All In...

"The Ditch" aka the Intracoastal Waterway, Myrtle Beach, SC

Many people go through life with a bulging portfolio of risk aversion, content to hedge their bets and take the safe route. Life becomes a low-wire circus act performed from a Barcalounger, a remote control in hand and an oversized safety net beneath. However, if you seek the true answer to one of life's burning questions, be it athletic performances, business ventures, or personal relationships, you have to push all your chips to the middle, lay your cards on the table, and go all in...

October 2 2010, USTA Long Course National Championships, Myrtle Beach, SC

"Y'all are swimming in the Ditch tomorrow?" asked the barman at dinner the night before the race. After my confirmatory nod, he replied "Y'all are crazy, they's (sic) 'gators and water moc's in there." He forgot to mention the smaller critters...

6:45 a.m. As customary, I arrived early at T1, had my body marked with race numbers and age, set up my gear, donned my wetsuit and went down to the water. Most people burn with the anxiety of pre-race jitters at this time, but I always find it tranquil by the water, and so I calmly reflect on the year and the 165 podiums we put together as a team...and hope to add one national team tri-suit to that record. A young boy approaches me and says "Mister, didn't you hear? They cancelled the swim." Incredulously, I head back to T1 where the racers are gathered, listening to the announcement. Due to "water quality issues" (e colli), the swim has been cancelled; our Long Course Triathlon National Championships had just become a long duathlon. The new format would consist of a randomly ordered line of athletes running barefoot from the swim out point across the timing mat at 3 second intervals and into T1 to start the race. By the time I shed my wetsuit grab some water and enter the line, 1000 of the 1400 starters have already lined up...and the wind begins to build.

8:50 a.m. After chatting extensively with the athletes close to me in line, and a few bathroom breaks, I finally reach the front of the line and sprint barefoot into T1 where I slap on my helmet, grab my bike, run into the bike mount zone and execute a near perfect cyclocross mount. My race has finally begun. The bike course consists of 2 loops of a 28 mile circuit, much of which is on the smooth surface of highway 501, which the race organizers pulled strings to have closed to motor vehicle traffic for the race. I execute my plan, taking it up to 200 watts initially, and then gradually build to my target of 220 watts for the next 2.5 hrs. The wind has built to 15mph, and an occasional gust buffets my rear disc and 1080 front wheels as I fight for control of my bike. I come up on rider after rider, entering the back of their 20 meter "no draft" zone, surging to within centimeters of their rear wheel, and then slingshotting past them, all within the 30 seconds allowed for passing. I finish the bike leg feeling strong, and hitting within seconds of my 2hour, 30min target split.

11:22 a.m. I charge out of T2 and onto the run course feeling strong. The air temp is a balmy 71 degrees and I know I can lay it all on the line, not having to worry about heat stress. Although my legs are heavy from the bike, I know they will open up, and I force myself to maintain a fast tempo of 7:40/mile (10k pace + 20seconds per mile), which is 20 seconds per mile faster than my target race pace. My legs do open up as I pass the first mile aid station, and I feel strong and comfortable, having completed endless half mile repeats at this pace in training. I tick off the miles at this pace, depositing 20 precious seconds in the bank every mile and taking on water every other aid station. Despite feeling good, I slow to target pace at mile 8, as I begin to feel the cramp hounds nipping at my calves like the dogs that chase us on the ride to Saluda. If I can just hold my target pace to the end I'll qualify...Mile 10 comes, a significant point where I normally focus all my energy and concentration on finishing strong. Today, however, the cramps move up to my quads, and despite feeling energized, I have to slow to avoid a full blown meltdown...and then it comes. Mile 11, and my left quad seizes. I force myself to slow and relax...but then the stress shifts to my right quad and it too seizes. And so I push ahead, finishing the last 3 miles in this spasmodic shuffle, and cross the line at my overall target time for the bike and run legs of the race, which given a decent swim split, extrapolates to my target time of 5:05, a number posted all over my apartment for the last 365 days.

There are 3183 triathletes ranked in the 50-54 male age group in the US. 58 of those athletes qualified for, and entered the Long Course National Championships. The best 20 of those athletes qualified for the 2011 World Championships. Last Saturday, in Myrtle Beach, SC, my last 365 days came down to 5 hours. Those 5 hours came down to 3 miles and one simple truth: In 2010, I was 6 min away from being one of the best.

Final results: 25th/58