 2:53 on the clock and confirmed that age ain’t got the best of me just yet! Overall finish rank: 220th and 29th of 253 in the 40-44s.
And the weekend memories still weren’t quite complete. Without unnecessary details to the reader, I won’t soon forget the scorpion bowl race, the B.O of a certain toothless female cabbie or the big blue bunny drag-queen humping someone’s detached leg.
Check out this link for a local broadcast plugging some of the challenged athletes: http://tinyurl.com/n5cmtn
Center for the Intrepid
The Challenged Athletes Foundation has a program called Operation Rebound designated to assist disabled/injured US military personnel in reaching their athletic goals, whatever they might be. CAF was asked to conduct a triathlon clinic for the current patients at Brooks Army Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas. This clinic took place May 20-21 at the Center for the Intrepid, the state-of-the art prosthetic and rehab facility on base. Facilitators of the program were myself, Carlos Moleda, a former Navy SEAL shot in the back during the Granada invasion of 1983 and the Hawaiian Ironman wheelchair division world record holder, and Evan Morgan, a 25-year old Marine who lost both legs and vision in his right eye in Iraq before becoming a competitive triathlete.
In the midst of single and double below-knee amputees, single and double above-knee amps, below knee/above knee amps, arm amps, triple amps, and severely burned, one can’t help but be humbled and awed by the sacrifices these individuals have made. Mine was the only civilian injury in the group of 30 or so in the room and the honor of being part of this was certainly not lost on me. I’d like to extend a sincerely “thank you” to Nico Marcolongo of CAF for including me on this trip.
It was great to see these guys and gals get in the water with open minds eager to learn. For the most part they had no true swimming skills, yet 90 minutes later most of them had improved ten fold. Some had not been in the water since their injury and yet, save one, they showed no fear or hesitation. They listened when critiqued, applied the lesson the next lap and left the water with a sincere appreciation for their new skills and understanding of the theory behind freestyle swimming.
That afternoon the BK’s and arm amps rode standard bikes and pretty much everyone else was introduced to handcycles. Carlos handled the latter instruction while I talked up the basics for competitive cycling. Unlike swimming, everyone knows how to ride a bike with some degree of control. I found it difficult in this short lesson to impart any practical techniques to them because once we got out on the road to ride they all rode their pace and enjoyed the beautiful afternoon, and without proper pedals, ie, without being “attached,” proper technique is hard to accomplish anyway. So we all just went out and got sunburned.
The next day we worked on running and nearly every participant had a proper run prosthesis, which made it very easy to evaluate gates and offer practical advice. Like the time spent in the pool, all the soldiers listened, applied and improved.
While the chance to offer years of experience to a well-deserving audience was certainly rewarding, the most thrilling part of the trip was sitting around after wrapping things up and hearing the stories that led us all there to begin with.
