MightyMan Montauk 2010

Race Report: 2011 MightyMan Montauk

How it got started:

I volunteered at the 2009 Montauk MightyMan Half-Ironman Triathlon while watching my son compete, and was so excited by the atmosphere of the race and the enthusiasm of the athletes that I decided to enter as a competitor for 2010. I was an avid cyclist at the time, but only a splash-about swimmer and not a runner. I had work to do. (An accurate review of that race can be read at Peter Shankman's site.)

My friends Doug & Gerard are typically up for a challenge. When I asked them to do it with me they realized they could also see their stud-nephew play football for Lindenhurst that same weekend, so they signed up for the race, the drive in from South Bend, Indiana, and the training.

Sean trained all summer for the brutal Leadville 100 mountain bike race. He had already completed Montauk in 2009, but he signed up again to be with the team, to add some triathlon experience, and to prepare for -- drum roll please -- the 2011 Ironman Canada.

Cameron had finished the Montauk MightyMan under punishing conditions in 2009 -- a cyclist plowed him down while he was running. The cyclist was taken away unconscious in an ambulance, and they were preparing to take Cameron too when he said he felt ok. Seeing that they were willing to leave him alone, he asked if he could keep running. “Well, ok I guess. If you want to.,” said the paramedics, and off he ran to a podium finish. The sordid details can be found at the IronCam website. Also, Cam has agreed to coach Sean and me for Ironman Canada, and Montauk would give him an opportunity to examine his charges.

So the team was assembled, all in various degrees of ill-preparation and anxiety. I had been focusing on the swim and the run, with the main goal being survival. Cameron was recovering from Ironman Lake Placid, and was using this race as a late opportunity to follow his coach’s advice and go “balls to the wall”, whatever that really means. Doug & Gerard had each had leg injuries, and were not really able to spend too much time swimming or running until the month before the race. Sean had been well trained for Leadville in August, but had mostly been off the bike and in wind-down mode since then. Our collective prognosis: guarded.

Logistical Preparations:

I flew in from Colorado on Friday for the Sunday race. Typically I fly with only a carry-on bag, but this trip I had two massive suitcases. I couldn’t find a direct flight on Southwest so I had to fly Frontier and pay for my luggage, but I didn’t have to pay extra for a bicycle bag. Why? Because I brought my Richey BreakAway which comes apart into two pieces and goes into a specially-made but regularly-sized suitcase and checks as regular luggage. Assembly and disassembly is a bit of a pain, but it rides very well -- just like a regular bike because it is a regular bike. Here is the bike, packed in its suitcase, on the curb outside LaGuardia airport in New York.

It’s not much bigger than my other suitcase, which contains my helmet, wetsuit, bike shoes, running shoes, tri costume, glasses, clothes, goos, bars, etc….

My dad flew up from Florida for the race, and we set a rendezvous at LaGuardia airport. His flight was delayed three hours, mine four, so in the end it dovetailed pretty well. We picked up Sean at his work, made it just in time for dinner in Manhattan with a good friend (http://compassrestaurant.com/), then onto the LIRR, with bicycles, for the trip out to Huntington.

We had reservations to stay in Montauk Saturday night, but Friday night we stayed with my sister Ann. She was dog-sitting a small beagloid animal with one paw that must have been dislocated at the hip at birth. It just swung about useless from its body while he hopped happily about the house. The dog certainly didn’t seem to mind any. He was named Mitch or something unimaginative like that. I renamed him Tripod, but my son improved the name to Skip, and then Ann renamed him Eilean, which finally stuck.

Check-In:

We headed off early Saturday morning to Montauk for the afternoon check-in. Friendly volunteers body-marked us, and we received our goody bag and numbers. I was #444, which seemed to be a good omen for some reason. I told my check-in lady I was glad not to get #666, and at the finish line the next day she was the woman who gave me my medal, saying "Here's my 666 man!" The give-away shirt was a cool, long sleeved microfiber shirt with the MightyMan logo on front. I had expected a hoodie like they gave in 2009, so I had requested an XL. Lucky call, since the shirts were way undersized and I, at least, was happy with the way mine fit.

We met up with our friend and coach, Cameron, who was to win the 21-25 age group the next day. He convinced us to go down to the lake for a swim, which was another outstanding idea. I had never been able to do the freestyle Australian crawl for the entire swim portion of a triathlon, and I had never done a swim of this length. I was able to do it well enough in the pool, but up until now I had always panicked in the open water and had to resort to the breaststroke in competition. Entering the water the day before helped to ease my nerves a lot. I was able to swim comfortably that night, and then again the next morning.

The swim is in the fresh water of Fort Pond Lake. There was once a fort here when the settlers were busy fighting off the Narragansett Indians, but that is long gone. In its place were several anxious triathletes looking over the course and the buoys. Yes, the buoys certainly did seem very far away. The blond woman is pointing one out: “Do you have to swim all the way to that one?” Yep.

All the athletes seemed a bit nervous, but the volunteers were cheerful, and the family members generally seemed happy that they didn’t have to swim the triangle themselves. I heard the word daunting used several times by different people; an excellent word that is not part of my everyday usage, but one that fit the occasion well.

In the far distance you can see turn-buoy #2

Fortunately, the water was very comfortably warm, and when we went out for our exploratory swim we found that the distances dropped off easily and it wasn’t at all as far as it seemed from the shore. The three of us swam counter-clockwise and another group of three left shortly after swimming straight ahead. My father watched on as the two groups of three passed right through each other, unaware, and without collision. As a naval officer he was worried, but none of the combatants were at battle-stations and everything turned out fine. Sean and I left the water with more confidence than we had entered with.

Done with our swim, we headed back for the pre-race meeting. The course director went over the course with us on a big map that I tried to visualize many times the next day as I wound in and out of neighborhood streets. I really wished I had paid a bit more attention, but I felt he was trying to emphasize the difficulties and I wanted to stay calm and positive, so I wandered away to find my Dad in conversation with his new friend Carla. She had decided not to swim, but had instead gone for a warm-up bike ride on the course. Her steed had an interesting rear-mounted water bottle with a tube that ran out to the front. On the next day’s race course Carla was to pass me in the final 200 yards looking strong and happy, and really flying towards the finish. I should have found out what she put in that bottle.

We had a little time to kill so we wandered around the transition zone and the parking lot. We saw some very fit looking athletes, but I didn’t get the impression that this was the big race of the year for many of them. It was for me, and for my friends Doug and Gerard. We overheard bits of conversation about this race and that, and looked at the bikes, the competitors, the sharp tan lines, and tried not to get psyched out.

Speed Dial!

Lots of people had ZIPP and HED wheels, triathlon bicycles, and aero helmets. I’m sure this is nothing compared to the quantity of wares on display at a full Ironman event.

Cameron put me in charge of mounting his new tires to his rental wheels while he went to the local bike store to find out how to affix his cassette. Those new tires were way too tight to mount, and it took at least 30 minutes for the master to mount them himself when he returned. You can see his gear strewn around the parking lot, but we used most of it.

In this very parking spot, while prepping for the 2009 MighyMan Montauk last year, we saw an SUV back hard into a car with two $5,000 bikes on a rear-mounted hitch. Some damage was done, but the people took it with surprising aplomb. No such drama this year, fortunately.



That done we headed over to our friends' condo for a spaghetti dinner. Spaghetti and lots of cookies. Gerard is an excellent cook, and we are excellent eaters. He worked away at the sauce while the rest of us watched baseball and drank beers.

Thanks Gerard!

The atmosphere was quite relaxed. None of us talked much about the race, and we all seemed at ease, but we should have been working on Gerard's bike.
Then back to our hotel for our own final bike tune-up and sleep. We stayed at the Beachcomber Hotel, which was really nice. We stayed there in 2009 also, but this year we had more of a suite with a nice ocean view.

The bikes got assembled, numbers were applied, and we watched Notre Dame beat Boston College on the TV. Then it was lights out for a 3:30 wake-up call. I slept pretty well. The sound of the surf bothered me for about thirty seconds, but then it was hypnotically relaxing….

When the alarms went off at 3:30 we woke with no difficulty, ate some breakfast and tried to get the GI engines going. Transition zone set-up began in the dark at 5am, and we were there right on time. I learned a lesson in 2009 when I volunteered at transition, and we had headlights to help us along. In transition everyone is assigned a rack to place their bike and gear, but space is very limited. No bags were allowed, so my pre-race bagging strategy was nixed and I laid my gear out along the fence. I was there early, so was fortunate to get a spot at the end of my row. It wasn’t long before the national anthem was sung, and the first wave of swimmers was called to the shore.

The Swim:

The swimmers went off in waves. Sean and Cameron were in the first wave of elite swimmers, and here Sean looks pretty confident heading into the water. I told you the swim of the day before was a real confidence-booster. The air was cold, but we knew that the water would still be warm.

The fourth and penultimate wave, what my friend Doug called the AARP wave, was looking a little grimmer. Wisdom and experience will do that to you. My father thought we looked like so many black sheep being herded towards our slaughter, but in this case the sheep knew what they were headed to. Cross the fingers for luck!

For me the swim went great. I started off intentionally slowly, and just kept a steady stroke the whole way. I never panicked (first time for me), and never needed to resort to breaststroke. I thrashed some nice girl on the back, but I looked up into her goggled face, apologized, and she said “no problem.” Cameron had told me to wear my goggles under my swim cap to decrease the chance of them getting kicked off, but I was never assaulted very badly. Whenever bodies collided we just drifted apart on the next stroke. I began to have some rudder issues on the second and final legs of the triangle, but I wasn’t really tired and did feel I could have done the loop again.

I had read about getting on someone’s feet and drafting, but whenever I tried they were either too slow for me, or so fast that they disappeared in a hurry. I was content anyway to swim my swim and get out of the water alive.

Sean got out of the water ahead of me with a happy-to-be-alive grin on his face. What’s this? Looks like someone forgot to take off their wetsuit top when leaving the water! Well, what’s the hurry about T1 anyway?

The run up from the water to T1 is about 200 yards, well carpeted, and full of cheering, excited spectators. It was really a thrill to run it, the thrill compounded by relief at getting out of the water, and excitement about what was to come. I was happy to see my Dad there since he would call my wife to let her know I still lived. I was also amused to see him trying to take my picture with the lens cap closed. Damn these appliances that turn off automatically! He told me later he wondered what I was laughing about. I was relieved to get out of the water though, happy with my swim, and excited to get on the bike and show off my new TOGA! duds. As we were running up I heard another swim say “42 minutes” – that would be a pretty good time for me.

T1:
Getting through T1 was a blur. It was a pretty chill morning, and all I was wearing was a skimpy wet two-piece bathing suit. Did I want to ride in the breeze in just that? I asked my neighbors. One was going to wear a windbreaker, one was not. I decided against anything other than my trisuit and was correct. I was comfortable the whole day. Surprisingly so, since the volunteers got to looking increasingly cold as the day went on.

 In preparation for the race my son bought me a complete TOGA! triathlon kit. He belongs to their team, and frequents their bicycle store in New York. He was supposed to be identically costumed, but by the time he went to get his own set they were sold out. I could have offered him mine, but I had found that the kit commanded absurd respect on the streets while I was training. Traffic waved me on, lights turned green in front of me, my speed went up 3mph – I didn’t want to give that advantage up. TOGA! commands respect!

Speaking of unfair advantages, I forgot to mention that I live at 5,000 feet, and train at 5,000 – 8,000 feet, occasionally taking the bike up Mt. Evans to 14,000 ft. Alberto Contador and his clenbuterol have nothing on me. I really think that a large part of the reason I felt good all race was that I had descended to virtual sea level, where my corpuscles were so swollen with oxygen they were threatening to burst. Was that why I felt bloated?

Spring Training Ride: warmer than it looks.

The Bike:

We walked our bikes about 75 yards to the road, then mounted and rode off. It took a while to get settled in, since we had all been rushing so from the water to the saddle. The morning was very windy: I think it was 20mph most of the ride. That was a real blast when it was at our backs, but some of the out-and-back roads were virtual wind tunnels. I thought that I would be cold at first in just a wet lycra suit, but I wasn’t. My hands were chilled briefly, but otherwise the temperature was fine.

Right off the bat I got passed by three cyclists, but consoled myself by noticing they were on full triathlon bikes. Their carbon wheels were humming and they were moving pretty fast. I let them go without argument, since my plan was to ride a steady pace, and perhaps go a bit faster on the second lap. I knew the run would be hard for me, and I didn’t want to spend too much vital life force on the bike.


The bike route was unexciting. The Wall Street Journal recently had an article about odd distance races. The gist was that every race now must to fit into a popular format or the attendance will be dismal. I would have been happy with a 60-mile bike route or a 50-mile route, but to be half-ironman the route had to be 56 miles. This necessitated a few turns off the main road onto circuitous cul-de-sacs, and these generally were right up against the ocean, meaning they were WINDY! One in particular was a genuine wind tunnel, with the swirls seeming to cut across the bike in both directions at once. There was one good climb (and one good descent), traffic was not too much of a problem, and the route was very well marked and manned.

We did two loops of a 23-mile circuit. Part of it went through neighborhoods, and we really blocked off the traffic pretty badly. Most of the residents were very understanding. I did see a few incidents were car and bike nearly collided, but I think everyone made it out unscathed. I don’t know how enthusiastic I would be about having hundred of cyclists blocking access to my driveway on a Sunday, and clogging all the roads in town.

Our route took us right up against the ocean, and right past the lighthouse. On one parking lot turnaround the sand was blown up right onto the asphalt, and the briny smell of the ocean was strong in our faces. The volunteers were all bundled up and scrunched down, their clothes flapping in the wind, but we were comfortable. I really don’t remember looking at the lighthouse as I passed, but I was aware of the photographer and tried to straighten up my form on the bike.

My friend Gerard had had some issues with his bike the night before, and I thought he had straightened those out but I was wrong. His rear derailleur was broken, and he couldn’t shift gears. The mechanics on duty at the race tried to fix it for him, but they couldn’t. He told them “I can’t shift gears.” They looked his bike over, worked on it for a while, and told him “you’re right, you can’t shift gears with this bike today.” This was far from an ideal course for a single speed, but he went ahead anyway. When I saw him on the opposite side of the road during loop #1 he didn’t look very happy. He completed the swim and one bike loop, which he should be proud of, but then he surrendered to the mechanical gods and called it a day. The volunteers ignominiously stripped him of his chip -- he said he felt like a “pariah” – and he headed to the sidelines to watch the events.

I purchased a new Nutcase helmet for the event. I thought the stars and stripes looked pretty cool, and it was very comfortable, but Gerard told me the spectators were less respectful of my outfit: “Look, it’s Captain America!” My father asked me where my shield was! I guess you don’t wear a helmet like that if you mind being mocked, but it might have diluted some of the TOGA! respect.

Another thing about the bikes: a race is always a nice time to do some window-shopping. I saw a few pretty bikes out there, and was passed by quite a few fleet looking tri-bikes. The Cervelos had a clean look, and the Felts were also sharp. There were a few Kuotas that caught my eye, but overall I think I was well equipped on my road bike.

One good thing – I don’t remember being chicked on the bike. I probably was, but I don't remember it. There was plenty of time for that on the run, though!

T2:

By the time the bike was done I was really ready to be out of the saddle, even though I knew it meant I would have to run. The transition zone was nicely laid out. All the families were lining the banisters, and it was a good time to see the people who had come out to support us.

A quick rack of the bike, change into running shoes, down a goo, pack the pockets with food, and head out for the run. The exit for the run was also along a narrow corridor where our families and friends were lined up. My son’s girlfriend, whom I had not yet met, was there and I got to say a quick hello. Not to mention a high-five to my goddaughter. I tried to keep good form in front of my family, though that soon deteriorated.

Sean came in stretching his back, but looking sharp in his back-up SBR outfit, and he was about to hammer the run, so no worries.  He looked in good form heading out of T2.  A smile on his face, good long strides, arms strong. Notice the grey clouds. The temp was dropping to the low 50s and there was a steady cool breeze. Not pleasant for the spectators, but actually nearly perfect for the runners.

At this point, Cameron had been out on the run for quite a while.  Doug was on his bike near the lighthouse, Gerard was suffering with one gear, and the friends and family were shivering.

The Run:

This is what I was most dreading, but it turned out ok. My knee pain didn’t materialize unless I took very long strides, and I easily avoided those. The wind had died down, and the temp was cool enough that I didn’t draw a sweat until the final mile or two. Countless runners passed me, but that was what I expected. I even passed a few runners myself, which was not expected.

The race course features the notorious murder hill, but it really wasn’t that bad. There were some local cyclists, not in the race, trying to bike up it but they ended up walking. For the runners it was easier.

After ascending murder hill we were rerouted down a planned but undeveloped cul-de-sac. This was another extension of the course to get us to the exact half-ironman distance, but did they have to make the extension down into a pit? If they ever build houses there it will be difficult for them to get out when it snows. On my first loop down into the pit my friend, coach, and eventual age-group winner Cameron Brien passed me. Note that this is his second lap and my first, so I’m being lapped. He was looking and feeling fine, and I guess that continued through to the end.

Here I am on my second lap, lonelier this time, and from this perspective you can see the downward slope, the empty cul-de-sac, and the water at the bottom. Still, I think my form looks fine and I was feeling very well.

By now my son had passed me, and was approaching the finish line. Gerard had pulled out, and Doug was probably at the turn-around for the second run loop.

Sean came in to the finish line looking strong, I came in with a less impressive gait, and Cam was waiting for us, all showered and changed. He had been a good cheerleader and coach throughout. He left before the awards ceremony, though, and wasn’t aware he had won his age group until Sean checked the results and texted him.

My family was cold, but we all appreciated them coming out and cheering us on. My father flew up from Florida for the festivities, and I think and hope he had a good time. We certainly enjoyed having him with us.

The race was well run.  The swag was nice, and the setting was scenic.  Montauk is hard to get too, and I think I won't do the race again, but it is certainly a good half-ironman to enter if you are in the area.