Bluewater Tri

Headed out west sucker, because I wanna be a cowboy, baby! The little red Kia rolled into Parker on Saturday after 4 hours on the road. My Styx-like Grand Illusion took a blow when I parked in the lot of a complete POS casino located on a strip of land that belongs to the Colorado Indian Reservation. Concrete, concrete, and more concrete, plus a casino floor the size of a HS gym, and rooms that – while inexpensive – need some love. Every woman had at least one tat, and every dude had at least nine. You could pick the real tri-athletes out of the crowd like you could pick Pee Wee Herman out of a police lineup. Thin, tan, ripped, with sporty logo clothing on. I had the thin part and the logo T-shirt down pat.

I hooked up with A-man and the rest of the gang, and we caught up at the blackjack table where I lost 7 out of 8 hands in four minutes and walked away with half as much as I started with. Nice. I violated rule 1.4-6 of my casino code: NEVER play against a six deck shoe in an Indian casino with a Caucasian dealer. Then we ate a horseshit dinner at one of the two food outlets, and climbed into bed. Couldn’t sleep. They had the swim buoys out when we arrived and they looked way further out than anything I had trained for. Then I kept thinking I was short on food for breakfast, where were my socks? The wetsuit is too tight, maybe? I didn’t being enough Accelerade! and then I couldn’t get Carly Simon’s “You’re So Vain” out of my mind. Why? Jesus, I remember my Dad telling me about a panic attack he had when he was around 40’ish – just froze up in the car and couldn’t drive. Heredity is a beyotch, and I sat there in bed, wide awake, until the alarm went off at 5:30.

Over to the transition area at 6:00am where I saw more carbon and disc wheels than at a Tour De France stage. We picked our spots and I laid out all my little needs on a towel and then had to force feed myself some breakfast all the while swallowing the anxiety that came with pre-race jitters. Finally it was time to put on the wetsuit, swim cap and goggles and hit it. “GO!” Jitters/anxiety/stress – instantly gone.

In 96th place after the swim out of 130 racers in the long course, I was setting a blistering pace. Hop on the bike, and back in my element - I was passing a lot of people and that felt good, coming into the final transition in around 45th. Then, the run. 9 minute miles over a 5 mile course doesn’t do anything but get you a nice view of the tan and ripped people who just passed you. I saw some great tri-suits, and counted at least seven pairs of really nice Solomon running shoes. I just couldn’t go any faster, so I crossed the line around 75th overall. I felt pretty good, so I know I didn’t leave it all out there – but I just couldn’t figure out where to leave it….does that even make sense? I was worried about working too hard on the bike so I backed off, and then I remember feeling a bit claustrophobic in the wetsuit – and not being able to see the marina in the glaring sun, ahhh it’s all just excuses.

One thing that was Colonel Jessup style Crystal Clear was the fact that the peeps who succeed at these races are incredibly regimented with their training and gear - everyone had watches 'cept for prolly' me, and no less than 20 people asked me for my split times. Split times? Oh I get it, the swim time, bike time, and run time. No - I don't get it actually.

I’ve got a couple of options.

1.) Either commit to the tri lifestyle and hit it to compete with the upper end of my age group
2.) Ride/race bikes, run a bit with D for fun, board in the winter, play tackle football with Lyza and her friends, and swim while I’m on vacation to catch waves

#2 it is. I'll have my little Tri-suit on E-Bay tonight. There's no taint in it, so it's 'like new'.