"Where is he?" "67 seconds." "Right where I want him." Some old dude was chatting with his pal on the other side of the fence in transition about the guy he was apparently about to hunt down on the run. "Oh you go get him toughy" I thought to myself as I attempted to steady by wobbly legs long enough to get my tenny runners on for what I perceived the march of death. Yet another poor life choice for stoopid me.
Did you know you can't wear headphones during the run on a triathlon??? No seriously, not allowed, can't even try to pull that off. It is not like every road race out there where they say "no headphones," but everyone but the Kenyans wear them. In triathlon they actually mean it. They will pull you off the dang course! Know that that means? You have to listen to everything else going on around you the entire time you are running. Pure torture!
Dongalongalongalonga, random scream, music, loud speaker dude saying
something about something; it all kind of blends together for a strange
yet mysteriously energizing mash up. I couldn't feel my legs leaving transition. I'm pretty sure I floated and sure as shit had no idea how this run was going to go.
Running sockless for the first time ever was surprisingly liberating. "OK, shooting for 8ish minute miles here, we got this. Breath and settle." "Cadence, cadence, cadence, breath, breath breath." "Ah this aint so bad, might even think about picking up the pace here pretty soon." Passed a couple of nice people, got passed by a couple of devil worshiping commie terrorists, but hey yo, there's mile marker 1! Mile 1 check point: 7:25 ... WTF?! No stoopid, that is too fast, reign er in." (I know, sad right?) "I CAN'T be going that fast, I feel like a slug and can't even feel my legs."
So it turns out that there is a fascinating phenomenon that occurs after you have rode your legs numb at around 18-20 mph on the ole pedal bike. When you suddenly stop traveling at that speed and attempt to run, you feel like you are creeping but are going much faster than you anticipate. Nobody wrote about that in any of the magazine or online articles I studied in my free time! Now, I could have pulled in the reigns intentionally, which would have been the intelligent thing to do, but then again, this was probably my calling, and I had put the survival mode behind me and it was now time to yet again show the triathlon world what a "real athlete" could do. I glided on....
"I may just be Prefontaine reincarnated. I really don't see what the big fuss is all about. I mean after all I am freaking cruising here people, that's right, fasten your seat belts." .... "Hmm, its kind of hot." "What is that sharp pain suddenly shooting through my entire lower body?" "Who freaking shot me with bird shot?!" The, I totally could have been an Olympian had I started this sport in my prime, I must be Prefontaine reincarnated feeling apparently disappears at oh, we will be generous and say at about mile 2ish. AYEEEEEEEEE! My quads and calves suddenly woke up and let me know they are there and that they are not happy with the foolishness I was putting them through. "Holy crap, I have to pee too!" Do you stop and pee, keep going, what is a fellah supposed to do?
"Try to pee as you run" I thought. Read that somewhere .... Burning sensation ... Nothing! It's harder than one would think. In fact, to this day, impossible for me. I mean come on, a fellah spends his first 13 years of life (don't judge!) training himself not to pee his bed at night. The bladder muscles just don't turn around and untrain themselves! "Ah go ahead and stop by the port-a-potty or even one of these nice camper's spots." "Feel free to walk." "Be gone devil self-talk!" Walking is for ... well you can't walk! Thump, thump, thump, gasp, wheeze, snort, farmer blow, wheeze. "Ohhh, hey, what's that?" A little rubbing in my arch. Things just went from bad to worser in like a quarter of a mile. "Ok, how about whoever shot my legs with the birdshot put some buckshot in that same gun and just end this misery for me it right here and now. This was a turrible idea!"
Heading to the turn-around to start the 2nd and final lap - "Oooh look, the turn round." I catch a view of The Kid and The In-Laws. "Huh, they did make it, that's pretty cool!" High fives for everyone! At that point a strange thing happened. The muffled mash up of announcer, music, screaming, and wheezing, suddenly focused into spectators yelling positive words of encouragement to those of us dumb enough to participate in this sadomasochistic ritual that is triathlon. These people, including my family members, were taking time out of their days to line this damn park road and root on their friends and family members that were stoopid to pay money to participate in this lil event. It was a sudden but stark and undeniable realization, so much, it hit me with goose bumps and a wave of unexpected emotion. "Drop the hammer son!" A sudden burst of energy came out of the now clear blue sky. It was crazy how I had suffered through well over 2 hours of torture and seeing and hearing people cheering me on and everyone else on the road suddenly transferred into nitrous oxide in my "go tank."
Cadence picked up, a little more pep in my step. A big fellah was just entering the road ahead of me, on his first lap. SMACK! Yup, I smacked his ass! "You got this big fellah!" No idea what he said back, maybe a "thank you" for the ass grab, cuz I wasn't waiting around. I was on to the next group. Two older ladies, for sure into their 60's, shuffling side by side having themselves a good conversation and a different version of a Sunday drive. "Looking good ladies, looking good." A chuckled "thanks" was their reply, but with each bit of encouragement I gave out, I got a little extra boost of energy. It was weird, no doubt, but suddenly the death march had turned into something fanfreakingtastic. "Here we go SUJO!" The Wife was coming toward me with a look of "I freaking hate you for getting us into this crap" but she was flying. I'd like to think my holler got her moving a little more. Oh wait! "Ah crap, don't let her catch you man, you'll never hear the end of it!"
Remember ole Iowa State Tri Club dude that glided away from me in the last couple miles of the bike, after looking for his computer?" I finally caught up with that bastard on the run, mile 4ish. "Feeling good, feeling fine" ... ahhhh still have to pee! That little rubbing, yup that turned into a nice big ole blister, I could feel it growing with every stomp of my feet. "That's OK, good thing I'm tough." "Don't do anything new on race day." I swear I read that somewhere ... probably should have listened. "Good run man" the kid said. Was I supposed to say something back? How can he even talk? I'm about to die of running induced asphyxia (pretty sure that is a real thing). "Thanks" I gasped. I tried to pick up the pace just a little bit to go past him but the little bastard stayed with me. "Come on man!" I thought. "I have to pee, I have a blister, I just want to finish!" "You are making me kind of race here."
The Cyclone pulled away from me a bit right around mile 5ish or so. Right hand turn, entering the dirt path and field before the finish. I could hear names being called of those that finished. Arooooo, Aroooo, Barwooooo! Oh snap, the Father in Law has the Fat Beagle on the home stretch. Mustering what I thought to be every extra bit of remaining energy I gave them the thumbs up and a smile as I rolled by. The Kid and Mother in Law were there too. More high fives. The Cyclone was in sight. Satisfied with just knowing I was going to finish, I smiled to myself until .... "You aren't going to let a Cyclone beat you are yah?" I hear a stern male voice ask. Sonofa.... The Father In Law was calling me out! Oh now it is a pride thing.
We were on a dirt trail now in the trees, finish was in sight. So was The Cyclone! He was just right there. But the pain, holy crap, the pain. Did you know your lungs can actually catch on fire? Oh they can, I know this to be a medical fact because mine were a roaring bonfire of flames. Get out the fire extinguisher cuz the nitrous oxide is about to get lit on fire! I'm pretty sure I hammered out a 4.8 (I know, I know, there is nothing impressive about that) 40 yard dash to finish that damn race. Barely able to breath, heart rate of I'm positive 200+, I nicked The Cyclone at the end by probably a Chinaman's ... well it was close, but I got him!
Shaking, gasping, and wanting to die, an overwhelming wave of emotion hit me. "Holy crap, I did it!" I finished my first triathlon. Seriously, it is impossible to describe in words. Although this conversation gets kind of close to summing it up. "So how was it?" Smiling coach asked (It was that evil smile like the athletic trainers had when they were putting you through rehabilitation conditioning). "That sucked!" I took a bite of the worlds most delicious doughnut and sip of Coke, took it all in and then, "when is the next one?!" It is truly a strange draw this triathlon thing.
