Rss/XmlTriathlon Dreams
I had my first triathlon dream last night. I'm a prolific and very literal dreamer, which my wife finds endlessly amusing. While her dreams are a nightime pastiche of Freudian imagery reflecting her penchant for world-class worrying, mine are way more prosaic. I'll dream about rugby every November, even though I haven't played competitively in twelve years. I'll dream about what gear I need to pack for a race, a proposal I need to write -- they are my mind's little Post-It notes.
My triathon dream found me scouring some huge school gym, looking for food. I was desperately looking for race-day food, like Clif-blocks, and all I could find was some Perpetuum (yes, I dream brand-specific) that a rep would sell to me for $10.
But what this scenario really reflects isnt' the high cost of supplements, it is the astonishing degree to which I am unprepared for my next race.
See, on September 9th, I'm doing the Big Kahuna Half Ironman. I am not a "triathlete;" if anything, I'm an adventure racer. I've done precisely two off-road sprint triathlons and actually did ok, but tris are a leisurely diversion, not anything close to an "A" race for me. I find that the people they attract aren't that attractive, and the whole leg-shaving, $6,000 bike thing just doesn't resonate with me.
But triathlon's skimpy gear requirements and ease-of-use are appealing every once in a while, so I signed up for this half-Ironman and didn't think much about it.
Well, that was folly. I've done 41 straight hours of hiking in the woods of Western Maine. I've mountain biked for 14 hours on end and run Class III rapids in a freaking Sevylor. But ride 56 miles on a road bike?
For some reason, that just hasn't happened, mostly because I kind of hate road biking. Who would choose to share the road with insane drivers when you can ride in the woods?
But yesterday I saddled up with my teammate Austin Murphy to spin through the backroads of West Marin for three to three and a half hours - the approximate time I figure it'll take me to do the Kahuna bike leg.
Austin, fresh from riding l'Etape du Tour as part of his reporting for Sports Illustrated, is as bike-fit and lean as he's ever been in the ten years we've been working out together. So not only was I riding farther than I've ever done on a road bike, I was doing it with a guy who can break my legs off; a guy who was (oh, the irony of betrayal) riding a $6,000 Felt that he got just because he happens to write for the biggest sports magazine in America.
The results were ugly and predictible. I limped home after three hours and seventeen minutes, having logged only 50 miles. So in two weeks, I'll be slogging through the Pacific Ocean without a kayak, dragging my hairy legs behind some 66-year-old age grouper on the bike, and trying to survive a 13.1 mile run.
The dream is about to turn into a nightmare. And those of you wishing poor tidings on an adventure racer for crossing over to the dark side: I promise - no more tris.
Labels: adventure racing, Big Kahuna, Felt, triathon
