Tough Mudder Tampa 2013

It is hard for me to generate enthusiasm for this posting.  I enjoyed the Tough Mudder, but must give it a failing grade because of the logistics.  The Tough Mudder events bill themselves as "Probably the Toughest Event on the Planet", and they are certainly not that.  They might be one of the most fun, and I think that a team doing this together would have a blast, but it's not really an aerobic endurance event and should be viewed as an enjoyable group outing.

First the bad news: getting there.  Our event was at the Hightop Ranch outside of Tampa, and we got there early in the morning, several hours before our assigned starting time.  Even so, traffic was backed up onto the Interstate, and it took us about 90 minutes to travel the final 2-3 miles.  Our friend, who came later, was stuck in traffic for 6 1/2 hours waiting to get into the event!  There was nothing else going on, and the Tough Mudder was the only cause of the congestion.  Police directing traffic?  Zero.  Entrances to the parking lot?  One.  Number of entrants in the event?  25,000.  Do the math and you can see that this outcome was predictable.  So if you want to do a Tough Mudder choose an early start time and get there a few hours in advance..., unless you live next door.

Now for that good part: the race was fun, well organized, and definitely worth the money.  We ran about 12 miles, and topped maybe 23 obstacles.  There was freezing water, morasses of mud, plunges from heights of 20 feet, monkey bars, live electrical wires, and barbed wire.  The race is patterned on the training for the British Special Forces, and all we were lacking was live fire overhead and 40 lb. backpacks.

If you do this race bring a tall and strong friend.  Todd was our go-to-guy at 6' 3"; lean and muscular, he was able to help the rest of us ascend the wooden walls and then pull himself up behind us.  Without him we might have resorted to chicanery, but with him we were unstoppable.  Since Doug was stuck in traffic so long we started in the very last group to leave.  Throughout the race we were passing through some of the slower teams that started ahead of us, and near the end a large number of teams that had slowed to a walk.  That made us feel good, but didn't really reflect our abilities.  We never caught any really dangerous looking crews.

My favorite event was the Monkey Bars.  I thought I should train for that, so I went to the local elementary school and tried them out.  I could only do three before dropping.  This event had 27 which I knew from my research, so I decided not to train for it at all.  That turned out well, surprisingly.  These rungs were closer together and much easier than on the schoolyard.  All of our team made it across without a splashdown, though I couldn't have gone much farther than I did.

So the Tough Mudder is a fun event, but marred by logistical issues.  If you do it bring a large team and have fun, get there early, and don't worry too much about training.  And if you're as lucky as I was your Mom will be there to take pictures of you and your team!

Giant Acorn Triathlon 2012

The Giant Acorn Triathlon

Lake Anna, Virginia

October 6, 2012

Setting the Stage:
Over the year planned competitions dropped off my schedule like nuts falling from an oak tree, until finally the Giant Acorn Triathlon was the only one left; by default, my A Race.  It is held in Bumpass, Virginia, and on the way down my wife and I stopped in Cincinnati to see two of our children and watch the first presidential debate at their apartment.  What at great way to start the trip!  Our guy won, and we had the entire next day to hear about it over and over again on talk radio while we drove the rest of the way down to Charlottesville.

Goal: do the race like Romney did Lehrer

 

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Son #2 was registered for the event, but a shoulder injury put him on the disabled list.   We rendezvoused with my parents as planned in Charlottesville, and spent a few days with Brian at the University of Virginia before heading off to the race.  Charlottesville is a great town, and we had a fine time with him and his friends.

Carb-loading is essential

We got the competitive juices flowing with a few games of corn-hole:

The winning corn hole team

And my son had an opportunity to test his shoulder just before the race (no dice):

Live to race another day

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I spent the weeks leading up to the race training in Michigan, running and rolling over the thousands of acorns on the roads.  I love the crunching sound they make beneath my wheels, and their feel as they are crushed beneath my heels.  I especially love when I catch an acorn just right on my bike and I send it flying sideways at high velocity.  I felt the organizers implied I would find some particularly massive nuts at the Giant Acorn Triathlon, but that was one of the only ways the race disappointed.  Virginia’s acorns were small and forgettable.  I did see a few giant nuts at the swim start, but I think they were hickory nuts, and there were a few 6 year old boys scouring the grounds for all the best specimens to throw in the water.  I had no chance of finding a decent whole acorn, giant or otherwise.

Acorn? Hickory Nut?

The Drive In:

Onward to Bumpass!  If we hadn't had a GPS I would never have thought we were going in the right direction.  This race takes place deep in rural territory, and I could hear the Deliverance banjos playing.  It was a beautiful drive in, and the countryside was spectacular as we headed out of the mountains and down in to the rolling hills.  The weather was wonderful: 74 degrees and sunny was predicted and delivered.  The race was sold out, but there was plenty of room in transition. I kept my bike set-up tight and tidy but there was no one edging into my space and everyone had plenty of room to move.  The 10am start was very nice also.  No darkness, no anxiety, and plenty of time to drive in and even get lost.

See all the empty space?

In set up I recognized Cort the Sport from her blog: http://unblob.blogspot.com/2011/10/race-report-giant-acorn-sprint.html, which I read to prepare for the race. She was setting up right across from me in the corral, and seemed fit and ready to go.  I never did see her on the course, but she did great -- 5th overall.

The Swim:

   How can you be disappointed with a heated lake?  The organizers promised warm water (the effluent from the adjacent nuclear power plant is discharged into the lake near where we swam) and they delivered on their promise.  Water temperature was 79 degrees -- indoor pool temperature -- and wetsuits were not allowed.  That's a bit of a problem for me as I rely on the wetsuit to improve my body position, but it was nice stepping in water that was warmer than the air.

Downhill on gravel.  We'd run this later.

   The swim start and finish were at different locations, and it was about a half-mile walk to the start on a gravel road.  No one seemed overly anxious unless they didn't have sandals.  Before the swim we had a playing of the national anthem, and then it was off to the races.

Miss Campbell was the eventual female winner

   There were six waves, and no bumping or thrashing that I could see.  I left in the 5th wave, and for a short time I was able to follow the feet of a faster swimmer from the final wave, but he shook me eventually.  At some points the water level was so low my fingers dragged in the mud and I had drifted so close to shore once that I stood up and walked about ten yards to deeper water.  A few other swimmers did the same I could see.

• My swim time:  31:20.  Age Group Rank: 5/22

Why am I wearing my shirt?

T1:

Always glad to get out alive

The run up to transition from the lake was carpeted and a smooth ride.  There was so much room in transition that you could post a great time if you wanted to, and there were plenty of volunteers directing traffic.

About to begin the bike

The Bike:
The bike route was two loops on a road that was closed in our direction.  There was some oncoming traffic, but very little.  The scenery was nice and the road was smooth.  We passed over a bridge, and up one very steep hill.  There was one tight turn, but again it was well marked and there were volunteers to warn us early on.  I went as hard and fast as I could and being in the fifth wave meant there were plenty of cyclists on the road ahead of me.  One guy on a Quintana Roo tri-bike passed me five times... but I passed him six times.  Our back-and-forth helped both our times, and we both knew that any lead on the other wouldn't last too long.  My average speed was 23.1 mph, which is way faster than I have ever gone before.  I was hammering as hard as I could, and I even passed a car that made its way onto the course.  Still, there were three people that went harder and faster, and one was the age group champ.

• My bike time: 1:04:26.  Age Group Rank: 4/22

I'm thinking about getting a tri-bike

T2:

About a hundred yard walk from the road to transition, then out the chute to hit the run.  

The Run:
The run is always my weakness, but this was a nicely laid out route so the pain wasn't too bad.  We did two loops, and the out-goers were side by side with the in-comers.  I always prefer a two loop course to an out-and-back.  I prefer to get familiar with the trerrain.  Many of the cyclists I had put behind me were happy to pass me on the run, but you get used to that.  Near the end of the loop we ran down the gravel road to the swim start, then back up out of the pit.  Most of the spectators were there, and it was a fun section.

• My run time: 57:53.  Age Group Rank: 14/22.

The Summary:
All-in-all this was a great race.  Well run, fun, and worth the trip.  I would certainly recommend it to anyone in the area.  The next day I found out that I was fourth place and only two minutes off of the podium.  Maybe someday....

The goal

(Special thanks to the photographer)

Barry-Roubaix 2012

The fourth running of the Barry-Roubaix mountain bike race took place this weekend in the heart of Nowheresville, Michigan, and your Undercover Athletes were there to report on the event.

The race takes place in Barry, Michigan, and the clever title implies that it is intended to be tough, muddy, and for the intemperate.  There were plenty of riders sporting Ice Man jerseys, Colorado sweatshirts, and other emblems of past glories.  The weather was great though.  During the prior week the midwest had blown apart the existing temperature records, hitting mid-80s every day.  The trees were sprouting leaves, flowers were blooming, and everything smelled beautiful.  In 2011 1,046 signed up for the event but nasty weather cut attendance to 950.  This year, probably due to the great conditions, no one on the waiting list got in.  (One of your reporters rode as a bandit)

 We rode up from Indiana in the dark, and the closer we got to the race the more bikes we saw on top of cars.  They fit a lot of people into a small park for the event, but it was very well organized.  Check-in was smooth, the swag was good, and everyone was orderly.  The T-shirts were a pretty light blue, and I'm glad I bought one.  They also sold commemorative posters (I bought one) and bottle openers (I passed).  Last year there was free beer, but the State of Michigan forbade that this year.  It was pretty early in the morning anyway.  The girl checking us in had a plastic baby in a papoose -- part of a school project to discourage teenage pregnancies; part of the local flavor.

1,500 riders is a lot to fit onto one road.  We left in four waves a few minutes apart.  There were three lengths.  61 miles which was for the hardy, 35 miles which they recommended for first-timers and which we rode, and 23 miles.  Doug and I started in the ditch as our wave swarmed across the start line.  The timing chips were incorporated into the race numbers, which was cool, and everyone got off pretty easily.  I was in the final four across the start, but rode hard to get up towards the middle of the pack.  Better planning would have allowed an easier beginning.

The route turned sandy and muddy.  Every hill was doable, but with the sand most people clipped out at least once during the race.  drafting was allowed, but with so much mud and sand you got a real face-full and you had to pick and choose your times to cluster together.  The riders were all friendly, and camaraderie prevailed over competition.  Two riders finished together, in uniform, placing pretty well in the 61 mile race:

The Barry-Roubaix is a nice race.  There were license plates from Iowa, Indiana, Michigan, and Wisconsin.  I think it was worth a drive of a few hours, but not worth a cross-country trip.  The organizers did a very good job of making a friendly event, and if it fits your schedule I recommend it.

I rode a 29" mountain bike.  Most riders had a cyclocross bike, and some had road bikes with 32cm tires.  There was a separate category for Pugsley-type fat tire bikes.  Each choice seemed to have advantages and disadvantages, but the cyclocross bike is probably best.

One final word of thanks.  My friend wanted to register but the race closed out and he rode as a bandit.  He had two flats.  One just before the race and one during the race.  The sag wagon helped him out beautifully and he was able to finish the race.  We all came away happy.

Ironman Canada 2011

Six weeks later, I finally feel ready to organize my recollections and put together my Ironman Canada race report.  Our participation was inspired by the preceding year’s MightyMan Montauk, and the write-up from that event is here: http://undercoverathlete.blogspot.com/2010/10/mightyman-montauk-2010.html

The who would be my son Sean, his friend Cameron, and me.  The where and when were decided by Cameron, who is trying to qualify for Kona and chose his home country Canada for the attempt.  The why still needs a little work in my opinion.

I had nearly two years to train, counting the one year run up to the half-ironman, and I used it all.  The first year was devoted particularly to swim training.  The second year was primarily focused on running and improving my swim stroke.  Along the way I made many good friends, had some great experiences, and learned a lot about what to do and what not to do in a triathlon.

Swim Training:  I was most nervous about the swim, and began my survival training by doing laps on my own at the Fort Collins Club.  I took a few lessons, improved my stroke, and was able to complete the swim portion at Montauk well.  My big breakthrough came when I felt bold enough to join the morning Masters Swim team at my club.  The synchronized files of capable swimmers doing laps in a single lane had intimidated me, but when I signed up for a full ironman I knew I needed to learn how to swim with the sharks.  I was embarrassed at first to even admit that I had had the audacity to register for a full-distance event, but everyone in the pool was very welcoming and very encouraging. 

I started off in the slow lane, and I’d like to report that I soon moved up to the intermediate lane and was pushing for a spot in the fast lane… but I stayed in the slow lane until race day.  I harbored a not-so-secret ambition to make it to the intermediate lane by Christmas, which went unrealized, but I am still quite satisfied with my progress.  I learned how to do flip-turns, I brought my legs out of the depths and am beginning to bring them into my stroke, and I stopped fighting the water so much.  Still a long ways to go, but I did became a swimmer in time for Canada.

I first got to know the other swimmers at Masters by watching them underwater.  I was impressed with how they kicked so well, and how they pulled away from me so quickly without seeming to be working hard at all.  At that time I didn’t know what Kona was, or what it meant.  Eventually I learned that my neighbors in the fast lane were all Kona qualifiers, one had placed third in her age group there, one had won his age group at Ironman Canada, and two had swam the English Channel.  Now I know why they looked so good – they were!

Cub reporters for the UndercoverAthlete blog invading the fast lane at the Ft. Collins Club Pool.  In the background are Gonda, who qualifies for Kona every year, and Mary, who has an awesome kick.

Run Training:  The run was another big weakness.  Preparing for the Montauk half I developed hip tendinitis, and then tore my medial meniscus weeding a few months before the event.  Things settled down enough for me to do the race with minimal complaint, but soon afterwards I needed a medial meniscectomy.  Recovery was quick, though, and I was able to resume running in earnest by Christmas.  We all had Canada hats to wear for our cold-weather training, and I set out to increase my distance and endurance.  My coldest run was at 4 degrees Fahrenheit, which made me feel I was stacking up my bona fides for Canada.

The Canada cap in action.

I ran slow and I trained slow, but I thought that was unavoidable since I am slow.  I have some friends that are ultra-marathoners, and one of them asked me what my plan was for the marathon portion of the race.  I told her that my plan was to not really to run a marathon at all; I was going to do a half-marathon, then a 10k, then a 5k, then just finish it off.  She scoffed, and said, “That’s no plan at all!”.

This outright rejection of my running plan was worrisome, and deep inside I knew that the plan was not very scientific.  I had already hired Wendy Mader (http://www.t2coaching.com/) to coach me in swimming and she had helped me a great deal in the pool.  With two months to go before Canada I hired Wendy to coach me altogether, and that was a big help, even though she only had a short time to work with me.  She got me running faster in my training, and eventually I ran faster in competition also. None of that actually helped me in Canada, but more on that later.  It was also a relief to have someone else take responsibility for the training schedule.  I didn't have to wonder how to peak, how to taper, how far to ride, how fast to run; I only had to do what I was told, and I got used to doing what women tell me to do long ago.

Living in Ft. Collins at the time, I was fortunate to have access to a great trail system.  My swim lane partner suggested I run on the mountain bike trails.  She said it was like an interval workout, with short bursts of intensity to get over the high points, and some rest on the downhills.  I began doing a ten mile loop on the Blue Sky Trail where I usually rode, and I agree that it was a great training run.

The Blue Sky Trail

Bike Training:

I came to triathlon as a cyclist, so I presumed that I could focus on my swim and run training and just catch up on the cycling closer to the event.  I was able to do some serious climbing.  During my training I ascended Mt. Evans, Estes Park, Left Hand Canyon, and Rist Canyon many times.  I did one eight hour ride and many 4-6 hour rides.  My focus, though, was not on cycling, and I think that hurt me on race day.  I never really felt that I was strong and comfortable on the bike, and my plan was always to do the bike as a type of interlude between the main events.  I'm beginning to wonder if a triathlon isn't more of a sandwich, with the meat at least as important as the bread.

Prep ride with my friend Todd.  At the top of Mt. Evans on probably the finest day imaginable for an ascent.  The top is permanent Arctic Tundra, and there's snow even in July.

Foreshadowing:  Four or five weeks before the big day I raced in the Mt. Evans Hill Climb.  I have climbed Mt. Evans many times and I love it.  The climb begins in Idaho Springs and ends above 14,000 feet.  Along the way you pass above the tree line, pass through herds of mountain goats, and enter the permanent arctic tundra at the top of the mountain.  It’s steep, tough, and challenging.  In the race I hung with the lead pack for twenty minutes, then cracked and fell off the pace.  I finished 48^th out of 50.  That should have been a warning, but I was too obtuse to take heed.  Anyway, it was too late to change anything.

Preparatory Races:

I did the Horsetooth Half Marathon, the Loveland Lake-to-Lake Triathlon, the Boulder Peak Triathlon, and the Steelhead 70.3 Triathlon as prep races for Canada.   The Horsetooth Half is a hilly penance, and was a great suffering for me, but I did pretty well at the three triathlons, and thought my training and preparations were on target.  As it turns out I think I was very well trained for a half-Ironman but under-prepared for the full distance event.

My son Michael and I after finishing America's hilliest half-marathon.

Travel to Penticton:

Travel across national borders and with bicycles, was difficult.  Matters were complicated by Hurricane Irene circling offshore and disrupting air traffic patterns.  Sean nearly missed every flight connection he had from New York and was only saved by the fact that each of his travel legs were delayed 90 minutes and he was in good enough running shape to do interval sprints between gates.  Two airplane doors closed on his backside, which beats having them close in his face.  I flew in from Indiana, which went seamlessly, and Cameron flew to Seattle the day before and drove up – probably the best and easiest way to handle the whole affair.

Race day was predicted to be a hot one and it was, with temperatures on the bike peaking at 97 degrees Fahrenheit and staying in the mid-90s throughout the day until the sun went down.  Coming in from the airport the cabbie said it was expected to be about “36 degrees for the race”, which meant nothing to me until he explained that was “about body temperature.”

It was always surprising to hear the Canadians using metric and Celsius, and those terms still mean little to me.  “Only 500 meters to the top” they would yell encouragingly, and I would spend the next two minutes trying to do mental conversion.  The only metric distances I know are 25 meters and 50 meters.

We stayed at the host hotel, which was nice.  Some of the more experienced Canadian Ironmen were staying at the beachfront houses along the lakeshore, and those seemed even better.  Wherever you went there were wetsuits and bicycle on the balconies, and lean, excited people walking the streets.

Most balconies sport a bike and a wetsuit.

This was my first full-distance Ironman event, and I was very impressed with how well organized it was.  Sean explained that was because they gave us no choices:  be here at this time, do this between these hours, etc….  He was probably right.   I was very confused about the transition processes, but when I went to transition check-in one of the volunteers walked me through the whole process and it became quite clear.  Most everyone seemed calm and happy, and the pre-race jitters I had experienced for the half-iron event the year before were absent.

The pre-race pasta dinner was packed.  We ate on table outside and watched a video of the speakers on a big screen.  That was an error.  We missed some of the excitement by not being indoors.  Some of the pros spoke, the main announcer, Steve King, was great, and the speakers were funny.  We ate, and ate, and ate.

Race Morning:

Race day came at last.  I slept pretty well the night before, and had eaten all that I could.  No beer for several weeks before the event, and just a little coffee in the morning.  We got to the beach a few hours early, but we didn’t want to rush.

The Swim:

I lined up on the left, and in the middle of the pack, but there were 2,880 people there – they called it the biggest mass swim start in history.  It did not seem as crowded as I had expected, and I made a game day decision to move closer to the front of the pack.  I was feeling cocky.  That decision turned out well, and when the cannon sounded I was able to get swimming pretty quickly without too much body contact.  I tried to find some fast feet but I couldn’t stick to anyone long and pretty much just tried to stay in open water.  If I saw a gap when I was sighting I tried to sprint through it, and if someone tried to swim over me I kicked him off my back.  I did hear one guy grunt and I wondered if I had kicked him in the belly, but overall I don’t think I was aggressive and I certainly tried not to swim over anyone myself.

A minute or two after the start.

I got out of the water at 1:11, which exceeded my expectation of 1:20.  I think the whole body of swimmers really moved the water along with us and that helped us all.  The time passed very quickly.

I would have enjoyed the swim more if I had know it was this beauty tickling my feet the last 1/4 mile.

T1:

This was different than any of the lesser distance triathlons I have done.  We made up bags with our bike equipment the night before, and when we got out of the water volunteers stripped our wetsuits off and others gave us our bags.  We then ran into unisex tents, where we changed on stools and left everything behind for the volunteers, while we ran to our bikes.  It was pretty easy.

Cameron said there would be pretty, young girls applying sunscreen, and sure enough they were there with mammoth vats of the stuff.  I got in line to have them slather it all over me, but they didn’t reach under our tops.  Once we got into position on our bikes, everyone’s tri-top pulled tight and our shoulders winged out, exposing more skin.  The next day the beach was full of people with the odd sunburn you see below.  It wasn’t just me.

Not a secret society, just an unfortunate tan line seen everywhere on the beach the day after.

The Bike:

It felt like the race was starting now.  I had planned to hold 145 Watts and I did, but I was passed by what seemed like thousands of cyclists.  I felt like I should be going faster, but I also felt like I was working hard and not really holding back.

Rumor has it that the native Indian population is unhappy about the race and that they litter the road with tacks the night before.  I saw a few dozen people with flats in the first hour or so, but still I was skeptical that malicious tacks were the cause.  Then I got a flat and, sure enough, there was a brand-new tack in my rear wheel.  It was shiny, clean, sharp, and had certainly not been lying in the road long.  Better than Montezuma’s revenge or an arrow through my back.  Anyway, I changed the flat quickly and was back on the road.

The initial part of the bike route was pretty, riding south along a string of lakes.  Soon we turned west and ascended the Richter, which was also not that bad.  By now the pack had settled into a rhythm, and there were fewer carbon wheels whizzing past at high speeds.  Still, throughout the bike portion I was occasionally passed by some very fit looking person on a sleek tri-bike just hammering down the road.  Where had they been all this time?  What had they been doing?  Five or six times I passed the same man at the side of the road trying to fix his new-looking $6,000 bike, and five or six times he passed me again when he got it working right.  That must have been so frustrating, and I’m sure there is a good bike on e-bay now that I would recognize.

The worst part of the bike was the out-and-back.  I think we all agreed on that.  It was hilly, hot, windy and exposed, and was keeping us from getting back on the road to the finish line.  It was also far longer than I expected, even though we had ridden a part of it the day before.  I entered the out-and-back feeling ok, but I left it very ready to get off the bike.  From there it was up Yellow Lake, and back into town, but the Yellow Lake climb was way worse than the Richter and took plenty of time.

The out-and-back was pretty -- pretty hot and pretty tedious.

Along the bike route I saw some funny posters.  My favorite was Smile if You’re Not Wearing Underwear.  I also liked Your Mother is Proud of You, Wherever She Is.  Later on during the run I saw the most accurate poster:  My Mascara Runs Faster Than You.  No offense I’m sure.

T2:  I don’t remember much, but I was happy to be off of the bike.

The Run:

Excellent.  I headed out through a crowd of cheering spectators, which was invigorating, and out through town.  The leaders were just starting to come back, and since it’s an out-and-back run I got to see them cruising in.  They were certainly doing something different than I was doing.

I looked down at my Garmin and I was running at an 11 minute pace.  I expected 9:30 or 10:00, but 11 felt good and I didn’t think I could do anything faster, anyway.  It was really scorching, but I had a drape on the back of my hat and was still covered with sunscreen.  The aid stations were packed with water, ice, and sponges, and they kept them very well stocked.  I drank plenty, and had followed my nutritional plan on the bike so I didn’t think I was in any danger of bonking.

Hitting the chute out of T2.  Some lady told me I was looking good, and I said "I'll see you in a few hours!"  I meant that in a few hours I wouldn't look so good, but a little early excitement is not bad.

Run, run, run.  The most exciting episode was at the top of a minor hill.  There was the most beautiful girl/woman imaginable, in a bikini with a garden hose, offering to wet down the runners.  Her muscular thighs, and her confidence and swagger added to the teenage fantasy scene.  Where were the movie cameras?  Sean told me he accepted the offer, but I had to decline.  I was going slowly enough without the added weight of sordid imaginings in my head.  Besides, I don’t think I would have felt clean afterwards.

About mile ten:  still feeling great, but a close look shows trouble developing.  I am nearly at a walk already, my stride is minimal, I'm not getting my knees up.  I am smiling, though.

My readings had told me that the ironman begins at the marathon turnaround point.  Probably so, because that is where mine ended.  The scholars who planned the route put the turn-around at the bottom of a deep pit.  I ran until I had to walk, and when I finally ascended I had difficulty getting the run going again.  Walking seemed like the best solution, so I started to run-walk.  The ratio soon skewed into a walk-run, and I knew that I was going to have trouble making my goal of a 5 hour marathon.  As it turns out I did the marathon in about 6:23, which was the close to the best I could do that day.

I knew my friends and family were following me online, and I knew that they would be worried.  I had suddenly disappeared off the radar!  Was I hurt, had I dropped out, had I drowned after all?  No, I was just trudging north, watching the sun go down, and knowing that anyone looking at my results in the eastern time zones would go to bed thinking a computer malfunction was responsible for my apparent absence from the finish line.

I knew that I would finish, but the last four or five miles were miserable even at a walking pace.  I was being passed by other walkers, and I had no retort.  Finally, when I could hear the commotion of the finish line, Cameron saw me and ran the last ¼ mile in with me.  He had not qualified for Kona, but he had run a good race and was still able to do another few hundred meters run with me.  If he hadn’t been there I think I might have walked it in.

My coach told me to cross the finish line with my arms raised and a smile on my face, so that's what I did.

The Post-Mortem:

Of course I’m glad I completed it.  Just getting to the start line fit and ready to roll was a big accomplishment.  I used Training Peaks to log my preparations and over the twelve months before the race I completed the following workouts:

         Swim: 82,300 meters (51 miles; 1,646 laps; 189 hours)

         Bike: 2,489 miles, 244 hours

         Run: 578 miles, 95 hours

         Bricks: 316 miles, 15 hours

         Races: 198 miles, 8.92 hours

I think I do want to do another, and my goal is still to complete the marathon in under 5 hours.  To do that I think I need to improve my cycling.  If I were faster on the bike I would get to the run with a stronger cohort, and a more aggressive mental attitude.  I plan on taking a few years to let this experience marinate, and to get faster at the shorter distances.  Perhaps in three years or so I will be ready to try another, though I don’t know if I’ll have the time available to train like I did for this event.

I would happily do Canada again, though I'm imagining Challenge Roth, Ironman France, or some equally exotic venue for an event of this magnitude.  Also, I think I might do better on a course that had cycling and running loops.  It felt awfully lonesome out there on the run, miles from the finish line.  Perhaps with more people around the energy would be invigorating.

So there it is, my view of the Great White North on wheels.  I hope you enjoyed it, and I only wish I had a picture of the girl in the bikini with the garden hose to reward you.

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.