What Happened to Me?

What’s up all you players and playettes!?  My oh my... what a long, dry, absence it's been.  Days.  Weeks.  Months.  Who knows?  I've been so out of touch with my electorate, I don't even know what y'all are into these days.  What have you been doing?  Shopping for turtlenecks, listening to vinyls and cruising the drag in your muscle cars?  I hear that boy bands aren't popular anymore.  Just unbelievable.

But then again, what have I even been doing?  I don't really know that either.  I've been so out of touch with myself, too.  I've been out of the blogging game so long, it'll be a miracle if I still have any followers.  To those of you who are reading this: you are true supporters, and I love each and every one of you.  Either that or you just got lost out there in cyberspace and stumbled into my blog.  For which I am deeply, deeply sorry.

While it pains me to acknowledge this, I haven't posted to the blog in... over three months.  Just pathetic.  Some of you may have noticed that my schedule still includes the Vineman and Calgary 70.3s (I need to fix that), but I haven’t written any more race reports, and those races are in the distant past.  I'll hit you with some honesty here: I didn't do them.  Even the twittersphere has been relatively quite for me.  You probably all thought (and I won’t blame you) I had fallen off the wagon.  Dropped off the triathlon radar, maybe even the life radar.  I don’t have anything to say for myself.  I have no excuses, it’s just pathetic.

In truth, I actually have a laundry list of excuses.  And by laundry list I mean two.  I’ll let you decide whether either of them has any merit.

Excuse #1 – I was in EUROPE!

Those of you who have taken a gander at my “About Me” page (pretty much you mom and dad, which is ironic because you guys already know basically everything there is to know about me) may recall that my family had been planning a big European extravaganza.  Actually we had been planning it for several years.  Well it finally happened.  And it was everything we hoped it would be, as my sibs, folks and I gallivanted all around Germany, France, and Belgium for 16 days, eating way too many sausages, kebabs, crepes and waffles.  I may have even sampled a few beers.  I’ll include a few pics and captions to satisfy your curiosity, but this blog isn’t about my worldly travels (see the title if you need a reminder).  It’s about triathlons, so I’ll try to stay on topic.

Sibs and I in an awesome place high above the ground (Rothenburg, Germany)

Hofbrau! (Munich, Germany)

Just the worst (Salzburg, Austria)

Bromanji (Bacharach, Germany)

I think he's getting hungry (Paris, France)

Normandy (northern France)

Beauty (Brugge, Belgium)

Such a great trip, we were so lucky to make this happen.  But needless to say, this two week binge sort of stopped my season in its tracks.  I told myself it’d be a nice rest break.  Maybe do some easy runs over there, sleep a bunch, then come home and vamp back up for a few late season races. Well, that didn’t exactly happen, because…

Excuse #2 – I started medical school

It’s true.  Literally the day after I flew back from Europe I went to class.  This may come as something of a surprise, because I have scarcely mentioned this pursuit anywhere on my blog.   To which I again must point my finger at the title.  This isn’t “Andrew Langfield Tries to Get into Med School.”  But believe it or not, I did actually study in college, and I did actually take the MCAT awhile back… and write a personal statement… and muck my way through a tedious application process replete with bonehead mistakes… and travel the country for interviews… etc.  And that isn’t even the beginning.  If I’m really going to put all my cards on the table, I have to confess that way back, when I first moved to P-town, one of the biggest reasons for that was to establish residency here in Oregon with the goal of getting accepted at OHSU (Oregon Health & Science University).  Well I fooled them all.  It worked.  They let me in.  And as competitive as it is to get in these days, I decided I would be a huge idiot not to start school.  I believe it's always been the direction my life was headed, even before I earned my pro card.  So there it is.

Surprise!

Believe me, it has been a lot to think about and process over the past 4-5 months.  I wasn’t sure I was ready to start.  I thought about withdrawing my application, focusing exclusively on tris, reapplying in a few more years.  Even after I was accepted here at OHSU – my dream school – I wasn’t sure I was ready to go through with it.  But like I said, solid reasoning got the best of me.  Now I couldn't be happier with my decision.

So to those of you who feel betrayed, I am sorry.  But if I haven’t lost you already, I hope you’ll keep following.  Because this isn’t the end.  Oh no!  Far from it.  I’ve had some time to think.  And I’ve been in school for a few months now, so I’m beginning to get an idea for what the time commitments will be.  I think it’s doable.  I intend to continue.  "The Shortest Career in the History of Professional Triathlon" is not a reputation I will adopt without a fight.

But perhaps most importantly, I need to do a bit more thinking about which direction I’m going to take this blog.  I will of course keep posting about triathlon stuff - training, racing, traveling.  But should I mention med school from time to time?  Do I need to change the title that everyone has come to love?  I'm all ears, if anyone has any ideas about what they'd like to see.

I should have some answers in the near future, so stay tuned!  It'll be less than three months this time, I promise.

Take care all!

Addendum: Rev3 vs. Wildflower

Comparisons and Take-Aways (a.k.a. A Detailed Case Study/Nerdy Analysis)

I thought it might be useful – in looking for take-aways from the Rev3 race (below), as I usually do – to draw some comparisons to Wildflower.  Generally speaking, it is impossible to extrapolate meaningful conclusions by comparing two completely different races, on completely different courses, under completely different conditions, on completely different days.  But there were more than a couple striking similarities between the two races, so a side-by-side comparison is not completely without merit.  The strength of the field at Rev3, for example, was as steep or steeper than the field down in California.  Further, it had an equally notorious bike course, which in turn greatly impacted the run and the way the race played out.  Last, several of the top guys who finished on the podium at WF were also in the hunt here, providing a sort of measuring stick for my analysis (basically I’m just talking about Jesse Thomas and Jordan Rapp).  But most importantly, two months and four races passed between my first pro outing at WF (it was really more of an amateur hour) and Rev3, my most recent attempt.  It’s good to look for signs of progress when you can.  It’s all just baby steps, after all.

I’ll warn you now: the rest of this post is going to be a bunch of boring analysis, number-fudging and mental massage.  I suspect many of you won’t be into it.  But it is a helpful exercise for me, so just let me have it.  And since I was always going to do the comparison anyway, I figured I might as well share these thoughts with those of you who are interested in how an up-and-coming pro analyzes his results/rationalizes being happy about 15^th place/makes himself feel better/is able to sleep at night.

The Swim

First, the qualitative comparison.  When I compare this swim to Wildflower, I’m way, way better across the board.  Water awareness, finding the right group to draft, knowing when to go it alone, open-water sighting, it’s all good.  Well, not really good, but certainly better than it was.  Strategy and experience are a HUGE part of triathlon swimming success.  Nice to see I’ve improved in this area.

Quantitatively, my swim speed has similarly improved.  I base that off of times in the pool in training, but also a comparison to Jesse and Jordan, who swim about the same.  They exited the water together to begin their epic showdown at WF (and by that I mean within several seconds of one another), where they ultimately finished 1-2, respectively.  Here at Rev3 they did the same thing.  But on my end, while I came out of the water nearly 3.5 minutes down to them at WF, I was just a hair over 2 minutes in our most recent encounter, and that on a longer swim overall.  All I have to say to that is booyah!

The Bike

The qualitative look at the bike is also hugely encouraging.  At WF I basically made every mistake in the book, but here I made relatively few.  Better pacing.  Got the calories in easier.  No rubbing brake pads.  No broken bottle holders.  I was able to ride to my fitness level, instead of being hampered by rookie mishaps.

This is definitely apples to oranges, but it is safe to say both the WF and Rev3 courses are very challenging.  Some of the toughest in the sport, actually.  Jesse and Jordan had some of the top bike times at each venue, and they were quite comparable to one another.  Both clocked around a 2:17:30 down in Cali.  Up here they both arrived at T2 after 2:16:45 on the bike, meaning they were about 45 seconds faster between the two races.  My own efforts were 2:33:38 at WF and 2:29:50 at Rev3, showing nearly a four minute improvement.  All this to say I surrendered three minutes less to The Aviator and The Rappstar at Rev3.  After this unashamedly reckless quantitative comparison, I am left with little more to say than Booyah!

The Run

The run is influenced by many factors, but foremost among them is bike effort and pacing.  So a qualitative improvement in this final discipline, I think, also substantiates the inferences I made in my bike analysis.  This all because – when I finally started running at Rev3 – I felt way, way better than I did down in California.  Kept a more even pace.  Caught more dudes.  Better nutrition plan.  All signs of improved fitness, tactics, and race experience.  So put that in your little pipe and smoke it.

Looking at the running splits is less meaningful.  The WF run course is a hilly biatch, and it is short of the full 13.1 miles.  In contrast, the Rev3 course is about as flat as it gets.  Plus, race dynamics have a huge effect on run times, with lots of guys doing just enough to maintain their position, or shutting things down early because they know they aren’t going to win.  Consequently, a quantitative comparison to other competitors, as I have done with the swim and bike, is completely unreliable.  The one thing I can say is that I ran significantly faster at Rev3 than I did at WF, and I felt better doing it.  This despite an intense cramp that cost me at least two minutes.  So I think it’s safe to assume my running has improved.  But by how much, I really have no idea.

Transitions

I need to work on them.  I keep donating time to the top guys in both T1 and T2.  Especially in T1.  It’s bad.

Overall

The big picture is best of all.  Many of the top pros (Thomas, Rapp, Matthews, et. al.) took longer to get around this track than they did down in California.  Jesse was two minutes slower here at Rev3 than he was in his winning performance at WF.  And this despite a similarly strong performance on a good day (that straight from the horse’s mouth).  I was actually four minutes FASTER.  And in an arguably tougher field, I moved up from 24^th position at WF to 15^th at Rev3.  For all this, I give a final and resounding BOOYAH!

Of course, this has been a highly uncontrolled case study, with literally hundreds of external variables.  The scientist in me is completely ashamed.  But I think it’s safe to say things have been coming along.  My fitness has certainly improved.  And more importantly, my tactics and familiarity with the pro race format have come a long way.  I’ve learned so much in two short months, and looking back on it now is quite rewarding.  Hopefully things continue to trend in this direction over the coming years.

Thanks for tolerating my nerdy analysis.  Big news on the horizon, concerning future plans.  Enjoy the rest of July everyone!

Race Report - Rev3 Portland

Rev3 Portland is over and I’m a happy guy!  This last Sunday was, in my mind, my best race of the season.  Despite, by all accounts, still being beaten quite handily by 14 extraordinarily fast dudes.  I put together a great, focused effort – assimilating lessons learned throughout the season – and left it all out on the race course.  And frankly, it just doesn’t get much better than that.  Plus, I didn’t freeze to death, which was nice.

You may ask, why put a pic
of Ahhhnold in here?
I ask in return, who not?

I also feel quite relieved, because as I described beforehand, I placed a bit more pressure on myself leading into this race by setting some lofty progress goals.  And when the going got tough, I had the courage to stay committed to them.  I didn’t buckle under the weight of my own expectations, like a little mamby-pamby-girly-man (shown).  It’s a very gratifying feeling.  I'll quote Aristotle here, who said, “Indeed, triathlons in truth are more a test of mental fortitude than physical stamina.  The mind wilts much sooner than the body.  It is from the mental victory, therefore, whencecomes a sweetness too sweet for words.”  And before walking away from reporters he added, "Plus, when you’re done you get to drink beer.”  Or maybe that was Homer.  Hell, it might have even been me who said that one time.  In any case, whoever said it was right on, as reaffirmed by my own experience this past week.

But I digress.  On to the race report…

Pre-Race

First, I have to mention this, because it is so cool.  When I showed up at Blue Lake Park and arrived in transition, the first thing I noticed was a beautiful, smiling face with the chiseled features of a classic Greek statue.  I loved that, and you better believe I took that poster home with me.  Just one of the many things these Rev3 guys do that make them totally awesome in my book.

I guess I should rack my bike here...?

When I finally I stopped admiring my own likeness and started taping gels to my top tube, a second awesome thing happened.  Jesse Thomas came over with an unexpected gift: my very own speedsuit!  When wetsuits aren’t allowed because of water temp, all the pros wear these magic rubber suits that significantly decrease your hydrodynamic drag coefficient and still provide a little bit of buoyancy.  Basically, they’re awesome, but like all things in this sport, they cost money, and I ain’t got one.  Jesse lent me one for the race, as long as I agreed not to pass him during the swim (he didn’t need to worry about that).  And yes, this is the Jesse Thomas who is now the two-time defending Wildflower champ, fellow Oregon-based pro, and super cool dude.  He’s kind of a big deal.  But don’t tell him I said that.

Minutes before the swim start we were all down on the beach.  I enjoyed briefly catching up with Chris Ganter and Kevin Everett, both of them Boise pros and past training partners.  The weather was perfect, the mood was excited, the field (about 35 dudes) was pumped up.  I felt great: well-rested, tapered, and hairless.  I was ready to get to work.

Check out my suit!  Hummmm baby!

Swim

The gun went off and I charged into the water with authority.  My swim starts are now vastly improved from my first effort at Wildflower two months ago, where I basically tip-toed in and tried to avoid getting wet.  I nailed two dolphin dives and sprinted to the first buoy, where a sharp turn had us swimming right into the sun.  And if you have never done that before, take my word for it, you can’t see a fricking thing.  I did however, find the feet of two dudes who seemed to be moving at my speed, so I decided to hitch my proverbial wagon.  As we approached the first turn around I saw the lead pack swimming the other way.  After the quick mental manipulation of some basic differential equations, taking into account air temp, trajectory, water density, angle of incidence, and the gravitational constant, I reckoned I was about 2 minutes down at the halfway point, which was about right.

Theme music:
Your stare was holdin! Ripped jeans, skin was showin! Hot nights, wind was blowin!

Working our way back up the lake, I decided I had hitched my wagon to a fatiguing horse, and as the dude’s pace dropped I surged around him.  I wanted to keep myself honest on the swim, one of those pre-race goals I mentioned.  As I turned the final corner and headed for the swim exit, I noticed the lead women’s pack bearing down on me about 30 seconds back (they started three minutes behind us, some of those chics can really swim!)  Swimming with a renewed sense of panic, I finally came out of the water around 31:45, which is real slow but turns out the course was quite long.  As I entered T1 a friend gave me some splits: 5 minutes down on the lead pack of super swimmers, 2-3 down on the main chase pack.  That’s the pack I’d like to be able to hang with next year.  But it will take roughly 50,000 hours in the pool to be able to do it.

Not having any fun.

Me and the Stallion embark.
And still racing in my cute onesy.

Bike

I made it through transition without a glitch, mounted the Stallion and promptly missed the first turn.  I had to do a tight 180, losing about 15 seconds in the process, and landing myself squarely at the front of the women’s race, where Meredith Kessler and Lauren Goss were fighting for the bike lead.  I ended up riding near them for the first few miles, and it was more than a little embarrassing to be the dude mixed in at the front of the women’s race.  Although Meredith is having one of the best seasons in the women’s sport, with four wins to her credit already, including IM CdA and St. George.  So that provides some consolation.  And while it was pretty cool to have a front row seat to her race, I am proud to say I eventually got the legs going and pulled away just as the course started to get touchy.

Now I had ridden this route twice in training, and thank God for that, because it is a bear.  By some reliable accounts (Jordan Rapp, to name one), it may be even tougher than Wildflower.  I knew what to expect, which I think played to my advantage, as I approached the course with respect, but not fear.  The first hill is the hardest, about 5 miles long, and it hits hard at the front end, with two switchbacks and pitches up to 12%.  I found a happy place and pretended I was quite comfortable.  Then I started to imagine there were thousands of screaming fans lining the roadside, like at the Tour de France.  Then I told myself there would be podium girls handing out bottles of champagne at the top.  I can see now that my imagination got a little carried away, and I was bitterly disappointed when the only thing at the top of the climb was dude wearing overalls and drinking coffee.

Super challenging but super beautiful bike course here in Portland.
I don't know who that guy is.

Not a lot happened for the next hour or so.  I felt good.  I rode hard.  Call Me Maybe was in my head because it had been playing back at the expo area, and also just because I love it.  But then, on the course’s longest, most technical descent, I caught up to a truck pulling a huge camping trailer.  He was going just slow enough to really piss me off.  The rules dictate that you have to hang 15 meters back of any moving vehicle, and it’s your responsibility to communicate to the driver to get the hell out of the way.  So I was out of my aerobars, gesturing wildly.  And that’s when I got passed by the lead woman again.

Out of nowhere Angela Naeth had caught me.  She is perhaps the only women in the world having a better season than Meredith Kessler, also with four high profile wins.  At this point she had caught Meredith and was leading the women’s race.  Fortunately we soon hit another STEEP hill, so the truck sped off, leaving Angela and I to duke it out.  Her reputation on the bike is known far and wide, and it was awesome to witness.  We rode neck and neck for about 5 miles, trading positions a couple times.  Finally, on the last technical part of the course I was able to shake her, and as we hit the flats back down by the Sandy River I was able to power away.  Score: Andrew 2, Ladies 0.  Too bad I wasn’t racing in the women’s field, I would actually have been quite competitive.

The course has a nice set up, because after all the tough climbing and descending it ends with an 11 mile out-and-back section to hit the necessary 56 miles.  It’s pancake flat, affording an opportunity to spin the legs out and also see the other competitors.  The front of the race looked tight as it zoomed by going the other way, with lots of big names right in the mix: Cunningham, Thomas, Matthews, Rapp, Everett, Bozzone, Russell, Zyemtsev.

I had some great support out again for this race, including roommate/training partner/ultrarunner
Bmullane, who snapped this cool picture at the last aid station around mile 45.  I tried to get him wet.

Some more mental math and I realized I had surrendered about 10 more minutes on the bike, putting me 15 minutes off the lead.  This I can definitely live with, especially on a course that demanding.  I rode hard, but within myself, and felt like I built throughout.  A power meter would certainly help by taking out the guesswork, but as far as I know I put in a well-paced bike leg.  And who knows how much an actual tri bike would help, rather than just a tri-afied aero road bike.  Overall I am quite happy.  I rode with confidence, my second pre-race goal, and I hit the run with legs feeling pretty fresh.

Run

As I cruised through T2, I heard Amy Van Tassel (another Portland-based athlete and friend who was helping put the event on) yelling that I wasn’t far down on the next guy, so I jetted out onto the run course.  The first mile always feels the worst, but as my body made the shift over to running mode, I found myself feeling pretty good.  I was running fast – under my goal pace – so I eased up a bit in the interest of pace preservation.  By mile 2 I had passed the aforementioned dude and was in a good rhythm.

On the first out and back.  Thomas passing Bozzone
to take second position.  That dude can run like a gazelle.

The run course was as flat and boring as the bike course was hilly and stimulating.  It did a ~4 mile out-and-back, passing near transition before heading out for another ~8 mile out-and-back in the other direction.  The advantage of this layout is another couple chances to watch the race develop.  It looked like the run was sorting things out, with Cunningham and Thomas stepping to the front for what promised to be a hard-fought battle, and the others in the top-ten slipping backwards.

I knocked out the first 4 miles in 23 minutes, right on track and feeling good, but then an unprecedented thing happened: over the course of about 10 strides, my left leg betrayed me.  My medial quad seized up so violently it brought me stumbling to a slow walk.  I would have been better off without it, hopping along on one foot.  I hobbled along for about a minute with little improvement.  I was crushed.  I had put in such an honest effort to this point, I felt my race slipping away.  I truly thought it was all over.  I prepared to turn in my chip and walk it in.

But then I saw an aid station not even a quarter mile up the road.  Since walking wasn’t helping at all, I eased into a straight-legged gallop.  By the time I got to the station the leg was feeling a little bit better.  I downed some Gatorade, stepping gingerly, and within a half mile I was back to full strength!  Hell yeah!  I felt like I had been given a second chance.  And my heart rate had recovered some from the walking.  As I slowly began to trust my left quad again, I let the pace build until I was right back where I wanted to be.

There is an easy explanation for the cramp: not enough electrolytes.  It was hot out by this point, nearly 90-degrees.  I had been grabbing ice and dumping it down the front of my cute onesy to stay cool, but I hadn’t been taking in enough ions.  I’ve never struggled with cramps before, but they sure suck.  Lesson learned.

I passed a few more dudes before the second turn-around around mile 8.5, slapping them both on the behind as I went by (that’s how men say hello).  Then I pointed it for home and settled in for the most painful part of any half: the last 5 miles.  The tank was running dry, I could feel it, but I was prepared to go to the well (my third and final progress goal).  Cola at miles 9 and 10.  A gel at mile 11.  And once you hit mile 12 it’s basically all over.  You can do pretty much anything for 6 minutes.  I finished up with a 1:20 run, which without that cramp would have been right on 6:00 min pace.  It’s no 1:15, but after a bike that tough I can live with it.

It might not look like it, but this is one of my favorite feelings.

At the end of the day I was a happy dude.  As always, racing is a fricking riot, and I had a ball out there competing with the best in the business.  Ended up running into 15^th place, and when I look at the names of the guys who bested me I don’t have even a twinge of embarrassment.  On the contrary, I’m actually quite proud to see my name where it is on the leaderboard.  The top half of a field that stacked is not too shabby.  Portland was out in full splendor too.  The weather and the course couldn’t have been more beautiful, and memories of that glorious Sunday will motivate me for the next 12 months, until I get a chance to do it all again.  Congrats to Richie Cunningham who held on for a tough win, and is proving he is a force to be reckoned with at this distance.

Take-Aways

In lieu of my usual “Take-Aways” section I’ve decided to devote a second blog post to a more detailed analysis of my results, drawing some comparisons to the beginning of the season in the hope of finding some signs of progress.  So look for that in the next few days, but for now I’ll skip right to the thank yous…

Thank Yous

First thank you goes out to my lovely girlfriend Maura, two great friends Bryan and Kerrie, beautiful Aunt Patti, intrepid Uncle Bert, and belligerent cousin Lauren for coming out to support.  Although next time, Lauren, I’m going to need you to tone it down a bit.  No more airguns, no more booing the competition, and no more throwing rice at people.  But loved the enthusiasm, good stuff.  And seriously, these races are so much more fun when you have people to share them with.  Thanks for giving me such a big part of your weekend.

Second thank you goes out to Jesse Thomas for the use of the swimskin.  Who knows how far back I would have been without it… would have been ugly for sure.  Tell those guys at ROKA they have a good thing going.  I’ll have to get my own someday.  And congrats on a hard fought second.  I thought you were going to get him.  Hopefully next time.

I have to thank Rev3 for a phenomenal race experience.  Your attention to the little things (like life-size posters of all the pros) is what sets you apart from other race organizers, in my opinion.  Most of all, I appreciated your hospitality, your challenging new course, and your emphasis on making these things fun for everyone, not just the racers.  I only wish there were more of your events out west… hint hint.  Best luck for continued growth!

And I like to save the volunteers for last.  You guys truly do make these races possible.  But I need to thank two of you in particular.  First, the police officer who drove after me on his motorcycle when the aid station didn’t have any ice ready.  This guy collected ice, drove ahead, then parked his bike and handed it to me as I ran by.  Like my own little private, Portland Police-staffed aid station!  One of the cooler things that’s ever happened to me while racing.  And second, the junior-high aged dude who sprinted after me for about 200 meters to bring me a gel when the mile 11 aid station didn’t have one handy.  I was running on fumes at that point, and if not for that gel I probably would have blown.  And damn, you’ve got some speed son!  If you can catch me wearing cargo shorts and Jordans, you should think about a career in triathlon.

That’s all for now, but more post-race analysis to come!  Thanks for reading.

Gut Check

Hello everyone.  It’s been three solid weeks since the Boise ice parade.  You may recall, at the end of that RR I mentioned having another entertaining blog idea that isn’t exactly race-related (sort of like when I made you all look at pictures of my minivan).  I haven’t really had the time to do that idea justice, so it’ll have to wait.  Actually, I haven’t really had the time for much, but I wanted to post something before the Rev3 race here in Portland this weekend.

For a variety of reasons, I am approaching this race with a bit more seriousness than is my custom.  Basically, to this point I’ve been pretty cavalier and open-minded when it comes to racing: just thrilled to be in the pro field and looking to enjoy the experience.  Assuredly, that attitude is still underlying, and I’m definitely looking for a good time.  But for this one – with a few races under my belt, and for reasons I will go into later – I feel a bit more dedicated.

Leading into it I’ve had a key thought for each discipline.  You could call them personal accountability goals – standards that I will absolutely hold myself to, even if nothing goes to plan on raceday.  Making such goals is an excellent tool for mental preparation and pre-race focusing, and not one I have employed much this year.  So in the absence of one of my typically informal, casually funny blog topics, I decided to share these thoughts instead.  I can, when necessary, be quite serious.  Fittingly, they are short and to the point:

1). Swim with honesty.  Come out fast, find a pack that’ll make you work for it, and do your best to hang on.  But if that pack doesn’t exist, and you find yourself swimming alone, keep the effort honest.

2). Ride with confidence.  At this point in the season, after all the miles, and all the races, the power is in the legs.  Ride like your run won’t be affected.  Be confident, keep the cadence high, and hammer.

…and most importantly…

3). Run with courage.  Don’t quit on the run before your feet even hit the pavement.  Start at goal pace and stick to it as long as you can, even if it’s only for a mile.  Don’t let mental weakness be the reason you don’t execute the run you know you have in you.  Go to the well on this one, or face an off-season of regret.

So bring on the toughest field I’ve faced all year.  Bring on the hilly-ass bike course and the pancake-flat run route that is going to be a sprint fest.  Hold yourself to your own standards and express your fitness perfectly.  If you do that, you can go home proud.

See you on the other side,

Andrew

Race Report - 26.3 Boise

Well well well…  The race formerly known as 70.3 Boise is in the books, for better or worse.  Mostly worse.  Definitely not the experience I was hoping to have at my “home” race, as I maneuvered my frozen ass around the course about as fast as an emperor penguin can waddle around in a tight huddle while simultaneously incubating an egg underneath his layers of blubber.

These guys would have challenged me on the run course.

But I can’t say it was a total bust, because I kept my head in the game and gained some valuable perspective.  I like to break a mental sweat too, when possible, and this one definitely pushed my limits in that arena.

I guess I’ll start with an outline.  Here is the brief thematic summary of my thoughts on this weekend’s race, in the order in which they occurred (details to follow):

1. Oh hell.
2. HEY!
3. Woof.
4. Thank God.
5. Whatever.
6. Puppies.
7. Yikes.
8. Mark?
9. Help.
10. Stay on it.
11. Well shit.
12. Ok.

“Oh hell.”

We woke up around 8:00 am on Saturday morning to temps in the low 40s, a steady drizzle, and gusting winds.  Monte Still (accomplished pro and former owner of my famous wheelset) had come to town for the race as well and was staying with me at my house.  We both agreed: this was less than ideal.  Monte’s good friend Clark had come along to be the self-proclaimed “tri-bitch,” and he confirmed our assessment.  (But don’t let the tri-bitch moniker fool you – Clark has done over 25 Ironmans.)  The entire time I was eating a big breakfast, getting my things together, loading up the car and driving out to the swim site, I was hoping things might blow over.  Either that or we would get out to the reservoir and find nobody else there, and the whole race was just a funny joke.  We’d turn right around and drive to a coffee shop or something instead.  Sadly, neither of those happened.

“HEY!”

A few of my best friends were volunteering at body marking, and no sooner had I shown up then one of them ran right up to me wearing a huge black garbage bag and gave me a hug.  “KELLY! HEY!”  So I got marked by my friends Kelly, Lynsey and Lisa, which was sweet, and we talked in the rain for a bit.  I don’t really know who had it worse, the athletes or the volunteers who had to stand around in the cold all day.

“Woof.”

Monte and I freezing our arses off before the race.

When I finally wheeled my bike into T1 the place was pretty much in an uproar.  I saw dozens of recognizable pros trying to make peace with the weather.  Local favorite Kevin Everett looked focused and serious.  Lynsey Corbin, fresh off her record-setting win at Honu the previous weekend, grimaced and huddled with friends.  I ran into Portland pro Chris Bagg who only shrugged his shoulders with a smile and went about his preparations.  I laughed and tried not to think about the 2+ hours I’d have to spend battling the freezing wind and rain on my bike.  Wasn’t going to be fun, but we were all racing in the same conditions, right?  I tried to amp myself up.  It was difficult.

“Thank God.”

Then, when I was at the mechanical support tent having my tires deflated a bit, they made the announcement: snow on the roads south of the airport, 30+ mph wind gusts, hypothermic conditions coming off the reservoir.  The bike would be shortened to a 12 mile sprint, basically straight back into town.  While I’m not proud to admit it, I was relieved at this decision, which shows my head wasn’t in the right place at all.  Rather than bracing for the task at hand – the task we all had trained for – my mind eagerly accepted this enormous comfort.

I walked down to Monte, who was hob-nobbing with fellow Salt Lake City pro Malaika Homo (who ended up coming 2^nd in the women’s race) and Matty Reed (ended up tying for 1^st in the men’s).  Reed told us he was planning on riding in his wetsuit.  I laughed and wondered if I should do the same thing.  (Later on, in his victory speech, Reed confessed these were the cruelest conditions he’d ever raced in!  That means something coming from a hardened 21-year veteran and all-around champion.)

This isn't Matty Reed, although he did end up riding in his wetsuit, along with
this guy and about 8 other pros.  I should have.

“Whatever.”

As I scrambled to adapt my race and nutrition plans to this sudden change of terms – and continued to shiver in the driving rain – I let go of my worries and embraced whatever was to come.  This is how it would be, so let’s get on with it.  I could sense the same attitude in the air around me as stood at the bottom of the boat ramp, surrounded by the men’s and women’s fields, all of us cold, tense, and oddly amused.  I looked around at all the red cheeks, framed by neoprene caps, straps velcroed under the chin.  Honestly, this was one of my favorite moments of the race, and one of the few that was anything close to fun.  I was exhilarated by the camaraderie and couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot.  After all, this is the stuff you tell stories about.  The dozens of nameless races under blue skies begin to run together, but I will always remember Boise 2012.

“Puppies.”

Treading water at the line, they delayed us a good 10 minutes to allow the run course volunteers to get in position.  After all, we would be there about 2 hours ahead of schedule.  So we all just floated there and our core temperatures dropped and dropped (did I mention water temp was in the mid-50s?)  On a positive note, I had plenty of time to look through foggy goggles at all the bobbing heads and orange caps of my fellow pros, and back over the icy waves to the somber hillside where several thousand athletes stood under a cloudy grey sky.  It was pretty memorable.

All that lasted about 2 minutes.  I spent the other 8 trying to think about things that make me happy, like my dog Charlie, and hot chocolate and baked goods.

(EDIT: Whoa, looks like I got a little carried away with the descriptive language there…  I hope y’all are into that.  If not, my apologies, I’m not trying to turn this blog into yet another online showcase for a misunderstood artist with a chip on his shoulder.  I get it: more witty commentary, less romantic imagery. END EDIT)

“Yikes”

Finally the gun went off!  Hoping to build off my solid swim at Florida, I came off the line well in the hopes of grabbing a faster pack.  Several hundred meters in things chilled out and I was right in the middle of an enormous chase pack, booyah!  I settled in and felt really good… for about 5 minutes.  Then we hit the first turn (the swim course was a triangle) and all of a sudden the waves that had been helping us were coming at us perpendicularly.  I swallowed a few good mouthfuls that tasted like I was eating snow, coughed a bunch, and began to lose my line.  I took more and more sighting strokes as I struggled to stay with the bunch, but things were going to hell.  The bunch disintegrated and we all ended up swimming alone as we were tossed sideways by the rollers.

I hit the second turn and now was swimming directly into the waves, which definitely wasn’t any better.  By this time my fingers had frozen into individual claws and I could feel water slipping between them.  I felt like Captain Hook thrown overboard.  After what seemed like an eternity, I eventually I funneled into the swim exit, got my feet under me, stumbled out of the reservoir and looked down at my watch.  Despite swimming alone, I had pushed the pace hard so I was pretty bummed out to see a high 29 swim.  Of course I understand now that conditions were mostly to blame for that, but at the time it was pretty discouraging.



Trying to get sock #1 on while another pro takes off in his wetsuit.

“Mark?”
 



And still transitioning...
I was so mad I tried to eat my glove.

There I go.
Thanks for this humiliating sequence Kelly.

As I ran up the hill into transition I quickly noticed a strange feeling: I could not get my eyes to focus on anything more than about 10 yards away.  My body felt warm enough at this point, but my head felt like a frozen block of ice.  I was running disoriented, weaving around, not really able to focus on the bike racks.  When I got to my bike I was so discombobulated I had the slowest transition in the entire 37-year history of the sport of triathlon (they gave me a plaque for it at the finish line).  My friends even took the pictures to prove it.  I’m pretty sure the first prehistoric tetrapods transitioned from aquatic sea creatures with gills to land-dwelling mammals with lungs faster than I was able to come out of the water and get on my bike (nerd alert!)  I definitely should have just ridden with my wetsuit on.  Instead I fumbled around, trying to get my socks and shoes on, then a vest, arm warmers and gloves.  Of course I couldn’t feel any of those things with my fingers, nor could I grip them enough to pull them over my wet skin.  Yeah, it was pretty disgraceful.

The feeling persisted for the ENTIRE bike leg!  Granted, I was only on the shortened bike course for about 35 minutes, but I couldn’t see a damn thing.  I was straining to keep my eyes up the road, but it all looked like a mirage, so mostly I just stared at the pavement beneath me.  I gotta say, seeing visions that aren’t where they are supposed to be isn’t any fun… it’s like mind games.  A few times I thought I recognized a spectator, I even yelled a greeting to my friend Mark, but I was way off, and the guy just stared at me, nonplussed.

I rode up to Monte a few miles in and tried to express what I was feeling, but the sentences weren’t coming out very sensibly.  So not only wasn’t I seeing straight, but I wasn’t thinking that straight either.  And while I’m glad I didn’t put this together at the time, these are preliminary symptoms for hypothermia (no joke!)  So in hindsight, I shouldn’t beat up on myself too badly for this race, because I was in a bad, bad way.  But more on that later…

My trademark one-shoed dismount.
Thanks for the pic Clark.

“Help.”

The bike is funny.  I remember doing it, but I don’t remember feeling much.  I don’t know that I went necessarily hard, or easy, or anything.  I just went, and them it was over.  I started coming out of my shoes at my usual distance from T2 (about 100 meters out), but I fumbled around with my frozen fingers and only managed to get one off by the time I hit the dismount line.  So I ran in with one on and one off (no Clark, not my signature move or anything, ha.)  Got my run shoes on and stripped the vest off, but the helmet gave me a bit of difficulty.  After literally 30 seconds of trying to get it off a volunteer had to help me.  Pretty sure that’s not allowed, but I certainly didn’t care at that point.  Given the circumstances I’m really glad they did, because as they say in the old country, I could have been there until the cows came home.

“Stay on it.”

It was pretty strange to be running after hardly an hour of racing.  There were no crowds or spectators out yet, and things in downtown Boise were pretty quiet.  It was like I had made a wrong turn somewhere and was way out of the race.  In truth, I was way out of the race, with about 20 guys well ahead of me on the run.  The fact that I stuck with it and didn’t mail it in is perhaps the only aspect of my performance that I am proud of.  I kept telling myself “Just get to the line, finish this race as best you can.  It definitely isn’t your day, but you aren’t going to give up on this thing.”  Thankfully the sun had started to come out, and gradually my extremities began to heat up.  It was a pretty weird sensation, the thawing of my feet.  It took 5 miles, and started with my big toes, slowly extending to include the others, then finally my arch and heel.  Slowly I started to feel normal, my vision cleared, and I was able to soak up the experience of running in front of a growing home crowd.  That part was awesome, highlighted by my family and friends, who made up the best cheering section anywhere on the course!  Oh yeah!  Running by them was without a doubt the best part of my day.  Finally I came down the finishing shoot, and was happy just to be done.

Staying on it.  Sort of.

My cheering section.  Thanks you guys!

A couple of my bitterly disappointed fans (sister and dad)

“Well shit.”

In the minutes after crossing the line, I began to internalize my disappointing result and I felt pretty bummed out.  After my success down in Florida, this was hardly the race I wanted to back it up, especially here on my home turf.  Plus, all these people in the crowd that knew me, my friends following the race, and my family who had come out to watch.  I felt like I had let them down.  I didn’t want my name assigned to that 2:33:whatever finishing time.  There was some doubt thrown in there as well, as I questioned my preparation, my training in the previous weeks, my nutrition.  Maybe I overdid it?  Maybe I didn’t get enough rest?  Did my legs really feel bad?  Or were they just cold?  Third race in five weeks, maybe that is too much for my body?  I didn’t really know what to think about it all.

“Ok.”

Since reflecting a bit more on the experience, and talking with some other guys who went through the same race, I have accepted that it was just a rough day.  Nobody I’ve talked to really felt good.  Nobody had a “great” race.  Clearly, the conditions (and how we all dealt with them) were the biggest factor on the day.  As a general trend, it seems the more experienced athletes did better than those with less experience, which makes a lot of sense.  So the biggest take-away for me is a mental one.  Yes it was wet, and cold, and windy.  Yes, I think my body handles heat much better than it does cold, as I was borderline-hypothermic on the bike and in transition.  But the truth is we weren’t all racing in the same conditions, because some of us made things much worse in our own minds.  In these races mental toughness is a skill every bit as important as swimming ability or run fitness.  And while I’ve always viewed my mind as an asset, something that gives me an edge on the competition, this isn’t the minor league anymore.  These are the pro ranks.  Everyone here knows how to suffer.  Everyone can push their bodies to the limit.  And turns out, many are far better than I am at dealing with adverse conditions, at convincing themselves it is their day despite a numbing cold, at thriving on crap weather and using it to their advantage.  So I need to get better at that.

A tie!?  As if this race didn't have enough drama.
Here are two guys who mastered the weather, by the way.

A few more take-aways

Trying to take away a few positives…

The first part of the swim went pretty well, as I hung with a faster pack for awhile, so that was good.  I can feel my water awareness developing as well, and felt like I sort of knew what was going on around me.

I got nothing more to say about the bike.

The run is coming along.  My pace didn’t drop off as significantly this time, although I’m still a long way from holding 5:45s (my season goal).  A few more weeks of longer tempo runs and more intervals at race pace should help me improve even more.

And I already feel recovered, which is encouraging (although I’m sure the fact that they chopped 44 miles off the bike contributed to my rapid return to training).  I think my preparation and rest leading in were just fine, and I don’t think I have raced too much.  After all, I’m still young, right?  Racing every second or third week isn’t out of the question.

Lastly, I am going to avoid eggs for breakfast in the future.  Just stick with PB&Js I think.

Yeah… that’s all I got.

Thank Yous!

Finally some thank yous.  And this time I have a lot of people to thank.

First and foremost, all of the volunteers for coming out and helping, and the Boise community for always rallying behind this event.  It makes me proud to be a Boisean!

Three volunteers in particular, my friends Kelly, Lynsey, and Lisa!  Thanks so much for marking me up, keeping me company at the swim start, standing around in garbage bags, waiting for hours on the volunteer bus, and meeting me for beers afterwards.  Sorry it wasn’t a better day, but the weather was outside of my control, so lay off.

Clark for tri-bitching.  Was really nice to have a bonafide bike mechanic and tri-expert on staff this weekend.  I felt very well taken care of before, during and after the race.  Thanks again dude, hope to see you later this summer but if not, good luck at IM Arizona!

Heather and the fine folks at WTC for being accommodating to my adjusted travel plans (seems to be a theme for me).  I ended up having to miss the pro meeting again, but you guys made check-in a breeze and handled it all with grace.  And of course, you always put on a fantastic race.  Thanks also to race director and Boise endurance-fixture Mike Cooley.  Was a hard call to make, with the shortened course and everything, but I think it was the right one.

(As an aside, here is a link to a funny argument that developed on slowtwitch.com concerning precisely that topic. Basically, a bunch of armchair quarterbacks who weren’t there rant and rave about what a bad call it was to shorten the race.  Then a bunch of people who were actually there argue about what a good, safe decision it was.  This is quality entertainment in my book.)

And last but certainly not least, thanks to all of my friends and family in Boise who came out to cheer!  Was so great to see all of you, and who knows when I would have finished if not for your support.  You made it a wonderful weekend, and I’m bummed it went so quickly.

How can you not be happy in this company?
sister, cousin, cousin, dead-beat triathlete, cousin, cousin, girlfriend

So in the end it wasn’t my day, but they can’t all be perfect, and I’m now stronger for it.  Time to refocus and build to Rev3 Portland on July 8^th!  If you’re lucky, I have another exciting blog topic I’m hoping to reveal before then.  Stay tuned!

Thanks Idaho Statesman for making me look way better than I felt.