Welcome to Coeur d'Alene

I'm here and I'm checked in, wearing my blue wristband. Everyone in Coeur d'Alene knows what that wristband means. Being a bit self-conscious (a bit?), I wonder if I'm one of those of whom people say, "He's an Ironman racer?" I know I've said that about a guy or gal or two I've seen today. They come in all sizes and shapes. Well, not really. In fact, mostly they come in amazing shape. The woman in front of me at check-in was slim and fit and had thighs that reminded me of the trunk of the 100-year-old oak we had in our backyard in Napa.

The picture above: That's the row where my bike will reside from Saturday until I grab it after the swim on Sunday. Still plenty of time for changes, but the forecasters seem more confident than ever that if it isn't a damp transition area at the start of the bike it will be by the time I roll back in six hours or so later. The current forecast:

Sunday: A chance of showers, then showers likely and possibly a thunderstorm after 11am. Mostly cloudy, with a high near 66. Chance of precipitation is 70%.

Given how much I dislike riding in the rain, I'm surprised that I'm not freaking out at the prospect of a cool, wet day. Honestly, I find myself barely caring. It's not like the Ironman bike is some kind of joy ride to begin with. It's satisfying, sure, but satisfying in that you're pushing yourself hard for six hours and fighting through all kinds of stuff. It's hardly comfortable. And it's not like my daredevil descending and cornering will be curtailed; I'm a total wus already. Anyway, eventually we'll move onto the run and running in a cool summer rain sounds just fine to me.

Moments in Time

1) Did a three-mile, 30-minute jog today with The Lad. "That was fun," he said afterward, unbidden, a big smile confirming the sentiment. Dads—this one, anyway—live for out-of-nowhere affirmations like that.

2) Driving back from OMSI, during rush hour, taking Burnside east instead of the jammed-solid Banfield (that's I-84; don't ask me who Banfield was). It's two lanes each way and when I say there's no shoulder I don't mean there's barely any shoulder I mean this is a road that if two cars are abreast going in the same direction, the one on the right is two inches from the curb on the right side and two inches from the guy in the next lane on the left. Sane bicyclists might use Burnside at this time of the day (or any time) for maybe a block or two if necessary, but otherwise will travel east-west on Ankeny (one block south) or through the Couch-Everett-Davis-Everett bike corridor just to the north. Barely any traffic on the roads, and that which there is moves generally the speed of a fit cyclist, around 20 mph. But here's this guy going along at maybe 18 mph on a 35-mph road during rush hour, owning a lane. OK, fine. I'm a calm, cool Portlander, accepting of cyclists, and I will not swerve violently into the left lane to try to pass him so I can get where I'm going a few seconds faster. It just doesn't matter that much to me. So I motor along at 17 mph behind the guy. He continually glances over his shoulder at me. I wave and mouth, "It's cool." He keeps glancing. I begin to think, "Dude, if you don't want somebody driving behind you, maybe Burnside is not your ideal choice." I'm not sure what he wants me to do, I guess stop driving behind him, but that seems weird and unreasonable to me. I mean, sure, he's made the ridiculous choice to ride Burnside, but that doesn't mean I therefore have to vacate the road. So we pull to a stop at a red, somewhere in the 30s or 40s and the woman behind me, an enormous woman in a van, yells out her window, "Why are you tailing that cyclists! Go around him. They have a right to the road, too!" OK. Whoa. Huh? I'm thinking, I've ridden a few thousand miles on the streets of Portland in the couple of years I've been here and I'm being lectured about how to treat cyclists by some van driver who probably hasn't been on a bike since the Ford administration? And anyway, is that what we motorists are required to do? We need to get in the other lane and go around the cyclist or we're not cool? We're not allowed to putt along behind him? Well, this is just one crazy van driver's view, but as we proceed past the light the cyclist continues continually looking back at me, looking back at me more often than he's watching the road in front of him. Then I notice the van swerve around me and hammer the gas to get by me (and the cyclist). The cyclist waves to her as if she's a comrade, as if she's got the right attitude about how to treat cyclists properly. There's your Portland cyclist-motorist story for the day.

Delivered The Lad to his mother. Man, he was so sweet. He had helped me with my CDA packing (he loves making lists and checking off items), we did the run together, and I could tell he felt more connected to this race than any race I've ever done. I guess me yacking about it constantly made some impression on him. When we parted, he told me he'd check my progress online on Sunday, and said, "I hope you have your best race ever." That was way cool. Hell, I teared up. But that is not the last moment I want to talk about.

3) That moment comes after I drop off The Lad and pick up my bike from River City (new aerobars not installed) and then arrive home. I had the water going at a dribble in the roses in front of the house and figured it might be a good idea, before heading out for five days, to give the other plants a little drink as well. But first I get my bike out of the truck and grab the house keys (on a separate ring from the truck keys, left in the truck) while I'm at it. I set the bike near the front door then go to my watering. How nice it is to water on a calm, partly cloudy, 72-degree evening in the Rose City! Birds chirping, a neighbor happening by for a moment, the nearby Banfield's roar fading with the passing of the rush hour…. Ten or 15 minutes later I'm done and ready to head in. I reach into my pants pockets for my keys. Hmm. There's the two bucks I owe Niko for mowing the lawn (hey, it's a tiny lawn). There are two CO2 cartridges I picked up at River City. There's a quarter. Keys? No keys. Not in the other pocket either. Still in the car? Oh, come on, I took them out of the car, I know I did. Still, I ought to check just to be sure. After all, where could they be? Well, not in the car. Hmm. I must have dropped them while watering. So I proceed to dig through bushes and rose plants. I'm scratched all over my forearms and a few thorns are in my fingers. I search and search and search and nothing. They're gone. I search more. They're gone! The keys are gone! OK. I climb the fence and go into the back yard where the Extra Set of House Keys is hidden. Except, while going over the fence the back of my pants catch a nail head and tear. So now my ass is hanging out, so I change into some shorts. I go out front and bring in the bike. (You thought I was going to say the bike was gone. If that had happened, I can assure you there would not have been a blog entry tonight.) How could I lose those keys? I say to myself, pouring a glass of wine (Ridge Lytton Springs 2003, not bad but decidely hollow for a Lytton Springs, a disappointment). I stroll outside and decide to assess the situation from new angles. I walk far to the right and peer across the yard. I walk far to the left. I sit on the steps and don't think about the keys, figuring that might be the best way to find them. Nothing. I search yet again through the bushes. I look up at the jasmine that climbs the left porch stanchion. I had searched under that jasmine extensively because while watering I had paused to wrap a few wayward strands of plant around the stanchion. That was, in fact, my best bet as to where the keys might be. That was my theory: That while adjusting the jasmine, I had dropped them. But they weren't under the jasmine. They weren't under the damned jasmine! However, they were in the jasmine. Right there. There they are. Dangling in the jasmine. Found.

Life, four days before CDA: It's like life 104 days before, and life 61 days after (I imagine). I head out tomorrow morning.

T-Minus 5 Days

Dragged The Lad to the pool for a 30-minute swim. Did another 30 minutes on the trainer. Checked weather forecasts: though I know it's virtually meaningless this far out, it does seem certain we will be racing in cool conditions. Might be some thunderstorms, might not. But again, the only forecast I'll put much faith in is the one I read Saturday evening. Oh, River City Bicycles called. They had been so matter-of-fact about having my aerobars replaced by Wednesday. Now it's uncertain. I'm not upset with them. They're working hard to please me, and they did tell me the warranty will cover the replacement cost. But it looks like I may be riding on Gorilla Glued bars. Oh, well. I trained for thousands of miles on 'em.

Waiting

That run to finish off the Blue Lake race yesterday left me a little sore, so it was nice to have nothing on the schedule today. The Lad (now released from the shackles of the school year) and I did walk to the bank, about three miles roundtrip, which loosened me up a bit. I stretched, too, but that was it on the athletic front.

My bike is at River City getting cleaned up and dialed, and finally the busted aerobar extender is being replaced. I Gorilla Glued and taped it for Blue Lake and it held solid but I don't want to be thinking about the possibility of it coming loose during CDA.

The plan is to leave for Idaho on Thursday morning, so I have this feeling I ought to start getting my gear together. Except, what really is there to get together? Last year I brought everything you could possibly imagine and needed about a third of the stuff. I mean, I did a race yesterday and spent about 20 minutes getting ready for it. OK, it was just an oly, but what more do you really need for an Ironman? An extra packet or two of Accelerade? Three more gels? People lose perspective. I think the waiting gets to them. The big workouts are done and they want to do something that points them toward a strong race. The waiting: Hell, it gets to me, too. I'm excited, and kind of nervous and twitchy. But there's also a calm internal voice whispering to me, "It's swimming, bike and running, nothing you haven't done before."

Blue Lake Olympic: 2008 / 2009

Swim
31:46 / 31:38
T1
5:15 / 4:58
Bike
1:07:22 / 1:06:15
T2
2:47 / 2:48
Run
45:47 / 44:06
Total
2:32:58 / 2:29:46

The conditions today were amazingly similar to last year's (as I recollect them): calm, overcast and mild (around 60). Perfect weather for racing. I thought I put much more effort into the swim this year and look at that huge improvement: 8 seconds! I picked up a little more time on the bike, but really thought a 1:05 was achievable. No complaints about the run, however. I had an Olympic-distance run PR, improving my pace by more than 15 seconds per mile. I was aided by a guy who passed me about halfway through the run. I chased him all the way to the finish line, even as he steadily boosted his pace. He finished four seconds in front of me and afterward I thanked him for pulling me along. Without him, I would have run more conservatively, instead of going 7:17, 7:12, 7:09, 6:59, 6:54, 6:44 for my mile splits. Interesting thing is, it wasn't that bad. I mean, it was a big effort and I was tired when it was over, but I didn't collapse at the finish or anything like that. I wonder if I'll ever collapse at the finish. Is that what I need to convince myself I really gave it everything I've got?

Random post-race thoughts ...

• If I ever get serious about racing these shorter-distance triathlons, I'll need to get my shit together on transitions. Today I gave up 2-4 minutes to racers who didn't swim-bike-run any faster than me.
  
• My swim split was 32nd out of 42 in my age group.
  
• Bike split: 18/42
  
• Run split: 8/42
  
• It just occured to me that the swim is relatively more important at the Olympic distance than it is at the iron distance. The swim (1.5K vs. 4K) is 37.5 percent as long; the bike (40K vs. 180K) is 22.2 percent as long; and the run (10K vs. 42.2K) is 23.7 percent as long. Maybe I should stick with the long stuff?
  
• My Garmin has never been off by more than a couple of hundreths, and it showed the run course to be a full tenth of a mile too long. Hmm.

All the Blue Lake olympic triathlon results are here.

Race Prep

Getting my stuff together for tomorrow’s race and I nearly forgot about the ol’ blog. Yeah, that’s right, tomorrow is race day. Not, you know, the race. And that’s what I keep telling myself: that this is just a little tuneup, a workout, a chance to practice transitions, blah, blah. This is not about blowing it out. Actually, it’s just the run where I have to be careful. Swimming hard for 1500 meters won’t hurt me. Putting maximum effort into a flat 40K on the bike? That won’t damage me for CDA. It’s really just on the run where I have to avoid being stupid. You know what I think I’ll do? Wear my heart-rate monitor for the bike and run and on the run, I won't go over 85 percent max HR. There's a thought.

Strange Encounters

This was one of those rides in which there were just too many slightly weird things going on to feel comfortable.

I rode through some road work and had specks of squishy asphalt stuck to my tires, causing strange noises that sounded like flats. When I got off the road to the cutoff that accesses the bike bath, I stopped to check just to make sure there was no puncture. Just then some asshole, Starsky or Hutch in a Torino or something, comes flying through, nearly killing me, and he flips me off. Granted, using this cutoff did save him 30 seconds, and I know every second counts when you’re chasing a bad guy, but a lot of kids, older people and just plain folks leave the bike path on that cutoff totally not expecting a several-thousand-pound hunk of metal to come roaring through at 35 miles per hour.

A little farther along, on the bike path, I approached an enormous woman walking a tiny dog. They were a cute couple. I slowed way down to pass because she couldn’t pick a side of the very wide path to walk on, and was wavering, and the dog was on a long leash. About 20 feet before I got to them the dog squats and takes a dump and I swear the woman howls, “Oh, my God!” So this was either the first time ever that this dog had pooped, or the fourth time that day, either way, quite shocking, apparently.

Onward.

A pair of cyclists riding abreast approaching. That’s OK. As I said, it’s a wide path, and they’re both on their side. But what’s this? Another cyclist coming up behind them is going to pass them. Uh, dude, no, you aren’t going to make it before I get there. You are NOT going to make it before I get there. Do NOT make the pass.

Oblivious, he makes the pass, completely seizing my part of the path. We avoid a head-on only because I quickly pull off into the weeds.

Next up there’s a woman walking with a medium-sized black dog not on a leash a few feet in front of her and a little boy, also not on a leash, riding a bike about 10 feet in front of the dog. I slow down to pass safely. I pass the woman and the dog comes after me, snarling, barking, he tries to take a chunk out of my right calf. I kick at him and he backs off. “He’s not trying to get you, he’s just protecting my son,” she cries. I'm not really getting the distinction she's drawing and meanwhile, the kid wobbles off into the weeds and gently tips over. He’s OK, and the woman is yammering on about how her dog didn’t really want to get me. Fuck you, I’m thinking, but I say, “Jesus, getting chased by a chomping dog seriously pisses me off!” I guess I could have been nicer, but I suppose I could have been more an ass as well. “I know,” she says. That’s when I notice the leash in her hand. “Maybe use the leash?” I say, and I’m off.

At that point I’m thinking I ought to just head straight home because this ride is filled with too much craziness, but I really want to ride for two hours, so I carry on. Things calm down. And I notice that I feel great. One day after a 16-mile run, my legs feel strong. Gotta love that.

Also today: I snuck in 1500 yards at the pool, just a straight easy swim. This was on the way downtown to pick up my race packet for the Blue Lake oly on Sunday. That’s going to be fun.