Dangalangalanga - the cowbells were ringing along the shoot that lead from the water to transition. "What is this a Barnstormer game?" I wondered. With each step further away from what I thought for sure was going to be my watery grave, my overconfidence and false sense of bravado started creeping back in. My staggering, short choppy steps soon turned to a long, strong, buttery smooth strides (at least in my head), which quickened as I headed into the transition area. Beep, beep, the timer chimed with my swim split as I crossed the timing mat. You could have used a sun dial to time my swim but that was a thing of the past now. My wetsuit was already down around my waste like a seasoned pro. I had survived the swim, now it was time to dominate the bike and run. My game plan was back in full effect.
T1 (transition #1) was a breeze if I did say so myself, other than the fact that my hip flexor attempted to turn into a giant knott stomping out of my wetsuit. Apparently when your legs are burned out from treading water and you suddenly pull up against resistance, you muscles don't like that much. Shaking that off, helmet and sunglasses were on, bike shoes were a piece of cake and before you could say "lickety split" I was hauling ass out of transition on my way to show the world how a real athlete rode a bike.
"Get out of the way chumps!" People were actually stopping immediately outside of transition to get on their bikes and they were slower than the big bear getting on his tricycle at the circus. "Seriously haven't you all ever ridden a bike before?" Keep the momentum going; push - roll; step on pedal; throw the other leg over; click, click - away you go! Nailed it! I was off like Lance Armstrong with his fresh batch of super blood! Wind whistling through my helmet, a little bit of sun peaking out from behind the trees, it was glorious. I flew out of the park and headed north onto the highway passing people left and left (you can't pass on the right - that's a penalty).
I was eating up the spandex clad field. Old, young, fat, skinny, I was passing them all. Mountain bikes, road bikes, fancy shmancy tri bike - it didn't matter I was passing them all. " "Huh, there's really not even any wind and I'm doing 20 mph" I congratulated myself. "Ha, ha, you spent all that money on a fancy bike and you're getting passed by a newbie on a road bike and board shorts ... BURN!" This was where I made up the time; this is where I made my mark on the triathlon world forever. I was floating; I was flying; I was rocking the bike; I was only a mile in. "Click, clack, whirrrrrrrrrrrrr, vooosh." A freaking alien space ship
passed me. "Have at it shooter you bought speed - I'm natural pal. Plus, if you passed
me on the bike that means I beat you out of the water and you REALLY
suck" I could justify anything.
The Deputies blocking traffic at the intersection watched in absolute awe as I cruised by, taking the corner like a Tour pro. "Have another Krispy Kreme fellahs" I though as I danced on the pedals accelerating on down the road. "Steep grade ahead" the sign said. "Huh, the race website said this is considered a USAT "flat" course but I guess I did hear the race director say something about a "Twister Hill" and 11% grade, whatever that means.
"HOLY CRAP! Are we descending the Grand Canyon?" It was steep on the way down that was for sure and it wasn't a short little roller to get back up either. "Ahhhyyyeeeeeeeeee!" My cheeks clenched together tighter than Vander Plaats walking into The Blazing
Saddle (my Iowa people will get this one). It was steep, the kind of
steep that makes your scrotum tickle your nose hairs. I had to build speed to get up the other side but my damn sense of self-preservation kept holding me back. "Build speed, build speed to get up the other side." "What are you doing, don't break, don't break, screw it tap the breaks, it's not worth dying for." I was scared to sneak a peak down at my speedometer but if anyone asks I'm claiming at least 40 mph (that's completely false it was more like 30 but whatever).
Downhill survived, it was time to put on display my true athletic power for hill climbing. Some people were walking their bikes, others were up an out of their saddle going at a snails pace. Me, I was smashing the hill, for a hot second that was before my quads started to scream, my lungs jumped out of my throat and smacked me across the face, and my pedals were somehow welded to the bike frame. "Downshift man" Click, clack ... "crap my gears aren't moving." "What the hell?!" My gears were jacked and I couldn't shift, apparently shifting when the pressure on your pedals is a bazilion pounds and your cadence is at a 15 - it won't shift!" I got wobbly, I couldn't clip out and walk though, that would be worse than grabbing a buoy on the swim. Slowly and painfully, I worked my way up the other side at a slugs pace (yes slugs are slower than snails). "H-O-L-Y C-R-A-P! That sucked!" "Flat my ass, if this is flat I don't want to see hilly."
Hill crested, it only took about 10 minutes for the burn to subside to a tingle in my legs and lungs, thank God Almighty that the rest of the course was flat-ish. You know how I said there was no wind heading North - I lied about that too. There was a wind; a strong wind; a suck-ass terrible energy sapping wind coming directly out of the South! Newbie lesson # whatever I was at by then; When you don't hear the wind whistling in your helmet, it's probably at your back and your return trip is going to suck. Race strategy audible #2 - Survived the swim; SURVIVE the bike; live to see the run.
The return trip sucked for sure. It was an out and back course so I had the joy of hitting my friend Twister Hill again. That You Tube clip I posted doesn't do it justice either. It feel like there should be some drunken, underwear clad Europeans running along side you with capes and flags, screaming whatever they scream on the Tour, as you grind up the damn thing. In any event, I survived - barely and finally took the turn toward home. Man those Krispy Kreme's sure looked good as I passed the Deputies. This time their "awe" was turned to amusement and possible disgust if they had to put their donuts down to assist this retarded wannabe triathlete who looked like he was about to keel over.
There's that damn Southerly wind again. Head down, small gears activated, muttering about how terrible of an idea this was, I trudged on. "Oh look, some guy is stopped in the middle of the road - sweet I can pass him - oh and he's wearing an Iowa State Triathlon club uniform - even better." "Later Sucklone." "Hey man, you see a bike computer anywhere around on the road back here?" "Huh?" I wasn't even really sure what he meant by "bike computer." Was it a laptop you mounted to your handlebars or what? "Nope huh uh, haven't seen anything" I muttered happy to actually be passing someone again. Not two seconds later with two or three powerful pedal pulls, he was zooming back in front of me heading into transition. "Damn it!"
Dangalangalangalang - the sweet sound of those cowbells caught my ear - transition was just up the road. It was like the cowbells held some sort of magic. Color started to return to my face; a new-found energy took over driving the burn from my legs; the 100 mph head wind magically ceased for a split second; and angels came down from the sky and were singing Limp Bizkit "Rollin" - Ok that was actually the transition speakers but anyway. The spectators lined the entrance to the park to greet their friends and loved ones as they returned from their two-wheeled voyage from hell. A strange sense of emotion hit me as I realized all I had to do was survive running 6.2 miles and I would complete my first triathlon. Dangalangalangalang - this was going to happen. All I needed was a little more cowbell!
