The Three D's: Dig Double Deep - Timberman 70.3 Race Report

Kristin (left) and I minutes before Timberman Start - I'm licking off the remnants of the Clif Bar that would later give me fits during the race :).

“No, we don’t have anything like that here,” said the lady in response to my query of whether the town of Laconia, NH boasted an IHOP or Denny’s. “But there are three Dunkin’ Donuts nearby…”

No way!!

Way!!

Nice. I knew Dunkin’ Donuts had at least expanded their menu to bagels and they have AWESOME coffee. Where there are bagels, there is usually peanut butter, and I had plenty of Clif bars to fill in the gaps if necessary for a pre-race meal Sunday morning.

As it turned out my rabbit food wouldn’t need to pinch hit that day. Dunkin’ Donuts is making a serious effort to introduce “healthier” choices – funny for a sweets-mainstay of a company with “donuts” in their name isn’t it? – and they mean business. Sure enough, at 4:00am their doors were open, lights were on, clerks were friendly and efficient. Steve and I walked away with coffee, juice, grain bagels, peanut butter, and a delightful flatbread sandwich of egg whites, a sprinkling of turkey sausage, and some skim mozzarella. This was no greasy McDonald’s egg and cheese sandwich. It was “dry” and just the right size and combination of the right nutrients for a pre-race meal.

I downed the triangle at 4:50am sitting in the parking lot at the race site. Though the dawn was coming, it was still dark and the transition area was not very well lit in my corner, so I relaxed for a few minutes in the car with Steve and sipped my coffee. Still more than 2 hours til Start and I had already racked my bike the night before and tested the water (with my new wetsuit – woohoo!).

I had done my homework and prepared well for this race – well almost (more later). Steve, my supersonic-triathlete-friend Kristin, and I had driven the bike course the day before, and of course it looked tough. I’ve come to accept that none of these races are “easy.” But at least we knew what to expect and where.

I mixed my special potion of Carbo Pro with water and Gatorade. Carbo Pro is a white powder that contains complex carbs to help maintain calorie intake on the bike and/or run without having to eat solid foods that could upset the stomach. It also strongly resembles cocaine in its appearance and I find that rather funny. Since I don’t pay extravagant amounts of attention to self-image and, hence, like to mess with those who do, I’ve often thought about (very visibly) dipping my pinkie finger into my baggie of “white powder” before a race and rubbing it on my gums, maybe “accidentally” get some above my lip – just to see what people around me would do.

But, alas, not today. Like Dunkin’ Donuts new healthy menu, today’s race was serious business and I needed to focus.

I went to find Kristin, and we blasted out on our bikes for a quick warmup on the run course. Good thing we did so I could see where the early porta-potties were – more on that too.

After we got back, we got into our wetsuits and Steve took some pictures. It was time to walk to the swim start so the three of us hiked along the sandy beach along with a couple thousand other lemmings, I mean people, to the Start :).

There was a Clif tent on the beach and the rep was giving out free Shots and Shot Bloks. Kristin and I looked at the flavors. Hmmm…espresso…2x caffeine…one of my favorite GU (competitor brand) flavors and one I reacted to very well. I was thinking Clif might taste the same, maybe? I grabbed one, tore it open, and took some.

I wasn’t hungry at all (the sandwich filled me nicely) and instantly I remembered why I’ve never connected with Clif’s flavors. It tasted terrible but by then it was too late – I’d eaten it all. There was no water to wash it down either.

Beeg Meestake Number 1 – Never ever EVER eat within 30 minutes of the swim start. I did this at Memphis – one would think I learned my lesson.

I regretted it 20 minutes into the swim. The same lump rose in my throat as it did at Memphis and it would be a constant struggle the rest of the race.

My swim wave was crowded and I often ran into the feet of someone ahead of me. This is something new this year. Usually it’s been the opposite: someone runs into (sometimes over) me from behind.

This time a person’s leg bumped the side of my face and knocked my goggles clean off. It didn’t hurt and I reacted quickly, raising my head above the water and adjusting them back onto my face.

I made the final turn, rolled to breathe, and promptly gulped in a mouthful of water – the water was rough and it was impossible to breathe on my right side. I very briefly rolled onto my back to clear my nose and another’s swimmer’s hand came across my face and clipped me right under the nose. Gahhh!!!

Finish this swim and get out there on your steed! I thought to myself. I clawed my way to the shore and tore into transition, the pain in my throat already showing its bad ugly self. Why did I eat that Clif Shot? What was I thinking?? I scolded myself for being so casual about deviating from what I knew to be right.

Right out of the park the bike course turned into a long climb but surprisingly I wasn’t too bothered by it. I knew it was coming and I alternated between standing and staying seated, which uses different muscle groups and spreads out the load. I learned this from riding with Kristin, and it has had a significant impact on my mental approach to hills overall. Thanks Kristin! :)

By Mile 30 the painful reflux in my throat was becoming more persistent. Drinking or eating anything was nearly out of the question and I had to force myself to do it. Instead, pulling over to force myself to hurl was looking pretty good. Anything to move whatever was sitting in there.

The course was hilly but it didn’t seem as bad as Ironman Kansas. Maybe it was all the people, the support and traffic control on the road, the road conditions themselves – all of it was wonderful and it helped me deal with the challenges at every turn.

At one point we were screaming down one of many hills, and I actually peeked at my bike computer – 45 mph. I nearly soiled myself. A crash at this speed wouldn’t leave much of me to clean up. But halfway down I pushed away any doubts and screamed YEEEHAAWWWW!!! with childish glee (or utter terror?)…I don’t remember. I just tucked my knees into my frame, got down into my aerobars and flew past people who were tapping their brakes. I could see all the way down to the bottom and it was clear sailing the whole way. No brake-tapping for me…

After Mile 40 I looked at my watch and realized if I held on for just a bit longer I would actually come in under my goal time. And I did! I could’ve lain down on the grass – I was happy with just my bike time. Amazing what the mind can drive the body to do despite being sicker than a dog.

Once on the run I had delayed puking til I saw the first porta-potty. Kristin and I had warmed up on the run course, so I knew exactly where it was.

It’s one thing to sit down in a porta-potty to do business. It’s another thing entirely to bend over and vomit into one. I had seen Kristin on the run course as she was starting her second loop. I told her I was sick, and she said what I needed to hear “Do what you gotta do to finish.” Her words came back to me as I stood inside the porta-potty. Just close your eyes and do what you gotta do…you don’t want to WALK the whole run course do you????

I made myself wretch and felt a bit better as I came out. I jogged a few miles and the pain began to make its way back after Mile 5. Man, 8 more miles to go…the letters DNF (Did Not Finish) danced in front of me like a dark-chocolate sundae with dark hot fudge sauce…seriously tempting. It wasn’t that I couldn’t finish, I simply didn’t want to resort to walking the course.

At Mile 9 an aid station had banana slices and I took some. The pain actually abated a bit, and I could lightly jog. I upped my cadence and opened my stride a bit more. So far so good.

When I reached Mile 11 I was hurting again, but there was music playing up ahead. It was U2’s In the Name of Love and it was loud and the best thing I had heard all day. I began weeping (of all things) and said to myself Puke or not, you’re GOING!!

I ran the rest of the way to the Finish and this was a BIG race with hundreds of people on the sidelines. Our names were printed on our bibs so people could shout your name as they cheered you on. Total strangers yelled Go Catherine! as I sailed by.

I ran while weeping and forgot about the pain, the hurling, hot spots on my feet, my body nearly emptied out of physical and emotional strength – and just poured out whatever I had left.

I crossed the Finish crying my eyes out and there were Steve and Kristin. I hugged them both, so glad I had dug DEEP to FINISH and didn’t give in to DNF.

There will definitely be other days adversity comes to take me down. Not today. I dug deep alright, and just when the demons thought I would give in, I buried them instead :).

I Was Blind

It was what I affectionately call The Geriatric Express. I was on my connecting flight from Chicago to Manchester, NH -- for a business trip and to race the Timberman 70.3 Ironman -- and I was by far the youngest passenger in the first 10 rows of the plane.

I had scored an aisle seat near the front which was no small feat in itself, as the flight was completely sold out and I boarded after 70 or so passengers had already gotten on. Southwest Airlines’ policy is open seating once you board, so having a decent aisle seat near the front was really beyond my expectations.

However, things are not always as they seem. As I got seated, I came to realize the aisle seat was more like half an aisle seat, the middle being taken up by a an older gentleman who was rather tall and lanky in build. This is ordinarily not a problem for me since I’m average size, and there is some liberty with space in the aisle. It was also not a long flight, maybe an hour and 40 minutes, so I was willing to deal.

The gentleman’s travel companion was an equally senior woman, presumably his wife. I couldn’t help but overhear snippets of their conversation, and it sounded on several occasions like she was speaking to him in somewhat childlike tones. His manner of responding to her was similar, so naturally I assumed he had dementia, the beginnings of Alzheimer’s, or was simply mentally slow.

When the flight service started, he began to move around in earnest for his belongings. Several times his left arm and entire shoulder came right across my face, into my line of sight. The left side of his body would overtake the space in my aisle seat. When not moving around at random, his arm fully occupied the armrest between us – no “sharing space” or even a word about it.

A bit later the flight attendant came around to collect used cups and cans, and he didn’t make a move to hand anything back to her. He simply waited for her to take it from his tray.

I chalked it up to lack of experience in flying very much, or the sense of “entitlement-behavior” that seniors sometimes sadly exhibit. I can only imagine the trials many older people experience in the sunset years of their lives: chronic pains, weaker hearts, digestion ailments, slowness of memory as well as gait, family who don’t call or visit – in short, the world rushing by without so much as giving them a second, much less, respectful, glance.

I wish I could say my heart poured patience and compassion for my seatmates, but unfortunately that was not exactly the case. I was under more stress than usual, or I should say I wasn’t handling elevated stress as well as I could. I packed for 1) a business trip; 2) an endurance race that required air travel; and 3) some R&R with my awesome stepmom after the race. In addition, I was also traveling with my race bike for the first time. It was in the cargo hold as checked luggage, zipped up tight in a high-tech ballistic nylon bag with screws and padding in all the right places (sounds like some “enhancements” I’ll need in my 60s, but I digress…). All told, about $5,000 worth of gear was in that bag, with the bike, all its carbon fiber parts, and deep dish race wheels. I was a bit anxious to say the least – please be gentle with my baby! :)

In addition I was immensely tired. I had gotten up before 5am to ride and run, so I could get it in before heading to the airport. Then I packed the bike, race gear and clothes, ran an errand, ate breakfast, and waited for the cab driver to take me to the airport. Now the fatigue was catching up to me and my eyelids felt like lead shades over a window.

To be blunt, none of this was an excuse to be anything less than gracious to my seatmates. However, to be honest it was a struggle to not be annoyed with them. After falling asleep and jerking awake for the 10th time, I finally got up from my seat and went to the restroom. Upon returning I settled myself back in for a good read from my book, and…

…on the floor, sitting at the feet of my senior seatmates, in perfect peaceful repose, …was a beautiful young Golden retriever, his loving brown eyes inquisitively moving back and forth at his owners’ feet, as if to say Do you need anything? Is there anything I can do for you?

I was astonished to say the least. I’ve flown literally millions of miles around the world - several times over. I’ve seen service dogs at airports, but never actually in the cabin with passengers. Usually they’re crated and placed into checked luggage.

Not this time. I leaned over and asked the woman:

What is your dog’s name?

Woman (with a distinct Southern accent): He’s mah husband’s dowg…

I turn to the older gentleman sitting next to me, and…

Where one would expect to see two eyes looking out, instead there were empty and squinting sockets.

The man was blind.

Waves of understanding poured over me – the slow talk, the lack of awareness of “personal space”, not handing his cup to the flight attendant…it all made sense now...and my heart suddenly ached with pity, compassion,...and guilt.

Somehow I had the presence of mind to ask What is your dog’s name?

Man (quite amiably): His name is Gyro, but I call him Killer because he kills and dismembers Teddy Bears :).

He’s precious! How old is he?

Man: He’s 3 ½ years old and he’s the best. He’s helped me through so many struggles in life.

I murmured a polite affirmation and turned back to my book. It was a struggle to keep the tears back. Even writing this now tugs at my heartstrings.

I was the one who didn’t see. I was the one who was blind and it was worse than any physical handicap my neighbor had. I was annoyed and didn’t bother talking to them for an array of minor infractions - until I saw their dog - and even then I didn’t fully see.

I wondered Is this how I appear to God sometimes? Am I blundering about in life, blind to what He has for me, annoyed at the “inconveniences” of life, really because sometimes things don’t go the way I would like? How EASY it is to be a Christian when everything is “right” – people are nice, job is good, family relationships are strong.

I’ve viewed firsthand the jaw-dropping majesty of some of the most spectacular places on earth. I marvel at the Hand that created such beauty…and I’m ashamed that I would have the nerve to be annoyed with Him when things don’t go my way. I really can’t see what He sees – I am limited in my vision in endless ways, an ant crawling on a Rembrandt painting.

I’m grateful that, among His other magnificent traits, God is long on patience and loving kindness. That He is rich in unmerited favor, or grace, and doesn’t kill me on the spot for feeling this way. Sure, I'm "ok" compared to my human counterparts. But in God's standard, I'm well into the red. God could hit the Smite Button and be perfectly justified - I've wronged him endless times.

Instead He enriches my life with other people who help me see where my blind spots are. I pray for the humility to see these lessons no matter where they come from.

“I once was blind, but now I see…”

God’s grace is truly amazing.

A TwoFer Weekend - Ultramax Race Report

This was taken this past Saturday at the Ultramax Triathlon Series. My friend Kristin Moore is in the middle (she won Overall Female in the Quartermax - supersonic girl!!) and Shelby Sullivan, President of the Big Shark Michelob Ultra Racing Club, is on the left.

My knee hurt. A lot. Though the spill happened when Steve’s front wheel bumped into my back wheel at a stoplight last Tuesday, it wasn’t his fault at all. We both wear small rearview mirrors on our shades, so I could clearly see he had fallen, and I was so concerned with his well being that I completely forgot to clip out of my shoes.

I wavered for a moment like a squirrel on a wire, and down I went…hard. My right knee took the brunt of the fall, and in seconds I was a turtle stuck on its back – with my right leg pinned under the bike and my left at an odd side angle, I couldn’t clip out of my shoes, and I simply wriggled helplessly on my side. At least one curse escaped from my mouth, and the tears were nearly spilling down my face, as I was equally angry and hurting badly. Steve came and helped me right my bike. Though he had fallen also, he had mostly scrapes and was largely ok.

I had landed right on the front edge of my patella, and the pain was so intense I limped over to the side of the road where I promptly bent over and nearly puked my intestines out. Several really nice folks kindly asked if they could call someone and Steve smiled, said thanks, and politely declined. If I had actually sliced my leg off, then he would be calling for help; anything else was fixable :).

We rode home slowly where we both downed 800mg of ibuprofen and donned icepacks for our knees.

I couldn’t believe it – 3 days before Innsbrook Ultramax, and only 2 ½ weeks before my second A-race of the season – the Timberman Half-Ironman. Every challenge is an opportunity right? Right.

So here we were 4 days later early Saturday morning driving to Innsbrook, MO for the Ultramax Triathlon Series. It was a lonnnnnnng drive – an entire 45 minutes!! :) A nice change from other venues, and the knee was feeling well enough to weather a challenging bike and run in hotter-than-hell temperatures even at 8am.

This time I was laser focused as I racked my bike and setup my transition area. I turned on my MP3 player with what I call The Inner Circle tunes – a select group of 10 songs that kick my brain and body into gear, no matter how bad I feel.

Mentally I did a “walkthrough” of my transitions, going through the motions, making a note of exactly where my bike was from the run and swim entry points, checked all bolts, tires, gears, fluids, and felt splendid during my warmup, the knee pain nearly forgotten. It's not that I haven't done these things in the past. This time, though, I was very intentional.

When the cannon went off for the swim, I ran and dove dolphin-style into the water and began my reach in earnest for the first buoy. This is funny because last year at this very same event, I was nearly weeping with tension before the start. Along with everyone else I was nervous about the swim. With every race this season however, that tension has been pushed farther back into my mind, replaced with cool confidence in my abilities and viewing myself as an experienced triathlete who, on the edge of turning 44, is STILL coming up the curve of her potential.

I came out of the water 35 seconds ahead of my goal time – nice! – and bounded up the hill to grab my bike. As I tore into transition, I happened to glance down at my watch and saw 177bpm – wow! As I reached my bike, a wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere (man, NOT AGAIN…!), and I bent over (AGAIN :)) for a few seconds until it passed.

I hopped onto my bike and pedaled like mad to get momentum going. The hills came immediately and relentlessly. These were not the long gutbusters of Ironman Kansas, but they were steep and I was out of my saddle halfway up most of them. My heart rate reached 178bpm on a couple, which made me grin and push even harder as I crested the top. The bike was only 17 miles and I could suffer for an hour on my steed :). Mental fortitude – ain’t it great :).

I finished the bike within 1 minute of my goal time and headed out on the run. Last year I had looked at the hill facing me and thought “You gotta be kidding me!” This time I had done a 2-mile warmup on the run course and knew exactly what to expect, and it made a huge difference mentally both on the way out as well as on the return.

Once more I finished within 1 minute of my goal time – amazing considering the weather and the course.

Knee? What knee? :)

I actually placed 3rd in my Age Group and looking at the other (younger) AG’s, I would’ve been in the top 4 of them too.

We drove home happy but quickly because Steve had an Olympic Duathlon he was racing Sunday, and he needed to rest up.

Fast forward to the next post entitled Steve Speaks! :)…

Steve Speaks!!

So, let me say first off that the only part of this blog that Catherine contributed to was the title…she thought it was funny since I haven’t blogged as of yet. So here I am, the other half of a wonderful whole. I have to say she is the most beautiful and wonderful woman and person I have ever known. She is my best friend and now she is also my evil coach.

In January of this year I made one of those New Year’s resolutions that usually last a few months for some people. Now, I am a goals driven person. I can’t seem to function well without making a list of things that I need to do. In fact, I have lists for everything. Writing this blog entry is somewhere on a list. I used to judge how my day went by the number of items that I checked off. I slowly got over that but still use my lists because I have that mental disease called CRS…Can’t Remember Squat. But I digress from the resolution issue. After three years of watching my wife compete in triathlons culminating in her Ironman last year, I started having delusions that I might be able to follow her into competing. This was totally out of character for me since I am not normally a competitive person. I am not a couch potato by any means. I spent seven years in the Marine Corps and learned how to keep myself in a somewhat state of physical fitness. At almost 50 years old I can still pass a Marine Corps Physical Fitness Test (PFT)…for a 17 year old. Still, competitiveness is not one of my traits. Catherine on the other hand has enough competitiveness for both of us…plus the rest of the neighborhood. I’m digressing again…

So, I decided I wanted to do something different with my fitness routine. I was already running, although most of my running had been on the treadmill where I could watch my favorite history stories. I thought that I could take this one notch up and start riding a bike. Hummm, let’s see…running and biking. Isn’t that a duathlon? Could I possibly train for one of these races and hope to finish? Naturally I put it on a list for an item to accomplish this year. OK, now I need to train for this duathlon. Who do I know that can help me? Catherine!!!! She knows all about training. I’ve watched and heard her talk about training ad nauseum for 3 years now. So at the beginning of the year as a New Year’s resolution I put on a list the goal of completing a duathlon. And I asked my wife if she would coach me. When I asked her I thought I had said something terribly wrong by the look on her face. It was a cross between shock, crying, disbelief and devilish mischief. She looked out the window and said “I think I see a pig with wings”. Actually the devilish mischief look was to come later. She looked at me for a long time to see if I was joking… I can’t hold a straight face at all (terrible poker player). When I didn’t start laughing she asked me “Are you SURE you want to do this? This takes time and lots of work.” The rubbing of her hands and cackling in the back ground reminded me of the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz. I was suddenly very afraid of what I was asking for.

I could say that my attitude about training has been 100 percent positive for the past eight months but that would be a stinking lie. In fact, I’m right now even griping about writing this blog because it takes so much time away from my history stories. But I have reluctantly listened to my coach for her training wisdom, persevered through her training regiment for me, and actually have seen a lot of improvement. Thank you honey! I can now ride a bike without feeling like I’ve gone numb in the lower half of my body. I have run faster then I ever have in my life. And I feel accomplishment after a sweaty workout. I am in better shape now than I was 31 years ago when I was in the Marine Corps. In fact, I was in the middle of boot camp 31 years ago. I weighed 113 pounds when I went in and 125 when I came out. Now at 160 pounds I can run a mile under 8 minutes. I never did that before.

So… I made a training goals sheet that had my races on them starting in March. I ran the St. Patrick’s Day 5-mile race downtown in St. Louis. Then April was my first DU in Columbia, MO. It was a 2.5 mile run, a 15 mile bike ride, and a 2.5 mile run. Next was May 10 and the Neoga DU of 2 mile run, 14.75 mile bike and a 3.1 mile run. Then Hillsboro, IL biathlon - a 5 mile run and a 20 mile bike. Last has been the August 3 MattoonMan DU of 3.1 mile run, 24.8 mile bike and 6.2 mile run.

Here is what I have learned so far:

1) Read about the sport if you are really serious
2) Wear proper clothing (cotton is rotten)
3) If you don’t use Glide you’ll ruin your shirt (think number “11”)
4) There are worse hills than St. Louis
5) Double knot your shoelaces
6) If you use toe cages on your bike, tuck your shoelaces in (chain rings love to eat them)
7) Rain in a blowing wind feels good. Cold blowing rain while doing 20mph into it hurts
8) It still feels good to finish near last, because you finished
9) Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate
10) A coach (even your wife) still wants to you to do your best
11) A loud ping is not a rock hitting your wheel, it’s a spoke breaking

I could go on with more things I’ve learned but it’s late and my coach tells me I have a 45 minute run in the morning before work. So I must wrap this up and head off to bed. I have already accomplished my goal of completing a DU and surviving. I actually have the desire to keep going and improve myself and my times. One step, one pedal, and one kick at a time. I may get into the pool eventually and turn this into a true TRI but that will be another story. The last time I was seriously swimming was many years ago with fatigues, a full field kit, and my rifle.

So off to bed I go to dream of my evil coach making me do evil things that really hurt…well, some of the time… :)