July 29, 2006, Cornerbrook, Newfoundland, CanadaBack in May at the Duathlon National Championship in Ohio, I qualified for the World Championship as a member of Team USA, 35-39 age group. My training for the next several months was geared towards "Worlds." I followed the training plan and felt reasonably ready to race against the world's best age group duathletes — or at least those who qualified
and opened their wallets to travel to a remote destination.
I didn't really know any other athletes who were going. I hoped it wasn't going to be a du-geek-fest/freak show of obsessed athletes who wanted to compare PRs for five days. No thanks. Luckily, I met Kevin C. in the airport in Toronto. Kevin is an outgoing, highly successful businessman, father of seven, and superstar athlete in the 50-55 age group. He had some interesting stories of hob-knobbing with former Presidents and bike riding with Tour de France cyclists, including a recent winner. Yet he was humble. Lisa T., a familiar face from triathlon Nationals, agreed to give me some rides, though I felt like I carjacked her. Shawn D. from Wisconsin seemed to join us naturally with a like-minded attitude.
I arrived in Deer Lake late Wednesday, 1 AM Thursday local time. I'd never heard this until this trip, but they're actually 90 minutes later than Eastern time. That is not a typo. Thirty minutes different than the rest of the world? What's up?
The airport was bursting at the seams with duathletes from around the world. My bike had been shipped to the hotel, so once I grabbed my bag off the pitifully short, one-strip, conveyor belt, I got on the charter bus which was part of the "travel package" I'd bought. A minute later Kevin appeared and asked if I wanted a ride in his rental car. Cool. I had my key from the travel manager and we were off to Marble Mountain, about 20 miles away. It was late, but the room was nice and spacious.
I arose for breakfast and made the 10-minute walk to the ski-chalet. I found my bike box and put my bike together in hopes of riding the course. I discovered a dent in my disc wheel and a chunk of paint off my frame. I hate bike shipping. I got the Javelin put together and figured I'd ask the team mechanic to give it the "once over." Forty-five minutes later, well after the bus was gone, he was finished. It was painful, but everything he adjusted or recommended was logical, thorough, and much appreciated.
I carjacked Lisa T. to see if she could help me make the course training ride, but I missed it, anyway. All was not lost, though, as we picked up our race packets.
Back at Marblewood Village, I found the good luck package that Jamie sent. Totally cool! It included gels, a yellow water bottle with "The Massive Belgian" taped on it, a mini suitcase of courage, and special notes from George Hincapie (not really) and my Accelerade sponsors (also not really). She also compiled the following nuggets of motivation/encouragement from Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwen:
-"Dance on the pedals in a most immodest way"
-"Stretch the elastic" using "those pistons you call legs"
-"Put the other racers in difficulty"
-"Climb like an angel"
-Keep off the "mask of pain"
-Remember that you're a "beast of a man"
-"Dig into your suitcase of courage"
Then it was off to the arena for the team photo, pasta dinner, and "parade of nations" and opening ceremony. This all took place at the Pepsi Centre, the local hockey arena. As we entered the arena for the parade with all the countries following their flag bearer, the local community and family and friends cheered the athletes with the atmosphere of a Chicago Bulls pre-game. It reminded me of my indoor soccer days with the Baltimore Bays as we made our way onto the arena floor.
The usual speeches were made from various officials and a cultural singing group entertained us with skits and songs that had nothing to do with duathlon but held our attention nonetheless.
Kevin and I ran and rode the course on Friday before checking in our bikes. Despite rainy forecasts, the weather was partly sunny and pleasant thus far. I thought the course was tough but do-able. The 2.5K run course seemed alright, but doing it once is a lot different than six times at race pace or after two hours of racing. The bike course would be tough if the wind persisted, but the hill we'd have to climb seemed "over-hyped." "We'll see tomorrow," I said to myself.
Kevin, Shawn, and I drove up to the Gros Morne National Park and checked out some unbelievable mountainous scenery before coming back for dinner, which took way too long.
The forecast for race day was an 80% chance of rain. Would they go 0 for 3 on the forecast? I awoke in the night to the sounds of steady rain. My wave wasn't until 11:30am. Maybe it will stop.
Kevin and Shawn started an hour before me so I cheered them on while trying to stay dry. They looked good. It was still raining. I ditched my gear and started warming up in my sleeveless gray and red USA Orca one piece skinsuit. It was tough to get warmed up. Soon the 30-39 year old men were corralled into the starting area. The list of countries represented included Canada, Great Britain, Brazil, Australia, South Africa and several more. There'd be 37 finishers in my age group; 7 from the US.
Everyone looked fit and serious. When the start gun sounded, the group blasted forward, down the hill at breakneck pace. I tried to hold back but wanted to at least be "with" the pack as it started up the hill. The first time over it wasn't too bad, but five more times? We'll see. After the hill, a quick downhill before a hard right and back uphill to the turnaround on the neighborhood street where the families came out in the rain to rattle their bells or play music. Instead of straight back uphill, we'd take the gravel path taking us up to transition and around the finishing line for the next lap. Team USA Manager, Tim Yount, was parked at the entrance to the gravel path where he'd give us fiery encouragement, like, "c'mon, work together, attack this run!" His stare was intense as I sucked oxygen. It felt like he was looking through me. I was not a medal contender, but he was all over me to go as hard as I could.
Each time over the hill got harder. I was running with another American most of the way. It was still raining steadily, but the consistency of it almost made me forget about it. After the fourth time over the hill, I was relieved to be done with it for now, but I was seriously dreading having to run it two more times after an hour of biking in the rain on a tough course on legs that were already screaming. Up the gravel path to transition and I looked at my watch, 38:29 - a new PR. Yes, so far so good.
There was a major downhill on the bike and it was very wet. Be careful, be safe, stay focused, no risks. The first time down, safely, OK - only three more times. Onto the flat section through the stop light and past the paper mill factory where wood stacked up towards the smokestacks. Along the shore to the turnaround there were puddles everywhere. We were instructed to ride on the left and pass on the right. Not everyone got the memo. Volunteers were sweeping the puddles, but it was coming down too quickly for them to eliminate the puddles. They could only reduce their depth. There was a woman in a raincoat playing a triangle and yelling in English, then French, and smiling! At the 180 degree clockwise bike turn, they'd yell at you to get your speed going again and give you props on the turn you just made. Going back up the hill to finish lap one was not as tough as the rumors. One down, three to go.
"You can descend safely, the wind is not a factor, you just PR'd on the 10K, let 'er rip when you get to the flats...."
This time through the intersection my special "Massive Belgian" water bottle flew out of the cage and I was down to just my Profile drink bottle and my gel flask. I needed to ration my fluids to last for another 45 minutes, and darn, I lost my new water bottle! There were some packs of riders hauling along yelling at anyone not on the left, but apparently not so concerned about the drafting rules. Whatever, I was just out there to go as fast as I could, knowing that it wouldn't mean much in the standings.
Coming up the hill the final time was a good thing, but it meant that the hilly 5K lay waiting to pound on my quads. Could my training, 3 gels, and 12-14 ounces of Accelerade get me through this at a respectable pace? I came off the bike with a smooth shoeless dismount and one of my two best 40K bike splits ever. Not bad on a wet course with major puddles. My white socks were gray, my bike was grimy. My running shoes were soaked.
I ran out of T2 with a good shot at hitting my goal time or better. My race number had disintegrated in the rain. I turned the corner and got some love from the USA guy with the cowbell. Down the hill, OK, what goes down.....must come....ouch.
"Oh, hello JPD, remember me, Mr. Hill?"
My heart rate shot up and I was grinding the quads to maintain forward movement. I managed to survive the first loop of the 5K and got some encouragement at the gravel road and at the transition area where I had to run past the finish line one more time for the final loop. My watch let me know I was fading and the mask of pain claimed a late victory over my suitcase of courage. The final 2.5K loop was bearable, only because it was the final one. I said a final goodbye to the friendly volunteers at the turnaround in the neighborhood which got an enthusiastice response. I gave whatever speed I had left on the flat section of the gravel path and gutted out the final climb to the finish.
Despite having the race crumble in the last 5K run, I had still beat my time from Nationals by more than three minutes and was about a minute off my goal time. Running through the finish banner was such a relief. My quads were toast. I had done my best.
Kevin and Shawn stayed in the rain to see me in, both having completed excellent races. It was good to see my new friends at the finish.
The preliminary results said I was 22nd out of 34 in my age group, and 5th out of 7 Americans.
After a few days of recovery, which included witnessing the unbelievable speed of the professional World Championship (on a dry course) with personable USAT Executive Director Skip G, this Teddy Roosevelt quote captured the essence of my reflections on the entire experience:
"Far better it is to dare mighty things than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much, because they live in a gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat."
