Before The Race

It's almost 11:30 and I'm in no danger of falling asleep. The CapTex triathlon starts in around eight hours for me, nine hours for Joe, and eight and a half hours for every 200+ pound woman who can squeeze into a wetsuit and pair of spandex. I say this because my wave [20-24 year olds] goes off at 7:20. Joe's goes off at 8:15. Women 50-54 goes off at 8:00. This of course means that when he starts his race, a large number of older women [and men also] will be in the water, out on the road. He will have the pleasure of having to swim over and around them, ride past them and avoid them and their shaky bike-handling skills. At least Joe will get a nice draft behind them and their wide hips.

It's not nerves that are keeping me awake, or fear. I'm not intimidated by the distances, or the course. I'm awake for no real reason that I can pinpoint. Perhaps a combination of excitement and wondering. How will I feel in the water, especially since I haven't been consistent with my swim training? Will I be able to run a 40 minute 10k, especially if I ride at a steady clip? I want to do the bike section in an hour, but how much will it take out of my legs to hold 24.6 mph for 60 minutes? How many team-in-training people is Joe going to have swim/ride around? In the end, they are just questions, and they will be answered tomorrow regardless of whether I worry about them tonight or not. If I do a 2:10 or a 2:20 or 2:30, Uncle Billy's will still taste damn good, and I'll still have a nice nap. But I'm still up at night, asking myself questions, wondering what I'll have in my legs tomorrow

...

The day and night before is an exercise in energy conservation and good eating. Lots of water, lots of carbs. Pasta. Gatorade. Fruit. Cereal. All of this carries over into the morning of the race itself, where you walk a little slower, drink a little more water than normal. You also worry about little things, like your place in transition, or your socks, or something that isn't going to make any real difference in your race. You worry about your position in the swim start and where to park your car. You scope out and size up other people in your age. A guy with a disc wheel is competition. A guy with a mountain bike is forgotten. All these little things to think about. But once the gun goes off and people start swimming and splashing around you, it's like you've put on bose headphones. All you hear is water splashing, your heart beating, your breathing -- and of course, the voice in your head. Your world shrinks from an orchestra of little thoughts to a few bigger ones. Your stroke, your muscles, your breathing. On the bike, it's the course, the other riders, your legs, the gears, the wind in your face, your hydration. The run it's all the legs, your breathing, the pounding, your heartrate. Dad describes it like a dashboard with a few gages that you're constantly monitoring, and it's true. Trying to not hit empty -- but fighting like hell if you do.

...

Last year I did a 2:16 at this race, and I want to go 2:10 this year. It's one of those staples in the sport, and has been a goal of mine since I've started that I've wanted to check off the list. A sub-10 hour Ironman. A 4:30 half. A 2:10 Olympic. [And another one, also hopefully achieved in this race, a 40 minute 10k]. This race could be the first. But don't worry, my race isn't going to be defined by a watch. My real goal is still be able to smile at mile 5 on the run, to pretend to pull a hamstring down the finishing line, and have an Organic Amber afterwards. After all, you pay to do these things because they're fun. That's what I'm thinking about as I lie here in bed.

It's 11:55. Eight hours until women 50-54 go off. Enjoy the swim and ride Joe. I'll enjoy hearing about it.