7:00 a.m. I walked through the swim start corral, and walked into the water. Immediately, my feet and legs sunk several inches into the soft, slimy mud. Nasty. The water was 85 degrees. I was wondering why they didn’t let athletes swim in the lake beforehand… now I know why. I put my head into the water and it was pure blackness. This was probably the murkiest, darkest, warmest water I’ve ever set foot in.

The start was about 20 yards off the shoreline. Technically, it was a “beach start” since it was still only slightly above knee level. 7:10 a.m.… BOOM goes the dynamite. Watching the other waves go off, I saw that the water wasn’t swimmable until about 20 to 30 yards into the swim. Most people “ran” slowly through the water, while the experienced swimmer gracefully dolphin-dove. I tried dolphin diving, but I’m pretty sure I looked like a drowning dog.

The swim course was unusual. Florida didn’t get much rain the weeks leading up to the race, causing the lake to be extremely shallow at some points. Thus, it was changed to an ‘M-shaped’ course.

To the top the “M,” I felt good, I started out relatively easy, and there was minimal congestion. Once I made the first turn I started bumping into people from prior waves. There was quite a bit of contact for the rest of the swim. The sun made it especially difficult heading back to the shoreline. I bilateral breathe and people seemed to be spread out quite a bit. Sighting was difficult and at one point a kayaker was next to me to get me back on course.

The contact seemed to increase throughout the swim, especially at the turns. I started feeling bad, and a bit irritated. Lots of people in prior waves were treading water, breast stroking, and floating on their backs. I unintentionally ran into many of them and shoved them to the side. About 50m from the beach, I attempted to stand up and run. Fail. Running through water is probably the slowest thing you can possibly do. I started “dolphin-diving” again. 20m from the shoreline and I tried standing up again. I was still too deep. Finally, I swam until my fingertips hit mud, about five feet from the shoreline. I stood up and I was out of the swamp. See you later alligators.

Transition consisted of a 50 yard run off the beach and then running through a two-tiered transition area. My bike was in a less-than-ideal position. Being my first triathlon of the year, my transitions were definitely sloppy and rusty. I think I lost about a minute fumbling through my stuff and messing up on petty little things.

Four miles into the bike I almost made a fatal mistake. There was a slight decent that immediately went into a 90-degree turn. One lane was still open to traffic. I took the turn way too hard, and rode into the other lane. I saw a car approaching, hit the brakes hard, and I could feel my rear wheel skid sideways. I rode off into the grass and slowed down enough before “tipping” over. Wow. Is this really happening? I checked over my bike. Other than a dropped chain everything seemed to be fine. I hopped back on the bike and was off. It was after a mile back into the ride when I realized I lost a bottle. I was going to have to rely on half a bottle for the next 14 miles until the next aid station. Luckily, the temps weren’t too bad and it wasn’t a big deal.

When racing a triathlon, I believe you need to fully understand and play towards your strengths. I know my run is the strongest out of the three disciplines. So, I stayed in a pretty conservative power range throughout the entire ride, and avoiding any huge power surges to conserve my energy. A 28 year-old passed me around mile 25. I tried pacing with him. Though, my power numbers and heart rate were extremely high. I knew I’d blow up if I continued this kind of effort. I wisely backed off, and just hoped he wouldn’t gain too much ground on the run. There were a couple guys in my age group who caught up with me around mile 35 on the bike. I kept pace with them. I was still in a reasonable power range so I stuck with them (legally) for the rest of the ride.

Other than the huge packs that passed me, the rest of my ride was pretty uneventful. There were several people blatantly cheating. Packs of 10+ riders, just inches from each other’s wheels, flew past me. Everyone was yelling at them. I recall questioning my integrity and contemplated hopping on one of these train(s). Am I willing to cheat myself to get to Vegas? Absolutely not. I’m not a cheater. I continued along as a one man wolfpack. For all you pack riders out there – - karma is out to get you. You guys are pathetic.

When I was leaving transition, I counted the bikes in my area. 12. Time to do work.

I started out fast. I was flying, averaging a 6:16 pace for the first loop. It’s the first time racing I ignored heart rate on the run and just raced. I felt unbelievable off the bike. So fresh, well hydrated, and mentally ready for the pain ahead. I unleashed my beast-mode on lap one. I constantly checked out peoples’ calves. I counted down the 25 to 29 year olds that I passed. I counted three people on the first loop. 9th place. Good progress.

Second loop – the hills seemed slightly longer and steeper this time around. My beast mode was starting to fade a little, but still present. It was creeping up to the mid 80s on the run, and I knew it was essential to stay cool and hydrated. I hiked my jersey up like a sports bra, and stuffed it with sponges and ice. I also put ice in my mouth and down my pants at every aid station. I like to call it: Spongeboob Iceballs.

Running with a water bottle saved me. It allows me to skip an aid station if it got too congested and it let me drink and consume my gels whenever I wanted. I still felt decent on the second loop. By this point of the race, it was hard to count the number of passes I made because there were many guys in my age group that I was lapping rather than overtaking. Though, judging by how they were running, I believe I passed two more 25-29 year olds. 7th place!

I started to really hurt. My stomach started to feel horrible. I went in and out of stages of feeling nauseous. My legs got heavy. I remember seeing Wayne Jr., the volunteer I met in the morning. He shouted my name and told me two guys in my age group were just a couple minutes ahead. I closed my eyes and picked up my pace… God, I was hurting.

Still closing my eyes, I told myself: “These are the moments you train so hard for.” I was in some of the worst pain I’ve ever experienced in a race. Though, I spent a great deal of time before the race visualizing this exact moment. How bad do I want to get to Vegas? I knew I’d eventually feel like crap. I wasn’t giving up here. I didn’t travel to Florida just to finish. I was going to race it with everything I possibly had.

One mile into the final loop, I see someone in my age group…walking. He was hunched over with his hands on his knees He had blown up. 6th place. One more pass and I make podium! I ran as hard as I could. I was in hell. Though, I’m starting to embrace the feeling of that place. Nick told me before the race: “The pain will always end as soon as you cross the finish line.” Finish line, please come soon. More running with my eyes closed. Grunting and suffering. Luckily I avoided knocking over the sweet old pretzel lady at this race.

About a mile left, I see a 25 year old. He was struggling. I made my pass and he didn’t even try to keep pace. 5th place was all mine. I pushed it to the very end looking for any other people I could pass.

I hit the finishing chute with a smile, high-fived a few people, put my arms up as I crossed the line, then puked up my gels as the catchers walked me over to medical. When I finished, I didn’t know my exact time or splits… but I was damn proud of myself. Nothing makes me happier than when I finish a race knowing that I pushed as hard as I could. This was, by far, my most complete, well-executed, fastest triathlon to date.

I waited for my friend, Libby, to finish in an amazing 4:46. 2nd in her age group! She had raced in Kona this past year and had already qualified for 70.3 Worlds in New Orleans. I hung out with her and tried eating food. I also met my DURAPULSE teammate, Shane Arters. He also had a phenomenal race placing second in the M40-44 age group.

I drove back to Lake Eva around 3 p.m. for the awards ceremony. I immediately went to the Vegas World Championships booth to check out the number of slots allocated to my age group. From 2 p.m. to 4 p.m. they left the slots open to qualifiers. After the awards ceremony at 4 p.m., they begin the “rolldown” process if the slots aren’t taken. There were TWO slots in my age group. One had been claimed. I was so nervous. I began pacing back and forth. I constantly checked out peoples calves. No 25-29 year old males.

4 p.m. – They began giving awards. My first WTC award. 5th place.

Around 4:30 p.m., rolldown began. I was in the front row. They got to my age group. The guy announced the third place guy… long pause… not present. The fourth place guy was called. Extra long pause. Now, I’m shaking. Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

“ELLIOT K-K-….” The guy began calling out my name. I jumped up and down as I began screaming like a little girl.

Walking up the stage to the Vegas signup booth I had a huge smile on my race. I was crying. This meant so much to me. I’ve worked so hard to get here and this was my reward. I made it to the big show. On September 9th, I will be racing the best 70.3 triathletes in the world. Vegas, baby!





Great venue. I heard from multiple people that this was way better than the old Orlando location. I'd highly recommend this race to anyone. Still reasonably close to Disney, too. :)