measured progress

It's a drizzly, overcast Wednesday morning and I'm just now drying out from my rain-ridden ride this morning. The weather today is eerily similar to how it was in Wichita last Saturday. I'm finding myself reminiscing about the race last weekend as I'm stuck in this under-stimulating compliance training. Grand images of the best race I've had to date fill my head as the voices in the room dull to a faint buzz. I look up occasionally to make eye-contact with the presenter, but my mind is really consumed with that morning just a few days ago.

I rolled into Afton Park at 3 in the morning. It was still pitch-black outside as my headlights pierced into the tents that outlined the shore line of the lake. I slowly rolled into the designated parking lot and parked underneath a tree at the corner of the lot. As the slight rumble from my exhaust desisted, I could hear the faint chirp of the wilderness and the calm rustle of leaves that pronounced a storm was rolling in. I was just in time to sleep for a few more hours before I made final preparations. An hour later, the distinct ting of rain droplets crashing onto metal woke me from my brief slumber. I rolled up my windows and slept for a few more hours as the thunderstorms rolled in. At 6, the parking lot began to fill with athletes and the skies continued to unload waves upon waves of furious rain drops. Angry flashes of lightning streaked through the air, as though trying to prohibit the impending sunrise that was pushing through on the horizon. The parking lot continued to fill as the waves of rain began to settle into a slight drizzle. I opened my car door and stepped into the cool morning air. I slowly unloaded my bike, still dripping from the rainstorm, and made my way to the transition area. As I had become accustomed to during the previous weeks, I meticulously placed my gear on the end spot I had reserved. The sky continued to break into a colorful array of blues, pinks, oranges and yellows. Further off, in the opposite horizon, dark storm clouds still loomed in the distance. The battle between weather conditions struck me as appropriate for this morning and I was pleased that sunlight was winning. I grinned at myself as I finished stretching.

The crack of the starting gun came sooner than I expected, but paled in comparison to the thunder that had recently reverberated through our small corner of the lake. The air was so calm that I could hear the lapping of water caused from the mob of swimmers. I smoothly made my way down the shore line, falling comfortably into the back half of the group. At the turnaround mark, I snuck a peak at my watch: 8:00 minutes. Right on schedule. I felt surprisingly strong on the way back and picked up the pace to salvage as decent of a swim finish as I could. I exited the water at 15:30 and made my way up the long, carpeted path to the transition area. I was still breathing heavily as lake water continued to drip from my nose and brows. I was on my bike in record time for me and starting pushing immediately. I wove through slower bike traffic and was determined to make this bike count. I could feel my uniform continue to dry as I slipped through the air. My legs pumped steadily as I made my way through the field, clipping off stronger swimmers one at a time. The route had long, gradual hills, which accommodated my biking style wonderfully. I finished the bike in 33 minutes, a full minute faster than I had just the week previous. Now the true testament came...the run.

I slipped out of my bike gear and struggled w/ my shoes momentarily, swearing to switch to pull laces for my next race. I made my way onto the course, dripping w/ sweat and concentrated on my stomach...nothing. No waves of nausea, no gut-wrenching cramps. I picked up the pace and could feel small twinges in my left calf and right quad, warning me to not push any harder with the threat of a cramp lying just a step ahead. I continued to pass slower runners, although at a much slower rate. I was pleased that I was just able to keep pace and not lose ground again during the run, the event I used to rule. The overcast sky and cooler temperature, coupled w/ the absence of breakfast must've allowed my mid section to remain loose and I was thrilled about it. I pushed as hard as I could as I was passed for the first and only time during the bike and run. The 25 year-old that I had held off during the bike had finally overtaken me between the first and second mile. An older competitor that we had just past encouraged me to attack and stick just behind the runner. I obliged as long as I could, but watched him slowly slip away. I rounded the corner at the 2.5 mile mark and could see my target lying in the horizon...a large red arch, w/ very distinct white letters that spelled out "finish", faintly visible over the treetops. I picked up the pace, determined to leave everything on the course this time. And that I did. I crossed the finish line in an exasperation and looked down at my watch: 1:12:30.

This was a longer race than the week previous, but I had still managed to cut 4 minutes from my time. I felt incredible...exhausted, but overjoyed. I did the math for each of my splits and paces. The swim was my fastest pace yet, I met my goal of 22 mph for the bike, and was finally able to maintain 7-minute miles for the run. I FINALLY hit my times and was absolutely thrilled! I've graduated from sprint distances this year, as my next race is an olympic distance at the end of August. I am ready though. My confidence is high. This is still just the beginning.