Lost Time

On Monday, another race. Olympic distance, supposedly. In actuality, a half-ironman distance swim, a 40k bike, and 10-11.5k run. If you sense bitterness, you sense correctly. I, stupidly, paced my race assuming that I'd be doing the distances they listed on the race program. How silly of me. I should have known that the people who are PAID to organize this race would make sure that there was honey-milk-protein recovery drinks at the finish, but not that the race itself was the correct distance.

It was a frustrating race -- the first race in the last two years that hasn't been faster than the one before it. The only thing I did well was the ride [averaged 24 mph]. If nothing else, it was a good wake-up call -- a reminder that success in this sport isn't based on reputation or past success, but on what you did today and yesterday and what you're going to do in the coming weeks.

...

Transitions have always garnered a bizarre amount of attention in our family, mostly thanks to Joseph. It all started when he had a slightly-above-average T2 at Ironman CDA. He has since talked about it as much as he talks about headwinds. He has even generously offered to put on 'transition clinics'. Now, it has gotten so bad that even I have succumbed to bragging about my fastest T1 and T2's [*cough, the Rookie, third fastest T2 in the entire race, *cough].

I did not have a fast T1 at this race. In fact, Christina Ortega, who finished 1211th, had a faster T1 than I did. Not even kidding. She did a 4:26. I did a 4:27. At this point you are probably asking, or at least I hope you are, "What happened? I mean, you show such exceptional transition skills at every other race, why the drop-off in this one? You exemplify every single trait that..." [let's not get carried away here guys]. Contrary to what Joe would have you believe, transitions are a simple, insignificant part of the race. Yes, you can make up time, and yes, it is a part of the race, but it never usually impacts a race. Usually.

The first transition is the longest -- and by longest, I mean 2 minutes if you're in a wetsuit, 1:10-1:20 if you're not. [So you see why I call them insignificant, especially in a 10-hour Ironman, or a 5-hour half. That being said, Joe is good at them, yet you wonder if that is something truly worth bragging about.] It starts as soon as you exit the water. From there, you run to where your bike is racked, strip off the wetsuit, throw on your helmet, bike shoes, sunglasses, race number and run off. Sounds like a lot, but it's not really. So, at CapTex, I exited the water, ran to where my bike was racked, stripped off my wetsuit, threw on my helmet, bike shoes, sunglasses and race number and ran off. I ran passed the "bike mount line," mounted my bike and started riding. Normal, right?

Almost right away [20-30 seconds], something didn't feel right. I looked down at my left ankle, and saw it was bare. No chip strap, which meant no timing chip, which meant no time when I crossed the line. So, in a split second, I debated continuing on and just finishing without a chip, or turning back, seeing if it had fallen off in transition. I did the latter [obviously]. I rode back to transition, swearing at the top of my lungs, dismounted at the "bike mount line", handed my bike to a volunteer, sprinted back to transition in my bike shoes, found the timing chip rolled up in the leg of my wetsuit, strapped it on, and got on with my race in about as foul of a mood as I've ever been in.

Obviously I handled the setback like an adult and tried to make up all the time on the first two laps of the bike. That didn't work, so I just complained a lot, shook my head for an even greater part of it, and resigned myself to the fact that I am going to be ridiculed for this for the foreseeable future. Dad is probably going to get me a timing chip for my birthday. He's already sent me a helpful reminder about not forgetting my timing chip via email. I just hope he avoids making puns about a "chip". Though, much like a boy who has a little league baseball game in an hour stares at a grey/black sky and hears thunder and hopes against hope that it doesn't storm and cancel his game but deep in his heart he knows it will rain and the game will be cancelled and he'll be stuck inside instead of running around a baseball field, I know the puns, the jokes, the e-mails are coming. There is nothing that will stop them.

Bring it. I will respond at Couples.