And so it begins

This Wednesday at nine o’clock in the morning, the bells will ring at St. Ben’s and St. John’s to welcome the class of 2016 and usher in another school year.  For the first time since 2003, I will not be there to walk in late, loudly greet my fellow faculty members, complain that the coffee pot is empty, play country music too loudly, and strum incorrect notes on my guitar.  Instead, I will be on sabbatical, initially nestled away in the Bighorn Mountains of Wyoming.

 

Spending the last several months with John has been an amazing experience.  But last week, I visited him for the final time (until the season is over), as we needed to go our separate ways.  For the 70^th straight year, the last 60 at Saint John’s, John will be consumed with coaching football.  And for the first time ever, after a year of anticipation, I will be consumed with writing a book.

Before heading to Wyoming, I packed-up two laptops, five previous books about John and St. John’s football, six notebooks full of scribbles, ten hours of videotape, 75 hours of audio recordings, and over 200 notes and letters from alumni.  My charge is to sift through this information and turn it into a couple hundred page book which describes how John has created such a powerful legacy.  While the reasons for his sustained success are clear in my mind, the challenge which will cause me to re-write the book several times, will be to write in a manner which will be interesting and inspiring to others.

I had been especially anxious over the past couple of months, as I was constantly worried about how to spend my final time with John.  But now that we have said goodbye, I find myself surprisingly relaxed.    It is refreshing to know that while I may never have all the information I need, I now have all of the information I am going to get - and my job is to do the best I can with it.  In essence, practice is over, and now it is game day.

Am I nervous?  I suppose so.  But more than anything, I am confident.  I have listened to John preach about the importance of confidence for quite some time, and he has created a monster.

Well, I am going to wrap-it up now; I’ve got something a bit more important to write about.  I’ll end by answering the question that many of you have asked me, “Where do you begin?”  My answer is that I’m not stressing about how or why to start; I am just kind of diving in. 

As John would say, “Just do it, damnit.”

 

 

 

The view from my rocking chair.

 

 

The view from the Bighorn Mountains.

 

 

70.3 - Part VII

Boz:  “Home stretch…wow…he is awesome” came the reply when I let Jodi know that Nick had only two miles to go.  I drove to the park with my windows down and the Rocky music blaring, hopefully inspiring, and not deafening, any runner within earshot.  When I arrived at the finishing area, I saw a much more joyous sight.  There were massage tables, as well as loud music, beer, and a gigantic ice bath.

After failing to locate Nick’s family, I found a spot at the bottom of a hill near the beach, looking back at the homestretch of the run.  Yes, I said “at the bottom of a hill,” as the sadistic race organizers made the athletes run up a steep and winding hill at the end of their intense journey.

I stood at the bottom of that hill and waited...and waited…and waited some more.

Nick:  At this point on the course, we were back in the city and in a residential area. I started walking on the sidewalk under the cover of the trees as much as I could.

I don’t remember seeing the mile 12 marker, but I passed some people who said that I was close to finishing. I asked how much further, and they replied “less than a mile!”  I gave the obligatory last mile effort, but didn’t make it more than a couple minutes before I realized I still had a ways to go.

I came around a corner that I recognized from when the run had just begun, and I decided that there couldn’t be more than a half mile left.  The switch flipped and I went for it.  I attempted an 8:00 pace, but quickly found out that wasn’t happening. My calves weren’t working anymore, and I was feeling a twinge in my left knee similar to when I slightly tore cartilage a few years ago.  So, I took it easy and tried to minimize my feet clapping on the pavement the best I could. Eventually, I saw the finishing banners across a little bay of the lake, so I knew I was so close.

Boz:  Every time another runner round the bend, I hoped that it was Nick.  And each time I saw someone else, I felt a bit deflated.  I knew what misery he was experiencing in these final miles and just wanted him to be done with it.  Plus, I needed him to finish before he died, because then, I wouldn’t have to be the one who informed his wife. 

Nick:  I turned a final corner and passed the point at which I saw my cheering section when I started the run. The street was now filled with athletes walking their bikes back to their cars, their medals lightly swaying around their necks. I noticed that many had their shoes off and were walking barefoot in the grass.  My feet felt really, really hot at that moment. 

I made the last turn into the park between the blaze orange tape ropes and was met with a steep downhill that I totally forgot about. I then ran past the beach where I started this thing nearly 6 hours ago.

Boz:  Eventually, Nick came into view and I breathed a huge sigh of relief; he was going to make it.  He smiled at me at the bottom of the hill, and this time, solely due to the winding nature of this final stretch, I beat him to the top.  When I arrived at the finish area, I ran into his family and we cheered him through his final steps.  Five hours and 49 minutes after he began, Nick crossed the finish line.

Nick:  I took a quick left up a big, big hill.  My cheering section was on the right side of the trail as I neared the finish line. I tried to force another smile, but as trail began to go uphill, I needed to focus on not tripping over myself.

After a hairpin right turn, I was in the short finishing chute. I didn’t attempt to sprint, and as my family shifted up the hill to the gate on the right side, I reached out and smacked a high five to my 6-year-old son.  I crossed the line and was smiling.  I felt my smile and it was so big, and it wasn’t even forced.

Boz:  “Daddy!” his two boys called out as they ran to him.  His two year old daughter, however, was more cautious, seemingly not agreeing with Nick’s assessment that he had stopped sweating.

After I let his family greet him, I asked if it was easier or tougher than he expected.  “About the same.” came his reply.  “That was the best I have ever felt on the bike.  I have never ridden that fast for that long.  I didn’t cramp, and just my knee is stiff.  I probably pushed too hard.  But, I don’t care, I had fun.”

Nick:  I walked right past the volunteer handing out medals, as I didn’t see her at first.  I quickly realized I walked right past everyone, so I had to go back in the finishing chute, remove my timing chip, and receive my medal. There was no way I was going home without that!

After walking out of the finish chute for the second time, I strolled over to the hill where I had put my wetsuit on that morning and looked out over the lake. I actually got a little choked up for a second. I was so happy to have finished this thing. I was hurting, I was tired, but I felt so amazing.

I caught my breath right away and turned around to find my cheering section. They hadn’t seen me sneak out of the chute and were still looking for me. I hollered, and they came over. My 6-year-old came in for a hug, but backed off at the last minute when he realized I was soaked from head to toe. Instead, I gave high fives to everyone else except my 20-month old daughter, who smiled but shrugged away when I reached for her, way too smart for her own good. We lined up for a few pictures and then started talking food.

Boz:  After a few family pictures, Nick’s family discussed where to go for some post-race grub.  “McDonald’s!” called out his eldest.  “After 5 gels, 7 shot blocks, and a bunch of Gatorade, I don’t know if my stomach is up for that, buddy.” Nick replied.

His family walked to their car while I hung out with Nick as he packed up his belongings.  When we were leaving the grounds, volunteers were pouring free beer for the athletes.  “I’m not a triathlete,” I inquired, “but can a freelance reporter get a glass?”  The kind lady simply nodded, smiled, and handed me a glass.  After several hours of chasing Nick around the course, it was a very satisfying end to the closest I will ever come to being a half Ironman triathlete. 

As we reached his car, I asked Nick the obligatory question of whether he would do this race again.  “We’ll see.  I have a year to decide.  I won’t do more than one per year though.  This kills you.”

Nick:  After making my family wait much longer than I expected, I urged them to go ahead and get out of the park, telling them I’d meet them as quickly as possible. They didn’t push back, so I started to walk back to my transition spot with Boz.

The race director was already handing out the hardware to the age group winners when we passed the post-race festivities. There was a modest spread of food and pastries, as well as a beer trailer with free beer for the athletes  Boz pulled out his “I’m a journalist” card with the beer ladies and without saying it directly they said, “Yeah right, buddy, but here you go anyway,” and gave us both a beer. I took a sip but didn’t trust my stomach quite yet.

We packed up my stuff, and Boz graciously walked me back to my car with a bag or two over his shoulder. As we said goodbye, I gave him the remainder of my beer in what seemed like a gesture of thanks, but it was really more of a “get this thing out of my sight, because I’m sick of carrying it, and it really doesn’t taste good at the moment.”

Boz:  I bid Nick goodbye and walked back to the Rocky-mobile.  For the first time in quite a while, I looked at my phone and saw that I had received four anxiety-filled texts from Jodi.  “Sorry for the delay, all is great, he finished.” I replied. 

Jodi simply replied with the universal symbol of happiness: a smiley face.

Nick:  I met my family at a café and ordered eggs and hash browns. They sounded amazing, but I couldn’t eat very much. My stomach was a mess and all I really wanted was water. I drank 4 glasses of ice water at the restaurant and both of my sons’ leftover apple juice. I finished the eggs, but only about a third of the rest of my meal, so I packed it up for later.

Boz:  Exhausted, I went home and took a two-hour nap.

Nick:   We ordered pizza that night and I was able to eat two pieces, but I was still feeling a bit off. I had one beer with dinner, but that only made things worse, so I just stuck to water the rest of the night. If you’ve made it this far in the report, it will probably be hard to give out too much information, so I’ll tell you that I didn’t urinate until just before bed at 11:00 pm. That means that I went from mile 4.5 of the run at about 11:15 am until 11:00 pm without urinating, despite drinking well over a gallon of liquids over that time.

I stretched a few times and actually wrestled around and gave the boys “airplane rides” on the floor that night. I had to keep moving because I knew once I stopped, I was going to be down for the count, and I was right. Once the kids were in bed, I iced my knees, popped some Aleve, and passed out.

Epilogue

Boz:  People look at me like I am kind of unusual when I tell them I am heading out to spectate an endurance event.  Truth be told, I wasn’t always of fan of racing.  I played football while growing up, and when it came time for track and field, I threw the shot put.  To say I thought distance runners were a bit odd would be a fair statement.

However, back in 2001, I found myself unable to control my weight, and my wife suggested that I take up running.  Later than year, I entered a 5 mile cross country race through an apple orchard, and I was hooked.  I then ran my first marathon in 2003 and was amazed at how powerful of an impact the spectators had on me.

In 2004, I attended my first marathon as a spectator, and have been hooked on attending endurance events ever since.   Over the past several years, I have spectated many marathons and a few Susan G. Komen 60 mile walks.  Watching people push themselves, simply to see if they can accomplish a goal, is an amazing experience.  And I understand that whether or not I know the participants, they love to hear my cheers.  So, as soon as Nick told me he was planning to participate in this half ironman, I wrote it in pen on my calendar.

Nick:  I actually had to work the following morning, but was in no rush to get up early. I woke up quite refreshed and surprisingly not very stiff at all. My legs were tired, but my knee felt fine and the rest of my body just needed a good stretch. I drove into work for a couple hours, came home early for lunch, and then caught a plane to Chicago for a business trip. I brought my workout clothes “just in case” and actually ended up going for a short swim at the Ohio Street Beach in downtown Chicago, just to loosen up. The next day I went for a nice 3 mile run on Lakeshore Drive, and it felt great. I didn’t push a pace and just went to sort my body out a bit.

I had really intense craving for salty snacks and foods, but my appetite didn’t get better until about Tuesday…at which point I at an entire full size order of pad thai and pot stickers by myself.  And then it wasn’t until Thursday that I actually felt hydrated and balanced out again.

The half ironman distance triathlon is everything I imagined it would be: exciting, painful, tiring, mentally exhausting, rewarding, and exhilarating. The atmosphere of a triathlon was very similar to a marathon in that people were everywhere cheering for athletes that they only knew by the number on their bib.  Athletes joked with each other on the beach to calm each other’s nerves, and then continually urged each other on during the run. Volunteers gave you high fives as you passed through the water stations.

The cliché “It’s not the destination; it’s the journey” is the best way for me to describe this experience. I trained with the mentality that my goal was not to finish a half ironman race, but rather to learn how to incorporate distance and intensive training into my daily life

I made training for this race a part of my regular life without making it my entire life. I incorporated rest time into my weekly plans and kept those plans very flexible. Having children, a home, a full-time career, and a healthy relationship with my wife took priority over playing on my bicycle and running in circles around my neighborhood.

I learned how to make time to train without sacrificing any of those other things. In fact, I think it taught me how to make more time for my family and focus harder on them. My wife is also getting back into running so it taught us to communicate better to take turns training - granted, we had to learn the hard way through a miscommunication or three here and there, but we learned!. I’ve also learned to eat better and actually now crave vegetables, a food group which I’ve neglected my entire life.

Will I do another half iron? Now that it’s sunk in for a week or two, I definitely think I will.  How will my approach differ?  Race wise, I need to cool it on the bike. I burned all of my matches on the wheels without remembering that I needed to run a half marathon afterward.

If I were asked which part of my training paid off the most, it was definitely my swimming. My swim was the most comfortable I’ve ever felt in the water. In the future I’d like to get faster (like anyone does), but I don’t think I could ever feel better during the event.

I’m truly disappointed in my run time because I know I trained well enough to do better than I did. That’s just a result of my lack of discipline on the bike though, which I learned the hard way this first time around.

Will I bump up to the full Ironman distance? I’m not sure yet. I rushed into distance running when I first started in college, got burned out, and I don’t want to see the same results with triathlons. Could I double the distance and essentially double the training? Unless I get even more efficient with my time, it’d be very hard to do without sacrificing time in other parts of my life. I’d like to be able to finish a half ironman more comfortably before I decide to double the effort on race day.

But I have plenty of time to think about the future.  For now, all I can say is this:  I did 70.3!

Boz:  Thanks to Nick for letting me stalk him for the day, and thanks to all of you who followed our report.  Perhaps this is the last you’ll read of Nick and me together.  But then again, maybe Nick will decide to run a full triathlon, and I’ll tag along to tell you all about it.

At first glance, it looks like a hot tub.  But those are ice cubes in there with the runners!

A few pictures from athletes digging deep over the final 100 yards.

I don't know exactly what this guy did for the other parts of the triathlon, but all I can say is, "Wow!"

Nick, within smelling distance of the finish, and unfortunately, my shirt.

That's Nick's mom in the foreground capturing her son in the finishing chute.

Good work, buddy!

"So, dad, you trained all these months and swam, biked, and ran all day, and all you got was this medal?"

Family pics.

The athlete and the author.

70.3 - Part VI

Boz:  Frustrated with myself for missing Nick at the transition area, I hustled back to my car and started driving along the running course, trying to spot him among the throng of runners.  While I didn’t immediately find him, I did spot a number of interesting things.  I saw runners “investigating” the pine trees that lined the course.  I saw several runners battling with leg cramps and couldn’t imagine the torture they would be facing over the final 10 miles.  I also saw large chairs for sale in someone’s front yard, and thought that they could have made a nice profit if they instead offered to rent them out for five minutes at a time.  Finally, I saw the leader making his way back on the out-and-back course to finish in a time of just over 4 hours – I personally think out-and-back courses are kind of cruel that way as some runners were barely beginning a half marathon while watching someone else finish.

At this point, I began to get a little annoyed with Nick and blame him for not being more visible.  Why couldn’t he wear a nice bright pink shirt, instead of a black sleeveless shirt like 50% of the other runners?  Well, at least, I remember him telling me that he had switched to running with a forefront strike, so I figured I could just look for a black-shirted guy doing that.  But, I quickly realized I have no clue what a forefront strike is.  So, I decided to simply proceed to the mile 5 water stop and just wait for him.

While hanging out near the volunteers, I noticed that a young boy was obsessed with spraying runners with a garden hose.  He called out to me and said, “Mister, may I spray you?”  I would have loved a cool down on this 85 degree day and the water would have nicely disguised my sweat.  However, , I envisioned how my wife would react if told her that her camera was ruined because I was hot.  So, I politely declined his good offer. 

This water stop was on the narrow shoulder of a two lane road, and as mentioned previously, this was an out and back race, meaning runners were coming from both directions.  I was just waiting for two runners to collide and fall into oncoming traffic as they were grabbing a cup of water.  My wife’s camera and I were ready were ready to capture the upcoming tragedy.

My gaze shifted from the transition area just in time to see Nick come into view.

Nick:  My first mile was painful. As planned, I walked through the water station at mile 1 and added ice and water to my bottle.  My feet were still numb and the sun had come out. I had a running hat on but it was simply trapping heat against my head, so I took it off and shoved it in the back of my shirt.  I doused my head with ice water, which helped, and took off again.

Although I felt like I was crawling, I was surprisingly holding about an 8:00 pace. When I reached the 2^nd mile marker, I saw the first runner on his way back to the finish. He was cruising, and actually smiling huge. There were no other runners in sight so he won by a long shot at what I estimated as a sub-4 hour time. That gave me a little boost of motivation so I pushed on with my pace…for about a half mile, when I had to again stop to walk. I was about 21 minutes into the run and I felt miserable. I checked my watch, and my heart rate had spiked up to 180 beats per minute. That’s my peak rate, and I can’t sustain that effort for more than a mile on my normal training runs. I instantly decided that any time goals were out of the question and I just had to try to finish the thing.

I was sweating bullets and craving food, so I ate another gel from my belt pocket and walked for about 4 minutes. It was oddly refreshing to get that junk in my stomach and my heart rate dropped back down to a more comfortable level, so I tried to run again.  Within a minute, it was back up to 170. I held the pace for about another half mile then walked again. I was toast.

Boz:  Nick ran into the mile 5 water stop, and I quickly rushed up to ask him how he was doing.  Given that he had killed the first two segments, I expected him to flash me a thumbs up sign and dash off.  But instead, he seemed content to walk with me for a bit.  He eventually replied to my question by saying, “I’m spent.  I shouldn’t have gone so fast on the bike.  My wind is fine, my legs are fine; it is just that my heart rate skyrockets to 180 every time I start running.”

He pulled a hat out of his the back of his shorts and asked if I would take it.  I felt honored, kind of like when Mean Joe Greene tossed his sweaty jersey to a kid in the famous 1979 Coca-Cola commercial.  The hat was fully soaked, kind of like my t-shirt by this point.  Before he began running again, Nick showing surprising interest in me by asking, “So how are you doing?  You have been all over the place today!”  I assured him that I was doing just fine, figuring it was taboo to bring up how badly my inner thighs were chafing.

Nick:  I walked through another water stop at mile 3.5 and took off again, with the goal of making it to the mile 5 water stop.  I made it to about mile 4.5 and then had the sudden feeling that my bladder was about to explode. I could see the mile 5 water station in the distance but imagined a big line at the porta potty. I found a nice tree down in the ditch and hopped down there the best I could to make a urea donation. The good news was that I appeared to be well hydrated.

I trudged back up on the road and ran to the mile 5 mile water station where I found Boz on the side of the road waiting for me, tape recorder in hand. I answered his questions, engaged in small talk and non-verbally invited him for a walk with me well after the water station. Before taking off, I asked him a favor. I can only imagine what he was thinking as I reached back and started to reach into my clothes.  I handed him my sweaty hat and ask if he’ll carry it the rest of the way for me. He gladly accepted my sweaty souvenir and we parted ways.

Boz:  “Wow, I’m sure,” replied Jodi, when I texted her that Nick was feeling pretty rough at Mile 5.  “I’m hoping to get some Johnnie Bread on your campus.”  I imagine Nick would have also liked about 2 loaves of the stuff at this point.

I drove up to the mile 7.3 water stop and waited for Nick.  It was kind of fun to watch people approach the water stop and treat it like a fast food restaurant, calling out as they approached “Two waters!”  “Gatorade!”  “Ice!” 

When Nick arrived and slowed to walk with me again for a bit, the first question I asked him was, “So, you have about 6 miles to go.  How does this compare to the same point in marathon?”

“Mentally, this is tougher because it is longer, and physically I am spent, completely empty.  But at least I don’t hurt the way I do at the end of a marathon.”  He told me how he had kept up an 8 minute per mile pace since he last saw me and then again expressed surprising interest in me while in the middle of his race by asking “How is the book coming along?”  What dawned on me at this time is that while athletes usually don’t like to talk or answer questions near the end of a long event, they are happy to hear someone else chatter away – anything to take their mind off the effort required to take another step.  So, I rambled about my book for a bit until he was ready to run again.

Nick:  I’m not sure how far we walked together but it greatly helped my mood and spirits, and my heart rate was down in the 120’s.  I took off again and held a good comfortable pace for about 2.5 miles. I walked briefly through the 6.25 mile water stop, which also doubled as the 7.5 mile water stop on the way back. I saw Boz’s car on the other side of the road as I went through it the first time and refilled my water bottle with ice and water. Then on the second time through I stopped to walk with him a bit. I felt decent during that last stretch but now that I was walking again it felt so, so good to just keep walking. Boz and I finished our conversation and I attempted to run.  I couldn’t have made it another quarter mile or so before I was walking again.

Boz:  “The Abbey bells are ringing for him!” Jodi replied when I texted her to say that Nick was looking better with 6 miles to go.  I didn’t have the heart to tell her that the bells ring every 15 minutes, even when Nick is not running triathlons.

I drove up mile10.7, which was also mile 2.4 for those on the “out” portion of the run.  It really was a tale of two races at this point, with those at 10.7 smelling the finish and those at 2.4 dreading what was to come.  To give the runners a boost, I blared Rocky music out of the trunk of my Chevy Impala.  If you want to feel valuable, head out to a race with “Gonna Fly Now” and “Eye of Tiger” on your I-pod.  Everyone will love you and you may even get a comment like I did from one runner, “I just want to shake the hand and say thank you to the man who saved my life.”

I was checking my watch and observed that Nick’s pace seems to have slowed considerably.  I was worried.  And as each minute passed and it seemed impossible that he would be taking this long, I worried even more.  Perhaps he took a short cut?  No he wouldn’t do that.  Maybe he collapsed, and I will be the one in charge of telling his wife and three young children.

Finally, I saw Nick coming in the distance and he raised his hands above his head when he heard the music.  I asked him if he had any final comments before I saw him at the finish line, “This sucks.”

I asked him if he wanted me to jog with him to the curb, not wanting to slow him down, and he laughed heartily and somewhat eerily, almost as if I had just asked him if I could eat his first born

I said, “Okay.  I guess you are good walking for a bit.”

Nick replied, “Now it hurts.  Now it is marathon pain. All I can think now is that I need to focus.  I think I quit sweating.”  I wanted to offer him some of my sweat, as I had more than enough for both of us, but decided against it.

“Yeah, not too much left now, though” I said, and then realized that I spoke too soon.  Relief doesn’t really come until you have less than one mile to go. The next mile and a half were going to be very, very tough on Nick.

As he soldiered onward, I called out, “See you at the finish buddy!” even though it may have been more appropriate to phrase it as a question instead of a statement.

Nick:  The sun was now directly overhead and shining down on my back.  It was just plain hot, and I could feel the heat radiating from the blacktop onto my cheeks. I doused my head with ice water and could feel it heat up as it streamed down my back. I walked for a bit over a mile, and then tried to run again.  I got through another mile at about a 9:30 pace. I slowed to walk yet again and ate my last gel. At this point a few other guys and I start to leap frog each other, alternating turns walking and running. We’re all doing the same thing: running for a couple minutes, walking for a few minutes.

I spotted Boz’s car again just around the street corner ahead. As his windows rolled down, I could hear the Rocky music loud and strong. I attempted to mimic Rocky and run towards him with my hands in the air, but didn’t make it very far. He met me and I gladly walked again. I now told him that this was as close as I can remember to the feeling of mile 23 of a marathon.

But the difference that I couldn’t express at the time was that I was actually more tired than sore. I still hurt, but it was mainly my knees and feet. During a marathon, my whole body would hurt. My back, my shoulders, my neck. Everything. The pounding of the marathon definitely hurt worse.

I was also overheating and couldn’t drink enough water. I brought a 750 mL water bottle with me on the run, and I’d refilled it 4 times already. I was occasionally squirting water over my head and back, but over half of it was definitely entering my body.

We walked together for about a block before we parted ways.  But this time, I didn’t even pretend to try to and start running again. A few moments later, Boz buzzed by with Rocky still blaring. I gave a fist pump and just kept walking, hoping I had enough left to make it the final 2.4 miles.

Next Up:  The Finish?

Part VII may be found here:  http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-vii.html

The chairs that should have been advertised for rent instead of for sale.

I am sure there is a reason for this type of apparel, I just don’t know what it is.  I also wonder how much time he lost due to the drag of his beard.

I never thought I would refer to Nick as a sight for sore eyes, but after not seeing him for an hour, this was good.

As my wife can attest to, I have trouble drinking water without spilling when I am just sitting in a chair.  Here we see Nick carrying 2 glasses of water and dumping them into his water bottle, while running.

Feeling the pain.

Back up the hill, where you can see the out-and-back effect and how people had to jog into the road as a result.

This guy ran with an unusual open hat so that he could have a bag of ice directly on his head!  I mentally referred to him as Ice Hat Dude whenever I saw him.

Everyone play follow the leader now.

I love the intensity.

Goodbye until I see you again.

A few pics while blaring the Rocky music and waiting for Nick at the 10.7 mile mark.

At long last, he arrives, looking much better than he feels.

70.3 - Part V

Boz:  After Nick passed me at mile 52, I texted his aunt-in-law Jodi to let her know that he was still doing well.  She replied with, “He is almost there.  Just like the Popeye shirt he was wearing yesterday - strong to the finish!”  I wanted to ask her why Nick has a Popeye shirt, but decided to table the question for another time.

As I leisurely made my way back to my car, I did some quick math in my head.  So, he’s at mile 52 meaning that he has 4 miles to go, and he is biking about 20 miles per hour meaning that he covers a mile in 3 minutes, meaning that…he will be in the transition area only twelve minutes from when I saw him!!!  I quickly drove back but had to park three blocks from the transition area.  I was pretty sure I had made it in less than 12 minutes, so I just waited for him at the spot where he would dismount his bike, instead of waiting for him at the transition area.  I wanted to snap a picture of him coming in from the bike and then run to the transition area with him.

At one point, I snapped a picture of a guy who I thought was Nick, but after running with him for a few strides, I realized that I was following the wrong athlete.  I can only imagine what he felt as a big, random, sweaty guy was chasing him.  Several minutes more passed and I still had not seen him.  I figured that one of two things had happened: he had either made great time and beat me there, or he was dead.

Nick:  As we reached the outer part of the city, people were starting to sit up on their bikes and slow their pace. I kept my pace until about mile 55 where I passed the 1-mile sign. At this point we wound through town a bit so it was good to sit up and take the turns easy. We came back onto the narrow bike path and it felt like the Tour de France with people lining the trail. We all had to ride single file through the swarm of people. I heard “Go daddy!” from what sounded like my 6-year-old and I gave a wave to the crowd hoping he’d see it. Sure enough, just a few feet farther up were my wife, kids, and mother on the right side next to the rope, cheering and taking pictures. I thought about putting my hand out for a high five but didn’t trust that I could do it without crashing magnificently in the middle of the crowd.

I finished back through the now very trampled and muddy grass corner and rode up to the dismount area. The officials had now tripled in number and were screaming at people left and right to get off their bikes sooner.

Boz:  I hustled to the transition area, but a fence kept me from going to his exact spot, where the presence (or not) of his bike would tell me his fate.  From my distance of 20 feet, it looked like his bike was not there, although it was tough to see with so many bikes packed in so closely.  I texted Jodi to say, “Can’t find him.  His is either already running or he is dead.”  I am sure she appreciated that.

A sprint triathlete who had already finished walked by and I asked him to check for Nick’s bike, number 239.  He walked to Nick’s spot and poked around for about ten seconds, seemingly not finding anything.  Oh no, Nick is dead.  Just then, the triathlete peaked up, smiled, and said, “239,” as he pointed toward Nick’s bike.   I let Jodi know that Nick was indeed alive and she said, “Okay, that’s good.”

Nick:  I dismounted and started to jog my bike up to my transition spot, but my legs were like rocks. I walked a few feet with my bike on my left side and then tried to jog again, but I was just dead weight. I walked gently up to my spot, hung my bike on the rack, and took off my helmet calmly, seemingly realizing that I was probably not going to win the race.

I took my time as I bent over to change my socks and shoes. As I’m tying them I realized my toes and the whole outer sides of my feet were numb. Tingling numb. I strapped on my race bib, grabbed my water bottle, and started to jog out of the transition area.

But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push off my numb feet with more normal stride, so I started to slog through my gait and plop down on my heels with every step.  I wound out of the park and back through the crowd onto the road. My cheering section moved out from the bike trail to the running path and greeting with a roar.  I waved, forced a smile, and gave a “Whoo!” as I passed.

I didn’t see a yellow shirt with them, so perhaps Boz sweat so much that the shirt became a brownish/orange with salt stains.  Either that, or he was one of the cars that was being scolded by the cops for driving on the course, while claiming he was a member of the Associated Press.

Next Up:  The Run
Part VI is at:  http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/part-vi.html

This is the guy who looked like Nick from a distance - and thus whom I stalked for a bit (that is the correct usage of who vs. whom; I looked it up).

This is actually Nick coming into the transition area (picture courtesy of his wife).

Nick just starting his run and presumably about to blow by another runner (picture courtesy of his wife).

70.3 - Part IV

Boz:  With a belly full of McDonald’s grease and the help of the course map and my I-Phone, I drove to the first bottle exchange, just before mile twenty of the bike course.  It was here that volunteers would hand the cyclists bottles of water and Gatorade, as well a packet of energy gel, a favorite snack among endurance athletes.

I noticed that wise bikers would slow considerably to ensure they would receive a fresh bottle of liquid energy.  On the other hand, some cyclists would pedal though this bottle exchange at full speed and seemingly be stunned when they fumbled the hand off.  I recall one gentleman yelling out in disgust upon leaving the bottle exchange empty handed.  All I could think was that he was so concerned about not costing himself five seconds by slowing down, when he likely cost himself much more time in the end when he became dehydrated.

A bit less than an hour after I had last seen him, Nick came cruising by.  He didn’t stop to refresh his drinks and just gave me a smile as he flew by.  I said goodbye to the volunteers at the bottle exchange and had enjoyed watching the process.

Nick:  Coming out of the transition area on the bike, we had to ride on a short bike trail that went through a tunnel under the town’s main highway. To get on this bike trail, we had to ride on grass for about 30 yards.  It is funny watching people ride $3,000+ skinny triathlon bikes through bumpy, wet and, by this point slightly muddy grass and swearing. A few people even dismounted and walked through it instead.

The first 17 or so miles of the bike course was shared with the sprint triathletes, so there was a good amount of bike traffic on the roads. As expected, there were a many people out there who were not used to riding in groups, and thus there was a lot of highway-like road rage – generally by people with big egos yelling at slow-movers on the left side of the lane. There are quite a few people that put bells on their fancy bikes just for this reason, but they’re usually the people with good senses of humor who really don’t get worked up anyway.

I began my feeding at about mile five when I ate my first gel pack; one with a little caffeine in it that I could actually feel after awhile.  We came to a T-intersection at just under an hour.  At this point, the spring triathletes split off and suddenly the hammer dropped on the half-iron course. The serious guys got into their tight aerodynamic tucks and started to cruise. There was a lot of passing and being passed as the field sorted itself out.

At about mile 19, I came up on two cyclists off their bikes and on the shoulder of the road.  As I got closer, I noticed one was bleeding from his hand and the other was taking off his shoe. I slowed and asked if all was alright. They didn’t give me a verbal response but they both waved me on.

As we approached the first water exchange, I peeked down at my two bottles - one water and one home-mixed Gatorade. They were both still over half full, so I moved to the left and skipped the exchange.  I told the volunteers that some people were down on the course a mile back. One said, “I know” quite hastily, so I think they already knew about the incident.

Shortly after the bottle exchange, I saw Boz snapping photos.  I waved, said something that I’m sure was unintelligible, and kept on cruising. We agreed beforehand that I wouldn’t stop or spend much time interviewing while on the bike, unless of course I needed to stop to barf at that exact point, so no feelings were hurt that I know.

Boz:  I next drove to mile 39, a quiet stretch of a two-lane road.  I parked my car on the shoulder and took pictures of the cyclists to kill the time.  It was also at this time, with my arms somewhat elevated to hold my camera, when I noticed I must not have used enough anti-perspirant deodorant.  I think it is safe to say that I will never be the Old Spice poster boy.

I saw Nick pedaling hard in the distance, still maintaining his admirable pace of over twenty miles per hour.  I called out to ask him how he was doing.  He yelled back, “Awesome” and was gone before I knew it.  Around this time, I crossed “Watch the Tour de France” off my bucket-list, but not because I had accomplished it.  Watching a bike race is about as interesting as sitting in Ben Stein’s economics class in the movie Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

Nick:  After the first bottle exchange, everyone seemed to have found their pace and we all settled down. Around mile 22, an ambulance flew by us in the opposite direction, and I assumed they were heading to the downed cyclists I had passed just 10 minutes ago.

We had one or two nice long hills on the back side of the course as we headed toward the second bottle exchange. While I didn’t completely drop the hammer up the hills, I stood and spun a bit to get the blood flowing back into my groin and to stretch my back.

It was fairly uneventful leading into the second bottle exchange at mile 32. I ditched my bottle in the designated dumping area of a ditch and took another bottle from the volunteers. I still had about half of my Gatorade bottle remaining and made a mental note to drink that before getting back into my water.  I also snagged another gel from the volunteers and ate that right away.

I was starting to feel a little burn in my legs and clicked through my cycle computer to determine my speed for the first half.  I noted that I was above 21 miles per hour, faster than I had trained for.  But, I decided that since I was still feeling great overall, it would be okay for me to keep churning at a decent pace. After all, it was race day and I couldn’t leave anything on the course and all that. So I continued to drop the hammer.

I flew by Boz around mile 39 and again tried to yell something which I imagine was incomprehensive into his voice recorder. I am sure it was one of the most boring interviews ever, but I would like to think it was 20 times more colorful than anything Minnesota Twins star Joe Mauer has ever said into a microphone.

Boz:  After my stimulating two-second encounter with Nick at mile 39, I decided to try and find him one more time on the course, hopefully at the top of a hill this time so that I could see the cyclists in a bit of pain.  I followed the course map to what I thought was mile 50, at which time my I-phone told me I was in the middle of a large lake.  No wonder I couldn’t see any bikers.

Once I emerged from the lake, I found my way to mile 52, which was on a slight uphill.  I again snapped pictures of random cyclists to kill time until Nick came into view.  Still cruising and looking great, he paid homage to Johnny Cash by yelling out “Burnin’, burnin’ burnin’” as he cruised by.  At this point, I was convinced he would medal in the triathlon.

Watching Nick and the other cyclists keep up such a fast pace for the entire 56 miles caused me to reflect back on the longest cycling venture of my life.  In junior high, I participated in a bike-a-thon to raise money for a Christian camp associated with our church.  We rode 150 miles over 2 days.  I am pretty sure that we stopped for breaks every ten miles or so, had lunch in the middle, and finished in a pace of less then 10 miles per hour.  I don’t believe I wore a helmet and went shirtless on the 2^nd day.  I ended the day so sunburned that my back was blistering.  Times have changed.

Nick:  As I headed back toward the city, I saw some dark clouds to the south. This was great because it actually became overcast for a while, meaning that we didn’t have to battle the heat. I found myself sticking around the same few guys for a few miles and we all pretended like we were drafting off each other for a while.

I passed Boz again at some point; I’m not really sure at which mile, but I was feeling my efforts at this point. I checked my bike computer again and my average pace was still at about 20.8 miles per hour.  For some reason I had this notion in my head to try to keep my pace as close to 21 miles per hour the whole way, completely ignoring the fact that my longest training ride was about 58 miles at a pace of 17 miles per hour.  Undeterred, I ate another gel and guzzled more water to wash it down.

I hadn’t really processed how this best bike ride of my life might impact me in the upcoming half-marathon.  It wouldn’t hurt me that much, would it?

Next Up:  Transition 2

Part V is at:  http://professorboz.blogspot.com/2012/08/703-part-v.html

An exchange about to take place…

…and it’s a success!

This would also be my preferred style of biking for 56 miles.

"Oh water bottle, how I love you so."

Our hero pedals by - looking great, Nick!

Cyclists generally prefer a diversion like seeing a camera

Apparently this is the universal way for cyclists to acknowledge people

Such nice smiles after so long in the saddle!

And then there are some goofballs.  Hey, that’s Nick!

Dig hard up that hill

I have several pictures of this guy.  I am pretty sure he is the one who yelled out in disgust when he dropped the water bottle at the first bottle exchange.  I am also pretty sure he thinks I am stalking him by this point.

Yes, Ben Stein, I compared your economics class to a bike race.  Deal with it.