Top 10 Newbie Lesson's Learned the Hard Way

Being a newbie is tough work. So much is going on that it seems impossible to have every possible angle covered (don't worry you wont cover them all). You've been so focused on nailing the workouts you have on your calendar that some of the small things that can make a big difference slide right by. Well, some make an actual difference while others just keep you from some good old fashion newbie embarrassment. So, here are a few tidbits of wisdom (or words of warning) handed down by a fellah who learned them the hard way. That is right, yours truly has screwed all of these up at least once (a few, twice, because I'm a slow learn).

1. Drawers Under Drawers. No, you don't wear underwear under your bike shorts or tri-shorts (yup, they makes these and they are a solid investment). Companies spend a shmeer of money researching, manufacturing and marketing shorts that are gentle on your private bits. Drawers under drawers creates extra friction, especially when wet on race day. The results are open wounds in areas where open wounds are not an acceptable conversation starter. Don't trust your shorts? see #7 for a little extra protection.
2. Foggy Goggles. Overpriced sprays, spit, blah, blah, blah. None of that crap works. Foggy goggles make the miserable experience of learning to swim laps even more miserable. There is however, a Mediocre Age Grouper guaranteed solution freely stolen from one more experienced and wiser than myself. Johnson & Johnson baby shampoo. That's right. Slather a lil bit of that on the inside of your goggles, rinse it out and you are guaranteed not to fog. You may wish your goggles fogged when you are surrounded by a thousand flailing arms and legs and unknown dangers lurking below, but this one is guaranteed! The key to clear goggles is baby shampoo.
3. Scout. Grab a delicious cup of joe and drive the bike course before the race, Ride the run course (without the cup of joe) if possible. You may not like what you see but it is better to know before you go than to blow up. Each race puts a course map up ahead of time for a reason and it is not because you use it on race day (race courses are well marked and staffed with volunteers, only made a few wrong turns thus far). Scout it out.
4. Artistry. Let the volunteers mark you, they are trained professionals. The line really goes faster than it looks and you don't want to be that newbie fool that puts their race number where their age goes.... Just saying, its embarrassing.
5. Bowels. Don't eat crap before race day. That delicious sounding baked greasy pasta aka EL DIABLO ... leave it alone the night before race day or you will have a sudden uncontrollable urge to poop at the wrong time! Two minutes is a respectable pit-stop time but it screws with your race PR.
6. Feeding Your Face. That honey and water nutrition plan that you read about in the magazine slipped into your race packet, DON'T try it for the first time on race day. It is hell-a-tempting to try a new brilliant idea that is all but guaranteed to help you crush the field but don't, just don't. Try it out training for the next race, nothing new on race day. Nutrition takes as much practice as every other discipline.
7. Lube. Vaseline, Vaseline, Vaseline. You cannot use too much Vaseline. Your nether-regions will thank you. If the thought crosses your mind to invest in this magical product, it is made by Unilever, (UN) on the NYSE.
8. Toe Jams. Don't go sockless for the first time on race day. While the pros and more experienced fools make it look like a great idea, hamburger feet is what results if your tender footsies are not adequately trained to endure this torture. Quick little tip, slathering NewSkin liquid all over your feet helps reduce blisters. That being said, work your way into it.
9. Porta Potty. Hit the porta-potties early and stay ahead of the migration from transition. You don't want to be stuck waiting in line minutes before your wave is set to start. If the expo area is not too far away, those are usually the hidden race day gems. They tend to be empty and cleaner. Not one to toot my own horn but this may be the best advice you ever received.
10. High Fives. High five a kid every chance you get. It's like a secret turbo boost. It makes you smile, relax and realize that triathlon is so much more than your race. Plus, they say smiling lowers your heart rate during exercise. Can't hurt, spread the love.

Bonus Material - Sober. Do NOT start talking about next year's races with other triathletes while intoxicated. You will regret it!

Party on and enjoy your season!

Trilifealte. Trilifeawhat? Tri-Life-Alete!

"Trilifealete" (tri-life-alete) - "An age-group endurance athlete who is equally defined by familial and/or employment responsibilities."

It is 5:00 a.m., your alarm clock is blasting its annoying anthem as you cuss out loud trying to figure out the simple math puzzle you voluntarily asked for in order to turn it off, all so that it would really wake up this morning. The Spouse is snoring, The Kids are snoring (one of them in your bed with his damn toes in your nose all night), The Dog is snoring louder than anyone else in the house. The sun is not yet up. Hell, roosters are not even up yet but you my friend are awake (sort of) because this is the only time you will be able to get your workout in today.

You would love to workout after work when the sun is out and weather is nice, but alas, your after-work schedule includes - 5:30 p.m. baseball game for The Oldest; 6:30 p.m. soccer practice for The Youngest; dinner to cook; yard to mow; dog to walk; a few random work emails to reply to that can't wait until tomorrow; laundry to fold and put away; house to pick up (meh this can probably wait); days happenings to catch up on with The Spouse; Kids to herd into bed; and a 9:30 p.m. bedtime for you unless of course you have a second workout for the day that you have to squeeze in there somewhere.

You do some simple math, trying like hell to figure out a way to push snooze and sneak nine more precious minutes of fake sleep out of your night. Lets see, quick piece of toast and cup of coffee - 10 minutes safe bet; 13 minutes from my door to pool; workout says only 50 minutes which really means an 1:10:00 because it was written for some freak athlete that you are certainly not; 20-30 minutes to shower and get presentable for work; protein shake packed so no need to account for post-workout breakfast; 8:00 a.m. work meeting that you should probably prepare for since you didn't do it yesterday afternoon because you hustled out the door for the group workout instead; you could cut the workout short but that is not even a consideration because you only have 209 days left until your A Race. Conclusion - Damn it! No snooze for you! Go brush your damn teeth because you have stuff to do!

The workout, YOUR workout is not some 45 minute preppy-ass class at an overpriced gym surrounded by yuppies in matching outfits. Nope, its a do-it-by-your-damn-self workout that probably includes staring at a black line at the bottom of a cold pool assisted by more toys than a frustrated housewife; an hour-and-a-half in your basement on your pedal bike that you spent more than you did on your first car; or a lonely hour run with just you and a sidewalk, dodging ice booby traps and grumpy neighborhood dogs. You didn't download this workout for free from the internet either. You pay a coach twice what you pay in gym memberships a month to plan and track your progress and write up this sadistic crap just to make sure you are ready when the gun finally goes off. All of this you KNOW is money well spent.

Once your motor is going, you crank out the workout with images of greatness pulsing through your brain. Your efforts are rewarded with a rush of endorphin's comparable to what a drug addict experiences with each fix. Unlike drugs though, each post-workout high is actually better and more fulfilling than the one before it. This leads you to call what most people call insane, "fun." With images of your next inevitable personal record blurring your vision, you gulp down your organic, GMO free, gluten free, muscle rebuilding, turbo charging meal replacement and away you go on another day in the life of a Trilifealete.

That's right, you read that right, I didn't forget to spell check that - "Trilifealete" (tri-life-alete) - "An age group endurance athlete who is equally defined by familial and/or employment responsibilities." Parent, spouse, athlete - Trilifealete. Son/daughter, sibling, athlete - Trilifealete. Parent, entrepreneur, athlete - Trilifealete. Substitute in whatever describes you, but the term "Trilifealete" truly sums up the life of an age group endurance athlete. You don't get to ensure optimum hours of sleep every day. You don't get to sit around with your legs in some air compression contraption after each workout. Your "recovery" days could probably qualify as an actual workout for some people. You don't care though. You live for this stuff and thrive on the never-ending whirlwind of professional and personal life activity, all while training your body to swim, bike and run in a single day, distances that "ordinary folk" don't even do in a week.

Your passion and your lifestyle allows others to make a living feeding, catering to and capitalizing on your obsession. Equipment, more equipment, coaching, race entries, travel, lodging, specialized travel and lodging, nutrition, the list goes on and on. An entire thriving industry has been built on your efforts. Triathlon Business International estimates that the consumer triathlon market in the United States is a 2.8 BILLION dollar industry. The value of us Trilifealetes is best demonstrated by the recent purchase of World Triathlon Corporation by Dilian Wanda Group for $650 Million. That doesn't happen if you don't exist. They don't make money on professionals. Hell professionals aren't professionals without us. It's the hundreds of thousands of Trilifealetes that spend their hard earned money chasing their next endorphin high that makes this world go round. So, this holiday season while you are Googling the latest and greatest gear to add to your Christmas list, STOP. Stop. Take a moment. Step back, give yourself a pat on the ass and soak in the fact that you are a Trilifealete. You make this world go round. Everyone in it owes you a ginormous "thank you." Without you, they don't exist.

After you take that moment, buy the hell out of that new gear, renew your coaching program, get your Trilifealete spouse that new VO2 analysis, sign up for your next big race. Let's be honest, they are necessities and our sport depends upon us!  When you are done with that, march your ass to the basement, mount your trusty stead and work off that Thanksgiving gravy. Here's to the Trilifealetes!

PS: I'm trademarking the hell out of "Trilifealete" - all rights reserved Mediocre Age Grouper, 11/28/15 :)

First Race - Just a Little More Cowbell!

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!

First Race - Hell Froze Over With Me in the Middle - Part II

BWAAAAAAAAH!

The air horn sounded sending my heart out of my nose and making my pooper pucker like someone put Icy Hot in my drawers.  My heat was underway.  I'm not sure how many people were actually in my wave but it felt like I was one out of a thousand lemmings running in slow motion to our inglorious doom.  "Crap, crap, crap, craaaaaaaaap."  There was no backing out now even if my life depended on it.  I was in the middle of the pack being pushed toward the frigid water by a bunch of foolhardy triathlon nerds who were chomping at the bit to get their race on.  I was like that sorry Roman soldier with his fellow soldier's spear in his back as they charged forward into battle.  It was either go forward and fight to live or die turning around to flee.

Not only would I have been trampled had I turned around to back out, but the wife's heat was right behind us.  It would be better to drown in the frigid duck-water lake than to endure the life-long shaming that would have taken place had I backed out. (Little did I know the same thing was going through the wife's head as she watched us plunge into the frosty fluid).  "Here goes nothing."  Summing up my last bit of false bravado, I gave myself a mental kick in the ass as I let myself fall face first into the water.  SONOFA!!! (Insert string of profanities).  Razors sliced my face and anywhere else not covered by my wetsuit.  "Turtle syndrome" was taken to an entirely new level.  Oxygen evaporated from my lungs as they were instead filled with wet cement.  My frigid watery death was all but a mere formality now.  Crap, I didn't even have my will done!

"Hold on, you can't drown in a wetsuit, you can't drown in a wetsuit" I assured myself.  "Just stroke and breath, stroke and breath."  "You're as buoyant as a beer can floating down a river."  "Wait, even they eventually sink...."  Smack, choke, gasp, flail, snot bubbles, panic.  Hand on my leg, heel to my forehead, goggles cockeyed on my face (At least I put my swim cap over the straps like a seasoned pro so I didn't lose them - This was one thing I read online that was right!)   Lake water filled my eyes and mouth, somehow at the same time.  This was the single worst idea of my life.  I was going to die like Leonardo DiCaprio's character in the Titanic. I could hear that terrible soundtrack whining in my head as I slipped to my watery grave.  Ole Jack made drowning in freezing water look so peaceful but I felt like a one-winged penguin being chased by a great white shark.  "This is not peaceful, this sucks!"

"Okay, okay, okay, tread water and gather yourself man!"  "Hey, a kayak is right there, go ahead and grab it ... stop it, don't be that guy, don't eat the apple!"  "Shore is pretty much just as far away now as the next buoy, keep swimming."  "It's too cold, you can't breath, this is just stupid, it can't be good for you, go ahead and just call it a day.  Don't leave your son fatherless." "Can't quit, what does that teach the son?  Plus, the wife will never let you live it down, you're better off drowning."  "Ah look, there's a bunch of people hanging onto the buoy like seals on the one iceberg that is still afloat in the middle of the Arctic Ocean."  "Haha, you guys are cheating, I'm still swimming.  I am awesomer than all ya'll!" My self-talk was like an inebriated lunatic that didn't take his medication.

"Relax, breast stroke, breath; breast stroke, breath; stroke a breast, breath." Hehe I said "stroke a breast."  Apparently I was going delirious.  BWAAAAAAAAHHHHHH.  The women's Olympic distance heat was being sent off behind us.  "Get moving fool before you get passed by a bunch of chicks."  "Regular stroke, breath; regular stroke, breath."  "Don't mind that hand on your ass and foot about to kick you in the face."  "Follow the bubbles, bump, roll, relax, breath."  I was finding a rythm.  "We got this."  "Relax, pull, breath, sight; relax, pull, breath, sight.  I was moving right along now.  Ironman Kona here I come!  Relax pull, breath, sight; relax, pull ... THUNK! What the hell?!  The top of my melon ran smack into something.  Choking on dirty ice water I popped straight up to see what had fallen out of the sky to smack me in the head.  A damn kayak!  "Did I go that far off course?"  There was no way, the one thing I was doing right was sighting and following the buoys.  Nope, didn't go off course.  A bright-eyed, bright-shirt sporting, smiling volunteer was sitting in her kayak smack dab in the middle of the swim course watching us all go on our merry way.  "You alright?" She asked.  "No, can't you see I'm trying to drown myself here and you aren't making things any easier" I replied in my head.  "Ugh" was all I could really muster to groan in response.

"Fruitin, fartin, fricken, frackin, biscuit baking, banana boater!"  As if the swim wasn't hard enough already they had to throw obstacles in the middle of it.   "Did I look that bad that someone paddled over to get me?" I wondered.  "Oh well."  "Lord I got to keep on moooooveeeeen..."  Now Bob Marley popped into my head as I blissfully imagined pulling the bright-eyed, bright-shirt sporting, smiling, apparently warm kayaking volunteer out of her kayak and paddling myself to safety.  Undeterred, I struggled to find my "rhythm" again.  "There it is, here we go, but what's that?"  The water behind me started churning.  It's weird how you can hear and feel something approaching you from behind even in murky water.  I was like a lure about to be devoured by a famished fish.

A few seconds went by and something was grabbing my feet, another thing pushed my head down, a dark object went darting by me, bubbles everywhere.  What the ...?  Is that a freaking porpoise (no porpoises don't hang out in Iowa lakes)? Is that a swim cap?  Is that an arm?  It's a stinking person.  Damn it! The girls were passing me now.  They had to be ex-Olympian swimmers right?  One by one, they glided right by me, each one taking my masculinity down another notch.  First man-nerds now women!  As if about drowning wasn't bad enough.  Their wake went straight into my gaping mouth as I attempted to breath.  Hack, spit, choke, panic, another round of breast stroke.  "I guess I should be swimming my swim workouts with the breast stroke" I thought.  "You can't come out of this looking good so just survive man, just survive.  Kona will have to wait."

What felt like an eternity went by as I scratched and clawed my way through the Arctic water, slowly working my way to the safety of the blow-up arch and boat ramp marking the end to this torturous task.  My lungs were on fire, which was weird with as much water as I swallowed, and my arms felt like they were going to fall off.  I couldn't feel my face, feet or fingers.  Numb, humbled but happy to be alive, my hand felt the scratch of the boat ramp concrete ridges.  Twelve and a half minutes had felt like hours but now it was all but a distant nightmare

A relief unlike I had ever felt before swept over me as my feet came up under me and I grasped that glorious volunteer's hand to help me out of the water.  "LAND FREAKING HO!"  I wanted to bear hug the volunteer and bend down and kiss the earth that had saved me from my watery grave but alas, aint nobody got time for that, I was racing ... again.  I didn't care about the needles penetrating my feet with every step, I had survived.  I even snuck a peak back and saw to my surprise that there were still people in the water.  I wasn't last!

A little light-headed, I staggered up the ramp to the cheers of the wonderful people that had come to see the triathlon phenomenon that was me.  It sounded like I had just scored the winning touchdown at the Super Bowl, in my head anyway.  "Short, choppy steps" I coached myself.  "Get your heart rate down, breath man, breath."  I had survived!  I had made it through the part that terrified me the most.  A feeling of glorious accomplishment swept over me as I shuffled up the 15% grade hill to transition (it wasn't that steep, just taking some artistic liberties here).  I didn't care, I survived.  My false bravado and overconfidence began creeping back in with every step away from the water.  I was a lock to finish my first triathlon ... Or was I?

First Race - Hell Froze Over With Me in the Middle - Part I

The bus rolled up to the swim start to drop us all off.  There was no way back but to swim across the lake unless of course you wanted to take a massive hike of shame.  Not me, not I, no way was that going to happen.  I was not about to take that loss and the wife would never, ever, ever, let me live that down.  I had trained my tail off and it was my time to shine.

Cold, wet, grass greeted our bare feet as we exited the bus.  "I hope the water isn't this cold."  It was the kind of cold that makes your feet tingle with every step.  "Ah the water has to be warmer, the grass just got extra cold overnight with the rain" I told myself.  The race director announced that the water was a balmy 56 degrees.  Because of that, the Olympic distance swim would be the same as the Sprint "to ensure the safety of the athletes."

I talked myself into being cool with the shortened swim.  It was my first go at this and a shorter swim certainly couldn't hurt.  As I walked down the hill leading to the beach, a bunch of people were already in the water getting their warm up on.  There were even a couple of guys standing around in nothing but their Speedo's and no wetsuit to speak of.  "Nucking futs" I thought.  Then again one of the guys was wearing an Army t-shirt.  "They probably do crazy stuff like this for basic training or survival school" I thought.  "That dude is a bad man and I am apparently a sissified tweedy bird."  "But a warm tweedy bird in this wetsuit."

The lyrics of the last song on my pre-race playlist mocked me as I got ready to wade into the lake.  "Toes in the water ass in the sand, not a worry in the world a cold ... FREAKING FROZEN LAKE, HOLY CRAP!  Did we somehow move to Alaska?  Where are the penguins and Eskimos?  To say the water was cold would be an understatement.  There had to have been a layer of ice over the top.  How it wasn't frozen solid I have no idea.  The buoys appeared to move further and further away from shore with each step I took into the water.   My toes were numb in a matter of seconds.  "Got to do this; its a shorter swim; got to do this."  "Those are people out there not penguins and they are still alive and moving.  Got to do this!"  I gingerly forced myself further into the water for a "warm up" swim.  Is this a 400 or a 4000 meter swim?!  What is going on here?!  Is that England on the other side?  Are we swimming the freaking English Channel?  My mind  had become a hot mess of self-doubt, personal resentment, and false bravado.  I think I even figured out a way to somehow blame the wife even though this race was my idea.

"OK, screw it just dive right in and get it over with.  Everyone else is out there clearly not dead."  Needles, thousands of needles pierced my face.  Any part of my body not covered by the wetsuit went numb.  A strange invisible monster stuck its arm straight down my throat, mercilessly tearing out my lungs.  A water leprechaun began filling my wetsuit with ice cubes while Chucky continued stabbing my face, feet and hands.  Purple and gasping I stood right up, dazed, confused, and pretty sure I hell had frozen over with me standing smack dab in the middle of it.  "Oh we're looking out for the athletes, alright" I mocked.  That was all they said all morning talking about shortening the swim.  "What's the point of swimming 400 meters as opposed to a mile if you are a popsicle by the first buoy?"  "If they were looking out for the athletes, they wouldn't be making us swim where the Titanic sank."

Sulking and questing my sanity for even embarking on this voyage, I took a couple of big breaths and looked around at the rest of my fellow fools.  Everybody else was still alive and swimming their warm ups like it was summertime at Waimea Bay.  "What the hell?"  "Am I racing a bunch of polar bears?"  OK, if they could do it, so could I.  "How are we going to do this?" I thought, probably out loud.  "How am I going to survive?"  Light bulb!  Back home nothing cut through the chill on a cold night-dive (free diving/"snorkeling" in the ocean at night with a waterproof flashlight, waking fish up with a spear through their head) better than a quick pee.  Maybe that's the key.  Warm pee in wetsuit = warm body.  Certainly worth a try.

Not going to lie, the pee trick helped ... a little.  That was until I put my face back into the freezing water.  It literally took your breath away.   You want to know what it was like?  Go outside, scoop up a cooler full of snow, let it melt, and right after the last speck melts, go bobbing for apples.  OK, "relax and blow bubbles."  "That worked, now stroke, breath, stroke, breath. You got this."  My self-talk was at an all-time high.  Breathing every three strokes like I practiced in the pool was not going to work.  It was pure survival mode.  I tried to convince myself, "it is all but impossible to drown wearing a wetsuit."  "Not if you die from hypothermia first."  Damn self-talk!  My race strategy was now modified.  Survive the swim; rock the bike; rock the run; probably don't have to worry about accepting any awards.

Everyone got out of the water to thaw out as the race director barked out the last minute instructions.  Something about if you need to, don't hesitate to grab hold of a kayak or canoe or buoy and you wont be penalized so long as you don't use it to advance yourself.  "Screw that! I'm not about to wuss out and take a half time on the swim."  To me that would be like walking during a road race, it's an automatic loss.  You can't count say you "ran" that race if you walked any part of it.  In fact, don't even pick up your finishers medal at the end.  Go strait to the car, get in and drive your shameful buttocks home.  If I was going to do this, I'm doing it right!

After the last minute directions, the race director started singing the National Anthem.  It was pretty terrible sounding through the megaphone.  Terrible, but goosebumps crept in none-the-less and a sudden rush of emotion smacked me as many of the participants started chiming in and singing along.  This is real.  All these people regardless of their age, experience, "athletic" ability, or background, had all committed to this endeavor and they weren't allowing themselves to be contained by what other people might think about them.  It was like it was one giant shameless family, possibly united by the fact that they all knew we were about to die from hypothermia.  "Huh, wonder if we'll get a fly over?"

30 SECONDS!  My day dreaming was cut short as the race director started the countdown for first swim wave.  It was the Men's Sprint wave.  There was no time trial start like I saw at Hy-Vee, we weren't going in age groups, it was a mass start based on which race you were doing.  "Good thing I did the open water swim clinic last week" I thought.  "It's going to suck but I can survive."  The first horn sounded and bodies started hitting the water.  The crazy serious dudes were diving right in, taking off like seals being chased by killer wales.  Others took their time entering, wading in before taking the plunge.  Even more waited for the entire wave to be on their way before even walking down to the water.  "Your losing time fellahs!"  The water was a gigantic washing machine of flailing arms, legs, and bright colored swim caps.  Ha!  One guy didn't get but 50 yards out before he turned a direct course for a kayak.  I mocked him in my head.  "Chump, you should know ahead of time that you can't make the swim, save yourself the embarrassment and sleep in." 

It was but maybe three minutes before the next horn sounded.  Women's Sprint ....  Off they went.  "Crap that means we are next."  My heart was beating out of my wetsuit, my breathing became shallow, and I all but wanted to pee myself again as we inched closer to the waters edge.  People were jostling for position and to get the best line to the first buoy.  "Be safe, have fun" everyone was telling each other.  "Be safe?" I thought.  "Do people ACTUALLY die in these things?"  (The answer is "yes" by the way.  See http://www.endurancecorner.com/Larry_Creswell/triathlon_death)
"It's a sanctioned event, it has to be safe right? Why are they telling each other to be safe?"  "Do I really want to do this?"