Finally the day is here. Race morning, ITU Triathlon World Championships. Lots of months of preparation, lots of time and money and effort and emotion and pressure, and now it all comes down to an hour and a quarter of redline racing.
Race morning is miserable, 55 degrees, windy, and rainy - a complete change from the smog and heat of the past week. I look out the window and smile to myself; this is exactly what I need, an environmental condition beyond my or anyone's control, a muddy-ing (and leveling) of the playing field. At least half of the field will be put off of their game by rain and cold.
I start the day off by missing my bus to the race. Don't know how one can put so much time and prep into such an important event and then forget the bus schedule, but I did. I think it's sub-conscious self-sabotage, a little something to distract myself from the pressure. Henri and I hitch a ride with a family headed out to the Ming Tomb Reservoir, and I begin the pre-race rituals.
Because of the rain and wind, the check-in to transition is a mess, and people are freaking out at the prospect of racing in such crappy conditions. I watch a guy from my age-group literally start shaking as he talks himself through all the things that are going to go wrong - no wetsuits allowed, wet and slick course, transition equipment will be soaking wet, etc. I check my bike and transition area, drop off my dry gear at the check in, and huddle with 100 of my newest friends in the athlete corralling area, which leads us to the swim start. there are a lot of blue lips and shivering prior to the start. Should have kept a little body fat there, Frenchy.
We line the pontoon and are given last-second instructions: no warming up, enter the water 15 seconds before the horn, no peeing off the pontoon, one hand on the wall, no pushing off. I profile what I assume to be some slower swimmers (Chinese and Hong Kong-ese - I know, total profiling, but accurate) and as the horn sounds I dig in and try to get clear of the scrum. I do, and in the process put myself in immediate trouble; 300 meters in I am on the verge of hyperventilating. I move out to the edge of the pack, take a few breast strokes, and try to settle in behind the middle of our pack of about 100. After the mid-point buoys, I manage to follow the feet of a Spaniard and a Brit, and cruise to the finish ramp, completely behind pace.
Thank God for transitions. One of the things our triathlon club really prides itself in is the ability to blast through the swim-to-bike and bike-to-run transitions, a portion of the race that most use to gather themselves, but offers the opportunity to pick up several places if you push it. I notice that half of the bikes in our rack are gone, and I run my bike to the mount line, jump on at a dead run, and slip my feet into my already clipped in shoes. I later learn that I am 21st out of the water.
The bike is two loops of the reservoir, hilly and curvy and wet and windy: perfect. The first lap is a controlled exercise in maintaining pace and pushing the hills, which I have been training for. I go back and forth with two Aussies and a few Brits, or "GB's" as their supporters yell. On the second lap I go with two GB's and keep them in sight, passing them on the hills and coming back to the them on the flats. On the one flat section at the back of the lake I yell to myself "C'mon, WORK!" and leave them for good in the pouring rain. Skidding into T2, I slip out of my shoes and hit the wet ground and sprint through transition, noticing that there are only nine bikes in the rack, and two GB's in transition.
The run course consists of three laps along the dam, all in front of the kilometer-long grandstand. By the first turnaround I have Mr. Keenan from the UK in my sites, and I use the cheering throng at the start/finish line (which we will pass four times) to keep my pace up. I am running well. Really well. For the first time all year, I am running as fast as I can, and it doesn't hurt. I pick off another Brit, a fellow American, an Aussie, and a Kiwi. By the third and final lap I am flying and looking for whoever is ahead of me. With about 600 to go my left hamstring starts to twinge; 100 meters up I see the electric blue suit of one more GB-er, and I set my sights on bringing the name on his butt into view. With 350 to go it is a Mr. Keene, and he is going to be passed with purpose, and we fly down the finishing chute with our respective supporter imploring us to "Catch him, catch him, catch him. GO USA, GO GB, GO USA, GO GB!" We hit the line within a few meters of each other and collapse in sweaty hugs at the finish. His family is across the barrier screaming madly. Henri stands quietly in the freezing rain, shielding his camera with his hat.
Nothing hurts at all. I allow myself to raise my hands high overhead and thank God for the ability to do such silly and wonderful things with my body. Tim Yount, USAT Team Manager, yells from the stands "Fifth! You ran from 10th to fifth! Go USA!" I also allow myself to feel a little patriotic, and am immediately interviewed by a reporter from USA Triathlon. I have trouble mouthing the words "my kids" and "America" and "Youth Homes" as I answer his questions about how and why and what for, choking up with my exposed and raw emotions. And then I see Henri at the barrier and I burst into tears. Lucky it is still raining.
The hour or two after is other-worldly. Everyone in elated, relieved, happily analytical. At 9:30 am there is a peculiar amount of cheap Chinese beer being consumed by Aussies and Kiwis in the massage tent. I swig a half a can with a Mr. Beese from Oz, and get a hot cup of noodles.
The stats will read: Fifth place, World Triathlon Championships, Men 45-49. 75th of 745 overall. Fifth American overall, second American Master. 13th Masters (40+) overall. 15:03 swim (which ended up being about 900 meters,) 36:30 bike for 22 km, and 18:20 for the 5k run. 1:13:03 finish time, so a long sprint by our standards. 21st-fastest swim, seventh-fastest bike, fifth-fastest run. Fastest combined transitions in both age group and Masters. Bad swim, but resurrected. Solid bike in which I gave to quarter to The Empire. And my best run of the year, maybe ever for a sprint. Super-fast transitions. No barfing on the run (although I did gag a little at the start of the swim.) Nice wind-up and delivery.
Man, I love racing.
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