Race Result

Racer:	Steve Smith
Race:	Great Floridian Half Ironman
Date:	Saturday, October 25, 2003
Location:	Clermont, FL
Race Type:	Triathlon - Half Ironman
Age Group:	Male 30 - 34
Time:	4:39:26
Overall Place:	4
Comment:	Almost won, 'cept that 4:00 penalty, and being late, and, and ...

Race Report:

... Or How I Tempted Fate and Came Away Fourth

Short Version
=============

As the Long Version will tell, I really pushed my luck in this race. I'm not sure where this need to tempt fate came from, but giving the attitude I had going into this race, I was lucky to escape with 4th place overall with a time of 4:39:24. And, if I'd not pulled a classic stv moment 90 seconds before the race started, I could have easily avoided a 4-minute penalty and finished 2nd overall, a mere 26 seconds away from the overall win. Indeed, my little pre-race antics likely cost me the overall win. I ended up with the 29th fastest swim, 5th fastest bike, and 6th fastest run of 696 athletes.

Of course, valuable lessons were learned. The most valuable lesson was that you get out of a race what you put into it.

Long Version
============

Pre-Race
--------
How did I tempt fate? Let me count the ways. It started with Nationals, where I snapped my front derailleur cable in the first mile of the race. Having packed my bike up & returned home, I decided that I had no pressing reason to unpack my race bike during the two weeks between Nationals & GFT. If I were serious about a race, I would not have done that; when I'm serious about a race, I to be sure everything is in working order. I want to have a few race-pace sessions that mimic the race as closely as possible, including race equipment.

Wednesday before the race I had my folks, sister, bro-in-law, and two nephews (2-1/4 & 3/4) over for dinner. Yowza, that was fun, but I was wiped out. Wednesdays are optional days for me, and I slept in and bagged the workouts for the day. The original plan was to pack Wednesday night after the Family left, but I was tired, so I skipped swimming Thursday morning to pack for the trip. Oh yeah, some work training I had originally scheduled in August was moved to Thursday and, of course, this didn't happen until the day after I made airline reservations. Despite packing the morning of the race (well, everything but the bike which was already packed), and despite my training class, I made the flight out of Dulles without issue.

In another unusual move for me, I was rooming with someone. Generally, I prefer to be by myself before a race: less scheduling and more free time keep me calm. But I'd chosen a great roommate: coach Mike Plumb. Mike was supposed to race the full GFT, but a car hit him in the weeks preceding the race. Perhaps Mike makes a great roommate because he is an experienced, accomplished athlete; but I suspect it's more because he's just a laid-back easy-going coachie-poo.

(Oh, and BTW, Mike offered up some simple comment at one point during our stay; I don't remember what he actually said, but the voice, the haircut, the tone, and especially the voice seemed SO familiar. I could hear that voice, that tone, that self-assuredness in my head, somewhere. Finally, as sat at home Sunday night, I put it together. In many ways, Mike reminds me of Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones mode, particularly in his voice & some of his mannerisms.)

Anyway, Mike graciously picked me up at the airport and I managed to unpack my bike & put it together before hitting the sack at some late hour ... Maybe 1 a.m. or so. Already I was pushing my luck with the lack of sleep.

Friday morning Mike & I headed down to the race brunch (sorta weird situation with the Very Happy Baptists dishing out some (I hear) tasteless doughnuts, average bagels, and tasty mini-muffins. Still, they were nice enough to let me in even though I hadn't yet registered for the brunch. We snarfed down a few bites and I met one of Mike's athletes, Aylen (pron: Eileen), a local woman tackling her first Ironman. We chatted a bit until the folk singer (real person) started singing Puff the Magic Dragon. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all about free food and kindly people, but, you know, I'm getting ready to go out and push and sweat and generally suffer in that good-fun way that I love. Puff the Magic dragon is like a triathlete antidote as far as I'm concerned. Obviously, it was time to hit registration. Registration went by quickly. I'm not sure what I was thinking; I didn't bring my bike to brunch; Mike & I were thinking a swim & a quick run before heading back to Orlando so Mike could crank out training schedules for his athletes & I could have the car for the day. We bagged the swim/run and headed straight back to Orlando after registration.

I returned, got my bike, got it queued, and took advantage of the National Training Center. I seriously considered going for a run outside, but it was so freaking warm outside (92-degrees) I felt an outdoor run would take too much out of me. (Perhaps the only sane decision I made all weekend). So I knocked out 30 minutes on the NTC treadmill, warming up for 15 minutes before doing 3x90 second efforts @ 6-min/mile on 5-minute intervals. Then I hit the pool for 8x100/1:45, hitting either side of 1:10 for each effort. The NTC pool is amazing; a tad warm, but something like 12 lanes wide in the 25-yard direction.

Once I retrieved my bike I headed down to the lake. The plan was to ride the run course and then drive the bike course. I started out on the bike course and marvelled at the first 4 miles. Whoa, there are some serious hills. On the big descent from the big up-hill, I flatted. And from here things got interesting. I'm toying with the idea of racing Worlds without a spare; in making that decsions, I wanted to see how I'd feel about racing B races under the same circumstances. I have to admit; it's a little edgy.

Anyway, there I was 2.5 miles from the lake without a spare. Oh well, I thought, this is the price I pay for a risky decsion, and I started walking. I was fairly even keeled about the situation; I was happy it was Friday and not Saturday.

A kindly soul offered a ride about 1 mile from the lake. I thanked him profusely, noted the spare behind his saddle, and hurried my bike back to the race expo for the second time during the day. I had a spare in the hotel room, but no glue (outside what was already on the spare). I would feel MUCH better about racing on a freshly glued tire, and a little bit better about a mechanic glueing the wheel rather than me.

So with the bike in the hands of Lou's Bicycles, again, I sped off to barely make it in time for our group dinner. Coach Mike and a bunch of his athletes scored a table at Carraba's, and I hadn't sat down for longer than 30 seconds before the waitress spilled minnestrone soup all over my shiny new Sugoi running shirt. Oh well, the beer was tasty, and the chicken and pasta was perfect for a pre-race meal.

After dinner I sped back down to the race expo to get my bike from the mechanics and drop it off in the transition area. While there, I looked for the bikes of the only two guys that had caught my eye, both in my age group. John Reback, fresh off of wins at the World's Qualifier in Wisconsin and Age Group Nationals in Shreveport, and maybe not-so-fresh off a decent-but-not-spectacular race in Hawaii. Way back in the season, I'd identified John as the guy to beat in this race. Then he won in Wisconsin & Shreveport; I was looking forward to racing him at GFT where I could recoup more of my swim loss on the bike. Then I saw that he had raced in Hawaii. Oh well, I was still looking forward to racing him, but as a benchmark of my fitness, but as of 8:30 his bike wasn't racked. I wasn't too surprised. Also, another Virginia speedster, John McGarva, was due to start; I'd missed racing against McGarva at the second Pound Pedal & Pant duathlon. His racking spot was also empty. That sucked even more than Reback's no-show, 'cause McGarva ain't much of a shark in the water either, so we should race more closely.

Finally, my day of mini disasters was over. I got back to the hotel and managed to shave without slicing an artery. It was getting late and I wasn't going to get the sleep I wanted.

One of Florida's finest birds woke me up in the morning. One thing I'm thankful for is that I never have problems sleeping the night before the race, and I never have problems waking up. Not even in cursed Florida. My wave went off at 8:40, a little more than one hour after the Ironfolks went off, but I had to get down to finalize transition. Our hotel room wasn't equipped with a microwave, so I couldn't eat my customary long-day breakfast: oatmeal, tuna, walnuts, and raisins. Mmmmm. So, instead, I stopped by McDonalds for hot cakes, which were pretty good, and a ham & cheese McGriddle, which smelled like a Big Mistake as soon as I unwrapped the little beast. But I wanted a little protein, so I snarfed it down. Thankfully, it stayed down throughout the day.

After rousing Mike from bed we made off for the transition. One nice thing about having a spectator friend was that I could get dropped off near transition wihtout having to deal with parking issues.

The morning was mild. The day would be hot. Hot and sunny. I made risky decision #342: Skip the suntan lotion. My thinking is this: suntan lotion inhibits the body's cooling systems (courtesy of Frank Shorter; but I've noticed personally as well, from something as simple as applying some moisturizer before bed. In the past, I would wake up & cover myself in suntan lotion, even for an Olympic when I'd be off the road by 10:30 or so, and I would cover my entire body, regardless of it's exposure to sun. No more; unless I'm racing long AND it's the summertime, I will avoid suntan lotion.

With my shoes, helmet, and sunglasses in TA, I grabbed my spare shoes and went to watch the Ironfolks start before heading out for a 30-minute jog. It was definitely going to be a warm day. I made it back in time to see the full folks come out of the water ... Cheering on Dave Glover & Mike Guzek as they cam out.

Finally, it was time to put on my wetsuit. I slipped on the bib-johns and walked around a bit before my wave started. As race time approaced, I made my way to the start. I stopped to put on my top (it was warm out). Heading over to the start I was waiting to cross the swim exit when I realized I'd forgotten to pull the bibs all the way up; thus, my sleeveless top was on but the bibs were hanging out. Classic stv ... I've done this three or four times now. I put down my goggles & cap so I could use both hands to remove the top. I put the bibs on properly, put on the top & made my way to the start ... Once across the swim exit line, I realized I'd forgotten to pick up my cap & goggles. Crap. Ironswimmers were exiting more & more now. I waited patiently for about a minute (it seemed like 20) before I finally pleaded my case to the volunteer ... My wave was leaving in minutes. I got to the other side & scoured the ground. NOTHING. Crap! Where were they. I looked at my watch; I was dangerously close to my wave start. After looking for about a minute, I made a command decisions: I could live without the cap, but I had to have goggles. So I hauled serious ass back to TA to get my spare goggles. Thankfully, I have a habit of putting my gear bag on the perimeter of transition. In the past this was to keep it out of the way of my transition neighbors, but in the future it will also be for little emergencies like this. I grabbed the goggles and ran back, crossing the swim exit more forcefully this time (MY WAVE LEAVES IN 90 SECONDS ... EXCUSE ME ...) I glanced at the ground as I ran by ... No green cap. Oh well.

As soon as I crossed the swim exit I heard the gun. Oh crap. Oh well, it's only 10 or 20 seconds ... I can deal. I ran into the water and was about to dive in when I saw the referee (stripes & all) waving me down. I have to admit, I considered just going ... I was 25-feet into the water ... But I couldn't. I figured they suspected I was sneaking into the wave without a cap.

Where's your cap?
-I have no idea. I lost it.

You must have a cap before you start the swim
-Uh, well, that's not going to happen, so what are my options.

You go find one or you take the penalty.
-What's the penalty?

Four minutes
-(Internally. OUCH! Four minutes! SHIT! ... This could get ugly if I win ... SHIT SHIT ... Damn look how far they've gone already ... The cap is gone.) Okay, here's my number (showing my marked arm) ... Can I go?

And off I went ... Luckily, all my bad luck stopped the second my hair got wet.

The Swim
========

I had a crappy swim for all the normal reasons; inability to find my race pace, inability to swim straight ... And, on top of that, I had to swim around a LOT of people. OTOH, I didn't get pummeled, so it wasn't so bad. The water, while dark, was clean and nice, unlike Shreveport, where the water was dark and silty and just unpleasant.

The water temps were 76 degrees, and I swam in my Desoto T1 with a sleeveless top. I didn't overheat at all, and the sleeves of my custom Louis Garneaux RATS jeresey work just fine with the sleeveless wetsuit. The course was a very narrow triangle and we swam in a counter-clockwise direction (sun to our right on the way out; it was a good thing I had tinted goggles). The dock near the swim exit would be a great place to watch the swim.

The whole cap-and-referee thing took me out of my mindset for the swim. I stopped a few times to get my bearings. All in all, it wasn't such a huge issue. There is so much more time on the bike & run to make up for a swim that I wasn't all that worried about the swim time. And, of course, there was a four-minute penalty to brood about. Gotta learn to let those things drop or use them to my advantage.

All said & done, the swim time was 29:43; I figure without the late start & my rules discussion with the zebra I would have swam about 28:30. The fastest swim split was 24:23.

My T1 was miserable, 2:40 when most guys were coming in under 2:00. It was in transition that the reality of the penalty hit me. I was PISSED (at myself) and I took my time getting out of my wetsuit and into my shoes. This, imho, is the one unforgiveable mistake in my race. Lost items will happen, but I let it get to me, and it likely cost me the out-right win (before the penalty).

The Bike
========
There's a nasty little hill out of TA, followed quickly by a turn and then another hill. Not the best exit, but oh well. We hit some downhill and some flats, and I was smoking ... My HR was still high from the swim (my swim HR is higher than my bike HR); even so, I felt like I was on a Sunday easy ride ... Cruising by people. Very narrow, I was thinking when we turned into this ugly little hill. Ouch, I was overgeared for the hill and decided to take the hill out of the saddle. Coming down the other side, I resumed my concern for the pace. Although I'm a commited short-course athlete, I was not fool enough to believe that I could race this bike course as I would a short-course event. Maybe if I trained properly I could attack a 1/2 course, maybe even a half course as challenging as this. But not right now, so I eased back a bit until my HR came under control. I still felt like I wasn't working hard, but it must have been adrenaline, because I was cruising by everyone.

Once I'd settled into a pace I turned onto SRXXX ... And the conditions changed. The surface was rutted and rough, and it was like for for quite a spell. There were some rollers here andk for the first time, I noticed the wind, something that would stick around for the rest of the day.

Still I cruised along. It's a pretty bike, and I saw parts of Florida I doubt I would ever see if it were not for this race.

After dipping off of SRXXX into a little town for a rest stop, we kicked back up before crossing a bridge. Once off the bridge we turned right ... Right into traffic! I had to slow down for the traffic. There wasn't much of shoulder ... Some bozo came up on my rear, then to my side and splurt out "Now that's a draft!" Maybe I was a little touchy because I had to slow down (I HATE slowing down :) Or because someone came up from behind me (not a common occurrence) but I wanted to slap the guy. Oh, dude, drop back!

Anyway, this guy sufficiently pissed me off and I jumped to pass the car. Unfortunately, the next car up was a truck & trailer ... I passed them too, but it was dicey. I passed five or so more cars and found the cause of the whole ordeal. Some biker was riding in the middle of the freaking road. I couldn't believe it. She wasn't terribly slow (some guy was trailing her 4 o'clock ... Legally and ON THE RIGHT SIDE. Already annoyed by Annoying Draft Boy, I was a little upset (more than I should have been) that this person was riding in the middle of the road, creating all kinds of havoc behind her. As I pulled up to her left, closer to the yellow line than I was really comfortable with, I said (loudly out of necessity, not anger) PLEASE RIDE TO THE RIGHT. Immediately I realized it came out wrong (she probably didn't know about the traffic jam she was creating, nor could she know about Annoying Drafting Boy). Still, technically she was blocking and she was creating a very dangerous situation. I got the hell out of there as quickly as I could. Of course, ADB was no where in site.

Once off this semi-busy road, the rolling hills started in earnest. I was a little concerned about skipping my course preview. I remember someone saying Sugarloaf was around mile 40, and I kept an eye on the odometer. Somewhere around mile 30 or so I passed Aaron, much to my surprise (I later learned he had mechanical issues). Before the race started I did some math to see if I would catch Aaron. I thought it would be highly unlikely and, if it were to happen, it would be very near the end. I realized at the time I passed him that something was wrong: He was coasting down hill. I knew he was taking the race easy, but I didn't think he was taking it that easy.

Back to the businesss of hills. The wind kept up, yes, but it also brought in more clouds. I looked at my arms and hoped all the redness was blood rushing to cool off and not sunburn (it was). The wind was definitely a factor in this race. Not a huge one, but it was noticeable.

It was actually sometime before I saw Aaron when I realized I hadn't passed any half IM riders in quite a bit. I'd half-consciously kept an eye out for the unmistakable golden Falcon disc wheel of John Reback. I seriously doubted I would see him during the bike, even if he'd raced Ironman Hawaii the previous week. The dude is having a stellar, stellar year, and I would have to run him down to beat him (I figured a 'thon one week earlier would kill his running more than anything).

As I approached Clermont, I hit the massive descent that would turn into the massive running ascent in only a handful of minutes. I came into transition and it was nearly empty. I tell you, an empty transition area is just one of the most joyful sights in a race. Of course, as I ran toward my rack, I saw Reback's bike. "John! You're killing me!" I said aloud. Damn that kid is fast.

"You're three minutes back form John," Coach Mike yelled as I wiped off my feet and pulled on my socks (gotta wear the socks for a half). Hmmm, three minutes, I'll take that!

"Anyone else?" I yelled, moving thru transition much better this time.

"Yeah, another guy about 2 minutes ahead of him." Ouch.

"They both looked zapped." Coach Mike said.

"It doesn't F-n matter. I pulled a 4-minute penalty before I even got in the water," I said. This time, however, I used the thought positively. As I got up to head out of transition, Mike said something that I really needed to hear;

"Run smart."

As I've said before. Some things are very obvious, but to hear them at the right time, even though you know them down deep, can be immensely useful. Run smart was about the most perfect thing Mike could have said. So I headed out of transition and tried to put his advice to good use.

The Run
=======

There is a nastly little hill out of TA. But more nasty, imho, is the stretch of a mile or more where the runners are headed out and the bikers are headed in on the same stretch of road. It was unclear to me whether I should be running on the sidewalk or the road. It's especially dicey at the bottom of that Mother Hill, where cyclists are screaming down at 40 mph and runners are looking up with dread. Either way, it's an ugly way to go ... Hit by a cyclist doing the sport you love, or having your heart jump out of your throat trying to scale Florida's equivalent of Mt Hood.

I managed to lighly jog up the hill.

I'd watched my first two miles come in at 6:40 or so. The third mile, with the hill was 7:30 ... There were a few rollers in there as we turned and headed out to the path that would eventually take us back to the lake. But not after we headed out along the bike course for a 3/4 mile out-and back session.

Here, on the only out-and-back portion of the, run, I foud my prey: John Reback. He was serveral minutes ahead of me and he looked ... Well, he looked like he'd raced an Ironman two weeks ago. I put on my best "ho-hum, just a stroll I the park" face and got down to business. Having seen John working so hard, I anticipated the turn-around must be close, but it wasn't. I pushed & wished for the TA to appear; every foot it alluded me was another two feet of racing I would have to endure to catch John.

Finally, at the top of a long, slow hill I hit the turn-around and the chase started in earnest.

My plan was to keep things under control until mile 8 and then try to push the pace a bit. The race left the streets to follow a lakeside trail, shaded somewhat by trees. I was feeling pretty good by now, knowing where I stood and keeping things mostly under control. When I finally hit mile 8 I pushed the tempo up a bit. And felt it. I held onto my new pace for two miles and finally caugh John around mile 10. I could see him in the distance, and it took some time to close the distance, but I could see that I was gaining. Finally catching him in a long straight away I pulled up & said, "Ballsy race schedule John." (In retrospect, I hope he took it as the compliment I intended and not as a snide remark).

Keeping my tempo for the next few minutes was easy; I was scared of John regaining strength and running me down. But somewhere in the 11th mile I lost it, mentally. I'm not sure if I slowed down, but I was getting loopy. I couldn't remember what mile I was at. I wasn't entirely sure if the race ended at mile 12 or 13. I hadn't previewed the run course, so I had no visual cue of where I was. It was tough, but I was running, running a bit scared and a bit mad at my morning's mistakes.

Finally, the lake came back into view. The cyclist escort I stole from John asked me if I knew the course. "NO" I answered, hoping they didn't want to leave before I made the last turns. Right turn up the hill, left turn and the finish line. I was the first one across the line and I figured I had the win, if it weren't for the penalty.

Post-Race
=========
After the race I tracked down the head referee. I explained my situation. He explained his: "We have one guy in particular that keeps sneaking into waves, so we're strict about this rule." I looked him right in the eye and said, "Look, I could have ignored you, kept swimming, and probably escaped just as well. You have my number, you can verify I was in the right wave, this isn't a position foul. Make a good, subjective call." He refused. I thought about adding: "Without the penalty, I will probably win," but I didn't. I didn't feel that my position in the standings should affect the call either way. Still, it was a lame call imho.

However, it turns out I wouldn't have one outright; some kid would beat me by 24 seconds. In the end, I realized that if I was serious about winning this race that I should have made many decisions prior to the race (and during the race). And that lesson will likely never be forgotten.