Lake Montclair Olympic Distance Triathlon
June 24, 2007
The Lake Montclair Olympic Triathlon was about 45 minutes south of DC. Got up at 4:00 a.m. to meet Will Colston, Bill Murray and Dave Turvene (see Dave's race report) at Dave’s house to rack the bikes on Dave’s minivan and hit the road by 5:00 for the 7:00 gun time. After an uneventful drive, we parked, took down the bikes, grabbed our gear bags and rode the mile or so to the transition area with plenty of time to spare. We got word that the water was supposedly below 79 degrees, so wetsuits would be legal (to my disappointment as a strong swimmer, and nearly everyone else’s relief). Dave, Bill and I were assigned to adjacent racks so it was fun chatting while we set up our transitions. Will was a little further down. Here we were in the "before" shot:
We went down to the water for a warmup swim but they were clearing the water and beach of people just as we got there so we lost out. There were a few blessedly brief announcements from the race director and the designated-charity spokespeople, and the national anthem, and then it was time for the first wave to go, of which I was part (assignments were based on the estimated swim time you had given them at signup). We waded in for the water start as the race director yelled “30 seconds” – she didn’t waste any time – and then we were off!
I actually didn’t feel too great at the beginning of the swim. My wetsuit is just a little too tight and maybe my breathing felt constricted, and my arms felt a little sore (I had done a hard swim on Thursday three days earlier, perhaps that was a mistake). There was a little jostling at the start but it quickly settled down. I actually drafted off some people for a bit, but soon lost them.
The 1-mile swim course followed the thin pond, dogged left around a point, around a buoy there, and back. On the way out, I drifted left of the main pack, and as a result cut the corner much closer than most, meaning I swam a shorter distance than most. The pack seemed to hug the buoys as if they were staying on the right side of a road – instinct perhaps but not smart. On the way home, I again found myself swimming kind of alone – but I didn’t worry about it, since as I learned on the way out, leaving the pack can be the smart move. Except here it wasn’t. At some point I realized I’d drifted quite a bit off course to the left, and was just circling wide and wasting time. So much for my eschew-the-pack smugness. My lesson for future swims: spend less energy doing quick-glimpse, in-stroke sighting, and take the time a little more often to stop, do a few breast strokes, and really get a good read of the situation. I was loathe to spend the time do to that, and to break up my swimming rhythm. But a few seconds spent really looking around can save a whole lot of seconds on solo tours of the less-traveled corners of a lake.
(What I’m really waiting for is the day when I can affix a little GPS receiver between my shoulder blades and get an LCD readout on the inside of my goggles telling me my location on the course in relation to all buoys, my current heading, my pace, heart rate, expected finish time. Maybe I could check my e-mail too, in case I get bored on a long swim.)
Anyways, about 100 feet from shore, when I didn’t think there was anyone very close to me, someone suddenly grabbed my ankle. That was a first for me. I was so shocked, I stopped swimming and looked back momentarily. Figuring they feared I was about to kick them in the face or something, I shrugged off my annoyance & swam on. Still not sure what that was about, whether it was an aggressive move or what.
My swim time was 28:02. I had swum it in 25:30 in the pool, and though my race times usually lag my pool times (despite the wetsuit which is supposed to speed you up), I was hoping for a 27-minute swim or even faster. I blame it on going off course. But, my swim time put me 33rd in the overall field of 393, and 5th out of 42 in my 40-44 age group. (I’m 39 but you’re categorized by your age at end of calendar year).
Ran up the beach; too winded at first, I just ran in my full wetsuit for a bit, then reached back and tugged off the top of my wetsuit to my waist. Into transition, tried to take it off standing but got all tangled, so I sat down and pulled it off each leg. On with helmet, bike off rack, and out onto the street to begin the bike leg. Though I wasn’t especially gunning for glory on the T1 time (see T2, below), my T1 time was 1:25, the 10th fastest overall. I credit that to keeping my transitions as simple and clutter-free as possible: I clip my shoes into my pedals ahead of time, don’t fiddle with gloves or glasses or anything like that – and today, for the first time in a tri, I wore my shirt under my wetsuit so I didn’t have to fight into that. It was just take off wetsuit, put on helmet, grab bike, run for the exit.
A bit of a steep climb to get out of the park, but no problem for my super-duper triple chain ring. I took it easy, telling myself, “easy, easy, start slow, rest up a little, relax” as I’d planned to do for the beginning of the bike ride.
The bike course once we left the park was 4 laps of a 6-mile loop – almost like a large criterium. I was a little concerned because it was said to be hilly, though it didn’t look too bad on the elevation charts I saw online. As I rode around on my first loop, I saw that in fact it was an excellent course for me – lots of long, slightly sloping uphills, straightaways, and downhills, all of which are my strength. As opposed to real hills, which I just don’t seem to have the right kind of muscles for (or waistline perhaps). In the pleasant first loop, I was pleased to pass more people than passed me (in fact I hardly remember anyone passing me on that first loop). The course, which was one automobile lane wide, did get more and more crowded as all 568 participants crowded onto it, making it difficult at times, as when trying to pass someone who was themselves trying to pass someone. It sucks to have to apply your brakes in a race, when not cornering, but that happened a few times.
The only negative on the bike was that my front derailleur was a little out of tune; I’d fiddled with it the day before but hadn’t quite gotten it fixed in the time I had. If anything it seemed to get worse on this race. When I tried to go from my outer chain ring to my middle one, it would go straight down to my small chain ring. I was really afraid of losing the chain throughout the race – I almost did one time, preventing it only by putting my finger on the chain to press it against the gear until I could back up my pedals to get it fully back onto the gear. The result was I spent more time in my large chain ring that I probably would have otherwise.
Each loop, I would pass people on the straightaway and especially on the down hills, and then on the one area where the grade became too much for my legs, a bunch of people would pass me. Then I would re-pass them on the downhill more often than not, and the straightaway. I went fairly hard on the bike, but did pace myself. As I flowed into the fourth and final lap, my thoughts began to turn to the run.
Took my feet out of my bike shoes while coasting down the quarter-mile hill back into the transition area, and hopped off at the dismount line. My bike time was 1:07:26, 41st overall and 7/42 in my age group. I averaged 21.4 mph.
I sped to my rack, took off my helmet, grabbed my hat, and ran out of transition. Total time: 28 seconds.
Since I didn’t need to put shoes on for the run, I was gunning for the top T2 time. However some 19 year old young buck seems to have somehow gone through in 26 seconds, besting me by 2 seconds – and that included, I presume, putting on shoes. This guy I noticed also did his 10k run in 39 minutes, so I reckon that's his secret – just sprint like hell through the transition at maximum speed. Coincidentally, in the overall rankings, this guy finished just one slot above me. He beat me by 3 seconds, so at least his T2 wasn't the margin :)
The only problem with being a T-artist is that you have no time to switch gears in your head before you’re into the next event. The first 50 feet of the run was along a serious gravel trail – we’re talking big, plum-sized rocks. So I just walked it. It was a good chance to rest for a minute, picking my way through the rocks, and switch gears in my mind. Here I got my first of many comments on my bare feet, from the volunteers at the transition exit. “Where are your shoes!?” I answered with a smile, “don’t like ‘em, don’t need em.” I paused and looked down. “Well, except maybe along here” I laughed. My little rocky stroll was over too quickly, leading into a nice comfortable leaf-strewn path through the woods, and it was time to get my brick legs moving and get this 10k done with.
The first two miles were unpleasant. The course was a spaghetti tangle. Usually I memorize my race courses, and know exactly where I am at all times during the race. But after checking it out a few weeks earlier I’d forgotten to circle back and memorize it. I quickly got totally disoriented. The result was that I felt like I was in some kind of existentialist hell – running along quiet, mostly deserted curving suburban streets, following the random instructions of volunteers – “turn here,” “straight here,” “turn here” with no sense of how far I’d gone or how far I had to go. Compounding the problem, there didn’t appear to be mile markers on the course, and I’d forgotten to mark a lap counter on my watch upon starting the run. Finally I saw a marking for “two mile point” and set my watch to that. Also my legs were stiff as usual and also my diaphragm was sore, my chest felt tight, my ribs just slightly crampy, as if I had stitches in my sides. (I figured I was breathing harder for the previous 90 minutes than I’m used to breathing for that length of time.) So I soldiered on. Lot of people complained about the hills but I’d heard it was hilly and I just took it one step at a time and they didn’t seem too bad to me. I guess I was sort of resigned to the unpleasantness.
Over the course of the race, I did start feeling better. According to my watch, I did miles 3 & 4 in 7:18 each, mile 5 in 7:50, and mile 6 in 6:31. The course was quite hilly but I also think the accuracy of the mile markers was suspect (the fastest mile I’ve ever done was a 6:00 at a track, and it almost killed me, and nothing I did on this course approached that level of intensity.)
Along the way, I got the usual comments about my bare feet. “There’s the barefoot guy again!” “Go barefoot guy!” “Where are your shoes?” “Are you running the WHOLE race like that?” A cop giving me a friendly “are you crazy” look. I also got a few comments about my hat – I wore a broad-brimmed Australian-style hat I picked up at REI. Everyone wears baseball-style hats, and anyways why shouldn’t I bring as much shade with me as I can? The hat’s maybe a bit heavier but it’s pretty light and breathable and keeps the sun off my neck, ears and face, not just my forehead. I don't love the look but give me functionality any day.
Finally, saw the 6-mile marker, and really began to speed up for the final 0.2 mile. It always feels good when you have juice in the tank to finish strong. As I crossed the dam back toward the finish, I eased up
past a guy who was running along. Then he pulled back even with me. I turned to him with a smile and said, “you're not going to let me BEAT you are you?” And we both sped up even more. He pulled ahead of me. I pulled even with him. By now we were in the chute, and it seemed like tons of people were screaming at us as we came in neck and neck. And then I pulled ahead of him, and crossed the finish line with no one visible in front of me – yes!
Then it was into the finishing area, got a medal, gave back my chip, had a friendly word with the guy I raced through the chute, and sat on a perfect grassy shady bank and watched my friends come in. Will, who had started 6:00 after me two waves back, came in 5:30 after me by my watch, so it looked like he’d beaten me and I ruefully congratulated him. But I realized I messed up my timing at the finish and it turned out that actually I beat him, by just 39 seconds.
My run time for the 10k was 48:59, or 7:54 per mile average pace. 123/393 overall, 26/42 in age group. As usual, the run was my worst leg.
Overall my time was 2:26:22. I was 40th of 393 overall, and 6th of 42 in my age group.
Overall it was a really fun race that had a good spirit and atmosphere on a beautiful day (sunny & 69 at the start with little wind & low humidity) with good friends. I also enjoyed the olympic distance – this was my first full olympic race. It is not as painful as a sprint and not as draining as a half ironman.
Addendum: they posted a race "highlights video" that includes brief shots of me emerging from the wooded trail at the beginning of the run and at the finish line: http://www.beexpressive.com/montclair07.htm.
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