This is a strange time to be sending out my first blog post about training and racing, considering I started in April, and it's only a few weeks to go until Worlds. More on that drama later, but for now here's a little story about the lead-up to and the actual day of racing that I probably won't ever forget.
The 2011 race season had been a methodical build-up, orchestrated by Elliot Bassett's diligent plan, and my willingness to do a lot of focused, weird, sometimes cruel, and always fast workouts. I engaged Elliot in March to lay out a program that would get me to my August races faster, stronger, and mentally better-prepared than I had been in years past. This is direct defiance of my advancing age (at least in the competitive triathlon world), a busier-than-normal work year, and a new schedule of single-parenting that promised to take priority above the first two factors.
I raced a couple of races in April, May, and June, and used July to lay down some big swim, bike, and run workouts outside of the context of racing. One of these workouts was the Missoula Half Marathon, which I treated as a long run session, and a test of built-up endurance and speed. I managed to summon both on July 10, but I paid for it dearly; a sore IT band and right hamstring resulted in a pulled left hamstring a week later, then a slight tear of the soleus (below the right calf), back over to the right hamstring, and ultimately my lower back. Physical therapy (thanks Doug Martin) intense bodywork (thanks Karey Keith) a complete lack of running (thanks, uh, nobody) and some really goofy exercises and taping jobs left me starting the August Push under-trained, sore, beat-up, and lacking in confidence. August was supposed to be a bunch of fast, fun, lead-up races that would take me through the USAT National Championships, and finally the ITU World Championships in Beijing. It was turning into a war.
Fast forward to August 20, 2011, last Saturday. Actually, the race starts a few days out from that, as we usually try to "taper" our training, dialing back the volume and resting our bodies so that they can not only absorb the previous weeks of training, but also store up a little energy (and anxiety) that can be unleashed on our fellow competitors on race morning. At least that's the idea. Often, the days leading up to a key competition are wrought with travel, equipment details, work details that need to be buttoned up, and race course reconnaissance and prep. If you're a big-time, sponsored athlete you "have people" to help you with this. If you're a hack amateur with a job and kids, you spend a lot of time running around and on the phone trying to arrange delivery of your bike to the race, your kids to dance lessons and over-night stays, and your tired rear end to the race hotel.
In this case, I was trying to get to the 2011 USA Triathlon National Championships in Burlington, Vermont. Nationals is the Super Bowl for amateur triathlon in the United States, at least for the most common distances in the sport. Nationals takes place at the end of every summer. They hold it at some established race site, two years in a row, and this was the first year for Burlington (previous sites had been Tuscaloosa, Portland, Kansas City, Coeur d'Alene, Shreveport, etc.) I flew to Boston and met with a client (work supports racing, racing supports work) and drove the three hours to Burlington.
Burlington is an idyllic college town on the shores of Lake Champlain, which is huge, clean, and very much New England. It is also a very young, active town with an emphasis on outdoor activities, and a perfect venue for triathlon. The lake was a perfect temp, still cool enough to allow the use of wet suits (faster for me), the roads had decent pavement and some good hills, and the run course was through local neighborhoods and along the lake. The race start/finish and transition areas were at the epicenter of town/lake activity, and were geared towards a good spectator experience. I roomed with my Uncle Bob, who was racing at Nationals with me for the eighth time, this time in the 70+ age group. We re-con'd the course on Friday, took care of last-minute details, checked in our bikes to the transition area, grabbed dinner and hit bed early.
The Olympic Distance race (1.5K swim, 40K bike, 10K run) went off early, in waves of about 100 athletes at a time. Lake Champlain looked like a fish farm with color-coordinated caps, and watching the Olympic distance athletes race over the course of the morning go me excited, nervous, and ultimately a little drained. Bob finished about 20th of 26th in his age group, disappointed that there were "that many guys that old that go that fast..." Temperatures rose to the mid-80's by about noon, and I went through my warm-ups, checked my transition area, and donned my wetsuit for the Sprint distance race.
I've raced everything from Ironman to sprint and everything in between, almost 400 races over 20 years. I've gotten over the ego part of "going long," and have realized that I am most proficient (and more competitive) at the shorter distances. It doesn't get shorter or faster than a sprint race; 750 meter swim, 20K bike, and a 5K run. And it doesn't get any more competitive than Nationals. I let myself get completely freaked out by my preening, strutting competition, parading around before the start as they stuffed chiseled bodies into $600 wetsuits. We jumped off the landing into the warm-up area, and I efforted to keep my bagel and coffee from coming back up my throat and into the water. All of the 40-year-plus age groups went together in a single wave, and as the horn sounded there was an audible "thump" as the 200 or so pairs of feet and hands in my wave churned the water simultaneously.
As a relatively weak swimmer (albeit one who has been working on it all summer) I decided that pushing the first 200 meters to the first buoy would keep me clear of the first-turn scrum. Giant miscalculation; my effort pushed put me right in the thick of the pack, and Turn One resembled salmon spawning season in a too-narrow river. After absorbing a few punches, I spread my arms wide and wind-milled around the buoy, then the next, and the next, until I was clear and headed back to the boat ramp. I never felt fast, but 12:50 later, I was climbing out of the water in 66th place, and ripping off my wetsuit as I sprinted through transition one.
Hopping on my time-trial bike, I was immediately passed by two guys in my age group (along with race numbers on our arms, you have your age written in marker on your right calf, so everyone can see who they are racing against.) I kept them in sight over the next few miles, and eventually ended up in a back-and-forth battle with about four of my age-group competitors, me leading up the hills, they crushing the flats and downhills. I was a bit above my aerobic threshold the first half of the bike, but on the return I felt slippery and fast. The bike was hilly and twisting and extremely fast on the return to town; our little bee-hive of men 45-49 must've passed 30 or 40 people during the course, and as we rolled back into town, I scooted ahead of the group to set up the second transition to run.
My first steps on the run were tenuous and full of anxiety; this was the first time in over five weeks I had run "hard," and I was fully expecting the calf, hamstring, and back problems to flair as they had in the previous weeks races in Montana and New York. The first quarter mile of the run was a maze of chutes, ramps, stairs, and then a 200 yd, 250 ft climb above the lake. I locked on to a calf that read "45" and chugged up Depot Street, crested, and settled into a running pace that I hadn't been able to maintain in over a month. 45, 46, 47, 48, and 49's started coming to me in the first mile. By mile 2, I could see only a few bodies up ahead of me on the road, and on a long downhill just after the second mile marker, I passed what turned out to be the leader in our age group, although I had no idea what position we were in. Over the last mile I reminded myself to maintain form, although my legs were getting tight and I was starting to overheat a little. I passed some earlier starters from other age groups, and pushed into the finish chute going as hard as I could and finished within myself.
I had an idea that I was possibly in the top 20 overall, and maybe in the top five of my age group, but I was sure there were a few guys who had stayed out in front after the swim. Turns out, they were all behind me. Bob hobbled up to me with his index finger raised, saying I was first. I walked over to the officials table and they punched my race number into the computer, and a little white tape came out that said "Jeremy Oury, M45-49, 1:10:44, 1 of 37." First. Everyone else, after. As in, National Champion. I allowed myself a little hoot, Bob held my arms up over my head for me, and I collapsed in a heap and doused myself with cold water.
I've done ok at Nationals before, qualified in the top 15 a few times for a spot on the US team for Worlds. But I've never placed that high, and outside of the small fishbowl of Montana, I've never been on top of the podium. I was pretty blown away, and a little incredulous. It did turn into a pretty fun afternoon and evening, with a lot of indiscriminant eating and drinking (in order: a Whopper, a milkshake, a nap, a few beers at the awards ceremony - none of which I bought - another cheeseburger, and more ice cream) and a great moment on top of the podium in my cowboy boots, holding a big plaque that said "2011 USA Triathlon Age Group National Champion." I had placed first in the men's 45-49 age group (the top five were separated by a total of 55 seconds), placed 8th overall, and qualified for next year's ITU World Championships in Auckland, New Zealand.
That this all came on the heels of my first really "injured" period is all the more perplexing. But Elliot had my swim and bike way above par, and my legs came back for a good run. Only problem is now I can't go to World's in Beijing (three weeks away) with an "also-ran" mentality; I gotta represent the US as the Number One seed, and go head-to-head with the Brits, Brazilians, Aussies, Kiwis, and everyone else who shows up. Now, I gotta perform.
Back to work. Then the pool. Then McDonalds. Still hungry...
