2012 USA Triathlon Sprint National Championships
Burlington, VT
Swim - 750 meters
Bike - 20k
Run - 5k
Results
Swim - 10:16 (3rd AG / 26th Overall)
T1 - 1:41
Bike - 30:51, 24.2mph (5th AG / 48th Overall)
T2 - 1:07
Run - 19:00, 6:07/mile (10th AG / 67th Overall)
FINISH - 1:02:42
Age Group - 5th
Overall - 25th
There is no appropriate beginning to the story of today's race. I could start with last Tuesday when I was stung by two wasps, jeopardizing my chances of making it to the start line. I could begin 10 days ago when the nerves and anxiety began to consume every moment. Or I could begin a year ago with the most disappointing race of my career at USAT AG Nationals. In short, I have been building toward today for well over a year. In one hour I put on display something that's taken years to produce. But in the sake of time and space, I'll skip the dramatic pre-race backstory and begin where these races always begin, in the water.
As is to be expected at a race of this caliber, every single person wants to be on the front line at the swim start. The laws of physics make this impossible, though that doesn't keep us from trying to make it work. For 7 minutes today we jostled for position in the water. And then gun went off and the swim started. More jostling, kicking, pulling, grabbing, and hitting - all while sprinting toward the first buoy. By the time we reached it, things were starting to sort themselves out. I found myself in about 5th place and in contact with the leaders. Fortunately, I'd survived the combat portion of the event without any major incidents to report. My heart pounding out of my chest and my lungs screaming for oxygen, I did everything possible to forge my way toward the front. As we rounded the second and third buoys, I moved into third and began to regain control of my heart and lungs as I exited the water.
In transition, things got a bit sloppy. For the third time this season I exited the water with a timing chip that was dangling by a thread. Fearing it would fall off, and it certainly would have, I had to take valuable seconds to readjust before getting out on the bike. I exited transition in 4th place, but within 2 seconds of both second and third. That gap grew to about 8 seconds as I fumbled around unnecessarily with my shoes. The beginning of the bike course is narrow, technical, and quickly becomes hilly. In retrospect, I should have simply gotten into my shoes and initially strapped them down just to get through that section. Then made adjustments as we hit roads more suitable to fine tuning the straps. What I really did was try to cram all of this into about a tenth of a mile stretch of road. It worked, but I lost time that I could have preserved.
The first moments of the bike behind me, I set off to earn myself a podium spot. Within a mile I'd moved into third place and was feeling incredible. By the halfway point I'd been passed again (by the eventual overall winner of the race) and found myself back in the fourth spot. No worries, I thought, the race was just getting started and I had plenty of road ahead of me. Just then, I made another pass and worked my way back into the podium picture. I literally rode like people were chasing me for the rest of the ride. While confident in my much-improved run, I knew this was a class field with runners capable of putting time into me once off the bike. On the return stretch of road I buried my head and made a fire burn in my legs. As I entered and then quickly exited transition, I knew a great deal was at stake. If I wanted to remain on the podium, I would need to pull off something special.
Early on the run, I found my legs to be responsive. They carried me up and over the massive hill located conveniently at the very start of the run course. The hill is an absolute beast and can shred your legs if you aren't careful. Still, if you are too conservative, you can lose serious time. I seemed to find a solid balance and was moving closer and closer to a top three finish. A mile into the run and I was still going strong. I knew the early hill had canceled any chance of a run split that would look fast on paper, but I was sure I was running strong. At mile 2, I heard footsteps. Until this point I'd run my own pace in an effort to get to the line in 3rd. That, however, was about to change. As 4th place came up to my shoulder, I lifted the pace in an effort to go with him. He easily made the pass, but I was able to maintain contact. We stayed this way for a quarter mile until I broke. I made every effort to kick again and hold pace, but my legs couldn't find the speed to stay at 5:30 mile/mile. I settled back into a 6:00 minute/mile pace as I tried to recover and kick again. I was hopeful that if I could recover for a minute and lift the pace again, I'd have a chance of making a pass should 3rd place crack at all in the final mile. He didn't though, and I saw him slowly make his way down the road and eventually finish a little less than a minute in front of me. I simply couldn't match his pace today, but my body gave everything it had in my effort to podium. I couldn't have gone any faster and I'm satisfied knowing I gave everything I had in an effort to defend a potential podium position.
Now in fourth and with a half mile to go I started to experience some of the most intense pains of my racing career. Everything started to cramp. Areas of my body I wasn't even aware of started to hurt. My chest was tightening, my head was hurting, and the pains shooting through my stomach were excruciating. And then I saw Stephen. He yelled some things, but what really stuck out was "he's coming for you!". Determined not to look over my shoulder, I did everything in my power to lift the pace again. Every fiber in my body screamed for me to stop, but I kept going. For about 200 yards, I heard nothing. Maybe, I thought, he'd just said it to urge me toward the finish. Coaches do those sorts of things sometimes and maybe this was just motivation. And then footsteps. Two deep breaths in and out as I prepared for one final surge. I lifted the pace for 10 strides, hoping it would get me to within sprinting distance to the finish line. I didn't have a 600 meter kick left in my legs. Knowing my only chance was a sprint finish from 200 meters out, I tried to limit my losses over the next quarter mile as I braced myself for extraordinary pain. But the losses proved to great and I saw 4th place pull out a gap of 10 seconds between the catch and the line. Still, I kept my legs turning over as fast as they'd go. With the crowds screaming, I surged toward the line with everything I had left in my body. And then, again, I heard footsteps. What I didn't realize at that point was that I'd just passed two women from earlier waves and that they weren't from people I needed to out-kick. As my feet hit the red carpet in the finishing chute, I sprinted, fearing those footsteps. As I crossed the line, I saw that the sprint was entirely unnecessary. Oh well, I left it all on the course!
I staggered around in the finishing area for some time. I coughed uncontrollably as I wobbled toward the results tent. My head and stomach quickly joined my lungs in revolt. I literally could not have gone any faster today. My body was completely exhausted from the effort. And my mind was burnt out from the stress of the week leading up to the race. I'd given everything I had for this race and while I failed to make the podium, it was an incredibly successful field. Against a highly competitive, national field, I ended up 5th of 39 in my age group and 25th of 1000+ overall. As the exhaustion faded and I was able to process the day, I realized how successful I'd been. I can't control how fast others go, but I got everything out of myself and that's all I can ask. It was another solid result and a step in the right direction as my career continues to grow.
With my result, I have qualified for the 2013 World Championships to be held in London. At the awards ceremony, I reserved my spot. Will I go? I'm not sure. In the months to come I will evaluate my goals for 2013 (and our finances!) and decide whether or not to race. Whether I make the start in London or not, I am thrilled to have qualified as a member of Team USA. I consider it an honor and I couldn't be more proud of how I performed today.
I want to thank Eileen and my parents for traveling to and supporting me in Burlington this year. It's always nice to have people cheering for you at races, but it's even more important when they are the same people that see you train each and every day. They have seen the work I've put into my training and understand the sacrifices it took to make today possible. I appreciate the support and I'm glad I was able to share the experience with them. I also want to thank Stephen, even though he doesn't like when I do! Of all people, he REALLY knows what I do on a daily basis. He gets to enjoy breakthroughs with me when they occur and he gets to deal with me when I break down in training (though that's a very rare occurrence thanks to his help!). I sincerely appreciate his support.
And finally, but most importantly, I need to put all of this into perspective. Everything you read above about this weekend's race is meaningless. This is a sport. A game. A hobby. I have an incredible passion for triathlon and it's deeply rooted in my life, but it doesn't define my life. Take the sport away and you're left with what's really important: my health, my family, my friends. I was reminded of this 2 hours before the start today when I was informed that a fellow Fit Werx sponsored athlete passed away during Saturday's Age Group National Championships also held in Burlington. A fit athlete that was by every account an incredible friend and family-man lost his life on a day when he should have had the opportunity to celebrate his health, sport, and the relationships he cherished most. I can't imagine the pain and suffering being experienced by those closest to him. It's incredibly sad and I extend my deepest sympathies to those most impacted by this tragedy. Once you close this page, take a moment to reflect on what's important in life and tell your loved ones how important they are.
No comments:
Post a Comment