To sum up Scofield in movie-poster-like phrases:

"Like getting beat up by a beautiful woman -- painful, yet pretty."

"A conflicting blend of pleasure and brutality for the senses. Your eyes can't help but be awed by the gorgeous mountain scenery, especially that amazingly beautiful and towering green sports-drink bottle balloon at the finish line."

"This high-altitude race literally takes your breath away! I kept hoping an oxygen mask would fall down from the upper compartment."

OK, you get the point. For me, this was a fun race in an awesome setting, but it was definitely a butt-kicker!

Pre-race: Will somebody kick my big ol' booty - and I mean real hard - if I work until almost midnight, then put together my transition pack and then go to sleep for 3-4 hours and then make a nearly 2-hour drive to get to the race again? I pretty much did the same thing for Echo, and it just isn't smart.

Set-up: Got marked and was bummed out to learn that we didn't get race bibs. I LOVE RACE BIBS! Seriously, I want to keep them all and make a big scrapbook of race bibs. Wow, the part about the scrapbooking makes me sound like my mom and wife.

The next thing I noticed was a steep hill coming out of transition. It kind of resembled Mount St. Hell that I live on, and got me nervous about the bike before the race. Maybe that was good, cause I stopped worrying about the swim!

The long transition area -- with sprinters on one side and ultimate arse-kickers and Olympic studs on the other -- was fine. I just never know whether to be close to the swim or the bike exit. Guess it really doesn't matter, but it always gives me something to think about it besides: "How many of these athletes with fancy handlebars will be driving home by the time I cross the finish line?"

Swim: "Sprint triathletes, there will be a mandatory meeting in 5 minutes!" the dude with the megaphone boomed. Two minutes later, I wander down to the water only to find out that that meeting was about done. Everybody was cheering for the Ultimate athletes and the Oly racers out of the water -- including Di, who probably lost hearing out of one ear because of my yelling -- so the uncool sprint kids in the back couldn't hear anything anyway.

I think the guy at the mandatory meeting said: "If you think you'll feel like crying during the swim, just wait until you see the 90-degree cliff you have to climb to get up to the road (insert evil laugh)!!!"

For the second straight race, I peed in my wetsuit. I probably shouldn't admit that until I take the rental back. I'll clean it first, promise. It came with a tear in the wrist, so I figure we're even anyway.

Overall, the swim was OK. The orange buoys kept seeming to get smaller the longer I swam. Not sure if that was because I accidentally shifted into reverse or because this lake has a weird tide. Again, steering straight is not my forte. The boat rangers actually pulled me over and had me try to swim a straight line, say the alphabet and breath into a little gadget.

Just under an eternity and just over 19 minutes later, I stumbled out of the water. My family yelled at me -- hearing my son scream "Wahoo, Daddy!" always gives me an incredible boost -- as I entered the transition area. I think one of the volunteers was yelling at me to get out of the way of the incoming athletes, too.

Learn how to steer straight.

My suit came off nice and easy -- perhaps aided by they lubricating pee-pee, which I might market FYI -- and I headed out to Mini Mount St. Hell. I hopped on my bike, started pedaling and my shoelace got eaten up by the chain! So, I retied my shoes, wondering why I still haven't looked at those fancy shoelaceless things people rave about, and hopped back on.

Learn how to tie my shoes. Which bunny ear goes where again?

I felt good about my bike ride. My tire didn't try to wobble off the bike like last week at Echo and it wasn't rubbing the brake, either, so that was a bonus. I passed some people, got passed by more, and pushed it pretty hard most of the way. On the bike, I really enjoyed the scenery. Scofield is beautiful; I'd never been there before.

Not be fat. Ride my bike more.

Transition Part Deux: I got rid of my bike helmet and considered eating one of my Pina Colada Shot Bloks, but I was worried the ranger might pull me over again and if my breath smelled like Pina Colada then I might really get in trouble. So I just drank a bit of water and headed down the hill.

Get to T2 faster. I don't wear clipless pedals and shoes yet so my T2 is pretty easy. Just ditch the bike and helmet and go.

Did I say down the hill? Yeah, that was down one hill to get up the other one. I almost went back to my transition area to see if I'd remembered my rock-climbing gear, but didn't. Everybody was walking up the hill, but I thought I'd show them. I was gonna jog the whole way up! Jog, jog, ouch, jog.....step.....OWWWW!.......jog......half-stumble.......SCRAPBOOKING MOMMY!!!!!!! .... walk, walk, walk. I was very proud that I didn't walk any of the 5Ks in my first three triathlons, but I decided that not crying out loud would be the pride I'd hang on my hat for this race. I just had to walk up that hill to get to the road. No shame, lotsa pain.

I looked at my watch and saw that this was probably my best time in a triathlon to this point so far. I also thought it might take me at least that long -- one hour and four minutes is what the timer was saying -- to get back to the finish line, I was in that much hurt. What a baby I am! Wait, did I just talk like Yoda?

Anyway, I just kept trudging along, slowly but joggingly on the course with a nice side stitch for about a mile, getting encouragement from some pretty amazing people, including a twentysomething dude who told me that I owned the course! From some cowbell ringers, love those! And from an amazing woman in pink who wore a lifejacket on the swim and who seemed to be smiling the whole entire way she raced on her old cruiser bike. I wish I would have found her after and thanked her for the inspiration. There were lots of others who gave me motivational boosts on the course that, as I happily learned, I OWN!!!!

I didn't think I'd make the race without walking (post-hell hill, that is), but I managed to keep moving my stubby legs. A girl toward the end suggested I keep them extended if I can. I think that was her nice way of saying, "YOU OBVIOUSLY DON'T KNOW HOW TO RUN CORRECTLY!!!!" It helped, so I thank her, too.

Just to add some more "assault to injury" we had to come up a slight hill to get to the HUGE BLOW-UP SPORTS DRINK BOTTLE! That last climb prevented me from sprinting to the finish. I even got passed up by a lady with about 25 yards to go. She obviously didn't get the memo that I, as in me not you!, own this course. I actually ended up PR'ing in my run, which is crazy. Slow and crazy.

Oh well. My wife was there taking pictures and I was hoping my son would come race across with me, but he was off visiting a Port-A-Potty with a nice blonde lady who offered to take him so my wife could capture my glorious moment of crossing the blessed finish line. YEAH!!!

Learn how to run. Not be fat. Learn how to run while not being fat.

I guess I will mark that it was a "good" run because it's my best yet, but I have a lot of work ahead of me.

One thing I've noticed about triathlons -- and I've done four this summer -- is that they make oranges taste like manna from heaven. The cold water and sports drinks were heaven-sent, too. And speaking of heavenly food ---- HOLY GRUB!!!!! That post-race meal was so AMAZING! Mo, you make a mean, mean, mean BBQ beef sandwich. That was awesome.

Next year I will learn how to swim straight, pee even more in my wetsuit so it comes off really, really fast, I will train like a Tour de France cyclist (perhaps even using some doping techniques), and run, run, run uphills, down hills, like Rocky Balboa, and run some more so I can get to the BBQ trailer, er, finish line even faster!!!!

Wow, that report literally took me longer to write than doing the Scofield Triathlon took me to complete!

Race Reports Modeled with Permission from
Endurancecoach's Triathlon Post Race Analysis Sheet.