The weather forecast for the Saturday races was supposed to be rainy and cold, but that’s not how it turned-out. Clear skies, sunny and just a little wind were what we got. Perfect. The water temp was on the chilly side at 61 degrees. Luckily I just got a Zoot neoprene cap and I kept me quite warm.
Just before the swim start, it seemed as though everyone wanted to be at the front. It was really crowded. There were only two waves in the Deuceman Half-iron; men and women. So, it was really rough, just as bad as an Ironman start. I pushed hard in the beginning with thoughts of getting dropped in the swim two weeks ago at the Tempe international running through my head. Big mistake. The combination of the coldish water and high altitude sent me into a hyperventilating tail-spin. I’ve never experienced that before, well maybe not since my first ever open-water swim. I had to stop swimming several times and watch the race swim away from me. When I thought about that, I added panic to the equation and it was just a mess.
I managed to get things mostly under control by the half-way point, but it was really too late. I came out of the water in a disappointing 31+ minutes. I swam faster here two years ago. I let lots of hard work in the pool go to waste. I tried to stay positive and make the best of what was left. I moved through transition pretty quickly and hit the road.
A couple of miles in, Dan Beaver (2009 Kona qualifier) rode past me; we traded spots on and off as hills and pacing dictated. It seemed pretty clear that neither of us were going anywhere. Not working together, but just riding our individual race plans neither willing to abandon the plan and burn matches to break away or to drop off the pace. By mile ten we were joined by a third rider. Each of us occasionally putting in a slight surge to try to break from the other two, but each unable or unwilling to sustain it long enough to break the elastic. By mile 20 we were joined by a fourth, Brian Henry, a strong cyclist. By mile 30 I’d resigned to the fact that this group would likely be together all the way into T2. On one hand I was OK with this as I new I was riding with some strong cyclists, on the other, I didn’t want to roll into T2 with Beaver. That’s too much pressure on the run.
With about five miles left in the bike, I pushed my watts up a little bit and put a small gap on the other three, enough that I was able to pedal easy the last mile and get my legs ready to run. But as I ran into T2 I quickly glanced over my shoulder and saw the other three were right there. Crap! I made a fast (day best) 1:08 transition and hit the run fumbling with my visor, number belt, Hammer Gel flask, and Garmin. In all that mess I stopped my watch and didn’t realize it until about .7 miles in.
The early part of the run felt bad and I thought it was going to be a long day and even that I might end-up walking. At about 1.5 miles in, a twenty-something ran by me, strong. It surprised me. I thought maybe he was in the Olympic distance race or maybe in a relay. He was slowly pulling away from me and I was concerned. At the three mile turn-around point, I could see that he was wearing a Duceman number. Bad news. The good news was that I saw only one other Deuceman number heading the other way. I’d checked my watch when he went past me and again when I hit the cone. I was two minutes out of the lead with ten miles to go. I was worried about the guy in second but I didn’t want to push the pace yet. I had to keep reminding myself to be patient. “Long way to go Brad, he could be going too hard, gotta stick to YOUR race, wait it out, stay in contact, see what happens.”
The twenty-something was still putting time into me, but I could tell we were slowly catching the guy in the lead. By mile six I was gaining on second and we had taken a minute out of the lead. At about nine miles in, the twenty–something imploded. I went past him at the mile nine aid station and I could hear him struggling behind me. Within a minute I went past the 47 year-old stud (John Poisson), whom I was sure was the lead.
Four miles to go. Was I going to hard? My heart rate said I was good to go. My mile splits were all between 6:20-7:00 per mile, just as I planned. I pressed on. After the turn-around at mile 10, I checked my watch and pushed the pace some more. I was still putting time into the two behind me and I was pretty sure the rest were too far back to do anything about it. With two miles to go I pushed harder. “Take no chances”, I thought. Within 100 yards of the finish, I could hear the announcer. “Oh, I must not have been paying attention”, he said. “That was our fist Deuceman finisher!” What?!? I didn’t understand. Where was that guy? Answer: too far ahead for you to know there was someone else up there. I thought I’d missed the win by thirty seconds and my thoughts shot back to my abysmal swim. Crap.
I later learned that the announcer REALLY wasn’t paying attention. The winner Glenn Mengering, had been done about 2:30 before he made that announcement. So, I was more like three minutes back. Still, had I had the swim I should have, it may have been very close. Oh well, I’ll take second overall!
Just before the swim start, it seemed as though everyone wanted to be at the front. It was really crowded. There were only two waves in the Deuceman Half-iron; men and women. So, it was really rough, just as bad as an Ironman start. I pushed hard in the beginning with thoughts of getting dropped in the swim two weeks ago at the Tempe international running through my head. Big mistake. The combination of the coldish water and high altitude sent me into a hyperventilating tail-spin. I’ve never experienced that before, well maybe not since my first ever open-water swim. I had to stop swimming several times and watch the race swim away from me. When I thought about that, I added panic to the equation and it was just a mess.
I managed to get things mostly under control by the half-way point, but it was really too late. I came out of the water in a disappointing 31+ minutes. I swam faster here two years ago. I let lots of hard work in the pool go to waste. I tried to stay positive and make the best of what was left. I moved through transition pretty quickly and hit the road.
A couple of miles in, Dan Beaver (2009 Kona qualifier) rode past me; we traded spots on and off as hills and pacing dictated. It seemed pretty clear that neither of us were going anywhere. Not working together, but just riding our individual race plans neither willing to abandon the plan and burn matches to break away or to drop off the pace. By mile ten we were joined by a third rider. Each of us occasionally putting in a slight surge to try to break from the other two, but each unable or unwilling to sustain it long enough to break the elastic. By mile 20 we were joined by a fourth, Brian Henry, a strong cyclist. By mile 30 I’d resigned to the fact that this group would likely be together all the way into T2. On one hand I was OK with this as I new I was riding with some strong cyclists, on the other, I didn’t want to roll into T2 with Beaver. That’s too much pressure on the run.
With about five miles left in the bike, I pushed my watts up a little bit and put a small gap on the other three, enough that I was able to pedal easy the last mile and get my legs ready to run. But as I ran into T2 I quickly glanced over my shoulder and saw the other three were right there. Crap! I made a fast (day best) 1:08 transition and hit the run fumbling with my visor, number belt, Hammer Gel flask, and Garmin. In all that mess I stopped my watch and didn’t realize it until about .7 miles in.
The early part of the run felt bad and I thought it was going to be a long day and even that I might end-up walking. At about 1.5 miles in, a twenty-something ran by me, strong. It surprised me. I thought maybe he was in the Olympic distance race or maybe in a relay. He was slowly pulling away from me and I was concerned. At the three mile turn-around point, I could see that he was wearing a Duceman number. Bad news. The good news was that I saw only one other Deuceman number heading the other way. I’d checked my watch when he went past me and again when I hit the cone. I was two minutes out of the lead with ten miles to go. I was worried about the guy in second but I didn’t want to push the pace yet. I had to keep reminding myself to be patient. “Long way to go Brad, he could be going too hard, gotta stick to YOUR race, wait it out, stay in contact, see what happens.”The twenty-something was still putting time into me, but I could tell we were slowly catching the guy in the lead. By mile six I was gaining on second and we had taken a minute out of the lead. At about nine miles in, the twenty–something imploded. I went past him at the mile nine aid station and I could hear him struggling behind me. Within a minute I went past the 47 year-old stud (John Poisson), whom I was sure was the lead.
Four miles to go. Was I going to hard? My heart rate said I was good to go. My mile splits were all between 6:20-7:00 per mile, just as I planned. I pressed on. After the turn-around at mile 10, I checked my watch and pushed the pace some more. I was still putting time into the two behind me and I was pretty sure the rest were too far back to do anything about it. With two miles to go I pushed harder. “Take no chances”, I thought. Within 100 yards of the finish, I could hear the announcer. “Oh, I must not have been paying attention”, he said. “That was our fist Deuceman finisher!” What?!? I didn’t understand. Where was that guy? Answer: too far ahead for you to know there was someone else up there. I thought I’d missed the win by thirty seconds and my thoughts shot back to my abysmal swim. Crap.
I later learned that the announcer REALLY wasn’t paying attention. The winner Glenn Mengering, had been done about 2:30 before he made that announcement. So, I was more like three minutes back. Still, had I had the swim I should have, it may have been very close. Oh well, I’ll take second overall!
