The Whole Shebang: Worlds Race Report

Yep, she got banged up but she made it through both races. To tell the whole story will take quite a while, so get some nutrition and hydration going, put your feet up, and bear with me – or not. These are just my own experiences and, frankly, my ramblings. I’m no expert, but I do have a lot to say about what is probably my once-in-a-lifetime thing. Besides, I’ll get more out of this core dump than anyone else because it helps me to process these experiences in the full light of day. So, enter at your own risk! I’m throwing caution to the winds and letting it all hang out.

After a long-ish overview, I’ll describe the aquathlon first and then the sprint triathlon. Did I mention that this will be the world’s longest Worlds race report? It’s more than 11 pages. Be forewarned.

Overview

Worlds is a lot like “The Amazing Race” – long periods of sitting on planes and buses, short periods of great physical intensity, a significant amount of confusion and frustration, and moments of utter elation. In years to come, I’m sure I’ll remember that last item and forget the rest. Isn’t selective memory terrific?

Also like “TAR,” Worlds held many surprises for me:

• Other countries don’t produce as many athletes in my age group as the US. Where have all the old gals and guys gone? Not to triathlon every one, though a Canadian woman took gold in my age group in the sprint. The US was also quite well represented in the younger age groups, especially on the male side. Only in the Elites did I see dominance by other countries. The kid I talked to in our hotel lobby said he was the second fastest American but didn’t make the showing he wanted. (The Elites, by the way, get a different warm-up jacket with a red yoke and a large “USA” in white – very nice!)

• Triathlons in Austin are better organized and better conducted than Worlds in Budapest, and there’s only so much you can blame on the language barrier. I talked with an American woman in my age group who had been in Vancouver a few years ago. She said it was chaotic there. No wonder the World Triathlon Corporation, owner of the Ironman® symbol, is giving the International Triathlon Union a run for its money. For the Olympic race on Sunday, it was raining so hard that volunteers didn’t show up early enough to put out cones for the bike course. The first wave was the Juniors. The fastest four got hopelessly lost on the narrow, winding streets of downtown Buda (west of the Danube) and couldn’t finish the race. A high school senior from Corpus was one of the seven who got stranded overnight in Frankfurt with me, so I heard the whole story first hand. The most ironic part is that when the four kids realized they didn’t know where to go, they saw an official on a motorcycle coming toward them. He then made a U-turn in front of them and looked back at them. Wouldn’t you also assume that he intended to lead you through the course? Not so. The guy sped up and peeled off after a couple of miles. The four kids biked around aimlessly and finally stumbled upon the run course. It’s also ironic that the weather cleared up beautifully about mid-morning, so later waves enjoyed sunny, blue skies and had to apply sunscreen. If only the Juniors had started later, this kid might have gone home with a medal. He showed a lot of maturity by taking the loss in stride. It probably helped that one of the service academies is trying to recruit him for their triathlon team.

• Athletes and volunteers from all countries are kind, helpful, and encouraging to each other. I didn’t see any cut-throat competition, at least not in my waves of 55+ women, and I didn’t hear any complaints from younger athletes. Sportsmanship prevails, no matter what uniform you’re wearing. If you make an effort to say “Thank you” in the language you think they speak, they’re even more accepting. (I recognized a French accent from a volunteer on the bike course and called out “Merci!” I got “Avec plaisir!” back, not just “De rien.”) Since there were hardly any Hungarian spectators along the courses, the only cowbelling was from athletes, volunteers, friends, and family members. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN!!) I gotta say, though, that there’s no thrill quite like the one you get when a buff young Hungarian guy passes you on the bike and shouts, “Go, KellEEE!” I pedaled my heart out, but I just couldn’t catch him. Hey, so what if it was a pity cheer. I’ll take it!

• ITU officials were everywhere on the bike course, and were they ever diligent about enforcing the no-drafting rule! The penalty boxes were clearly marked with white paint on the pavement (one near the end of the bike course for those caught during the first loop and one near the beginning of the run course for those caught on the second loop). Since my sprint wave started last and I’m so slow anyway, I didn’t actually see anyone serving time in the penalty box, but on Sunday I overheard a some Elite Australian Olympians complaining about penalties.

• Time cut-offs aren’t as important at Worlds as I had anticipated. At the aquathlon pre-race meeting, I asked if we had to finish within a certain time and was told, “No.” They let me finish and that’s the only way I got the medal. I was much slower than the 77-year-old who won her age group. For the sprint, I was told in no uncertain terms that the cut-off of 2:25:00 would be enforced, but it wasn’t. Just before I turned onto the Chain Bridge less than one-tenth of a mile from the run finish on the Pest side of the Danube, I heard an official on a motorcycle say my name and bib number (2507) on his walkie-talkie. I almost held out my wrists for the handcuffs, but he didn’t pull me off the course. The two or three people behind me were also allowed to finish but the third American (last year’s gold medalist) was listed with a DNF. I didn’t hang around to see if these folks got a finisher’s medal.

Other factors weren’t surprising at all:

• Paratriathletes continue to be the most inspiring people out there, to me at least. I don’t care if there are only a few competitors in each of the five categories (depending on loss of one or two legs, an arm, sight, hearing, or whatever). They cope with their loss, they train, they manage a lot more equipment than anyone else, they show up, they finish. They also rely on and trust their support team to do for them what they can’t do for themselves. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN). In the Budapest airport on my way home, I talked with a Canadian above-knee amputee and her husband, who also races as an age grouper. She had lost her leg to an IED in Iraq, but since she was a triathlete before the injury, she was determined to be a triathlete afterwards. I hadn’t known that most paras are encouraged to race only the sprint, not the Olympic, and I hadn’t known that above-knee amputees can’t stand in the pedals to go faster. The most heart-breaking para story that I observed happened Sunday on the Olympic bike course. A young Brazilian guy whose right arm was missing had a flat on his back tire – I heard the pop – and pulled over. Fighting tears with a brave face, he leaned his bike against his body and pinched the tire with his left thumb and fingers. He shook his head and started pushing the bike along the course. There was no way he could make the repair himself. Since I was only a spectator, I wasn’t allowed to help him either. I hope the official heading toward him called a mechanic, but I don’t know what happened to him. His race may have been over, as it was for several people that day.

• Racing is racing, no matter where it takes place. If you can race in Austin, you can race at Worlds. You might have to jump into very cold water, you might have to race in the rain, you might not have the hills you like, you might have to jump over potholes in the street, you might not have many spectators to cheer you on (THANK YOU, CAROLYN), you might not know any of the other racers, you might not get a chance to look at the historic buildings along the course, you might be tired and cranky from loss of sleep and strange food, and you might have all kinds of problems, but you can do it. If you love the swim or the bike or the run or all three in Austin, you’ll love them at Worlds. If you can do things that are hard for you in Austin, you can do them at Worlds. If you’re a racer here, you’re a racer everywhere. Go for it!

• Representing the USA is just as much of a thrill as I’d thought it would be. Wearing the colors, bringing home the medals, cheering for other Americans, embracing the freedom our country provides where even old ladies can get out and do crazy things – I’ll remember these details forever. I had a minor disappointment that the Parade of Nations didn’t take place as I had envisioned. The athletes didn’t march in a stadium the way they do at the Olympics. Instead, Hungarian volunteers carried the flag and a poster bearing the country’s name across the room where the athletes were milling about while rock music from each country played for a minute or so. It was hard to see anything in the crowd. I wish I had counted the number of flags, but it felt like 40-50, more than I had originally thought. And rock may be our most influential export. Who’d a thunk?

• Did I mention that this is a very long race report? You might want to take a break before the aquathlon story.

The Aquathlon: Wednesday, September 8, 1:00 p.m.


I’m so glad this race didn’t start first thing in the morning because I might not have made it. The day was dreary, overcast, and (to my Austin bones) chilly. There were rumors that the officials would shorten the race by lopping off the first 2.5K run because the water was cold enough to REQUIRE a wetsuit. It’s one thing to run, swim, run in decent weather, but quite another when the water is really cold. I couldn’t imagine cramming even a slightly sweaty body into a wetsuit. When we were bused from the hotel to the race site Tuesday afternoon for the pre-race meeting and packet pick-up (both of which were totally disorganized), we heard that the rumored change was official. We were to swim only 1000 meters and run 2.5K. I was grateful I could take my time getting into my wetsuit and grateful to be reasonably warm before the race. That was a relief, and so was the good news that no time cut-off would be enforced. However, there were a few glitches.

The first glitch was that my race packet contained no chip. There was no bib either, but then no one got a bib. (On race day, we were body marked.) I was told to come back just before the race the next day to get my chip, but Carolyn marched me to the information desk to get things straightened out then and there. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN). A volunteer who spoke much better English than the one who sang “Tomorrow, tomorrow,” so to speak, actually got me a chip and a race number – 612. When I got to the transition area on race day, there was no marker on the rack for 612, so I placed my shoes, socks, running hat, and transition towel in an empty spot beside # 611. This turned out to be okay, but it really felt strange to set up my transition area with racks but no bikes.

The second glitch was the water temperature in Lagymanyosi Bay just off the Danube River. Rumors were flying all over as to whether it was 12 degrees Celsius, 13 degrees, or 14 degrees. Carolyn assured me it was only a little colder than Barton Springs, low sixties, where I had trained several times with Tri Zoners. If I had grasped that even the warmest number being circulated was 57.2 degrees Fahrenheit, the inside of my wetsuit might have gone chocolate with fear. For sparing me the truth and encouraging me to start the race, THANK YOU, CAROLYN.

We got a short “warm-up” swim which took my breath away, and not from excitement. It felt icy! The water looked a bit like the lake at the Texas Ski Ranch – you couldn’t see anyone’s bubbles or even your own hands – but it was clay-ish green, like cold split pea soup. I don’t think I’ll ever know what possessed me to stay on that pontoon and jump BACK into that water. I knew it was cold. I know I don’t like cold water. (In southern Chile, Shannon and I chased ill-tempered llamas to avoid jumping into cold water!) I thought I’d have trouble breathing. I guess I just got caught up in the moment. Thank goodness the race started immediately. By the way, the ITU skips the “Get set” part and goes from “On your mark” to the blast of the starting horn. I was a little surprised and stayed by the pontoon for a few seconds, but then I never go out with the others.

What can I say about the swim? It was tougher than I could have imagined. I went out too fast, of course, in a desperate attempt to get warm. For each and every one of those 1000 meters, I was cold. The skin on my bare arms was stinging. Nearly everyone else had long sleeves. (Note to self if there’s ever a next time: Purchase long sleeved suit.) But here’s the mystery – if I was so cold, how come my goggles fogged up so thoroughly? For about three-quarters of the race, I couldn’t see a thing. I missed the two buoys we were to swim through near the swim exit. A kayaker had to herd me toward them. I made a U-turn and probably added 20-30 meters to my swim. The whole time, I was too terrified to stop and clear my goggles. I have no words to explain why. Maybe I was afraid that if I stopped, I wouldn’t get started again. Maybe I was afraid I’d sink. I certainly wasn’t rational. I doubt many of us were. It’s blooming crazy to get into water that cold!

There were only two things to be grateful for on that swim: The first is that it was finally over, and the second is that my legs and feet didn’t knot up painfully until near the end. Those last 60-70 meters were arms only. When I tried to stand and hobble out of the water, my legs wouldn’t hold me up. I fell a couple of times and had to crawl toward the grass. It was very, very green. I focused on its lush softness. (By the way, ITU provides no handsome firemen, or anyone else for that matter, to pull people out of the water.) By the time I finally got vertical and in motion, I was certain I had torn my right calf muscle. There was horizontal pain toward the lower end of the big gastrocnemius bulge. I never go fast to my transition area, but this time I really limped. The struggle to get out of my wetsuit and into my socks and shoes, however, distracted me from the pain, so I decided to set forth as best I could. Besides, the air temperature felt a bit chilly so I needed to warm up.

One thing you can always count on about a run is this – no matter how crappy you feel at first, no matter how much you think something hurts, no matter how discouraged you are, no matter how much that little devil on your shoulder tells you to quit, you ALWAYS feel better – eventually – if you can just listen to the angel on the other shoulder that tells you to keep on putting one foot in front of the other. Pick ‘em up, put ‘em down. Pick ‘em up, put ‘em down. Just do it. Just keep moving. You’ll feel better sooner or later, if not now, then surely “Tomorrow, tomorrow.” By the end of the run, I felt almost okay.

I’m certain I was the last one out of the water and the last one off the run course. Fortunately, it was a loop, so I saw a couple of other slow ladies to cheer for. One of them (in a red uniform, maybe a Canadian) looked to be in worse shape than I was – pronounced limp, grimace, side lean, one fist clenched to her abdomen – all signs of trouble. But she kept moving. With that example, how could I quit? I mean, really! I think I kept going to honor her spirit. Besides, the run was only a mile and a half. Surely, I could do it if Shirley the Canadian could. (Wouldn’t it be funny if that was her name?) So the worst thing about the run was that I did it, and the best thing about that run was that I did it. I did warm up a little, and most of my cramped leg and foot muscles relaxed enough to make locomotion possible.

When the aquathlon was finally over, I was ready to curl up in a warm bed, but Carolyn gave me my warm, dry after-race clothes (THANK YOU, CAROLYN) and then suggested that we hike over to race headquarters and look at the results. Since the start lists weren’t posted ahead of time, I had no idea how many people were in my age group. When Carolyn pointed out that I was listed as the first (I just now deleted “and only” because I’m not allowed to mention that fact ever again), I was so dazed I couldn’t really take it in. She walked me over to a nearby eatery and we had a late lunch while waiting for the awards ceremony which was to start at 4:30. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

Climbing up on that podium and receiving the gold medal nearly did me in. I may have plastered a huge smile on my face, but I was holding back too many emotions to list. Joy finally triumphed, and I suddenly found myself very proud to be a 72-year-old American standing in Budapest near the Danube River with tangible proof of a world title for the USA around my neck. Hundreds, maybe thousands, of other people could have taken that title, but I’m the one who dressed out and showed up and finished. It counts just as much for the USA as gold in a 100-person wave. Now, there’s no reason to take pride in my time of 1:07:10, but there’s every reason to be proud of showing up and finishing. THANK YOU, CAROLYN. I couldn’t have done that race without you.

Now would be a good time to take a break because the sprint story is next. Did I mention just how long this report is? Do you believe me now?

The Sprint Triathlon: Saturday, September 11, 8:20 a.m.

If I amazed myself by finishing that tough aquathlon, I absolutely astonished myself with the sprint triathlon, but not in the way you might think. The astonishing part is how my mind functioned – not very darned well. I would be ashamed of myself if I hadn’t subsequently learned so much about how my brain works. Massage therapists talk about “referred pain” and never rub you where you say it hurts. I think I experienced “referred fear.” It was too scary to think about the cold water and the leg cramping, so I distracted myself by worrying about the time limit.

When I found out after arriving in Budapest that my wave would start at 8:20 and that the course would close at 10:45, I began fretting about making the time cut-off of 2:25:00. I had never raced that fast in my life. On Thursday, I asked several 55+ US women what happens when an athlete is pulled off the course. They looked at me skeptically but couldn’t tell me because this had never happened to them. Fine! On Friday, I found a USAT person and asked. He assured me that the time limit was in effect and that I’d probably be driven back to the race start. Great! That news made me start worrying about how and where to meet Carolyn since she would be at the run finish. My cell got no service and neither did hers. Peachy!

My brain trolley went off the tracks. Silently, I griped and whined that I had stated my expected finish time as 2:40:00 on my team application form. Then I sniveled to myself that USAT shouldn’t have invited me to join the team if I would just get myself disqualified. I wished I’d never heard of Budapest. I wanted to go home. The pity party was in full swing, but only inside my head. On Friday evening, I finally got up the nerve to talk to Carolyn about it. I went on and on about whether to start, when to scratch, what to do, where to meet if I DQ’ed. Whine, whine, whine. She was very, very patient with me. She knew a bad case of nerves when she saw one. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

To backtrack a moment in further praise of Carolyn, on either Wednesday or Thursday, we had cruised through the booths at the Expo where she advised me to get a neoprene skull cap to keep my head warmer for the sprint. That should have comforted me. She also pointed out that the air and water temperatures were warming up a bit and that the prediction was for more warming by Saturday. That should have been good news. She mentioned that the sprint swim was 250 meters shorter than the aquathlon swim. That should have made me feel better. (THANK YOU FOR TRYING, CAROLYN.)

But no! I was determined to see my pout through to the bitter end. Finally, on Friday night I got out a pen and paper and added up what I remembered of my typical race times. If I did the swim in 33 minutes, which I’ve occasionally done before, finished the bike in an hour (only 12 mph, which I’ve usually done), and completed the run in 50 minutes (difficult but maybe do-able if the calf cramp subsided), I stood a ghost of a chance of making it, or so I thought. When I expressed this happy conclusion to Carolyn, she calmly and confidently said, “You can do it.” (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

After a welcome nanosecond of utter euphoria, some cold, hard truths asserted themselves – I hadn’t included T1 and T2, I hadn’t factored in my still very painful calf muscle, and I hadn’t even thought about the cold, cold water. Danger, danger, Will Robinson! Distraction! Distraction! Don’t think about the water! Don’t think about the leg pain! So I resumed my silent worries about the time cut-off as I went to bed the night before the race.

I wish I could say that I was smart enough at that moment to recognize the “referred fear,” but only yesterday and today have I admitted to myself that I wasn’t so afraid of the cold water itself but of what it might do to me. I believe now that I was flat out scared to death of cramping and injuring my leg even more, thus ending my so-called athletic career. I’ve only just begun to race. Three years aren’t enough. May I have just a few more, please, please, please?

So on race morning, I was still stewing. Although I was going through some of the proper motions – dressing out in full uniform, gathering up my gear, visualizing my transition spot, eating a good breakfast, putting on my game face – I was worried and it showed. Carolyn told me that I was a big girl and that I could call it if I wanted to. No one was going to make me race. Others had already scratched. That was exactly the right thing to say. Just as the bus was about to arrive at the race site, I told her, “I think I want to start the race.” I figured I’d take it leg by leg and see how far I could go. She probably made some encouraging reply, but I was so into my own stuff that I don’t actually recall it. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

What I do remember is that she took me through a checklist just before I entered the swim start check-in. “What are you going to do?” she repeatedly asked. I said I would start, I would go out slow, I would go wide, and things like that. I had defogged my goggles to within an inch of their lives, so I hoped I’d be able to see the buoys. Then she reminded me to sight often, sight often, sight often. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

We didn’t get a “warm-up” swim. That plunge into the water felt really, really icy, but it was the last one I would have to do in Budapest. Before I knew it, the horn sounded. I followed my strategy as best I could, but I had trouble catching my breath. The water was no colder than it had been on Wednesday, but the humidity index felt much higher and it actually started sprinkling before I got on the bike course. Five or six times, I had to breast stroke for a moment and get a good breath. Once, I even thought about turning over on my back, but I hadn’t practiced that in a wetsuit. Fortunately, my goggles let me see the buoys, and I didn’t go very far off course.

A digression recounting the experience of Margaret, who is 73 and took gold last year for the USA, will drive home just how brutal that swim was. Though admitting that swimming is her least favorite part of triathlon, she has always managed to finish. After the race, she told me that throughout the swim she wasn’t sure she was going to make it. Early in the swim, she turned over on her back and looked around for the rescue boat. It was nowhere in sight. So she paddled on, using more breast stroke than free style because she couldn’t catch her breath. Many of us had trouble breathing. She said the shoreline was looking mighty good, but there was a seawall that would have been difficult for her to climb. For the second time she tried to find the rescue boat. No luck. She struggled on. Three more times she turned over on her back and fully expected the rescue boat to come pull her out. Each time, she had to say a few curse words, which I won’t repeat, and make the decision to keep going. She swears she was the last person out of the water, but I didn’t know it at the time. I really admire her determination!

My swim exit was a tiny bit more graceful than it had been on Wednesday, and I don’t think I fell down at all. I think Carolyn called out my swim split to me, but I can’t remember it now. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.) The slog up the hill to my bike felt much longer and wetter than it did for the aquathlon. I saw drowned worms, little gray-pink squiggles, everywhere in the grass. When I reached my bike, I was astonished to see that a couple of bikes were still racked. One was Margaret’s. I took no comfort from this because she had said she was a strong biker. I fully expected her to catch me. If you’ve ever seen an old lady futz around and hurry at the same time, you know what I was going through. I whipped on my bandanna, helmet, and camelback and didn’t even bother with socks. I just stepped into those sopping bike shoes and pulled on the Velcro like the young fry. Then I ran at least an eighth of a mile in ankle deep mud before reaching the mount line. Fortunately, I forgot all about calf pain.

When I took off on the bike, I went slowly at first on slick pavement in the rain and then a bit faster when I realized I probably wouldn’t fall any more often than usual. No one but slow second-loopers were still out there, so I took advantage of their familiarity with the course and watched as they navigated around puddles, manhole covers, and assorted debris. Not once did I look back for Margaret, but I expected her to whiz past at any moment. She didn’t.

When I finally got my legs under me and saw that the gears and brakes worked fine, I realized I’d probably finish the bike unless something horrible happened. Suddenly, about half way through the first loop, I experienced one of those moments of elation. Utter euphoria flowed through me. I was all by myself on the streets of Budapest, wearing a TeamUSA uniform and racing for the sheer joy of it. It’s a good thing my glasses were streaked with rain so no one could see the tears as I talked to my late mother and father. Then I talked to each of my four wonderful children. I talked to my nine lovely grandchildren. I may even have whooped and hollered just a little, quietly, of course. Never before have I had such an intense sense of pleasure during a race. (Not getting eliminated first on "The Amazing Race" comes close.) Hanging on to that feeling will get me through many unpleasant things that may happen during the rest of my life. It was magic. The second loop was just a blur.

Then came the humongously long run into T2. It was at least a quarter of a mile on slick grass and mud. With drowned worms everywhere. In the rain. I could almost feel Margaret and another couple of 55+ women on my heels. I probably appeared to be stepping on hot coals. However, I took the time to put on socks. Despite the plastic bag I’d used, they were damp to wet from the get-go. Then on the way to run out, I sloshed through ankle deep mud, and they were really wet. The bad news is that those shoes still stink to high heaven. The good news is that I didn’t see Margaret and the others.

Somehow, I started the run pretty well. I felt good. I didn’t even think about pain. After all, I had gone to Medical on Thursday and had had a very painful chiropractic treatment. I’d also engaged the hotel masseuse for an equally painful massage because the poor little girl had no idea what she was doing. But oh well. I had done what I could to take care of myself. Now it was all up to me, or so I thought.

The run course was right beside the Danube River, which wasn’t blue at all, by the way. It looked like the same cold split pea soup as Lagymanyosi Bay, only with swift currents and large barges. Despite the rain and the scarcity of marker cones, the run was actually very nice. I just trucked along, trying to remember my technique mantras – shoulders back, head up, quick feet, high knees, relaxed shoulders, loose hands. I passed one bridge, two bridges, three bridges, and became a little concerned that I wouldn’t recognize the bridge I was supposed to use to cross the river to the Pest side. Then I remembered it was the Chain Bridge, which would be blocked off from traffic. The fourth bridge had traffic flowing. Rats! Hope it’s the next one.

All of a sudden, I heard my name and looked up. There on a street lane higher than the one I was on appeared Carolyn. She shouted encouragement. She ran just ahead of me and kept calling out to me. When our paths converged, she ran right beside me. I couldn’t have been happier. She came out of nowhere just as I was getting really tired and sloppy in technique. She helped me sooooo much! The race wasn't just up to me any longer – Carolyn was there to help! (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

Just before I turned onto the Chain Bridge toward the finish, I risked a quick glance back and saw Margaret and a German woman about 50 to 75 yards behind me. If I didn’t fall down or screw up big time, and if they didn’t have a huge finishing sprint in them, I wouldn’t be the last person out there. Then along came the official on the motorcycle who I thought would pull me and the others off the course. But he didn’t! He didn’t! I was allowed to cross the finish line!

The whole race finish is a bit of a blur. I was dimly aware of loud music and the voice of an announcer, but I couldn’t spare any cycles for listening. A couple of numbers, “two twenty-seven” something penetrated my brain, and I figured that was my time. I didn’t make the cut-off, but I stayed ahead of those two women. The German put on a great sprint and came in just a few seconds after me, but I don’t know how much farther back Margaret was. All I knew was that I finished third in my age group and bested last year’s gold medalist and a younger German. That was enough for me.

After I’d gotten a blanket, some water, and a banana, Carolyn found me and started walking me to the barge that would take us along the Danube and back to the transition area. She asked a question I couldn’t comprehend. I must have said something brilliant, like “Huh?” because she repeated the question: “Did you hear what the announcer said when you finished?” Well, not really. “He said you got bronze.” What? What? It can’t be. I missed the time cut-off. “That’s what he said.” At that point, I lost control of myself. I broke down like a baby. I cried and whimpered and screamed and behaved as I hadn’t done in 65 years. She pulled my head down to her shoulder and patted me on the back. (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

I don’t know how long I was in that state of helpless, wide-open gratitude mixed with elation and disbelief. The next thing I knew, we were standing in line to get on the barge, and I suddenly realized that Carolyn was dripping wet and probably very cold. She wouldn’t take my blanket and she wouldn’t take my place under the awning. She insisted on taking care of me. Not many people have done that for me in the past 65 years. If I ever hear a rumor that Carolyn is even thinking of saying “Frog,” I’ll start jumping before I know how high. Whatever Carolyn wants, Carolyn gets. Yes, I know I’m being obnoxious, but so what? I owe this girl, who’s the age of my oldest daughter, far more than I can ever repay, but that’s not going to stop me from trying. So there! (THANK YOU, CAROLYN.)

The remainder of Saturday is vague in my mind. Somehow, we got my bike and gear out of transition, and Carolyn wheeled it a mile or so to the bus that would take us back to the hotel. I’m pretty sure I spent the afternoon in bed under a thick duvet trying to get warm, while Carolyn went shopping. We must have eaten lunch and dinner. I think Carolyn took my bike to Jack for break down and boxing because the job got done. She must have packed to leave at the crack of dawn on Sunday. I can’t swear to anything.

All afternoon, two refrains chased themselves through my mind – “I didn’t cripple myself. Yay!” and “They’ll never give me the bronze. I missed the cut-off.” It took reading the USAT press release that night, which clearly listed me as the bronze medalist, to convince myself that it actually happened. In a strange way, I find myself happier about the bronze than the gold because in my mind the bronze validates the gold. I raced for that third place, while I considered the aquathlon a test case for the sprint. Among amateur aquathletes in my age group, however, the gold means on that particular day in that particular race I was the best in the world because I showed up and finished. Now, if I ever find a professional aquathlete in my age group who raced that day, I’ll surrender the medal, but I’m not holding my breath. There aren’t many who make a living at triathlon, let alone aquathlon. If it weren’t for age groupers, there would be no USAT and no ITU, so let’s celebrate the triumph of amateur hour. Long may it sing in the hearts of wanna-be and gonna-be athletes!

Sunday after Carolyn left, I felt disorganized and almost lonesome, so I went out to the race site and watched some of the Olympic age group swim starts. On the long walk there, I saw the Brazilian paratriathlete who had the flat tire. The sun came out, the skies turned blue, the temperature warmed up, and I enjoyed sitting in the sun and feeling my damp clothes drying. I sympathized with the couple of swimmers who abandoned the race because I could so easily have been one of them on Wednesday, Saturday, or both. I was very, very lucky that I didn’t get into serious distress. I rather admired a man in the 55+ wave from Sweden. He did what Margaret thought about doing. He struggled to the seawall and pulled himself out of the water. This set off all kinds of alarms among the rescue community, and about seven EMT folks rushed to his side with a wheelchair, blankets, IV equipment, and such. He waved them off with obvious irritation, and they finally left him alone. He sat there on the seawall for at least half an hour, no doubt taking care of himself mentally and emotionally since he didn’t need any physical help. Tough race.

When I got hungry for lunch, I went back to the hotel and then decided to take a nap since all the stores were closed on Sunday. Though shopping is at the bottom of my skills assessment, I thought I’d try to find a few things to bring home. Alas, it was not to be. So I made a feeble attempt to dry some of my clothes before packing for the trip home. Thanks to an unexpected overnight in Frankfurt, I may have to throw away the moldiest socks and some stinky shoes. But not the TeamUSA clothing. That’s all salvageable.

As for the closing awards ceremony Sunday night, I wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t wanted my shiny object. Both the opening ceremony and this one would have been pretty disappointing if I’d expected anything. Chaos reigned. As it was, I stayed only long enough to collect my loot and to ask a bystander to snap a picture of me with the US silver medalist in sprint, Pattie. (Her time was astonishingly better than mine – 1:54 something to my 2:27:30.)

My main take-aways from this experience are pretty important to me, if to no one else in the world. I learned a lot about myself. I found out that I’m stronger and tougher than I thought I was. The word “wimp” is no longer in my vocabulary. I discovered that I hide my real fears under a layer of superficial worries. Well, emotional honesty and strength are lifelong pursuits, aren’t they? I found out that I’m hard to take care of, partly because I’m so butt-headed. Before I become confined to a wheelchair or whatever my end-of-life situation turns out to be, I’ll work on listening to caregivers and learning to accept their help graciously.

On an even more positive note, I reaffirmed that I do love to race. I learned that I have ambitions of going faster and longer, even if it’s only by two seconds and two centimeters. I found out that it’s possible to develop a little bit of self-confidence despite a lifetime of self-doubt.

If I had known in advance what it would be like, would I still have gone to Budapest? In a heartbeat! Will I go again? That depends on whether I qualify and whether I can save up enough money because I really don’t want to do another fundraiser. I’ve asked far too much from friends and family already! However, I certainly hope this isn’t my last Worlds. If it is, then I’m really glad I participated. The whole shebang is that all of the she-banging (the injuries, the difficulties – not what you’re thinking!) was worth it. Triathlon has not seen the last of me. Not by a long shot!

A final note to those who like to plan well in advance – Worlds is in Beijing next year and New Zealand in 2012. ("Tomorrow, tomorrow.") Start planning and saving your pennies, folks, because most of the older Americans I talked to said they'll skip Beijing because they’re afraid of the air pollution. My take is that if Olympic athletes and Amazing Racers could do it, age groupers probably can too, only more slowly. Besides, my granddaughter spent a semester there and kept up her outdoor running without permanent damage.

Congratulations! We've finally reached the end of this report. If you’ve stayed with me, thank you (“sheh-sheh” in Chinese). See you at the races. And one more time, THANK YOU, CAROLYN!

Three and Two-Thirds Races, One Report

It’s hard to believe I haven’t written a race report in three months because normally I’m exceedingly verbose in writing if not in speaking. I’ve been busy, busy, busy with work, training, and fundraising, but three triathlons and an aquathlon need to be accounted for, at least in my own mind.

The three triathlons were Lake Pflugerville on June 20, Couples on July 11, and Jack’s Generic on August 1. They were numbers 17, 18, and 19 in my three-year racing career. Splash & Dash on July 20 was my third aquathlon this summer and my sixth over all. (I love it that Worlds will make my twentieth triathlon and my seventh aquathlon).

Each of the three and two-thirds races was so different that it’s hard to compare and contrast them, so I’ll first list my slow but steady statistics:

Pflugerville
06/20/2010
Lake Pflugerville 70-74
Second Place in the 70-74 age group
Swim 3:50/100M for 500M, total of 19:09
T1 3:08
Bike 13.9 mph for 14 mi., total of 1:02:02
T2 4:41
Run 15:08/mi. for 3.1 mi., total of 45:24
Overall total 2:14:25

Couples
07/11/2010
Decker Lake
Female Friends -We didn’t medal
Swim 4:06/100M for 800M, total of 32:46
T1 3:46
Bike 11.5 mph for 11.2 mi., total of 58:30
T2 4:48
Bike 17:07/mi for 3.1 mi, total of 53:05
Overall total 2:32:56

Jack’s Generic
08/01/2010
Tx Ski Ranch
Third Place in 65-99 age group
Swim 3:37/100M for 500 M, total of 18:05
T1 3:45
Bike 12.3 mph for 13.8 mi., total of 1:07:17
T2 3:42
Run 18:03/mi for 3.1 mi., total of 54:10
Overall total 2:27:01

Splash & Dash
07/20/2010
Quarry Lake
Last and oldest finisher
Swim 750 M Swim 31:44 (incl. T1)
Run 1.86 mi. 31:03
Overall total 1:02:47

As for “color commentary,” I enjoyed Pflugerville and Splash & Dash the most because the courses are very familiar and the sights are worth taking in. The ducks at Lake Pflugerville quack me up, and the buoys in Quarry Lake are abundant and easy for me to see. I knew ahead of time that Couples would be tough because of Little Mr. Tard, and sure enough he got me, despite my new granny cassette, and I had an insect encounter with my helmet, but fortunately not the stinging kind. My race partner, Vanessa, was a lot of fun to team up with -- Go, 727! I also knew ahead of time that Jack’s would be tough because of the late start time and the heat, but I had no idea that riding lickety-split on chip seal would rattle and hurt so much where the sun don't shine. I also lost my new bar-end mirror and had to go get a replacement. Rats! But even in these less enjoyable races, I did free style and jogging the whole way, despite bone-on-bone arthritis that allegedly qualifies me for a knee replacement. No way! I'd rather hobble than stop racing.

To go all philosophical on you, the best thing I can say about racing at my age (72.5) is that I love it. I’m out there doing it and having fun. I’m not using a cane, walker, wheelchair, or scooter chair. I don’t have as many aches and pains as my sedentary clients and acquaintances do, and I take only one prescription medication (for epilepsy – I had a complex partial seizure a year and a half ago). I feel good most of the time. I don’t like training and racing in the heat, but I do it anyhow unless I just can’t. Then I rest. I love the friends I’ve made. I love being outdoors. I love having important stuff to do and important stuff to learn. It’s all good!

The worst thing I can say about racing at my age is that I’m very, very slow and ungainly. There’s no way I’ll get much faster or more graceful. I continue to make slight tweaks in technique, race nutrition, preparation, knowledge, strategy, and so on, but the most I can hope for is to keep on racing until I can do only relays and, later on, only More Cowbell Corps. (So nice to have a career path all mapped out!) I no longer feel ashamed when I’m the last finisher. I no longer beat myself up when I fail to meet my goals for a particular race. I fully embrace whatever happens in the heat of battle, so to speak. It’s all good because it’s life. It’s MY life. So don't cry for me, Argentina, because I don't cry for myself, at least not often.

Somewhere between the best and the worst, I must say that triathlon has been berry, berry good to me. The sport got my granddaughter and me on "The Amazing Race," and now it’s getting me to Worlds. (Shannon will just have to wait her turn for Worlds.) To say that I’m deeply grateful to triathlon and Tri Zones is an understatement, but I’ll say it anyhow – THANK YOU, TRIATHLON! THANK YOU, TRI ZONES! THANK YOU, FRIENDS! Long may you wave. And for some time to come, may I wave as well.

So, my next race report will cover the World Championships in Budapest -- the aquathlon on September 8 and the sprint triathlon on the 11th. I'm sooooo excited about racing in Hungary. Please wish me well!

Five Decker Triathlons

Over the past two years and six weeks, I’ve finished five triathlons at Walter E. Long Park, following substantially the same course – swimming in Decker Lake, biking on the hilly roads around the lake, and running on the rocky, grassy, muddy trail inside the park. Three of the triathlons were Couples and two were Danskins. The first three at this venue offered a 12-mile bike course, while the two most recent cut the bike course to 11.2 miles. It’s interesting to compare my most recent race with the other four.

At long last, a week has passed and I’m free to look at my splits from Couples last week. Though it was hard not to peek, I’m glad I could keep my promise to myself to focus on fun and to stop obsessing over every tenth of a second. Overall, I’m happy with my race. The 11 people who took longer to finish probably had difficulties with their equipment. Enough time has passed that there’s no point in beating myself up for making mistakes. Of course, I shouldn’t beat myself up even in the heat of battle. I’ll practice taking a positive attitude to everything I do because there’s very little I can control on race day (or at any other time, for that matter). Things just happen, like my dead battery this morning, a frantic call to my son for a jump, and a hasty trip to an auto parts store for a new battery. Glad it wasn’t worse.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch, so to speak, the story continues. Although I prefer a clockwise swim and this one was counter-clockwise, I thought I’d had a good swim, and I did because I was able to draft a lot. This was my best pace ever at Decker Lake – 4:06/100 M for 800 meters with a total of 32:46. For me, that’s smoking fast! Thank you, fast swimmers in later wave starts. You pulled me along. I’m also happy that I did freestyle the whole way and didn’t have to stop to catch my breath.

My T1 was right in the middle of these five races at 3:46. I need to practice my transitions a lot more than I do. I need to develop a sure-fire way to lay out my gear instead of proceeding in somewhat a haphazard fashion. I sense another checklist in the offing.

I thought I’d had a better bike than it turned out to be, so it’s good that I was focusing only on the fun of the race. I love those big downhills! Not even the stinging insect in my bike glasses bothered me. I just whipped them off and stuck them down the front of my jersey. My average speed was 11.5 mph for the 11.2 miles with a total of 58:30. Last year at Couples, I was quite a bit slower on the bike. I’m happy to have improved over last year, though my speed was faster in the first three Decker races.

If I can indulge in one gripe, I think my bike would have been a few seconds faster if a guy hadn’t cut me off at the hard right turn just before the first short, steep hill that we call Little Mr. Tard. I was going moderately fast and wide, gearing down, and preparing to muscle my way up that unforgiving hill. Instead, I had to brake like crazy and lost momentum. When I dropped to 3 mph, I got off the bike and walked it the rest of the way to the top. Oh, well. He was racing while I was out for the fun. I used the walk to take in water, electrolytes, and shot blocks. I also encouraged others who were walking their bikes up. That’s a tough hill. None of the others bothered me at all.

This T2 was my slowest ever for this venue at 4:48, so ditto on practicing a lot more. I might as well have phoned in for pizza and had lunch. Since getting into my running socks and shoes takes so long, I’ll practice running without socks and will look for a long-handled shoe horn in order to avoid plopping down on the ground to put on my shoes. I’ll also look for some better shoe laces.

I knew during the race that my run/walk was a struggle, so I wasn’t surprised to see that it was my second slowest on that course – 17:07 per mile for 3.1 miles with a total of 53:05. Not only was the weather hot and humid at 10:00 a.m., but also for the first time in my racing life, I experienced gastrointestinal distress and really needed a porta-pottie. I kept looking for a big bush to hide behind but there were too many runners and volunteers around for me to find enough privacy to pacify my nudity timidity. I know, I know. I should get over that hang-up. Maybe next year. Consider yourself warned.

Looking at all five races at Decker Lake, I’m happy with my most recent results. This was my second fastest finish. At 2:32:56, I was only 1:04 slower than I was at Danskin a year ago. I’m not sure how to factor in the slightly shorter race course this year, but I’m just not going to worry about it. I have the evidence I need to convince myself that, although I’m not getting any faster, I’m not slowing down much either. There’s something to be said for finding your happy race pace and just being consistent with it. Racing is fun and I want to keep it that way so I can do it as long as possible.

I’m now keeping my training and motivation logs in a different location because I write them every day in pencil in a notebook. There’s something satisfying about writing my accomplishments in cursive. It’s highly satisfying to have made a series of small decisions leading up to what amounts to a serious commitment to doing the necessary training for Worlds. Some time ago, I was freaking out about Worlds. Now, I’m much calmer and much more focused on what I need do. That's progress!

Becoming Consistent with the Training

Although the triathlon in Budapest is just a sprint distance, which I’ve done 18 times in the past three years, I’m increasing my training to ensure that I have an enjoyable race. Last night at team practice, we did “bricks.” I biked a total of 8 miles and ran about 1.25 miles. If the hills hadn’t been so hard, I’d have enjoyed practice a lot more. At the end of a long work day, it’s hard to get out there, especially in the heat.

This morning, 4:45 came far too early, but I decided to roll out of bed and go to swim practice. I think I completed about 1000 yards of drills alternating with swims. Afterwards, I did an easy run of about 1.5 miles. This evening, I actually got to the gym for a few lat pulls, leg presses, and core work. It was fun to get back to strength training.

Tomorrow, it might be hard to get in the training on my schedule because it’s a long work day for me. But I’m supposed to run only 1.5 miles and do a bit of stretching, balance, and core work. I will squeeze it in somehow.

Training log: Bike – 8 miles. Run/walk – 1.25 miles. (Also taught senior exercise class and did a little core work and light weights at the gym.)
Motivation log: I learned that making a commitment to training is a matter of deciding to take the little steps that make it hard not to train. It’s that simple.

Two Months to Worlds Triathlon

Okay, so I’m doing the aquathlon on September 8 and the sprint triathlon on the 11th. Of the two, the triathlon represents my goal race, while the other is important but mostly a practice race, like the Couples Triathlon this morning. No offense to aquathlon specialists, but adding the bike into the mix raises the stakes considerably. The transitions alone are hard enough to manage, and then there’s the 20K bike ride to prepare for. Good thing I like cycling.

The triathlon in Budapest will be more difficult than the aquathlon because waves start between 6:55 and 8:20 a.m., and I’ll use my wetsuit. However, the aquathlon waves will start between 11:00 a.m. and 1:00 p.m., so the weather will probably be warm enough to swim without a wetsuit. If it isn’t, I’m still not sure I want to squirm into it while I’m hot and sweaty from running and then yank it off to finish the run. Makes no sense to me.

This morning, my race at the Couples triathlon felt good through the swim and the bike. Not until the latter part of the run did I begin struggling with heat, humidity, and fatigue. My stomach felt a bit uncomfortable, and I also had an annoying series of images running through my head – the poop deck of an 18th-century man of war, a long handled cat poop scooper, a stinky porta-potty, and so on. By the time I finally realized that I should have made one more bathroom stop before the race, it was too late and there were no convenient bushes. Talk about sucking it up!

As an exercise in mental toughness, I pledged someone near and dear to me that for an entire week I wouldn’t look up my official results for this morning’s race, and so far I’ve stuck to the promise. I’m trying simply to focus on the fun and take the whole pressure of competition off my shoulders for these races leading up to Worlds. I got the impression that my swim and bike were reasonably fast compared with my previous races, but I suspect that my run/walk was pretty slow. Oh, well. It is what it is. I had fun, and that’s what counts these days.

Training log: Swim – 800 meters. Bike – 11.2 miles. Run/walk – 3.1 miles.
Motivation log: The emphasis on fun helped a lot.

Two Months till Worlds

Only two months remain until the start of the Dextro Energy Triathlon ITU World Championship Series Grand Finale in Budapest. Three groups of athletes will compete there – age group triathlon (sprint and Olympic distance), paratriathlon, and aquathlon athletes. On September 8, I’ll race the aquathlon (2.5K run, 1000 meter swim, 2.5K run) and on the 11th, I’ll race the sprint triathlon (750 meter swim, 20K bike, 5K run).

My training program is firmly on track, and I feel much better about the two races than I did last month. The fear that bothered me a while back was due to insufficient and incorrect training, so it feels very good to have made a commitment to myself to do things right. My previous half-hearted training was setting myself up for failure and building an excuse for poor performance at the same time. What a crock! I should be ashamed of myself.

But I’m not. I’m only a human being, not Wonder Woman. I make mistakes. I have fears. I sabotage myself. I get worried. I hide under the covers. I shed tears. I don’t train enough. I attach too much importance to my future performance and not enough to the daily training that will prepare me for two decent races. The whole point of going to Worlds is to have fun and enjoy the races, no matter how well or not so well I do.

Training log: Yesterday, I swam and ran. Today I did stretching, balance work, and strength training. Tomorrow will be bike and swim day.
Motivation log: Took stock of my situation and got back on track.

Buffalo Springs 70.3 More Cowbell Report

So. Yeah. No. I mean, here we are posting our report much later than all the racers who usually write race reports. What’s up with that? So, what we’re trying to say is that cowbelling is, like, really hard work. I mean, seriously!

First, you have to drive to West Effin Texas, home of the Large Lub-buttocks. Hey, don’t take offense. We’re from Ass-tin, after all. Furthermore, some of us will race in Booty-Pest in September, and some of us are heading out to Keester-ville for training this weekend. So be sure you get your head or some other part of your anatomy around this motif because it figures prominently a bit later in the book. And you thought Red’s reports were long. Hah!

Next, you have to deal with an exploding coffee pot at 4:00 in the morning – BEFORE you’ve had your coffee. So, yeah, I mean, coffee was flying everywhere. Probably a good thing we couldn’t actually drink it because it tasted terrible when you tried to lick it up off the shelf. Somebody famous said “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” but don’t do the lick thing. I’m just saying. Oh, yeah. Don’t do the spill thing either. And for heaven’s sake don’t do the – Well, I’d better shut up now. What’s said in Lubbock stays in Lubbock, even if half the town can hear you. But that comes later.

Then, as a cowbeller you have to swim, bike, and run part of the course so you’ll know where to stand for proper cowbelling. I mean, who knew West Texas has a spring-fed, wetsuit-legal lake? Where did those mountains, I mean, MouNtaiNs, actually, MOUNTAINS come from? And the run course. What can you say? Okay, it smells like cow poop. Either the smell or the wind can knock you off your feet. Watch out when there’s both! Where was all this information on the BS (teehee) website? It’s nice that Chris Lieto and Andrea Fisher competed for $25,000, but I’m just saying that everyone should get something for being out there. Hoo, boy!

So on Saturday after 56 or 28 miles on the bike, depending on whether your name is Cindy or Kristen or Jody, we cooled off with some laps in the lake and then took a trail hike that overlooked the whole venue. It was some kind of gorgeous! A few of us had been flirting with Lubbock because the
mornings are so cool and pleasant, but that view! Man, that view brought on a serious love affair. The whole move-to-Lubbock thing was going on. If it hadn’t been for the exploding coffee pot, the difficulty in finding Tecate, and the event that caused the “Oh-Crap-Oh-Sh*t-Oh-F**k” refrain, it might have been “Bye-Bye-Cap-City.”

Anyway, race morning started at something like pre-dawn-thirty in the A of M, or it felt that early, and we set out for the race site with a plan – Cindy and Kristen would bike in to save $6.00 apiece, while Jody would drive in for only $2.00, thanks to the elderly discount. It turns out that a very nice lady with only one missing tooth let the whole car in for $6.00. She did this for two reasons – Kristen’s bike was on her car-top carrier, which made the lovely lady think we had a racer on board, and Jody hid in the back seat, thereby becoming a criminal, a tax evader, and a thoroughly naughty old gal. Watch out, folks!

Then came the big decisions – where to park, what to take to the cowbell location, and where to find the porta-potties. We aced only the last of these and even then we had to use the men’s side because the women’s side resembled a toilet at the end of a crowded, three-day bus ride in a third world country. Overflowing odoriferousness!

Parking was in an unmowed field where sticker weeds, huge ants, I mean, HUGE, and snakes roamed freely. In fact, a policeman caught a bull snake about 4.5 feet long and offered to let us touch it. Cindy consented to having her picture taken with it because she had seen an even larger one on her long bike ride the day before, hence the “Oh-Crap-Oh-Sh*t-Oh-F**k” theme mentioned earlier.

We mostly struck out on the what-to-take idea. The tent, which the racers were counting on, had to stay in the car because how can you drag something like that through sticker weeds, ants, and snakes, I mean, SNAKES!!!! Furthermore, how can you ride the tent down that big hill at the beginning of the bike course? Sure, it’s got wheels, but we’d have wound up knocking over the entire transition area and the sweet little EMS people at the finish line. So we took turns carrying a heavy ice chest filled with water, lemonade, and Tecate, the most important item.

Finally in position at Bike Out and ready to cowbell, we did some warm-up wrist circles, a few Woo-Hoo’s, and some sunscreen spraying. For the longest time, we didn’t see any Tri Zoners, but we certainly saw some interesting racers. One guy headed out on the bike course without his helmet. We could see his mouth move to the “Oh-Sh*t” song before he turned back for it. We saw a guy wreck his fancy race wheel just a few yards into the race. He stoically returned to the start to work on his bike. Much pumping took place. We heard a loud POP just as another guy was screaming down the hill at the end of the bike course, but he didn’t stop. He must have figured he could make it to transition on the rim. Good-bye, sweet wheel.

Then we moved to a position where we could watch Run Out and Run In. By this time, it was hot. I mean, HOT, as in no-cloud-cover-high-humidity-high-temperature HOT. There’s where we saw all of our real Tri Zoners and our adopted ones, Ingrid and Kim from Houston. So should we adopt the A-man or not? I’m thinking maybe not so much, in light of what almost happened at dinner that night.

So Carolyn finished the aqua bike and joined us for a while, and we met up with Kenneth, Bob, and Paul, who just LOVES a high-pitched little cowbell we brought along. It actually made nice harmony with one of the large Tri Zones cowbells. So, I mean, we’re working both sides of the road as we high-five our racers to the finish line. We may have been sick of the cowbell sound by then, but we rang and rang some more to make sure everyone else would get sick of it too – oh, wait. No. Yeah. We rang to celebrate our finishers. There. That’s better.

All of our Tri Zoners looked strong at the finish, though some looked hotter than others. Some had a few gastro-intestinal issues. Some needed to lie down. Some needed to talk their heads off. Some got all quiet and meditative. Some needed to go jump in the lake, I mean, sit in the lake to cool off. To each his or her own! We rang for them all because all are half Ironmen. I mean, you need to kiss their feet, and somebody did that very thing at dinner. Their feet, once cleaned up a bit, are totally kissable. When is the last time YOU covered 70.3 miles under your own power on one of the toughest half-iron courses there is? I mean, really. Kiss! Don’t kiss up. Just kiss.

So on to the celebratory dinner. We went to Abuelo’s, but I swear Jody was the oldest person there. Our people at one table behaved themselves decorously with most excellent race stories. The cowbellers and other support sherpas were totally lapping it up. Amazing stuff! All of a sudden, our people at the other table shouted, I mean SCREAMED, with laughter. And they didn’t stop. It went on and on. Apparently, someone pressed the A-man’s On button and couldn’t find the Off button. Since the fling with Lubbock was over, much flirtation ensued and there was some talk of the A-man going home with the single ladies, but one of them declared in no uncertain terms, “He’s not getting in OUR car!” So, no, I’m not sure anyone will be adopting the A-man anytime soon, lovely boy though he is. Maybe we missed an opportunity, but it was totally missable with an “M.” Trust me on this.

So. Oh, yeah. Now it’s the next morning and time for the drive home. Three sets of gentle snores greeted first light, then dawn, and finally the day. A brief flirtation with the beautiful morning sky, followed by a long or short run depending on who tells the story, and we’re ready to butt-break it back to Austin. The cowbellers’ wrists are in decent shape, the cowbells are safely back in Austin, and the cowbellers are in training for the next big race. Woo-Hoo!!