Three Races

It is summer in Austin, which means the sun rarely hides anymore, and when it does it is still eighty degrees and humid and still capable of turning the inside of a car into an oven. The sun never hides and you can tell who hasn’t been hiding from the sun because they have bronze calves [or for the more pale-inclined, a darker shade of white] and if they’ve been out on a bike their back is a mixture of different browns and their arms look like they’ve been dipped up to the bicep in brown paint and their upper-thighs look so white that it almost looks fake. It is a good time to be in Austin because beer tastes better and more deserved when it is hot outside. There is no shortage of places to drink a beer outside in this city. Summer in Austin also means, among other things, that it is triathlon racing season. So at least one weekend a month, hundreds, perhaps a thousand people wake up early and drive to some spot and put on spandex and a swim cap and race while most people are sleeping in. They are local races, done by a local company, with mostly local participants. There is beer at the finish along with soda and fruit and water and music and burgers or tacos and everybody stands around and talks about the race and then they slowly disperse and volunteers start pack everything up so by two o'clock you wouldn't have known that there had been a race at all. In the last month, there have been three such races: Couples Triathlon, Marble Falls Triathlon, Jack's Generic Triathlon - in that order. I competed in all of them. Here is some of what I remember:

Couples Triathlon had been billed by some as “the race of the year.” It was a re-match from the previous year, part two of the epic struggle of Experience versus Youth. Team “White Thighs and Mustaches” and their combined eighteen Ironmans versus Team “Young and Hung” and their combined one Ironman. Last year, experience had claimed the throne by thirteen seconds. Team Young and Hung had been reminded on a regular basis for the following 364 days that the margin had been thirteen seconds. Promises, bets, smack-talk, had all been delivered. Victories were guaranteed. Countdowns were started.

On race day, everyone was cordial, joking, as we usually are before races. No last second tire-slashes, no dropping of laxatives in water bottles. Joe and Dad looked like sex offenders with their dirty moustaches and skimpy speedos, so we kept our distance, as did all the mothers who had made the mistake of bringing their children to the race.

Team Young & Hung went off in the first wave. Team W.T.& M. off in the last one. The course itself was nice, though the bike had enough hills to be unpleasant, and the run was through mud and grass and had a long, steep hill towards the end of the run that got your heart rate high and made your legs burn. But it was a fun race and I stood at the finish line with Brogan, watching the clock, waiting for Joe and Dad. And Joe crossed and I knew it would be close and then a little later I saw Dad with his unmistakable gait, five hundred yards from the finish line and I stared at the clock and tried to figure out if we had lost and then he crossed and I didn’t know if we had lost or won but I knew it would be close. It was close. Fifteen seconds. This time, youth had won. Team W.T. & M. were gracious losers, saying that they had lost because we had cheated and because they had gone off in the last wave so it was hotter on the bike and run and because we had better spots in transition and other reasons that I have forgotten because there were so many of them. They claimed victory because they got first place in their category, and got to stand on a podium while we finished tenth in ours. [Our category had eight of the fastest ten teams in the race]. But despite their excuses and their attempts to snatch a sliver of pride from the humiliation of defeat, it was a good race. Made even better because next weekend was Marble Falls and that afternoon was Uncle Billy’s.

In 2009, Marble Falls had been the race of the year for me [other than Ironman Florida]. Joe and I had gone off in the same wave [which we never get to do because we are in different age groups]. We got out of the water together, I had ridden away from him, and then he had closed the gap on the run. For most of the 4.4 mile run I looked over my shoulder and saw his red visor and I put in surges and would look back and the red visor was still there and I was sure I would blow up and he would catch me because he always had caught me. But he didn’t that day. He finished twenty or thirty seconds behind me and it was a breakthrough race for me.

This year it was just as fun. A simple race, with transition in a parking lot, the run through residential neighborhoods, the bike mostly on the side of a highway. The water is warm and you got out of the swim sweating and the bike is hilly so you got out of breath on the bike and had your heart in your throat for most of the climbs. The highlight is the run, where it is quiet and paved. There are a few gradual climbs, but mostly it is flat, even downhill. It wasn’t as close as last year, because Joe had been studying for the Bar exam and had been avoiding his training as well as spending time with his brother or father, but it was still a damn fun race, and we still collected hardware. I got second in my age-group, as did Dad, and Joe pulled out third. It was also my best overall finish of the year. Ninth. It isn't until now that I realize how not normal that is. Three family members arrive at race. Three family members race. Three family members leave race with age-group prize. The bar is high in this family, I have come to realize.

Jack’s Generic shouldn’t take much more than an hour to finish unless you flat, which after Joe had found out that I had beaten him, told me he had three times on the bike. Last year, I had been hungover going into this race and did well [17^th], but knew I could do better. I registered for the open division instead of the age-group division for the first time. In the open wave, it is more competitive and you aren’t eligible for age-group awards but you get to go off in the first wave. I wanted to go with the big boys, see if I could hang with them. So I did.

I went off three minutes before Joe and Brogan did and I was out of the water in six and a half minutes. It was a short swim and I ran to my bike and started riding as hard as I could because I had fears of Joe or Brogan riding past me. I rode hard and my bike computer told me I was riding hard but my legs felt weightless, hurting for only brief moments on climbs. I knew I felt good when Paul Terranova, a 37 year old badass triathlete who routinely finishes in the top three in all the local races, rode past me and I was able to keep up with him. In fact, I passed him and then he would pass me and we did this for most of the ride – this game of pass, then recover, pass, then recover. I felt good and had a blazing second transition [four seconds faster than Joe] and I started the out-and-back run with Paul Terranova beside me and as we passed a volunteer he yelled “thirty seconds to second place!” and I smiled because I’d never been third in a race before and I don’t think Paul Terranova smiled because he is always that high up. The run went well, I saw Joe and Brogan and they yelled at me and I yelled at them and they said to keep it up and I tried to but I ended up finishing in fifth and cursing people who weigh 160 pounds. And I never thought I would get so excited about finishing fifth. And after locking himself indoor to memorize volumes of statutes and exceptions to rules, Joe finished 14th. I'm going to have a hell of a time holding him off at Longhorn.

So there you have it. Three races. All of them finished. Combined, all three of them shorter time-wise than an Ironman bike ride. But still a hell of a lot of fun. And still plenty of time to hurt.