Director's Dare
All's Well That Finally Ends
Friday, June 25, 2004
I knew I was in trouble right from the start. I could tell just by the equipment the others had. Early Saturday morning, before the digital clock in my room rearranged itself to 5:00 AM., I arose. I had borrowed a Camelback hydration system from my brother-in-law. It had been awhile since it had been used and the fungus cultures growing in the straw / tube were quite impressive in a B-movie-space-alien-taking-over-the-planet kind of way. Therefore I had soaked it in a chlorine solution all night. I jumped out of bed, and put the water pack through the rinse cycle in my sink. I grabbed a couple of Snickers bars from the refrigerator, kissed my sleeping wife goodbye and out the door I went.
I got to Sand Hollows Reservoir slightly before 6:00 AM and unloaded the award stand, which would be the last time I touched that platform until I loaded it back up into my truck to bring it back home.
Having never done a triathlon before, I was only slightly confused at the staging area. I wasn't sure if I just grabbed a spot on the bike racks or if there was a certain order that needed to be followed, but it didn't take me too long to figure it out. I was quite intimidated by the bicycles that lined the racks. There were bikes there that obviously cost nearly as much as my house. Next I made my way to the end of the check-in line where I chatted with a nice guy who had done 'hundreds of triathlons.' I tried not to gag on my heart as it leapt in to my throat when I heard that phrase. Just what had I gotten myself into?
Checked in, I made my way down the boat ramp where I intently listened to the Sprint Course instructions and breathed a tiny sigh of relief to hear that the Olympic Length would start second. As Chris Bowerbank, the event coordinator explained the Olympic Length race, I looked at the buoys that were set in the water for the Sprint course and, thinking that the Olympic course was two laps around these buoys, thought, "Hey, that's not too bad." Then my eyes were directed to the real course which turned the easy two lap triangle in to an unbelievably long diamond shaped course. People I talk to think I am exaggerating, but I kid you not when I say that the far buoy was barley visible. It was a tiny orange pin prick in the vast expanse of water. I nervously tired to swallow the lump in my throat. No good, the lump was staying put.
Before I know it, the gun was charged and the Sprint race was on.
It didn't take me very long to notice that I was the solitary person without a slick, skim-through-the-water-with-little-or-no-drag-wet-suit on. I felt truly out of place, a feeling that would only compound like interest in a tech fund in the late nineties as the race progressed. These people really looked like tri-athletes. They were here to actually race, whereas I was still clinging to my goal to just finish and beginning to wonder if that wasn't too much to ask for.
I self-consciously held back toward the rear of the pack and continued to try to banish the lump in my throat. Still no good. The lump had set up camp to stay.
The countdown to start began and finished and before I knew it, there was a squirming, swimming splash of humanity heading for the first buoy. Knowing it was too late to turn back, I joined the fray and kicked off from the shore which would be the last time I felt solid under my feet for quite awhile.
I didn't take me long to fall behind the group and by the time I reached the first buoy, there were several that had reached that tiny orange spot so far away and began the swim back. There was nothing to do but continue. It also didn't take me long to realize that my fear of drowning was completely unfounded. Since it must have been obvious to everyone within a three mile radius I was not the strongest of swimmers, I soon had roughly half of all the boats and kayaks in the lake monitoring my progress asking if I was okay every few minutes. By the time I reached that far buoy, I had quite a following. As I rounded the great orange floating orb, which had grown considerably in size, I knew I had to put these boaters at ease.
"Where did everybody go?" I called out, "I thought this was the finish line." Hearty laughter all around.
By the time I finally reached the end of the swim, there was a knot of worried people, including my wife, Mindy, waiting on the boat dock.
"Am I still in the lead?" I called out as I stumbled, dripping and tired up the boat ramp.
Mindy helped me strap on my sandals asking if I was sure that I wanted to go on. I must have looked pretty bad. But I was as committed as the proverbial pig for breakfast and determined to finish no matter what. I thanked her for her concern and just for show jogged all the way up the ramp to my bike. I threw on my favorite Spiderman shirt, strapped on my mushroom shaped $19.95 Wal-Mart bicycle helmet, straddled the seat began pedaling. Over an hour later with the sun beating down on me and my legs feeling like they were made of Concord grape jelly, I began to wonder my wisdom in this determination.
During the bike part of the race it was again brought to my attention that I was not as well equipped as my contemporaries. I hadn't gone very far when all of a sudden I was passed by Kaye Nelson a 72 year young dynamo from Hurricane. We were going down hill and I was still pedaling, trying to take advantage of the grade when he came coasting by me. I had borrowed my friend's mountain bike, and it was a nice mountain bike too, but it was no road bike. Of course I was oblivious to the difference, but it didn't take very long to realize that there was one.
What seemed like hours and hours later as I puffed into the staging area again, my wife was there again, offering encouragement and consolation. I slid into my high top basketball shoes and began what was to be the running leg of the race. Of course by this time, the winners of the race had long since finished. There were a few people still out on the course, but I passed most of them at the very beginning of my foot race and the very end of theirs.
As I staggered to the one-mile check station I panted to those handing out water to the runners, "Is this where you fall sobbing to your knees and confess all of your sins so the torment will stop?"
"No, that's two miles down the road."
"Thanks for the encouragement," came my dry response. No I mean I was really dry. My tongue was sticking to the top, bottom and sides of my mouth by this time. Thankfully the lump had descended from my throat, but it had long since been replaced by a needle sharp pain in my side.
On I went.
By the time I reached the turn around point, the temperature had increased dramatically. I knew it was hot when I noticed that the orange safety cones were starting to melt and ooze on the road.
When I lurched my way back once again to the start/finish line, I was greeted by my wife and my five-year-old son, Christian; the latter ran with me to the finish line which finally ended the torture, four hours, three minutes and 30 seconds after it began.
When I started to talk to people about how I was planning on doing the triathlon this year, without exception, everyone tried to talk me out of it or at last tried to encourage me to do the shorter distance. "You're going to be too busy," they said. "You won't be able to train once the Games start." Or, "Why don't you just do the Sprint distance."
Well, to all the nay sayers and doubters, I only have one thing to say: "Please accept my apologies for not taking your well intentioned, timely and sage advice. I was a fool."
Thanks for all the email, advice and suggestions you've sent me during this entire process.
I'd like to take this opportunity to officially announce my retirement from triathlon. But, look for me to be participating in something else next year at the Utah Summer Games.
Labels: triathlon
