Race Report: Intermezzo & Act III

Intermezzo: T-2

It isn’t that hot through the bike portion of the race. In fact, it is overcast and there is occasional drizzle to keep the temperature (if not the humidity) somewhat moderate. I dared to think that perhaps heat would not be a big factor on the run . . .

. . . until I hit T-2. The clouds disappeared, and I discovered that our run course would have the same micro-climate as Equatorial Guinea. Literally, I hit the dismount line for the bike and the clouds were GONE. NADA. GONZO. The mercury spiked and my brain melted.
Luckily, I don’t need my brain to run. (After all, it was my brain that got me into trouble in the first two disciplines). I wibble-wobble back the 100+ yards from “Bike In” to my rack, don my shoes and hat, and limp/jog 100 more yards to “Run Out” T-2: 3:31.1

Act III: The Run

Does anyone remember that movie “A Christmas Story” in which the main character and narrator pines for a Red-Ryder-carbine-action-BB-gun-with-a-compass-in-the-stock. Of course, every time he expresses his heart’s deepest desire, he hears the same refrain:

“You’ll shoot your eye out.”

I keep hearing a similar, negative refrain as the heat waves shimmer over the run course. “You’ll blow up on the run. You’ll blow up on the run. You’ll blow up on the run. You’ll blow up on the run.”

I glance down at my watch as I cross the timing pad onto the course proper and do not like what I see. I am barely jogging, and I have been barely jogging for only about 100 yards, and yet my heart rate looks like I’m in the middle of a tempo run. Each little increase in grade causes my heart rate to mimic an interval workout, while my ego complains, “If you go any slower, you’ll be going backwards.”

I am not going to blow up on the run. I am going to run this course, manage my effort, and finish with enough in the tank to keep going if necessary.

. . . except there are no mile markers. The only reference points are the irregularly placed aid stations on the two loop course. Fine. I will run from station to station, take a good drink, put ice in my hat, and keep going. I will focus on making good strides, and I will do this until Tuesday morning if necessary. One station at a time. It is me, my footfalls, my breathing, and my mind, alone on a crowded course. Before I know it, I am 800 yards from the finish with much left in the tank. I run into the handshakes of teammates.

It was not a spectacular run, and there were gastro issues, but consider this, gentle reader. My 10k time in the heat at the end of my first triathlon was less than 10 seconds per mile slower than I ran an open race under ideal conditions last year. 55:41.7 Pace: 8:58. Avg. HR: 151.

Times have changed. If only you knew how much.

I finsh. I finish what I started 18 months ago with my first, failed swim workout. I finish what I started five years ago when I quit running after my first, miserable half-marathon.

I finish what I failed to complete 25 years ago when I was only 15 . . .

To be continued . . .