The Wind Beneath My Wings -- A Gulf Coast Triathlon Race Report

Blink.

Another Team in Training race season has come to an end.

The phenomenon of how fast time flies has always intrigued me. We see this in our careers, in our children, in our pets, in ourselves. As I type this, I look over to my beautiful cat of 17 years, and feel like it was just yesterday that I brought her and her sister home.

The past six months of training, fundraising, and preparing for this race didn't go at a snail's pace either. It's hard to believe that the half Ironman that the team and myself had been training for so hard all winter has now come and gone.

This was a difficult season for me, and admitting that isn't easy either. At times, I felt almost defeated. There were even times that I actually wanted to quit. I'm really glad I didn't. In fact, this season taught a few things. It taught me that it's okay to lean on friends, to ask for help if I need it. It taught me the power of support, knowing that with that and God's love, anything can be accomplished. It taught me how to keep my priorities straight, to keep my focus. Much like how one approaches race day.

Ahh yes, race day. A day that I won't soon forget. My team and I headed down for Panama City last weekend to participate in this 70.3 mile long triathlon on behalf of Team in Training.

There were only a few of us who had participated in any race of this length before (me being one of them). I felt lucky in that respect because I was able to recall the extreme heat from the the Florida 70.3 Half Ironman event I participated in the year before. Mentally, I was prepared. Though I didn't train as diligently as I would have liked, I went into this race with a sense of satisfaction knowing that no matter what the outcome, I am greatful for the journey. After all, I'm blessed to be able to do this at all, with good friends and for a good cause too.

Race day served up one element that I had never trained in, rough waters. Swimming is my strong point, and I looked at those waves on race morning with a confident sneer on my face. "I'll cut through the water like a knife," I thought. So when the horn went off and I headed into the sea for my 1.2 mile swim, I was downright pissed when a wave knocked me over as if I were a dead fish.

"Oh crap, my coach is watching me....

....wait, why the heck did THAT thought just cross my mind?

.....Who cares? FOCUS!"

I started to stroke again. Another wave came crashing into me, along with all of the doubt in the world.

"Why am I here again? Why did I ever think I could do this?"

These thoughts left me immediately frustrated. This is NOT the way I normally think, especially in a competitive environment. The whole experience took me by surprise.

I realized that I had never had training in big waves like that before. Whatever I was trying to do wasn't working, so I improvised so as to not exhaust myself. I ended up turning over and swimming on my back for a good 200 yards. I flipped back over to see if I could handle those waves any better, but it didn't seem to do much good. So back and forth I'd flip, backstroking and then freestyling, with an occasional breast stroke peppered in here and there. Quite a pathetic performance on the swim.

I looked around me and was happy to see that I wasn't the only person who seemed to have had a brain fart on how to swim. I pressed on, buoy after buoy, until I finally made the turn to head back into shore. It was only then that I was able to find my tempo and get a rhythm. I got a boost of confidence when I was close to shore and caught a wave, which carried me for a 10 second ride right up to the shoreline. I'm surprised I didn't look like a beached whale when it was all said and done. (As you can see by the photo below, I was elated to be done with this leg of the race.)

Once out of the water, I headed towards the transition area. Enter confidence booster number two. My transition position was as good as it could get, with my bike being the first row from the exit area, right next to the pros. I got my gear on, and headed out, knowing that I could make up time on the bike.

I picked up my pace, settled into a good speed, and then ker-PLUNK. My aero bottle, with my only source of liquid nutrition, fell off and right onto the road. After a quick, audible curse, I turned around, navigating myself around otehr cyclists, and got the bottle. I ended up screwing with it for about a minute or two, trying to adjust the velcro so that it stays put. At this point, one of the aero bottle's caps were broken and unrepairable (I had the dual compartment Profile Design), with the majority of my hydration having spilled out onto the road.

Thinking it's somewhat secure, I started out again. It wasn't 500 yards before the sonofabitch fell off again. I'm lucky it didn't get caught in my spokes. Knowing that I could get penalized four minutes for leaving abandoned equipment, I took my chances and made the decision to not turn around again.

Fortunately, I had decided the night before to attach an extra cage to my frame, just in case I needed it -- good thing. If I wouldn't have done that, it is probable that I would have had to scratch the race since I would have had no way to keep myself hydrated on the bike.

Despite the water bottle issue, my bike leg went rather well. I did have a strange thing happen at about mile 25. I made the mistake of breaking too hard with my rear break, which caused me to fishtail on a hairpin turn. I'm lucky that I didn't wipe out, but the sensation that this gave me was all but comforting. For the next 10 miles, I felt as though my back tire was going to wobble right off. I even pulled my bike over (AGAIN) so that I could do a full inspection. To this day, I'm not really sure if there was any mechanical issues going on during that time.

At mile 40 on the bike, I was starting to get BORED. There isn't much to look at on the bike portion of this course, other than passing cars, bikes, and trees. There was an occasional cloud, which was exciting. I was frustrated with the wind, and really needed a boost. Then, out of the blue, I hear a voice.

"ROOOOOOONEY!"

The music to my ears was none other than my friend Brian. He affectionately labeled my bike ROONEY when I had gotten it (partially due to the Pittsburg Steelers coach and partially because of the movie Ferris Bueller's Day Off). I was so surprised to see him, because I figured he had passed me long ago when I was screwing with that stupid water bottle. I later learned that Brian had a flat midway through the course, which is what had set him so far back.

He passed me on the bike, we exchanged a couple words of encouragement (including a "Go Blue" cheer for him out of respect), and he was off.

With new air in my lungs, I was able to finish the bike strong and head back into transition. After making a quick pitstop, I was off on my run. My strategy actually wasn't a run, but a run/walk. I had learned my lesson the year before to head out strong in this heat, so I decided to stick to a run five minute/walk one minute strategy. It seemed to work for me well. I took my time at the water stations, taking advantage of any ice that was offered. I put ice in my water bottle, in my hat, down my top. (So sue me, it was hot.)

I was keeping a decent pace up through mile ten, when the need to make a pit stop hit me. I'm not sure what I had done that caused this issue, but I'm thinking it was a combination of lack of liquid nutrition on the bike and bananas. Whatever the case, I had to make yet ANOTHER stop. I finally got to a porta-potty, only to have a runner squeek in there right before I could get to it. So I waited. And waited. And waited. He obviously had the same problem I did.

I finally had my turn, and was on the road one last time. As I passed mile 12, I noticed something familiar in the distance -- two tall, lean bodies with Team in Training uniforms on. As I ran closer, I realized that the two were none other than Brian and Pete, walking. A huge smile came to my face, and I ran as if I got injected with a shot of endorphins.

I caught up to the two fine men who I had started my Team in Training journey with back in 2007 when we all participated in the Nation's Triathlon. I asked them if I could have the priviledge of finishing along side them, and they welcomed me in as if I were family.

Despite Pete now dealing with an injured hip flexor and Brian nurturing an ankle that he had banged up due to a crash about a mile after he had passed me on the bike, both of them picked up their stride with about a half mile to go and were determined to run in the rest of the way.

My short little legs worked hard to keep up with them, but we were able to all keep the same pace. We passed the Team in Training tent and the "Go Team" chants that were emitting from it. It was nice to see so many familiar faces on the sidelines. As we approached the finish line, side by side, we all instinctively reached out to each other and held hands, as if we were making sure no one was left behind. The race announcer saw us coming, and announced our approach. "And here we have a group from Team in Training, coming in together! Pete Spender, of Bloomfield, Michigan...Brian Murphy, of Troy, Michigan...and Andrea Duncan of Grosse Pointe, Michigan."

The three of us, still holding hands, smiled and raised our hands up high as we crossed the finish line. Three steady beeps were heard through the air, indicating that our chip had been read and that our race was complete.

To me, the emotions that showed on our face and flowed in our hearts can't be described. I still get teary-eyed thinking of these moments, knowing that no one could have written a better ending for me that day.

Pete, Briand and I (and the rest of the team too) all had our challenges throughout the season, some small, some big, some life changing. All of us were in this together for our own reasons, and for a common one -- to help fight against blood cancers. And in the end, we ALL finished together.

To me, crossing the line hand in hand with friends represents all of the support that we have had from so many of you -- none of us could have crossed the finish line without that. You have been the wind beneath our wings, pushing us, supporting us, and believing in this mission. Thank you. for being with all of us, every step of the way.

My full plate.

"Update your blog!" I hear from Bananaman. It's a comment that isn't meant to harp or pester, but simply to nudge, as a good friend would do. I'll always appreciate those nudges, especially because these last six months have dealt me up with an extremely full plate as if I had just been served up a heaping dish from the all-you-can-eat buffet of life.

Surely, with everything on my plate something is bound to drop on the floor. This blog is one, and my apologies to my dear friend Brian and anyone else who has checked this site so much more often than I have lately. Thanks for having patience in me, in holding me accountable. Moving forward, I can't guarantee that I'll keep my blog as updated as I once used to, but knowing that there is an occasional soul that checks in every once in a while does make a difference.

Keep on me, and I'll keep on posting. At the very least, I'll do my best to try and squeeze this in between meals.