Belwood Triathlon - July 11th, 2015

I don't think triathlon is really my thing this year. I have a theory about that, but that's a story for another day.

For now, courage.

The week leading up to Belwood was complete and utter balls. I'm still injured, had to say goodbye to a dearly loved friend, and got maybe 25hrs of sleep from Sunday to Friday. The only thing that got me out of bed at 5:30am on Saturday was the prybar known as "you spent money on this, stupid", which to date has a 100% effectiveness rate.

Get to race site. Grab everything from car. Wander toward transition, once again getting gravel stuck to my bike tires and scraping more paint off the rear wheel cut-out in the frame. Discover that fencing precludes anything like a reasonable route to the bike check-in entrance of transition. Hop some of said fencing, find a rack spot, do all the things.

Fortunately, in my 7th season of triathlon, I can accomplish most of said things on autopilot. I very seldom stupidly forget to put my nutrition on my bike or anything foolish like that anymore, even when all I really want is a nap.

Did I pack a mattress?

Portajohn. Wetsuit stuffery. Bah, still too fat for a good fit. Wander into water, flail about 50m out. Water safety person on paddle board tells me to head back. Wave legs around in water in attempt to warm up my injured whatever-it-is-that-hurts, then flail 50m back to shore.

Is it too late to change to the duathlon?

First wave goes. Kiss Tank, head down to start line, and position myself way off to the right in case I'm doing that awesome pulling-to-the-left thing that happened at Mine Over Matter. Of course, everyone else seems to have the same idea.

Horn sounds, and while everyone else seems to be in a big hurry to set off, I just kind of meander forward and then dolphin dive.

So much meh.

Flailage.

I feel like I'm doing ok until I'm apparently attacked by a facehugger with bad aim...or rather someone's hand splayed firmly on top of my head. It's the same water safety chick on her paddleboard, and she's pointing me off to the right. Yeah, happened again; drifted off to the left. Really though, I'm not that badly off course - just a few metres. While it's nice to be back on the right track sooner than later, I could've done without having my melon grabbed.

Whatevs. Onward.

Navigation is fine now, but I keep getting boxed in by other athletes. There are arms and legs everywhere in my field of vision, and I can't find a way through them. Finally make it to the first turn buoy, and it's wall-to-wall rubber and thrashing limbs around me. I pull up short for a quick breast stroke to see if I can locate an escape, but all I really succeed in doing is slowing down even more.

A continent drifts past. I can't even stay on its feet.

Through the second turn and headed back to the shore, I now have the dam beside me for easy navigation purposes and manage to find some clear water (because everybody else has left me behind). I am, however, tired. Bone tired. Even with accelerating my breathing pattern, I'm still gasping...so I side stroke a bit. 

Yeah, the swimming equivalent of walking the run. Again. I just swim like crap when I'm tired.

I do still manage to swim slightly more freestyle than side stroke, but it's a pretty narrow margin in the last couple of hundred metres. Eventually the spastic twitching of my limbs brings me to water shallow enough that my hand touches bottom, and I rise from the murky lake like some kind of chubby swamp creature.

From the black rubber lagoon?

750m swim: 17:20 @ 2:18/100m

Ok, that does include the absurdly long run-up to transition, but still - pretty pathetic.

Seldom has a photo so accurately portrayed my feelings.

Really, calling what I did on the way to transition "running" would be awfully charitable - I felt completely shelled and probably would have gratefully collapsed into a heap for a snooze had someone put a cot anywhere in view. I trundled to my bike, learned exactly how difficult it is to put cycling shoes on wet feet one-handed as you cling to a bike rack to keep from falling over, barked my shin on my pedal leaving said rack, and cursed my way to the mount line.

T1: 01:34

Other than my pedals now being out of position, saddling up went ok. I spun myself up to cruising pace and set out to execute my plan - I'd learned after the race last year that the first half is mostly flat or downhill, so with some bike fitness built while not running much due to injury, I dropped my meager hammer.

It's one of those inflatable ones you can win at the fair.

I passed some people. Some passed me. Not all of them were the same people. I had a sip of EFS Liquid Shot from my flask as I passed the 5k mark, then got whacked in the face by some huge freakin' bug on the out-and-back section. I climbed to the turn-around, sailed down the decline after negotiating the hairpin, ran out of gears on the big stinkin' hill at Oustic, and still made it through the 15k mark in 29:36 - a 30.4kph average.

Bike fitness - I haz some!

Of course, then there's a hill that's a kilometer and a half long. Then another that's over 2km long. My left adductor muscle started to talk, and none of what it had to say was positive. Just past 20k I had another sip of EFS Liquid Shot, then commenced to hammer again as I came through the 25k mark and back onto 18 toward Belwood Lake Conservation Area. I probably could have hit this section a bit harder, but my saddle had compressed under my chubby butt quite a bit by this point, which meant the slightly-too-long seat clamp bolt that sits dead centre in my saddle's big cut-out section began to make itself a very large and personal part of my life.

Note to self: replace that bolt. It's not the sort of thing you can ignore.

After a bit more airborne caterpillar with a young fellow on the home stretch and running out of water in my aero bottle (close enough to the finish I couldn't be stuffed to re-fill from the bottle on my frame), I finally made the dismount line. Still cautious about my idiot injured leg, I came to a full stop and got off the bike gingerly to avoid impeding my run any further.

Let's see how much time I can waste..

30k bike: 1:04:34 @ 27.88kph

(If the race director is correct, that should be 30.2k @ 28.06kph)

Hi-ho fatso AWAAAAAAAAY!

Back to my rack, I had a bit of a struggle to get my tri loafers on, but eventually got moving toward the dam to finish off this idiotic undertaking.

GET ON MY FOOT DAMMIT

T2: 01:17

Now past 10am as I trotted across Shand Dam, the sun was in full effect and beating my pudgy arse down. Death whistling commenced immediately and did not relent. While the rail trail is lined with trees and shrubs along most of the run course, the sun angle meant there was precious little shade. I grabbed a cup of water from each aid station, had a sip off each one, and dumped the rest down my chest and back in an attempt to cool myself down so I wouldn't actually combust.

This is going to take more than a half-full dixie cup.

Not wearing a watch, I had no idea what kind of pace I was running, but I felt slow as hell - I swear that glacier came whipping past again, so at least I'm slightly faster on a bicycle than geography. All I could do was try to focus on quick turnover and hope my legs held together. Fortunately, the damaged hamstrings and sore adductor decided to cooperate.

RUN FAT GIRL RUN

I tried to offer encouragement to other athletes along the way, but oxygen was pretty precious by this point - I did make sure to thank all of the volunteers who make this awesome event possible, though. It was heartening that I managed to pass a few people, right up to the last half kilometer - clearly I wasn't the only one suffering in the blistering heat and sun. After a blindingly bright and seemingly interminable waddle through the double turn-arounds, the dam finally hove into view.

HALP

7.5k run: 42:13 @ 5:37/km

My smiley face got some compliments.

There was no kick. I had zero energy left when I finally dragged my sorry arse across the line.

GUH

Official time: 2:06:58

6/15 in W35-39 - 57/117 W - 182/286 O/A

So I pretty much sucked, but I did give it all I had on the day. Fortunately I was able to see a longtime friend compete in his very first triathlon just after I finished (GO BILLY! You rawk!), and then enjoyed a delightful afternoon, wonderful dinner and a fantastic play in the very best of company.

This guy is just the best.

It was rather alarming to see how short on volunteers MultiSport Canada was at the race site. If you have a couple of hours to spare, why not give something back to the racing community? It takes a lot of effort to put on these fine events, and donating your time gives you a great new perspective on racing from behind the scenes while giving you an amazing opportunity to see an incredible diversity of athletes as they push themselves to the limit. Go on and give it a try!

Cambridge Tour de Grand 50k - June 14th, 2015

June is bike month, and what better way to celebrate than with a ride around Grand River country?

I think our feelings about this are best expressed in sock form.

Tanker and I were late - as always - getting down to Churchill Park to get rolling. Might have made the 9:30am start for the 50k if we had managed to pick up our kits on Saturday, but we simply had too much on the go until after the 2pm packet pickup cut-off.

To be honest, given the forecasted thunderstorms, the absolute torrent of rain which awoke us just before 6am, and the grey skies that greeted us when the alarm went off, we'd been tempted to say to hell with the whole thing. However, having done Paris to Ancaster a couple of times (including in blinding snow), cycling in the rain on a warm day didn't seem like such a bad wheeze. Apparently we weren't the only ones who were dubious, though: out of 2,600 registered participants, only about 1,600 actually turned up to ride in the event.

Just barely beating the start of the 40k.

As I was taking a break from running to try to let an injury heal I'd actually been on my various bikes all week, including 31km of hilly commuting to and from the pool on Saturday afternoon on my nubby CX tires. Saturday evening had been spent changing up rubber on both our cyclocross bikes to some road slicks, but as we finally left Duncan McIntosh Arena around 5mins to 10am after chatting with some friends, I could tell the decreased rolling resistance wasn't going to be enough to make my legs respond with any kind of snap.

40k riders waiting for us knobs to get out of the way.

The roads had actually dried up a fair bit from the early morning deluge, and I hoped they'd stay that way. I hadn't rode my ballin' white wheelset with their 23mm near-slick tires since sometime last fall, and while they'd been ok for the riot of rain that was last year's Tour de Grand, I just didn't have the time in on them recently enough to feel comfortable knowing their limits on wet roads. To make things even more interesting, we'd both forgotten our cycling glasses - Tanker had his regular sunglasses in the car, but I was relegated to letting my inner Euro take charge for the day.

Ooh, so pro.

I'm really, really glad I grabbed a cycling cap at the last minute before we left the house.

As we pedaled out of the parking lot and up the hill on Champlain Boulevard to begin our day, we quickly caught up with another couple on road bikes who confirmed we weren't the only ones a bit tardy for the 50k start. We rode together for awhile, then dropped them as we climbed a hill on Clyde Road on the way out of town.

See ya!

50k route map - full details here.

Tanker taking a pull.

The skies were still grey but the weather remained calm as we rode our way through the first half of the course. We were riding smoothly, picking off groups of cyclists ahead of us as we rolled through the countryside - every bike we saw ahead of us was a target, and there were none that we spotted that we failed to drop.

Target: acquired.

The only one I didn't drop.

Arriving at the Clyde rest stop on Village Road, there were at least 3 dozen other participants enjoying refreshments and a pause, so I assumed we must have at least caught up to one of the waves of the 50k start.

Tanker refilled our one empty water bottle each, not having touched the others on our bikes despite the sticky warmth of the day. We were about 27km in, having taken just over an hour to get there, and I took the opportunity to adjust my rear derailleur a bit to smooth out some hesitant shifting due to a difference in dishing between The Biggest Wheel in the World I'd removed the night before and the sexy white hoop I was riding today.

Our bikes getting a break.

I grabbed a couple of banana chunks and an orange slice from the lovely volunteers once I was satisfied I wouldn't have to deal with any further shifting frustrations, then joined Tanker in the line for the portajohns. I didn't need to go, but figured I'd keep him company, and ended up holding his place while he helped himself to a couple of aid station cookies. He finally got his relief, then we prepared to saddle up again just as the skies opened and a gentle rain began to fall.

Just before the dampening.

With a cooler breeze having started to blow through the fields and parking lot at the rest stop, I decided that prudence dictated donning my vest as we set off for the rest of our ride. It wouldn't keep me dry, but it would help trap some heat and keep the wind from chilling my rain-soaked chest as I rode. I've talked about my love affair with vests in the past, and my Vanderkitten VIP vest with its awesome Ophelia "houndstooth" has been a great addition to my arsenal of gear.

Soggy kitty.

Tank was pleased with his King of Lions kit, too.

For the rest of the ride, it seemed like the rain had something personal against us. What began as a light patter soon turned into a steady drenching, then a bloody deluge as we finally re-entered Cambridge city limits. We rolled cautiously through up to an inch of flowing water beneath our wheels, taking corners wide and easy to maximize traction on the sodden streets. Tanker's brakes became more and more useless with each passing minute as I watched the water rooster tail off my front wheel. Fortunately, other than a single fat drop that somehow got lucky, my cycling cap managed to keep my eyes protected from the torrent.

At least I didn't have to worry about my glasses fogging up, right?

Yeah, great day for a ride.

My bike needed washing anyway.

Exercising extra caution as we came through the Elgin Street tunnel and across the soaked wooden footbridge, we grunted our way up the final climbs before sailing down the long decline through residential streets back to Churchill Park. Drenched right to the bone, we ditched our cycling shoes for flip flops at the car and traded our helmets and gloves for dry shorts and t-shirts. 2 hours, 4 minutes and 1 second of ride time for 50.8km per my cycle computer - an average of 24.5kph/15.2mph.

You know it's been a wet ride when you can wring out your cycling gloves and socks.

We both got changed, then split up for a bit as Tanker went in search of post-ride food in the arena and I knocked back a can of coconut water and a chocolate chip cookie while I registered for some complimentary soft tissue massage provided by Peak Performance. While I had the ongoing problem in my right leg, my left hamstrings had been feeling a bit strained since my tough ride to and from the pool the day before. Fortunately, after just a few minutes, I was directed to a table and the masseur got down to work.

I had to chuckle a bit at the horror expressed by the RMT when he encountered the damage in my right hamstrings. After he did some rather aggressive work on me - even having to enlist the help of a Cambridge Times reporter to hold the massage table in place, as it was trying to slide away under his ministrations - I was feeling a little less of the annoying pull and stab in the backs of my legs. Good deal! He'd rubbed some Biofreeze gel into my hamstrings, though, and the chill from it made me very happy I'd brought a dry change of clothes and a hoodie to keep me warm.

Of course it had quit raining completely by the time we got home, and not another drop fell for the rest of the day. Just our luck.

So I've caved..

Yeah, I started a blog. There are a few people who've told me I should, and I know I'd have been best to ignore them, but here it is. I clearly wasn't updating my old website due to the cumbersome nature of hand-coding pages, so I'm hoping this will let me publish race reports and whatever else enters my addled little melon without all the rigmarole. Keep it simple, stupid!

I'll try to keep the boring training posts to a minimum, especially since my half-assed ideas about getting it done were just written up in an article on Slowtwitch. Still not sure how comfortable i am appearing on the front page of ST - call it ill advised interviewing? We can only hope that Slowman knows what he's doing.