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!

First Race - The Run - A Strange Thing Happened

"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.

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?"

First Race - The Prologue

Eminem blaring out of the speakers, brand spanking new road bikes strapped to the back of the Jeep and the ever-present overconfidence spewing from my every pore as we rolled into the local bike shop to pick up our race packets.  The wife and I decided if we are going to do this, we are going to do this right.  We bought road bikes, joined the local triathlon club, got a coach and followed through with a consistent training plan.  We were lean, mean triathlon machines!  As we rolled in, I was certain that I was but a day away from making those foolish triathlon nerds my personal stepping stones on my way to endurance sport stardom.

Did you catch it?  That's right, I said "wife and I."  She caught the bug too.  It didn't take long after I started "training," for the wife's intrigue and competitive spirit to catch fire too.  It probably had something to do with my chiseled, sweat soaked, ripped physic I obtained after but a week of training.  (Apparently consistent exercise can turn you into a Greek god in your own head regardless of what the mirror or anybody else might say).  "I guess if your really serious, I'll train with you" she told me.  Granted, she waited a couple of weeks watching me struggle trying to stay afloat and blasting around the gravel roads on my steel tank of a mountain bike just to make sure I was serious, but we were both in this new journey together.  (She claims she was onboard 30 seconds from my initial proclamation but I remember it being at least a couple of weeks.  Since I'm telling the story, it was a couple of weeks and due primarily to her seeing my sheer awesomeness in action.)  On a side note - get your significant other to join the journey with you.  It might be way more expensive having to buy two of everything, but it's a lot harder for her to complain about spending the money on a new "hobby" when you are buying her the exact same thing.

It was an interesting scene rolling into the local bike shop to pick up our race packets.  Those ever present triathlon nerds were there prancing around in their compression socks and matching spandex race kits with rocket ships strapped to the top of their Volvo's; Normal joe's and college kids with their beat up ten-speeds and mountain bikes somehow magically crammed into the rear of their Pontiac Grand Prix's and pick up trucks; Yuppies with their tricked out bikes and luxury SUV's decorated with triathlon stickers and personalized license plates; Legit triathletes with their focused eyes, chiseled facial features and 10 year old race tees; and older folks just there doing what could well be their 100th triathlon.  Fast, slow, old, young, fat, skinny, veterans and newbies; just like at Hy-Vee, apparently anybody could do this.

"Dork, dork, dork ... I'm gonna beat you, gonna beat you, you and you." "Time to show these triathlon nerds how real athletes race" I said under my breath as I breezed through the packet pick up line.  My confident swagger came to an abrupt halt when my eye caught a glimpse of a flip chart on an easel in the corner.  "Water temp: 54 degrees" it said.  "WHAT THE?!"  "Now someone please tell me how the hell this is going to work"  I blurted, apparently out loud.  I had done the open water swim clinic which was cold, but 54 degrees - that is flat out ridiculous even for Iowa in May.  "Oh we are going to be watching it over night, and if it doesn't warm up, we will shorten or cancel the swim if it gets much colder" said the chipper, bright shirt clad, clearly not planning on jumping in that freezing ass water, volunteer.  

While certainly not a fan of freezing water, I was offended for some reason.  I mean seriously.  I signed up for a TRI-athlon not a DU-athlon.  Anything less than the three legs was unacceptable.  I didn't drown myself all winter to not get to show my stuff when it mattered.  I had a wetsuit - I was good to go.  I also signed up to do the Olympic distance not the Sprint, because well, lets face it, I was that awesome.  I knew swimming a 400 or 750 would be a piece of cake so why start with that?  i wanted the challenge.  I wanted the entire thing damn it.  Don't ruin my first of many shining moments here Mother Nature!

Water temperature and race shortening complaints were the topic of conversation as we drove to the cabin we rented at the State Park for the weekend.  The cabin turned out to be the ONLY veteran move we made that weekend.  It was right on the lake where the race was being held and only a 5 minute walk from transition.  This was going to be epic!  "Hey look, you can see the buoys for the swim."  Gulp, frog-in-throat, pooper pucker, little bit of tinkle in the britches, and overwhelming sense of self-doubt.  "That's a long ways!"  "Is that course regulation?"  "You really think that's a mile?"  "Maybe they just throw the buoy's out willy nilly and re-adjust them in the morning."  Maybe this wasn't quite such a brilliant idea after all. "You are awesome, trust your training" I told myself.  "This will be a piece of cake for a stud like you."  The self-talk was already starting.

Water temperature, race shortening and now race strategy dominated the evening's conversation as we packed transition bags, set out the morning's "nutrition" and generally pumped ourselves up for the impending adventure.  Rock the swim, rock the bike, and rock the run was my detailed, well-thought out race plan.  After all, I trained my butt off, this can't be all that difficult.  Race strategy clearly visualized and processed, I proceeded to follow the directions contained in the race bag and affixed my race numbers to my helmet and bike just like I was a seasoned pro.  Unfortunately, this race didn't have the cool tri-tats to put on the night before so I waited until morning to bust out the Sharpie.  Race uniform consisting of my awesome board shorts laid out, bike tires pumped, chain cleaned and greased, GU packets taped to the frame, water bottles securely fastened, and transition bag packed.  Oh yeah, I was ready to take the triathlon world by storm.  

Visions of grandeur danced in my head as I attempted to get a little sleep that night. "Clearly I am destined for triathlon greatness" I thought.  "Certainly, nobody's going to know I'm a newbie."  Ah yes, nobody will know I'm a newbie....