Friday, June 10, 2005

Honu Half-Ironman





I think it was Steve Prefontaine that said "the person that wins is the one that has the most guts".. Not that I won anything this weekend (that honor goes to my coach, Chris Hauth, who won the race overall), or that I can even begin to compare myself to the legendary US track star, but that quote sprung to mind as this past Sunday's race will go down as my gutsiest race performance to date. And, unfortunately, I mean that very literally… Here are a few vignettes from the weekend.

Tuesday before the race was a really long day, taking the 6am flight from SFO to SNA for a daytrip to a client in Orange County. While waiting for the delayed last flight at OC airport, I chatted with a woman who turned out to live a few blocks from me in San Francisco.
"I can give you a ride back from the airport", I offered.
"That's great. I checked a couple of pieces of bags but they're not big", she replied.
I know my face fell at the thought of waiting at the luggage carousel for her bags rather than my usual sprint through the airport to my car but I wasn't going to revoke the offer. I got to bed at 1am, four hours later than my usual 9pm bedtime, but I figured that I'd stockpiled a little good karma for the week…

Friday was travel day and I awoke just prior to my 6am alarm. I immediately noticed the tenderness of my neck as I swallowed. I rose slowly from my bed and became aware of the *stuffiness* of my left nostril. "Ugh…I'm getting sick", I thought to myself, as I downed a double dose of Emergen-C, loaded up on echinacea and threw back a couple of Advil. Friend, training buddy and doctor, Kiki, offered me some email medical advice: "Take some Sudafed to help clear the congestion but stop taking it 24 hours before Sunday's race because the active ingredient, pseudoephedrine, acts like adrenalin and will *rev* your heart even more in extreme activity."

Race day and I was pacing our Hawaiian condo at 4:45am, ready to leave and make the 45 minute drive to the race start.
"Sandy, where are the car keys, I'm going to load my bike into the mini-van", I said. "I left them on the counter-top last night but they're not here."
"I don't know," Sandy called back, "I didn't touch them".
My personal prime suspects in "the case of the missing keys" were my condo-mates, Greg Spradling or Chris Hauth. I think guys are more prone to putting keys in their pockets and wandering off with them… call me sexist. A 15 minute *all hands on deck* search of the condo failed to turn up the missing keys. I was fuming inside and panicking that I would miss the race start but I kept my cool. Barely.

Halfway around the swim course I closed in on buoy number three:
"Boomph!"
"What the f&@#?"
I had sustained a kick to the head from some chick in pink. My left leg went numb and then began to cramp. I relaxed, flexed my ankle a few times, the cramp subsided and I resumed my swim rhythm. Sustaining a kick or two to the head no longer seems to bother me while swimming…

During the initial 10 miles of the bike leg along Big Island's "Queen K" highway, I traded places back and forth with a 59 year old woman as I desperately tried to find my rhythm.
"Okay, I think I'm mis-reading, if she passes me again I'll see that it really says 39 or perhaps 29…", I said to myself.
No, she passed me again, 59 was clearly *sharpie'd* on her right calf. You're still warming up, I said to encourage myself.

The congestion in my nose and chest was still there, as was the occasional cough, but in a race no-one really minds if you give a big *farmer blow* or spit, just as long as you check behind you beforehand. I know, it's not particulalry sanitary but there are worse things... At about mile 20 or so we reached the base of a steady 10 mile climb towards the town of Hawi. I'd been eating and drinking, per my race plan, but I had overwhelming feelings of nausea. "Hmmm, it must be the sun and 90 degree heat affecting me", I thought to myself, while projectiling vomit into the roadside brush. The rest of the climb I felt tremendously weak and I struggled to push 200 watts – I kept staring at my power meter in disbelief. I felt so weak. It didn't help that the entire climb was into a strong headwind (apparently light by island standards).

With 10 miles to go on the bike, the white Astro van of my *support crew* zipped by me. My team-mate Sandy and Chris' fiancée, Dixie, were all cheers and smiles, hanging out of the open van door, taking pictures. I just shook my head.
"Dig deeper", yelled Sandy.
"Stop the van! I want to get in," I called back. The van continued on. They didn't hear me…

Every triathlon I've raced has hinged on a great bike split…but I was riding abysmally and I felt like sh#t. I was beginning to get shivery goosebumps. A DNF seemed the sensible thing to do but as I contemplated the letters D-N-F (Did Not Finish) I recalled Hilary Biscay's words: "the only good reason to DNF is if you have a broken leg". Nothing broken. I made the final right hand turn into the Mauna Lani resort, the site of the bike-run transition, and checked my time. "Holy cow, I'm having a bad day but I've still ridden a 2:45 bike split. That's not quite as bad as I thought". I took a last sip of Gatorade, dismounted my bike and handed it off to a volunteer. I should do the run…maybe everyone else is having a bad day?

I grabbed my run gear but took my time putting my shoes on, still toying with the concept of DNF. I headed out of T2 and instantly recalled Chris' race advice to me: "Commit on mile 1. I don't want to hear that you felt sluggish for the first couple of miles of the run and then felt great by mile 7. Just go and get it from the start!"

"Where are the goddamn mile markers?", I said to myself after running for a good twenty minutes. At least the *out and back legs* of the run course on the Mauna Lani resort and golf course afforded me views of the competition. I quickly spied #720, probably about a mile ahead of me. I saw a lot of women ahead of me but #720 was the only person I recognized from my age-group.

As I hit the 10k mark I heard the announcer welcoming home the overall race winner, Chris Hauth. That news gave me a mental boost. I recalled his *fast feet* mantra and it encouraged me to pick up the pace.

I saw the 15k mark as I made a left turn into what I hoped was the last out and back…a long descent into a headwind. Running downhill has never been so hard! A guy came up to my right shoulder about to pass me and I immediately tucked in behind him, seeking to draft. Sweet! I followed for several hundred yards until I felt a sudden lurch in my stomach. Yikes…I need to go to the bathroom. NOW! I was at least half a mile from an aid station but I looked left and decided the Hawaiian brush would provide sufficient cover. A girl's gotta do…

I crossed the finish line in 5 hours 23 minutes and change. I felt awful, my guts were in knots and I was worried that I was about to start hyperventilating. I was miserable and disappointed with the day. On the way back from my third post-race porta pottie trip I spied Chris and went over and congratulated him on the win. Dixie sensed that I was not doing so well and gave me a big hug. I promptly burst into tears.

An hour or so after finishing, having changed into dry clothes and watched other friends cross the finish line I decided to stop by and check the results sheet. I figured I'd be lucky to have made top ten in my age-group. I found my name.
"Jordan Cantwell San Francisco CA 34 2/50 36:11 2:46…"
I only made it halfway across the line and had to stop. The "2/50" caught my eye. My heart started beating fast and I found myself repeating "oh my god" over and over again like some teenage drama queen. "I had taken second place in my age-group? No way! Did everyone else really fold?"
I scanned the results sheets and saw that #720 had placed first, well ahead of me time-wise, but no other 30-34 year olds had finished ahead of me. Yikes!

The awards ceremony took place late Sunday afternoon and our raucous San Francisco crew occupied three tables, front and center, ready to cheer along Chris for winning the overall title, Monique for winning her age-group and placing fourth among the women and for my age group second place. There was also the small matter of "Qualifying slots for the Hawaii Ironman Triathlon World Championships". As the age-group awards began, the MC announced that each female age-group would have one qualifying slot. For the Women's 30-34 age group I got up on stage to collect my turtle-shaped 2nd place trophy. #720 took her 1st place award and eagerly accepted the Hawaii slot. I was about to walk off stage.
"Wait a moment", the MC said. "I almost forgot. As the biggest age group, we have two Hawaii slots in W30-34. Jordan, do you want the slot?"
"Hell yes!", I said repeating #720's enthusiasm. I was excited but also deafened by Sandy's squeal and the cheers from the SF posse who rose from their seats! The awards ceremony only got better as my friends and training buddies, Scott Withoff and Dirk Vlieks also got Hawaii slots.

I'm still in shock that I qualified for Hawaii. I'll be the first to admit that it was far from my best race but I gutted it out and stayed in the race when the mental and physical cues were signaling me to quit. I had somehow imagined that qualifying for Hawaii would only happen if and when I executed the perfect race. How quaint and idealistic of me! Things never quite turn out how you expect.

Thanks to Chris Hauth for his coaching advice, support and friendship…and for *walking the walk*. Congratulations again on the overall win!
Thanks to Dixie, Sandy, Greg and Katie for their on-course support and cheers… and for not letting me in the van!
Thanks to everyone that swims, bikes and runs with me in the bay area. I can't begin to name you since I'll accidentally forget someone and then feel awful. You know who you are. As much as triathlon is an individual sport, swimming on someone's feet, following someone's wheel and running on someone's shoulder is invaluable.

Now I need to start training for Ironman Hawaii - October 15th 2005.
(again, for the non-triathletes - 2.4mi swim, 112mi bike and 26.2mi run)

Thanks,
Jordan

PS - On the way back to the car with Sandy, post-awards, my giddiness finally subsided and my pragmatic nature returned.
"I hope we can find the keys to the rental car. I can't imagine where they are. I turned my luggage inside out this morning."
Sandy looked at me sheepishly, digging into her backpack and pulling out the Ford Winstar keys: "Ooops. I guess I did take them last night after all."