Unlike prior years, and probably due to the lake level, we started corralled on the boat ramp between two short docks. I was up front treading/standing on my tip toes while guys at the back were standing only knee deep. While we waited I chatted with Jeff Francis about swimming and competing in high school. We were about the same speed back then, but he gets more training in than me nowadays so I hoped to just hang with him for a bit before I lost sight of him.

Unlike the 100/Oly/Sprint folks, who swam straight ahead, we started with an immediate, hard right turn after the dock for short swim out to a buoy. This was to add the 0.2 to the 1 mile swim course. This part and the swim away from shore was pretty tough. The wind was blowing towards the shore and the water was very choppy. Nothing horrible for me as I just kept my head down, let the water roll over me, and made sure I kept breathing to the right. A good friend of mine in the sprint race got pulled (along with a group of 10 other girls) after wave pushed them all well below the water so I know not everyone had an easy time of it.

After that first buoy I pretty much lost the few other guys at the front with me. I think we pretty much took our own path back towards the main swim course, plus I was swimming wide right, so with waves coming at my left and only breathing on the right I had no chance of seeing them. There was plenty of time between our wave and the female 100 wave so I had clear water in front of me, free of triathlete bodies. Near the half way point I told/yelled (politely) at one boat that had drifted in front of the last red turn buoy that they were blocking people's sighting ability. They may have heard me, they may have flipped me off, I'm not sure. I had enough of a general idea where I was going anyway.

Coming back home was obviously much faster and more comfortable going with the waves. I still had very few people swimming with me until I came across more of the 100 swimmers at the end. In a triathlon first I had to swim around a half exposed light pole before exiting the swim.

I was a little liberal in following the buoy lines, swimming well right of them coming back to shore. I may have added on some extra yardage to my swim as a result.

Great transition. I was one of the first half dozen people out of the water, so it was an empty transition; which helps when running down the long, narrow transition aisles with a bike.

1/51
13/405

Getting out of the park I'm just trying to get my act together and get up to speed. I'm disoriented, I'm trying not to hit pedestrians, it dawns on me that I never checked my swim time, I have an annoying ticking noise coming from my bike, and my Garmin won't pick up my speed/cadence. What was it I supposed to be doing again?

First I'm really not pleased to hear this noise from my bike, but it doesn't appear to be affecting anything and I'm 75% sure it's coming from my disc wheel cover. As long as nothing snaps, breaks, or flies off my ride I'm good. Next, my Garmin is pissing me off. You were working just fine the other day, but race day was just too much for it to handle. So I fudge with that for the next 4+ miles, devoting half my brain to making sure I bike in a straight line and the other half to turning off the fubar'd sensor that is preventing the numerous satellites in space to track me. Once I've completed this technical mastery I find myself about ready to fly down dam hill.

At this point we're going into the wind and my average speed is healthily above 20 mph. But as we continue to ride west and south into the SW wind I slowly see my average go down, down, down. On the plus side I'm only getting passed by the known fasties and I'm keeping myself from looking like I'm moving backwards. Once I hit the first turn around at Shawnee Heights Rd, with the wind at my back, I feel like I'm floating. Uphills are effortless as I'm pushed up them at 22 mph and holding 28 mph on the flats. I tempted to yell out to the fellow riders coming the other way, battling the wind, that it gets better. There is hope. But the phrase "it sucks to be you" also came to mind.

With the wind at my back I became acutely aware that the sweat on my skin was beginning to sizzle. The upcoming run was going to be fun. But first the real fun part: south on 550 rd. I hate this stretch of road, it's mostly uphill and usually always into the wind. A small blessing occurred when the turnaround was moved further down a hill from its usual spot ending my pain a tad bit sooner. Heading back down 550 I was a bit dismayed to find out we weren't riding down through Lone Star. That was probably my favorite piece of the old course, but I understand why it was removed.

It was easy sailing until the bottom of the dam hill. I managed to time my approach perfectly so that I found myself directly behind a nervous student driver, a slower BOP rider, and a few signs in the middle of the road preventing me from passing the car or the rider. Momentum killed. After I got up the hill, and across the dam it was just about time to start riding into the park and begin cursing at my bike, the wind, and my legs. All three tried their hardest to keep me from ever detaching my taint from the saddle and starting my run.

It would have been a pretty sweet transition, but I ran down the wrong row, I was one off, so I had to hunt for the next aisle opening and then back track. Mikec123 came into T2 right on my heels but left in front of me because of my goof.

5/51
33/405

I was about 25 feet behind Mike coming out of T2. Since "asphalt beach" was flooded over we started with a small run going down a paved path - whose existence I have failed to notice despite the number of times my presence has graced this fair course. I stayed behind Mike up the hill and into the campground through mile 2. At this point I knew I wasn't going to be able to hold the 7+ min/mi splits, it was just too hot for me to do so. I also had to pee, and since I knew no course PR was happening I ducked into port-a-potty to take care of business.

For the next 11 miles all I recall is doing a lot of walking. In fact, if I didn't have a Garmin tracking my mile splits I would have sworn up and down that I walked 80% and ran 20%. Apparently I did find time to do some running while I was out there, it just felt like I did a lot of the opposite. I walked every aid station, mostly grabbing ice and water. At mile . . . whatever, I got an ice cold wash towel that I draped over my head and secured with my visor, which was a nice help. The 3-4 people through the campsite with hoses spraying people were great. So was the enthusiastic guy blaring music to keep us going. The Team Banana Hammocks tent was a bit annoying, a bunch of random dudes running around in banana costumes. Who does that? :)

There were some studs in the 70 race that looked great, but most seemed to be in the same boat as me. The guys ahead of me never put any more distance on me, and the dudes behind me never gained much either.

I met up with my wife who was a champion spectator. Talked with Jeff, who took 6th. Then I relaxed and hung out with the guys at the Hammocks tent for bit.


The same thing I say every year in this box. More training. More heat acclimating.
The reasons are the same on why it doesn't happen and so I stick with one 70.3 a year.


The volunteers were amazing, both on the bike and run course. The race had its challenges with the weather, the lake, and parking, but it pulled off 4 different distances of races on the same morning pretty well. I'm pretty impressed all things considered.