I couldn’t hear the announcements on the boat as we approached Alcatraz Island. I had already put in place my ear plugs and swim cap to protect me from the bitter cold of the bay. The boat had come to a stop and the Rock was a mere 20 yards off the bow. Every athlete stood in quiet attention as the national anthem rang out. As the anthem ended, the boat erupted in cheers and the doors flung open. One more nervous glance at my lone wetsuit stuffed in a bag on the floor and I began the march to the door to the open bay without it. As far as I could tell there was only one other non-wetsuit swimmer on the bottom deck of the boat. He approached me, we shook hands, and the folks surrounding us cheered in support.
At the race briefing they said that 2,000 athletes would jump off the boat in less than six minutes. What is it like? Think of the floor at a rock concert. You are shoulder to shoulder with the athlete next to you and being pushed from behind. When you reach the edge of the boat a race official calls out, “3-2-1 GO!” and you are in the bay. Courage isn’t required, you really don’t have much choice.
It’s a small drop, 3 feet or so, to the water. Whatever breath you had when you jumped instantly leaves your lungs as you submerge. The bay varies in color from grey to green, never blue. However, the color of a jump into the bay is bright white. The bright white light is caused by sensory overload and the white bubbles that ascend with you to the surface. Pastor or priest, when you break the surface and draw your first breathe it is always followed by an explicative. Gotta move now. Another athlete is already airborne above me.
The swim course is 1.5 miles across the bay and down the beach to the Yacht Harbor. I found my rhythm early and started to have fun swimming to and fro between wide-eyed triathletes. I felt powerful and in control. Midway across the bay I pulled though and flipped on to my back to admire the Golden Gate Bridge and the beauty of the morning. The swim ended too soon. I staggered onto the beach 47 minutes after jumping off the boat and started the 1-mile run to the bikes. I could hear my friends from the Dolphin Club call my name, but didn’t see any of them – except my good friend Nobu. He bounced like a kangaroo along side me almost the entire run back to the transition area.
The bike course was a blur. The Golden Gate Bridge, The Legion of Honor, a statue of The Thinker, a guy dressed up as Mr. Potato Head, the beach, motorcycle cops, Golden Gate Park, volunteers in yellow t-shirts, sea gulls. It was a very difficult bike course, but my training rides with Bob on the actual course really helped. I finished the bike in surprisingly good time for me. My bike time was just under 1:20.
As I headed out for the 8-mile run my legs buckled a bit. The fast bike had taken more of toll that I expected. I checked my race time – 2:25. I had mentioned to my wife on the eve of the race that if everything went right, I might break 4 hours. My mind clunked along and I shuffled passed the cheering spectators. . . 2:25. . . that leaves me 1:35 to do this run. . . a 10 minute mile pace would be 80 minutes. . . that leaves me 15 minutes to spare. . . I’ve got a shot at breaking four hours!
The first 1.5 miles are along the beach – flat, fast, but a bit windy. I held a sub-10 min/mile pace during this section.
This is where the race rips your heart out. With 6.5 miles remaining, the beautiful course turns on you and becomes the cruelest joke in the sport of triathlon. Stairs, sand, stairs and more stairs! Roots, tunnels with 4-foot clearances, gravel, stairs, stairs, and stairs. Ducking, walking, trotting, stumbling, jumping, clawing your way up hand rails of stairs just to stay upright. Once section, in particular, has over 300 ‘sand stairs’. I faltered more than once with my quads trembling and my heart in my throat. Other times, my pace was slowed by the submission of an athlete in front of me to a slow walk. Many sections of the run course are too narrow to pass safely as more competitive athletes bound down in the other direction. With each step I grew more and more attached to finishing sub-4 hours and at the same time the goal seemed less and less attainable.
At the 6-mile marker I had a scant 21 minutes to make my goal of a sub-4 hour finish. I pushed hard, but my legs were completely spent, I felt like I was running in ski boots. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Check the time. Clunk, clunk, clunk. Check the time. It was going to be close. At last the finish line was in sight. Tunnel vision, just keep pushing. You can do this – check the watch again. 3:57. . . dig deep.
As I approached the transition area. All my friends are there – Mark, Sunny, Jason, Nobu, Bob, Shannon, Alex, Victor, Elaine, all wildly cheering me on and it helped. One more glance at the watch. . . 3:58 – not there yet.
To my surprise, as I entered the finisher chute, I saw my wife Lisa kneeling and holding on to the two cutest boys on the planet. They somehow managed to gain the athlete side of the fence. Wild spectators cheers from the fence at their backs. No smile comes close to Lisa’s. She released the boys and Brant and Lance were on at my side instantly. Brant grabbed my hand and proudly pulled me along. Lance tore off for the finish line yelling and screaming the whole way. We all cross the finish line together – tears and cheers. I reach down and stop my watch. 3:59:10. I did it! The whole day flashed through my mind in an instant as I bowed to receive my finisher’s medal. It was an incredible feeling, unique to accomplishing the most difficult of tasks. I did it! I did it! I did it!
View from the swim finish.
First swimmers arriving.
A shot at a personal goal.
Lance leading the way and Brant dragging me in.
True love.
The crew.
Me and Bob.
The boys.
Post Script – I never check race results, but I’m pretty sure 3:59 puts me in the absolute bottom of my age group. That said, I can honestly say that when I ran across the finish line with my boys and hit my personal goal I felt as if I won the race. If I’m honest, I still feel that way. :) Well, it turns out I didn't actually win. Later, I learned a guy named Potts won the men’s race finishing in 2:07.
A stock photo of some of those d@#*m stairs!
