Chapter 11

Kim was true to her word and arrived at my house before the sun came up. She drove, while I went over the map. Having all but memorized the route, I went over my transition checklists in my head. Kim let me do it in silence. She knew me too well.

As we pulled into parking, she asked, “What’s the number one thing you need to remind yourself of during the race?”

“Don’t daydream. I think the hardest thing will to keep focused on long stretches during the bike and run.”

“You’ve practiced that on long swims before, though, right?”

“Yeah, but this is going to be four or five hours. That’s a long time to focus on anything.”

“You’ve got this, though, Baby. Don’t worry about the guy in the next lane. Just swim, bike, and run your own race.”

“That sounds weird when you say it. Good advice, though.”

Kim carried some of my stuff and I walked my bike to registration. They had a couple of tables set up to compare names with numbers. After I’d done that, a guy from a local bike shop gave my bike a quick safety check while a young woman marked each shoulder and my right thigh with my number, then marked a big bold ‘A’ on my left calf.

“If you see an ‘A’ on the calf in front of you, pass them. They’re in your age group.”

“I bet you say that to everyone,” I said. She smiled and nodded. “Don’t tell the rest of the ‘A’ group, please. I’ll split my winnings with you.” She smiled again. There weren’t any winnings.

I found a spot on the eighty row for my bike and gear. The spots were numbered. That would make finding them easy. I had the third spot and bike number eighty was a red De Rosa. I hooked my brake handles over the long, horizontal bar and set up my station. That done, I stood to take stock of my surroundings. There were a few people in the water swimming, a few biking, and at least a dozen guys running to loosen up.

Everyone was in their own little world and no one was smiling. I smiled. “Everyone is so serious,” I said.

“Everyone has put a lot of time into preparation for this,” Kim answered.

“Still ... Have you seen Marty or Coach Miller?” She hadn’t and we looked around for them.

We found them at the water’s edge, talking quietly. “Care to join us, Kim?” Coach Miller asked.

“No. Someone has to balance out the insanity.”

“Ah, yes. Well, thanks for doing that.”

“Is Mrs. Coach here?” she asked.

“She’s marking people. She’s marking people and the best she could do is give me a forty. Forty! I should be number one, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps she’ll mark you again, later. What is the ‘D’ for?” she asked.

“Age brackets. There are some well-known pros here and us mortals can’t hope to compete against them, so we try to do well in our age bracket.”

“Big names? Would I know any of them? Do you?”

“Only by reputation. Both Dave Scott and Scott Tinley are here, as is Tom Warren. Warren won the Hawaiian Ironman in 1979, Dave Scott in 1980 and Scott Tinley has a really good chance to win it this year. Elites in the sport.”

“There went my chances,” I joked.

“Uh-huh. Just finish, Aquaman. First race is about learning. Have fun.”

“What do you wish you’d known before your first triathlon, Coach?” Marty asked.

“The name of a good psychologist.”

“Fifteen minutes,” came over the loudspeaker and everyone checked their watches to make sure he was right.

“I’m going to find, Mrs. Miller. If I stay down here by the water, I might get swept up in the moment,” Kim said, and we laughed.

There was a series of large red marker buoys, stretching a half mile out to sea. They were tied off to a boat, and there were more boats, and some lifeguards on paddle boards in the water, waiting to rescue someone who shouldn’t have been in the water. Standing on the beach, looking out, a half mile seemed like a long way.

“Marty, you get to pass people during the bike and run,” Coach said. “Don’t worry about your swim time. Both of you, start on the far left. Jack, go out faster than normal and work your way to the front. Marty, don’t let the crowd bother you. Someone’s undoubtedly going to knock your goggles off on the way out. Don’t worry about it. Tread water, readjust, and restart.”

“What about you?” I asked.

“I’ll be right next to you on the left. It’s a long race. Ten or twenty seconds at the start won’t matter much.”

“One minute.”

The three of us moved to the left end of the line. I pulled my swim cap down over my ears and readjusted my goggles. Marty stood knee-deep behind Coach and me. He looked nervous. We probably all did. I looked down the line at probably two hundred other competitors. It was the largest race I’d ever been in, by a long shot.

An air horn sounded long and loud. I ran through the water, amazed that some people were trying to swim in shallow water. I dove through a wave, came up on the other side, and started swimming. I followed Coach’s advice and started fast and so did he. After the first two hundred yards, we were in front of the crowd but there were still some people ahead of us.

Once past the crowd, Coach started angling toward the buoy. It was a small angle change but I noticed. All our visual cues were on our right so there was no need for bilateral breathing. By the time we were halfway out, the waves had become nothing more than ripples. I settled into my pace, just staying even with Coach Miller. The water was nice and cool, the waves were now ripples, the crowd was behind us, and the turnaround point was just ahead. I saw a giant clock on the deck of the boat but it was still too far away to see how we were doing.

Coach was to my right and he led the way through the turnaround. I glanced at the clock. We had made the turn in under eleven minutes and I was happy with that. A little wave lifted me and I took the opportunity to look to see how many people were ahead of us. I thought there were seven or eight and they all had on lime green swim caps. Coach and I seemed to be in front of everyone but the pros. Maybe I should be a pro.

I swam until my fingers grazed the bottom. The swim was coming to an end far too soon. I didn’t relish leaving my comfort zone. I tried to stand and my legs felt wobbly beneath me. A small wave knocked me down. I got up again and started running for the transition area. I pulled off my cap and goggles as I ran toward the eighty row. I found my bike easily, stepped into the little wash basin, and wiggled my toes. Shirt first, then helmet. I stepped out of the basin onto the towel. Maybe I should have taken the time to dry my feet but I had too much adrenaline going for that.

I slid my left foot into the shoe, made a half of a pedal, then threw my leg over the top and into the right shoe. Perfect. I pedaled twenty times or so, cleared the transition area, then adjusted my feet in the shoes, tightening the Velcro.

“Go, Jack, go!” Kim hollered. I didn’t see her but I put my hand up and waved. She’d know I’d heard her. I’d probably ridden a half mile before I really took stock of my surroundings.

There was a well-marked path on the road, with arrows chalked before any turns. I could see Coach ahead of me and he was making great time. So was the guy who flew past me on the left. I looked at my speedometer to see that I was managing nineteen. No wonder he flew past me. I picked up my pace, pedaling in circles, down, back, pull up, push forward, and repeat.

I held twenty-one for a couple of miles and guys were still passing me. I started looking at calves. Everyone that passed me had a ‘C’ or ‘D’ on their calf. Where was I among the eighteen and under? Did it matter? I knew Marty was behind me and if I could hold twenty-one, he’d have a hard time catching me until the run.

I ran through my mental checklist. I focused on pedaling in circles, keeping my head up, and my shoulders open. My wet feet, wet shirt, and wet everything else had dried out long ago. There were volunteers at the switch from Highway 80 to Highway 21 and the route was well marked. I chugged Gatorade like it was going out of style. Three miles before the turnaround, I saw a guy frantically trying to change a flat tire. So far, he was the only guy I’d passed on the bike.

I thought that I had come out of the water in something close to tenth or twelfth place. I’d been passed at least fifteen times, but I’d lost count. I hadn’t seen anyone with an ‘A’ on their calf pass me. Maybe they were all in front of me. No, that was impossible. My swim time was too good for that. I made the turn and ran into a slight headwind. I changed gears and pedaled faster, as though I were going up a shallow incline.

On the way back, I got a look at the guys that were chasing me. I started keeping count, although I’m not sure why. They were pretty spread out until I’d gone ten miles back toward the transition area and then there was a cluster of people. I was forty minutes ahead of the gaggle. Another guy passed me but that was happening less and less often. I wondered how I’d do on the run.

With five miles to go, I had the bike portion in the bag, feeling much better than I’d expected. I started to loosen up my arms, doing windmills on first one side and then the other. I sat up in the saddle, then stretched my calves. With a mile to go, I loosened the Velcro on my shoes so I could wiggle my toes and start working blood into my feet. I ran through my transition in my mind. Don’t forget to look for Kim, I thought. I heard her before I saw her. I spotted her on my right, just before the transition. She wasn’t alone.

I was still doing twenty miles an hour when I passed them. “Hi, guys,” I said with the most cheerful, refreshed voice I could manage. I’m not sure I was convincing.

There were very few people in the transition area and that helped. I coasted to my spot, then hopped my bike up to latch the brakes over the bar. I stepped out of my biking shoes and into my running shoes without touching the ground. I remembered to grab a Gatorade bottle and started on the run.

I was practically back to Kim when I realized I still had my helmet on. What a dufus. I pulled it off and when I got to her, I traded the helmet for a kiss, waved at everyone else, and set off on a twelve-minute mile pace. It might not have been that slow but it felt like it.

“Hey.” I looked right. Vince was running on the sidewalk beside me.

“Hey.” I smiled, but I wasn’t going to carry on a conversation.

“We’re not positive, but I don’t think there’s anyone with an ‘A’ on their calf that’s ahead of you.”

That was nice to hear, although if I couldn’t stretch out my legs and pick up the pace, it wasn’t going to last long. “Where’s Coach?”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Way in front, huh?”

“Way in front. Head up. Stretch it out. You’re doing great.”

“If I’m not back in two hours, send an ambulance,” I huffed and tried to stretch it out. I saw him turn to walk back.

This was the tough part of the race, I thought. My legs had been working in circles for over two hours and now I was asking them to run and they didn’t much like it. I tried to really stretch it out but it was tough. I passed the one-mile mark and checked my watch.

‘If you start me up, if you start me up, I’ll never stop. If you start me up, if you start me up, I’ll never stop,’ started running through my mind. Good. Nothing like The Stones to keep me company. Guys on bikes passed me going the other direction. I started watching for Marty. When someone young went past, I tried to see if they had an ‘A’ on their calf.

I hit the two-mile marker and checked my watch. Yikes. I had to pick up the pace. Eight-thirty was a terrible pace for me. Fortunately, my legs were starting to loosen up. If I could run my third mile in seven-thirty, I’d feel better. Ahead, I saw a homeowner with a hose out. I eased to the right and motioned for them. He sprayed me as I ran past and it felt wonderful. I waved over my shoulder. I’d no sooner finished waving when I saw Marty on the last leg of the bike.

“Let’s go, Slacker,” I hollered. He didn’t look happy. I was at least twelve minutes ahead of him. He’d have to run a minute a mile less than me to catch me. He didn’t look like he had it in him but there was still a lot of race in front of us.

I managed my third mile in almost exactly seven minutes and thirty seconds and felt pretty good about it. I considered whether I thought I could hold that for ten more miles, if I could speed up a little or would need to slow down. I had no idea but I felt pretty good. I sped up.

I hit mile four, checked my watch, and smiled. Seven minutes, exactly. Life was good. A lady stood in her front yard with a hose. I knew the drill and moved right. As I passed her, I slowed a little. I went to take a drink of Gatorade and realized I no longer had the water bottle. When did I finish that and what did I do with the bottle? Who knew?

I saw the turnaround point ahead of me and checked my watch. The first two miles had really killed my time. It looked like I’d have an average pace of over eight minutes per mile. There was a table set up at the turn point with three race officials.

“Eighty-two,” one said as I got close and a lady scanned her sheet to find me on it and check me off.

“You’re the first under eighteen. Good job. Keep it up,” he said.

Had he seen my pace? I didn’t feel like I was doing a good job. I picked up the pace a little but that headwind was in my face again. I shortened my stride just a bit and tried to increase my turnover rate. I hit the eight-mile checkpoint and spotted a guy who looked like he was my age. He was tall, and ridiculously thin. What’s more, he was really moving. Do I wave? Say ‘hi’ or what? I just ran.

He passed me without even acknowledging me. He was on a mission and had probably been playing catch-up since the swim. I thought about trying to pick up the pace but I didn’t think I could do match his. I needed a strategy for the end of this thing. I remembered my advice to Kim for her mile race. If I kicked it in too early, I’d burn out before the finish and limp home. If I waited too long, I’d be giving the guy behind me a chance to catch me.

I ran through a dozen strategies in my head. I decided to try to hold a steady seven-minute mile pace. If someone caught me, I’d try to stay with him. Either I could or I couldn’t. Maybe he’d burn himself out trying to catch me. I saw another young guy coming my way. He was smiling and it sort of pissed me off.

“You’re mine,” he hollered with a smile.

“Bring it,” I hollered back but I wasn’t smiling as big as he was.

Steady pace. Steady pace. Steady pace. I played Shattered in my head. After I’d been through it three times, I switched to When the Whip Comes Down. I managed to hold a steady pace. There’s was an aid station at the eleven-mile mark. I slowed to get some water and when I tried to speed back up, it wouldn’t happen.

The wheels came off the bus. That’s what Ronnie would have said. I tried to pick up the pace but the best I could manage was a slow jog. I had no energy. None. All I wanted to do was find a shady spot and take a nap. I had lost momentum. I didn’t want to lose motivation, as well.

I tried to channel the old man from Hemingway’s novel. “I may not be as strong as I think, but I know many tricks and I have resolution.” I have resolution. I picked up my pace a little but I knew I wasn’t doing much better than ten-minute miles. “Now is no time to think of what you do not have. Think of what you can do with what there is.” I had two miles to go. I could do it in thirty minutes or I could do it in twelve. It was up to me. I picked up the pace again. I have resolution, I thought.