Everyone was there. All the local teams, clubs, shops, studs and underdogs were mixed about, toes in the sand staring at the water restless, pointing and asking. There I was too, on the cold beach, calm, with something to prove. The stage was set for the inaugural event to unfold and in the back of my mind I wanted this one to be perfect. I deserved.
After the Full Distance athletes had been getting run through the spin cycle for about an hour, it was the Halfers turn. My wave went second, male 25-29.
My standard warm up was done and I was now standing in the front of our group at the edge of the water. “Ten seconds” the announcer warned. Silence. 8:36 am, the gun went and so did we. Trying to be aggressive from the start I went hard though the freezing knee high water charging for the initial buoys, it wasn’t getting deeper the further we went in. Awkwardly I was diving, water jogging and pseudo swimming just trying to stay up front and get to deep water as quickly as possible. Thankfully, soon enough we were swimming but I was realizing my HR was too high and the choppy waves were going to be an issue. Nonetheless I tried my best to get into a long and strong rhythm and head towards the first turn.
Rhythm was not to be found and I was getting pounded and
pushed all over the course by the waves, the current and other swimmers arms. Seemingly making up no ground on any buoys, I felt like I was on a swimming treadmill. Unable to keep any sort of line towards a buoy or stroke consistency, about fifteen minutes in I had thoughts of bagging the race…not a good sign. This was quickly turning into the most annoying, less than perfect swims of my life. I had zero sense of direction and panic was at the front door, but all I could do was keep swimming forward, wherever that was.
At one point after making two right hand turns around buoys I was relieved to be headed back towards shore, until I popped by head up to sight and realized shore was completely behind me. Where the hell was I swimming? I am not sure how I got so turned around or even how I righted my course. But after what seemed like an hour in Maytag, getting slapped by cold grey chop I reached the shallow water again, fifty yards out. This time I stood up, completely stopped for a second, caught my
breath, thanked God, pealed down my wetsuit and began the long run though the water and up the beach. Out of the water in 31:45, up the beach and into T1 in 33:17. 3:17 longer than I wanted, not perfect.
Sticking to the game plan, I had to calm my HR in transition, yet be quick and efficient. In an effort to stay positive I put the imperfect swim behind, knowing the whole race was still to be had. Smooth transition and out of T1 and on my bike in 1:53. Not bad, and feeling surprising okay mentally and physically. Wait? Was that Jody (friend and teammate) I saw in T1 messing with his rear wheel? Didn’t he start five minutes ahead of me? “Shit”.
On the bike I was able to settle in easily. As usual I took the first few minutes to get comfortable, eat, drink and focus on the next two and half hours. There had been a lot of talk about the potential for wind. I was thinking about that too. So far it was not bad as I made my across a small strip of protected land that connects Cedar Point to the mainland.
All was status quo though the first thirty minutes. I was happy with my pace, I was warm and my legs were alive. Then, out of nowhere I got caught up in a pack of riders. It’s a hard thing to admit in triathlon but it is a reality you cannot avoid. Seven to nine athletes all riding at basically the same pace, unable to pull ahead and unwilling to drop back is never ideal in triathlon.
But in that moment it was a reality.
With a few exceptions the group seemed to respect the three-
bike length rule and avoided drafting at all costs. But as the ride went along, and Jody caught up to the group too, I was starting to get annoyed. I wanted to ride my race, and that didn’t include a team time trial with a bunch of cyclists I didn’t know or trust.
Jody and I would legally pull ahead a times, burning a match as we say, to get ahead of the chaos of the group. Only to eventually get sucked back in, it was literally impossible to drop the train behind us, and frankly, it was pissing me off. I am
not willing to cheat but I hated watching these suckers ride up the road without me while they cheat. We were riding fast but always using my own efforts, always staying back or passing in legal time. I had to come to terms with the situation and realized all I could do is play by the rules and stay in a legal position and distance from other riders at all times. I did that and I have no regrets about the way I rode.
I think most triathletes would agree, that even with legal distance separation, a pace line of that length is still an advantage when it comes to avoiding wind. The wind was definitely a factor, there was no denying it, and at times it sucked. Some of the other riders were clearly taking advantage of their peloton, sucking on wheels and working with each other. Assholes. But I couldn’t let it bother me. At one point a race official rode up on the group and took down some numbers, being in a legal position I wasn’t worried or caught. “Lighting is not going to strike twice,” I remember thinking (see Steelhead 70.3 Race
Report). Others were penalized and it made me happy.
Everything else about the ride was going as planned. I was eating and drinking consistently and holding back just a touch at all times. I knew I wanted to run hard, and if that meant holding back ten percent on the bike, I was okay with it, it was part of the plan. I refused to let the group affect my game plan too. There was no advantage to being caught up in that mess; I can say that with confidence.
About two hours into the ride I found my bottles or Hammer Café Latte Perpetuem and Raspberry Hammer Gels dangerously close to empty. I had been going through it all at a much quicker pace than usual and I wasn’t sure why. I was forced to seriously ration what I had left and it made me nervous. At times I felt shaky but never anything I couldn’t make up with a
quick hit of Hammer Gel. I was walking a thin line with calories, but that what I was trained to do, I was okay with it…kind of.
We arrived back at the five-mile long strip of land right outside of transition. The group, still in tact, settled into a semi-legal pace line as we made our way down the home stretch. I felt okay but not perfect and I was annoyed that I couldn’t pass on the single lane rode. The last miles felt like a snails pace but there was nothing I could do but stay in line. Our speed slowed considerably on that stretch and I was not happy about it. All this time getting caught in the group and now we were going to sand bag it into T2 on a skinny one-lane road with no chance to pass. I tried to stay calm and spin my legs at a high cadence.
Jody right behind, I knew he wasn’t thrilled about the situation either.
Looking back I can’t say the slow approach into T2 helped my run but it definitely afforded me time to seriously chill my HR, yet aggravate my mind before the biggest push of my life on the run. Into T2 in 2:33:33 average speed 21.9 MPH. Less than perfect, again. I was behind schedule by over three minutes on the bike, and over five minutes overall. All I could do was make it up running.
“Where the hell is my rack?” A brief moment of panic as I was lost in the sea of racks in transition, thankfully a volunteer helped me find it. Bike racked, helmet off, visor on, socks on, shoes on, laced, number belt on, Espresso Hammer Gel flask in hand and I was off. Out of T2 and running in 1:53. Jody was fifteen feet ahead of me.
My run strategy was simple. Settle in, get my legs under me, eat and drink the first two full miles…no matter what, two full miles. Needless to say this was to take extreme amounts of patience and trust. Admittedly, I have issues with both. Miles three to ten were also simple. Run hard, steady and consistent, stay on top on calories and push. The last 5k, throw down, no holds bared, game time. Easier said than done really, but there I was running, in the moment, with high expectations, in search of the perfect run split.
I saw Christian (friend and teammate) early on, he asked how I felt, I didn’t know yet. I was still concerned about my calories
so I hit the Espresso Hammer Gel hard and fast. Five minutes later, I was feeling good, Jody still out front, and we were running steady. Through two miles in 14:12, not super slow but I felt in control and my HR was in check. I was eerily calm and ready for the business end of the run. Mile three was slowest yet, I had to pee badly and it was affecting my stride. I hate stopping to pee, but I knew I had to. With Jody still fifteen feet out front; I slipped into a Porto-potty at the mile three aid station. I came out and he was up the road, determined to make up the time I burned a match and caught back up to save the mile. Relieved, I was happy to be though four miles and feeling great. We were now running shoulder to shoulder, “perfect” I thought, “just like the old days” I said to him, “I am going to hold on to your shoulder as long as I can” (Jody has a lot to do with me becoming a competitive runner and triathlete, we grew into the sports together
and have always pushed each other to the max. How appropriate this was.)
He wasn’t feeling great and I felt bad for him, selfishly I wanted him to run with, but it wasn’t his day. He slowed and I made the pass, I felt strong, but I felt for him too, He wanted this race as much as I did, but with a mechanical on the bike and issues on the run, it wasn’t in the cards for him this day. None the less he was still pushing
on.
The next six miles I can honestly say were a blur and I don’t remember much. This is what I remember however. I was extremely focused, I had tunnel vision, and I felt ridiculously strong while passing people constantly. Spectators were telling me I looked strong and cheering me on. I didn’t acknowledge, speak, or think; it was quite in my head. I clicked off each mile split, seeing the times gave confidence to run harder. I remember at one point feeling alone on the road. I began to feel nervous because how long can this last? I had thoughts of it all coming crashing down at mile eleven with an epic bonk for the ages. I was scared pain would find me, but I just kept running fast, living in the moment. Running strong but cautious moved fast. “The business end,” I remember telling myself.
I turned back onto the causeway at mile eleven. It was a bridge incline over the water and the cross winds were whipping like mad. Still feeling no pain I passed Stacey (Iron-girlfriend) as she was going out, her encouragement was all I needed to give the last two miles every ounce I had to offer. But the wind hurt badly, it was coming across me with force and my legs were taking a beating on the only incline on the course. Finally I was feeling the effects of the day, with less than two miles to go I was forced to earn my time.
I dug deep the last fourteen minutes. Probably as deep as I have ever been and it hurt like hell, it hurt like mile twenty-three of a marathon. Finally across the bridge, I ran past transition, into the park and down the chute. Legs like fireworks, emotions unstably high, I crossed the line with a huge rush of adrenaline for a run split of 1:34:26 and an overall finishing time of 4:44:12. Behind schedule.
Immediately I remember the words of my coach in his last email to me before the race: “You are going to find HUGE satisfaction when you cross the finish line because you are going to realize you left every drop of energy on the course.” He was right, he usually is.
I was fired up in a way I had not been all day. With an explosion of energy, I didn’t hurt any more and I wanted to keep running to the moon. I wanted to climb a roller coaster and bend it’s steal beams. I had never felt a surge like that go through my body, especially at the end of a race. I was completely consumed by the moment. It was a weird feeling for sure and I still have a hard time remembering it completely. The contrast of using every ounce of energy on the course and the thrill of finishing with such a strong run, gave my body a rage filled celebration as a reward. “Unbelievable day”, I remember thinking, “Not so perfect, but unbelievable”.
Soon enough I came back down to earth and the pain found me again. I sat motionless for a few minutes at the finish line. With family and friends all around me it was silent again in my head, I took a moment to reflect, give thanks and feel relief, I was happy to be done. Regardless of everything, it’s always good to finish.
Thinking back on the race now, several days past, one word keeps popping in my head: perfect. I went into this race wanting perfection; I felt I had worked for it, earned it even. Throughout the day I was looking for it everywhere, constantly evaluating everything I did on a two standard scale, perfect, or not. And it wasn’t fair. Why did I want perfection anyway? Why was I judging myself this way?
What I learned is that the perfect race is a myth, a unicorn, a pot of gold. I leaned that it is unfair to be unhappy with anything short of the perfect, it weighs too much on your conscience and it eats at your desire to push on. Perfection is an unhealthy desire. It should never be a measure of success.
I learned that this word should be lost form every triathletes vocabulary. Perfection is impossible to define, qualify and quantify. There are too many elements and factors that prevent it. But isn’t that what makes sport so great in the first place, the unexpected moments, the all-of-a-sudden instances, and the opportunity to overcome?
So I thought about it more. What exactly did I expect in the perfect race? Why pursue perfection in sport, what is perfect anyway? Is perfection as specific as every stroke, stride, breath and heartbeat or is it just a certain set of numbers on the clock when you cross the line? Is perfection a feeling, a time, or place? Does the realization of perfection leave anything to be desired? Is there perfection in pushing your body to the limit, doing your best, and still being unsatisfied with the result? Is perfection selfish, running strong side by side with a friend when you know his day has gone to shit? Is perfection found when you continue to race with all you have after endless spells of bad luck? Or is the absence of perfection worth quitting for? And does perfection have to choose between cheating and giving in? By answering these questions I learned perfection isn’t any of these things. These are all things that happen in the imperfect world that require adaption and the ability to overcome. What I should have been in search of is the opportunity to overcome, the chance to rise above the inevitable imperfect.
This race taught me that the tedious pursuit for perfection is a dead end. That embracing the opportunity to work through the imperfect is more important. I had tough moments at this race for sure; I had hopeless moments of distress, self-doubt, and failure. Things went wrong all around me, but I moved forward. In a day that was accumulated by endless imperfect moments I was able to find success and accomplishment. I never found perfection, that’s for sure, but I am glad. I had much more fun making my way through the imperfect seventy some miles and coming out stronger on the other side.
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Later that day, when the results were posted I learned I won the men’s 25-29 age group for the Half Distance. My first (what I consider) major win in my triathlon career. Once again, I am happy to say, it was a totally unexpected victory on a less than perfect day.
