An Age-Grouper in Pro's Clothing

So on Sunday, Amy and I raced on relay teams in the Escape from Alcatraz triathlon. I swam for one team, while Amy rode the bike for another. We stayed in the city Saturday night, leaving the kids in the capable hands of their favorite sitter (Miss Candi!).

Race morning was foggy and cold, but at least the winds from the previous evening had died down (and there were no longer whitecaps in the bay). After walking with Amy to the transition/expo area, I boarded the bus to the ferry that would take me and 1500 other athletes to Alcatraz island. I ran into a pro friend of mine while waiting to board the ferry and chatted with him a bit. During the ferry ride, a fellow FMRC club member and I killed time while waiting for the inevitable.

7am: There's nothing like the start of this race -- not even the mass start mayhem of an Ironman. The pros launched off the side of the ferry into the balmy 57F swells of the bay, followed by the cattle-call of 1500 neoprene-encased athletes. A quick gulp, a hand on the goggles to prevent them from being ripped off, and then the plunge!

The swim was a fast one for me (I ranked as the 216th fastest swim, so a pretty good one), but it felt anything but. Rolling swells were broken up only briefly by calmer water, but it was nearly impossible to establish a good rhythm. Several times, I took a lungful of sea water and had to stop to gather myself. I felt like I was flailing, and I couldn't seem to swim in a straight line, always shallowing up. The Palace of Fine Arts kept looming larger and larger until I thought to myself, "!@%!, how big is that thing gonna get?!"

Finally, though, I made it to the beach, and dragged myself out. Dizzy, I had to stop and steady myself before I could put on my shoes and run to transition to tag our cyclist. Amy congratulated me on a good swim, and then almost immediately had to leave on her own leg of the relay.

I had always planned to run the Alcatraz run course after Amy took off on her bike leg, and I wanted to get out there far enough ahead of the race that I didn't interfere with anything. Well, I ended up taking a little too much time in transition -- drying off, hitting the toilets, washing the salt-water out of my mouth, etc. -- and by the time I got out on the run course, the race helicopter was pretty much hovering over transition, anticipating the lead pro's arrival.

So, I'm running across Crissy Field toward the Golden Gate, and I can hear the helicopter behind me, and I'm wondering how long I can hold off the lead pro (Andy Potts). That's about the point that my workout objective changed from "aerobic" to "tempo/strength." ;)

About a mile into the run, the helicopter suddenly moves directly overhead, and I'm thinking, "They've noticed that there's somebody in tri-gear on the course AHEAD of Andy Potts. Have we missed somebody?" And I can imagine the cameras zooming in on the mystery runner in FoMo gear, trying to figure out who it might be and how the spotters might have missed him. The lead helicopter stayed with me for about a minute or so, and then they must have figured out that I was nobody important, and they bounced back to Andy.

Anyway, I headed up the trails into the headlands, and Andy finally caught up to me just past the first stairs. I stopped and cheered him on, in spite of the look of "WTF!?" on his face. More pros soon followed, and I was enjoying the unique experiencing of running with the big dogs (though I was careful to keep out of their way, stepping aside on narrow trails, giving them the level ground, etc.).

It was quite a trip. Those guys can really move. I wasn't running all out, but it was still astonishing how quickly they were blowing by me -- and on trails, deep beach sand, etc. Not to mention the little fact that I had skipped a short but quad-bustingly-hilly bike ride in between the swim and the run. :)

Oh, and one other fun moment was when I saw Steve Chavez (a fellow FMRC club member -- and an elite one, at that) on the run course. I was coming back down from the bridge toward Crissy Field and he was on his way out. I shouted something like, "Stay strong, Steve!" He looked thoroughly confused that I was so far ahead of him. I caught up with him after the race, and he said his exact thoughts were something like "Damn! He's up there with pros!"