Tuesday, May 27, 2008

Buffman and Squeaky Heals the Soul


I finished the 2007 White Rock Marathon in the back of an ambulance. As I've written before, it was an experience that will haunt me for a long time. The ultimate come-back from that failure will be when I cross the finish line on December 14, 2008, but there is one other accomplishment that can do a body good- an Olympic distance triathlon.

I crossed the line on Sunday morning, May 18 at around 11:05 AM. Two hours and 44 minutes from the time the guy with the bull horn yelled "GO!" The Buffman and Squeaky Triathlon, named for two Boston terriers owned by the race organizers, is a 1500 meter swim followed by a 40 kilometer bike ride wrapped up with a 10 kilometer run.

Different from a marathon in two ways - swimming and cycling. The training is different, the mind set is different, and the course is different. I had to learn proper swim technique. I had to get a bike and spend hours "in the saddle" as they say. And "the saddle" will cause more harm than good until the inside of your upper, upper thighs gets used to the chaffing...yum.

I did have one major setback during the race. I had no wetsuit for the 63 degree water. I was one of four in the starting field without a wetsuit. We were a combination of poor and ignorant - me being a whole lot of both.

Having no wetsuit I decided to swim in the triathlon jersey I had received in the mail a few weeks before. Great for the bike and run, my jersey could have also doubled as a "swimmer's parachute" thanks to the three large pockets located directly in the back.

These large and extremely inconvenient pockets immediately filled with water when I submerged into the arctic water for the first time. It was a battle I fought for just about 40 minutes. A battle that took who knows how many minutes off my time.

No substitute exists for swimming in open water. It's cold, very cold, there are waves (which cause me extreme nausea and dizziness thanks to my incredibly weak and stupid jerk stomach) and you can't see two inches in front of your face. Not to mention the army of arms, legs, feet and hands declaring war on your own limbs with each passing stroke.

I came up out of the water 10 minutes behind where I thought I'd be when I came up out of the water. Before I could get angry I had to stop spinning. The spinning finally stopped about 10 minutes into the bike ride so I could finally get angry and not risk falling over and looking like a complete idiot (for the record, I looked like a complete idiot before during and after the swim - orange swim cap, goggles and rear-end hugging tights).

No one passed me on the bike route, and I finished the ride a few minutes ahead of pace. All the training in the wind and on the hills of the Abilene area must have done some good. I was much stronger than all the slow, fat swimmers who had crushed me in the water thanks to my "swimmer's parachute." I hope you're picking up my sarcasm.

I must have passed 20-25 riders and arrived back at the transition area three minutes ahead of where I wanted to be after the bike portion of the race. I quickly put my shoes on and hit the road.

Immediately after leaving the racks, I received a visit from a very unwanted guest: the dreaded side cramp. I battled this side cramp with breathing and mind games for the first 30 minutes and decided to run the final two miles at a record pace. However, five seconds after picking it up, the pain was so intense that I could hardly stand up straight.

Flashes of the marathon debacle flooded into my brain as I struggled to keep running. Panic began to seep into the corners of my mind.

I decided to stop and walk. It must have been about 60 seconds, but it felt like an hour. I slowed my breathing, brought the pain down to a manageable level and continued...leaving my marathon failure in the dust.

Finishing races is not a sure thing by any means. So many variables can play a role. Weather. Injuries. Sickness. Last night's spoiled milk. Tripping on a Halloween mask.

My first endurance race, a marathon, ended at the finish line so I took that fact for granted. Never again.

Every race I finish from here on out will mean more and more to me as I get older and the time for "regular guy greatness" slowly slips away.

Now I just have to train, train and train some more for the 2008 White Rock marathon and hope I complete this year's race where I'm supposed to...at the finish line.