The ‘Real’ Mass Olympic Triathlon Race Report
No sand worms but a good day.
Being as non-OCD as they come I figured I could plug the race start address into my iPhone maps and it would get me there. The race venue was a state park of some sort in Winchendon, Mass – less than an hour from my front door. With an 8:00 Am start time I figured if I left before 6:00 I’d be ok.
The advantage of my lais·sez-faire approach to race planning is that I don’t have to worry or stress out about detailed stuff that’s mostly out of my control. The disadvantage is that sometime I get bitten by some of those pesky details.
It turns out 399 Baldwinville Rd in Winchendon is an empty patch of road in the woods and 399 Baldwinville State Rd. in Winchendon is where the park was.
It was ok. I had plenty of time and was in the right general area.
I did manage to convince myself to pull all my race stuff together and put it in my truck the night before. That gave me a peace of mind in the morning that I wouldn’t be showing up without a pair of shoes or helmet or something.
I was still into the venue more than an hour before race time. Unfortunately that little bit of misdirection put me into the park the same time as everyone else and it was a 20 minute wait to get a parking spot about ½ mile away from the beach.
It was ok. I still had an hour to gun time.
I took a quick inventory, realized there was probably no way I could carry all the stuff I had with me and the bike. (This is another one of those OCD triathlete things where they have some sort of intricate carrying system or giant roller bag for all the stuff) I decided I’d ride my bike down to the beach, register, use the porta-john, rack my bike and come back for the rest of the stuff.
It was ok. I still had some time.
It didn’t take long to pick up my registration but it took noticeably longer to get into the porta-john, which I desperately needed as the large Starbucks coffee was kicking in.
I was starting to get jittery with all the hyper serious triathletes milling about with their expensive kit.
But, It was ok I still had 45 minutes.
I went to the transition area with my old Fuji-San, definitely starting to feel more like a fish out of water in the melee. The bike rack with my number range was totally full. Several serious guys were building their little campsites and giving me the stink-eye as I circled looking for an opening. It was like trying to find a seat on the subway during rush hour.
I’m pretty sure these guys were camped out like a Black Friday sale to get those coveted first couple bike slots. This is so not my tribe. There were people out on their bikes and in the water already warming up when I got there an hour before the race.
I finally just gave up and racked my bike in the open overflow rack at the end of transition. It wasn’t at all important to me where my bike was racked and it was seemingly very important to everyone else. Seemed like a win-win to me. I’d just stay out of their way. Most of these guys were going to be long gone from transition when I got done with my swim.
It was starting to not be ok.
I was inside 45 minutes to gun time and I had to hike the ½ mile back to my truck to get my stuff. I had made the tactical mistake of wearing cheap shower sandals. I kicked them off and started to barefoot jog back – figuring I’d get a warm up in too!
I’m starting to get flustered. I get my armful of miscellany from the truck and hustle my butt back down to the beach.
20 or so minutes to gun time when I get back to the beach. I figure I’m still ok because I’m in the 4th wave. The waves go off 4 minutes apart. I don’t actually need to be ready to go until 8:16 or so. In my head I still have over a ½ hour.
When I get back transition is empty and they are calling my bib number over the announcements. I drop my crap in a heap and go find someone to tell me why they’re looking for me. I figure they saw my bike and are going to disqualify me for faulty equipment.
The lady in charge tells me my bike is racked in the wrong place and I’m going to be disqualified unless I move it. I tell her my assigned rack is full and I’m not that competitive and I don’t mind being at the end. She will have none of it. She shoves the bikes like hangers on a closet rod to make room and shoves my bike into the end spot.
Now I’m definitely not ok. I’m stressed to the max. People are yelling at me.
The volunteers are yelling at me that I have to get out of transition. I’m like “Why? I’m not in the water for 30 minutes?” They tell me it will screw up the timing, which, being a race director I know is bullshit, but I’m flying around trying to lay my crap out and get into my wet suit.
The guy next to me, whose bike used to be on the end of the rack shows up to check something and sees that his bike has been shoved. He gives me a look of death.
“It wasn’t me! I didn’t want to – she made me!”
He’s pissed. I’m so stressed out now I tear some new slices into my wetsuit pulling it on. I can’t find my chip. My heart is pounding. I’m running around like a headless chicken. They are still yelling at me. It’s like some bizarre reality TV show. A nice volunteer defogs my swim googles for me and sprays some suit lube on some of my sticky points.
…And…It’s going to be ok. I’ve got my stuff laid out, my suit half on and I’m into the staging area before the national anthem plays.
…
I’ve done triathlons with Max-Performance, the outfit that is managing the race, before. They are very well organized. Maybe a little too aggressive and obsessive in the details, but that’s triathlon.
Lake Dennison is a nice sized fresh water lake. The weather calls for it to get hot and humid on race day but in the morning it’s still cool, about 70 and slightly overcast. There’s no wind down by the lake, which is in a little hollow or valley surrounded by forest and hills.
Standing on the beach you can see the counterclockwise, 1 mile loop they have laid out. Large inflatable yellow and orange buoys mark the corner turns. It always seems like a very long way to swim when you see it laid out like this. You’re used to swimming out and backs or laps in the pool and it’s hard to visualize a mile in the water until you see it laid out in the lake.
I know the bike course is 22 miles and the run is a 10k but as is my habit I haven’t looked at any of the course maps and will just take it as it comes. You might say that my willful disregard for race planning is foolhardy and costs me precious seconds. I would counter that I care more about the precious seconds I’d waste worrying about race tactics if I did look at the course map. My approach makes it more of an adventure. I embrace the chaos of race day ignorance.
Or maybe I’m just lazy. This puts me into psychological conflict with 90% of your triathletes who love to immerse themselves in the wonderful details of preparation, equipment and nutrition. Whereas I just train and show up.
…
The water temperature is announced as an accommodating 74 degrees. Which is perfect for my full tri wet suit. Most of the participants have full suits on, some have the sleeveless versions, which thinking about it, probably means they have multiple wetsuits for the different occasions – which impresses me as the type of financial excess that typifies the sport. I don’t see anyone without a suit.
I’m in 4th wave, which I think is 45 – 59 year old men, and we have red swim caps. I find my way to the back of the milling throng on the beach. I haven’t zipped the top of my suit up yet because I’m sweating profusely from running around the setup area like a maniac. There’s three waves in front of us. Directly in front of us are women in pink caps and directly behind us are women in yellow caps.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply. My heart calms. I remember that this is just a fun race for me. I’ve never done an Olympic triathlon before and therefor already have a PR. Before you know it I’m relaxed and happy. I look around but no one really seems to want to chat.
The pink wave goes and I zip up my suit. The first wave is rounding the midpoint of the course when we get ushered into the shallows. The water is cool and refreshing even with the suit on. There’s some sort of signal and we are off.
This is the easiest start to a triathlon I’ve ever been in. The course is nice and wide and there is very little washing machine. In the sprint tris I’ve done you get the crap kicked out of you for 5-10 minutes as people thrash around jockeying for open lanes.
I settle in to my stroke. The water is nice and clear and I can see the people around me. The sun isn’t high enough yet to get any glare. Whatever the lady put on my goggles is working great. They aren’t leaking and no fogging. I start to get a little foot cramp early on, probably from my barefoot jog back to the truck, but I just relax and breathe and it shakes itself out.
I’m so calm and relaxed that it’s almost like a nap. There are enough guys around me that I don’t have to site much. I can just stay with them. I’m not having to jostle for position. I can maintain my nice, relaxed, 3 stroke breathing pattern with a long glide. The buoys are big and clear and easy to see when I do site so I hardly have to break form. I’m not breathing hard or struggling.
I don’t know how else to put it, but it is just relaxing and enjoyable to be out gliding through the cool, clear lake. Every once in a while I’ll swim into someone’s space when we corner a buoy, or feel the vortex coming off their feet, but I’m so present that I can play with it without breaking form.
About 800 meters into the mile swim we simultaneously overtake the straggler pink-hats and are overtaken by the lead yellow-hats. One of the lead yellow-cap women literally swims right over me. I mean literally. She puts one hand on my ass and levers herself right over me with one stroke.
As we’re coming into the beach the water is so clear I can see the bottom. Looking around there are still red-caps around me and some of them are standing up too early. I stay in my stroke until I touch the bottom because, frankly, I’m enjoying it and not tired at all.
Standing up in the water I take a glance at my watch and am thrilled and a bit baffled to see 29 minutes and change. Based on my sprint triathlon times I figured maybe 40 minutes, but yay! Now I can walk the rest and still be happy with the race. I jog into transition one all smiles, thanking the volunteers and generally cheery.
I only trained with one swim per week over the last 8 weeks or so. Most of those were open water with the suit on. My Garmin was telling me that some of those were close to 2 miles – but I didn’t believe it. Either way I wasn’t afraid of the distance, but I honestly thought I’d be a lot slower. It’s amazing how my body remembered the form and fell right back into it.
…
My transition strategy, like my race planning strategy is antithetical to the triathlon zeitgeist. I simply ignore the transition and take as much time as I need to get myself centered and set.
I move quickly, but I don’t rush. The people who win these races get in and out of transition in 30 seconds. I do it in 2-3 minutes.
…
Climbing out of the wetsuit is much easier than I thought it would be. I put on my bike shoes, a bandana under my helmet, a bike shirt and take the time to get my sunglasses on. I take a couple long swallows of Genucan, unrack Fuji-San and head for the exit in a leisurely 3-plus minute transition.
With such a wonderfully easy swim I’m am not at all worried about the bike ride. I’ll just spin it out like I always do.
…
From the beginning my legs are heavy and I feel like I’m pushing through cement. It’s some combination of the old bike not spinning freely, even though I cleaned it for the race, and my old legs not having their usual pop. I might be imagining it but it feels like there’s a little headwind when we get out onto the highway.
The bike course is mostly a big two-lane highway with extra-wide shoulders. I get down into the aero bars and try to spin but it feels hard. I did most of my training on flat courses and the rolling hills feel harder than they should. Not terrible, but not the kind of aggressive power that I’m used to when hill climbing on my bike.
I decide to try to make up some time by shifting up into the big ring on the down hills.
To understand why it’s a risky proposition to use all my gears you need some key pieces of information about my bike. It’s a 15+ year old steel Fuji that I bought to commute to work on. It’s not a tri bike, but it works fine for me because I’m not so concerned with my speed.
I put clip on aero bars on it so I can get into tri position and it fits me very well, but it’s quite heavy and getting a bit long in the tooth. I have old Shimano lollipop speedplay peddles with the clip in shoes. And I was probably the only one there with a luggage rack.
It also has had most of the drivetrain replaced. It started out as a 2-ring front, but I’ve had to replace both the rear cassette and the front chain rings multiple times. They don’t make the rings and cassette that it came with anymore. I’ve had to Frankenstein in approximate replacements.
What this means is I now have a 3 ring front chain ring. The good news is that it give me more top end on the down hills. The bad news is that the old 2-ring derailleur doesn’t quite match the 3-ring set up.
Thus, when I decided to use the 3rd ring to make up time on the downhills it comes with some risk and requires a bit of shifting finesse.
The first couple down hills I’m getting good velocity and passing people. Then I get greedy and sure enough it over shoots the ring and drops the chain. No problem, but I have to stop and put the chain back on. I don’t’ learn my lesson and do it again. Now my hands are all greasy and of course I cut my hand on the chain ring so I’m greasy and bloody and I’m losing ground. I ended up dropping the chain 3 times before I learned my lesson and just stayed in the middle ring.
The highway wasn’t bad riding. It was open to traffic and the speed limit was 50+ MPH. The breakdown lane was super wide, like 10 feet wide. People were naturally drifting right to stay out of the car lanes and riding in it, but it was also a highway and full of debris so I tried to stay on the white line.
The road conditions were pretty good except for a couple patches. Somewhere around 13 miles I slammed into a giant sinkhole in the road on a downhill and though I blew a tire or at least bent a rim – but everything seemed to hang together.
Every once in a while a competitor would whiz by me on one of those super fancy carbon tri bikes with the disc wheels. They make such a cool noise. They sound fast. But, I had to wonder just what these people did wrong to own such a nice bike and be passing me this late into the race. Did they spot me a 20 minute head start to make it more competitive?
I made sure to keep slugging away at my bottle of UCan because I knew I had the run coming and I’d need the energy. I drank all 24 oz and could have used more. In the heat, with the effort, it wasn’t sitting very well in my gut as the day started to warm up.
I ended up cruising into T2 fairly disappointed with my ride. With all the training I’ve done in aero position over the last 3 years I’d expected to do much better.
Again, I took my time in transition. Slipped into dry tech socks, into my Hokas, put on a racing singlet, a running hat, sunglasses and the clip on bib-belt that triathletes use. I grabbed another bottle and was out the gate in 2 minutes and change.
The 10k run course was an out and back contained entirely on the park roads with rolling hills and plenty of shade. It was still early, just after 10:00 AM, so the sun was still low, but you could feel the heat coming on. I felt bad for the back of the packers.
The winners were coming through the finish as I was heading out. It was cool to see the leaders in full on suffer mode coming down the road from the out and back.
As is common for the last leg of the triathlon I felt like crap in the early part of the run. My legs were heavy, my heart was jumping out of my chest and my breathing was ragged. I didn’t see how I could do 6 miles of it. I just focused on what I could control and relaxed into my form and kept lifting them up and putting them down.
As much as I was suffering I was passing people. What I noticed was that these people were bad runners. I don’t mean they weren’t fit. They were probably fitter than me. But they had awful form and were just trudging along like they knew the run sucked so they were just going to not try.
They also weren’t dressed for it. It was a hot day and they weren’t wearing hats or sunglasses or carrying any hydration. Most of them had minimalist racing shoes. I couldn’t help thinking that a couple sessions of form coaching could do a lot more for them than the fast shoes.
They also had no sense of tactics. I made sure to stick to the shade when I could, but they were mindlessly staying in the lane. Just before the turn around there was a sizable hill. I must have passed a half a dozen people just by knowing how to run a hill.
There were 2 aid stations that you passed both on the way out and the way back. They were offering water, sports drink, some sort of gel and cold sponges. I wasn’t about to put any sugar on top of the Ucan that was rolling around in my gut. I was dehydrated but knew I had enough gas to finish the race. I poured the water on my head and squeezed the sponge out on the back of my neck and kept going.
Coming back up the hill I walked a couple strides to see if I could get my legs to shake out a little and it worked. I was picking up the pace heading for the finish. I saw the 6 mile mark on the road and I could see the beach through the trees. I did my best impression of a kick and passed a few more people, expecting to see the finish chute around the next corner.
My to my chagrin I kicked a little early because when I turned the corner there was just more road and I had to dial it back a bit. But, no one had any interest in catching me and I managed to hold it through the chute for a 7:53 average. I’ll take that on a hot day at the end of a tri.
They had nice ice-cold commemorative bike bottles full of water for us with our medals in the chute. They also had a nice spread of watermelon, grapes and other fruit. It’s good to see the race directors are getting the memo about having some healthy choices at the finish. Of course there was a burger truck there with a giant line of triathletes waiting in front of it. Sigh.
I chatted up some folks, drank a lot of water – I was down a few quarts – collected my stuff and peddled back up to my truck.
After stashing my stuff I rode back down to the beach to take a picture and check my results. They have this great device where you enter your bib number and it prints a slip of paper with your results on it.
I ended up coming in at 2:35:30 – which I was thrilled with. This put me 28th out of 44 in my age group and 246th out of 455 overall and 181st out of 283 in my gender – Squarely in the back of the midpack. I had estimated, based on my sprint times, that 2:45 would be a good finish time goal.
Looking at the results I knew a bunch of people there but I never saw them. My friend Eric Manser who I introduced to running 15 years ago did it in 2:11 and he’s legally blind! The winner did it in 1:46. The guy who won my age group did it in 2:04. The only person I actually said ‘hi’ to was Brian Lyons (who pushed Rick Hoyt at Boston this year) and that’s because I passed him in the 10K.
The fun thing about triathlons is that you get to do some Monday morning quarterbacking. Looking at my times I could have moved up 10 places in my age group with a decent bike and a faster transition but that thought process leads to triathlon madness!
Looking at my placing I guess you could say that it was a fairly competitive field. It seemed like an easy course too. I felt very good about my fitness. There was never any kind of bonk or power loss. I was working maybe 75-80% effort level the whole way. The longer format seems to be much less frantic than a sprint tri and I quite enjoyed it.
I wasn’t super sore the next days but I knew I had raced.
And, of course, I set a personal record!