North San Diego County is home to more triathlon energy and history than anyplace else on the planet. Magazines, seminal innovators of wet suit and race bike technology, legendary world champions and coaches, and year round training weather and terrain coalesce into a San Diego mafia within the sport, who aggrandize their reputations and monopolize the messages, especially at the Ironman and half-ironman distances. Just down the coast, at Mission Beach in 1974, the first recognizable triathlon event was held. But with all this influence, there is little in the way of actual competition going on there.
The only big event in the North County is the California Ironman 70.3, the branded name for a half ironman sanctioned by the World Triathlon Corporation, the folks who control the Ironman brand and run the Ironman races in the US, including Hawaii. It started out in 2000 as a full Ironman, swimming in Oceanside Harbor within the Camp Pendleton Marine base, biking for two loops north along the coast, then inland, and back around again, finishing with a two loop run from the base out to the Oceanside strand, and back again.
In 2001, a rider died on a steep, curvy descent inside the base; possibly for this reason, or some other Marine Corps concern, the race was reduced to a half ironman from 2002 on, shifting from its third weekend in May start time to the first weekend in April soon thereafter. I did the race from 2001-4, but never went back after that, because of the difficulty in getting adequate training in between the rain in Washington State, and my love of wintertime skiing.
But the race takes place about a mile from the photo and telescope store owned and run by my sister and brother-in-law, and it’s brought me a couple of great achievements, as well as a couple of humbling efforts. Last year, when Ironman changed its age-group rules to make everyone race during a given calendar year at the age they are at the END of the year (meaning, essentially, your birthday for racing purposes is January 1st), I signed up again, as I would be turning 60 five days AFTER the race, and would get to compete in the older age group despite still being 59. I figured it would give me one more shot at getting a Kona qualification.
Once I got that slot in Arizona, several months after I’d paid my money for Oceanside, I stopped putting any focus on the race, seeing it mostly as an opportunity to travel to San Diego and visit with Leigh and Craig, and celebrate my birthday with them. But, in the back of my mind, I still remembered that in 2001, I set my personal record for the Ironman distance, which remained my high point until last year’s races, seven years later. The race that year was my second Ironman, and my primary target was to run the whole run, something that I’d failed to do in my first attempt. I accomplished this by riding far easier than in my first race, and taking advantage of the cool ocean fog which enveloped us as the evening wore on. Little did I know I would not learn anything from that race, and struggle for another 4 years until I finally figured out the correct pacing for Ironman success.
Then, my last year there, I raced as a newly minted 55 y/o. I did what I considered to be an “OK” time, but didn’t stick around to see how well I did within my age group. I was massively surprised when, about a week later, I received in the mail a plaque commemorating my fifth place finish. This heralded a succession of podium finishes in Ironman races ever since – 3 fourths, and one each of third, second, and first, with one 8th place effort to mar the string.
I had high hopes going into the event this year – after all, I was now a youngster again in my age group, and had shown my prowess at the longer distances consistently over the past five years. My confidence was boosted at the start line, as I pulled into the front row of our swim wave, slowly walking down the track to the entry off the pier. Two older men were talking about their expectations, and I heard my name mentioned. Seems one guy was fanatic about researching his competitors, and had pinned me as someone to beat, since I had already qualified for Kona with my sub 11 hour effort at Arizona. That might conceivably translate to a time close to five hours in the half; the record there was 5:07, and 5:20 was usually the winning time.
I interjected, introduced myself, and got to know Larry Krutka a bit. He has been a personal trainer in LA, and was limping along with an ankle injury, expecting to get passed by me (and others) on the run. I mentioned a few others whom I knew were also racing, he might want to watch out for, but our conversation couldn’t really get going, as we both had not only silicone ear plugs, but also neoprene swim caps in defense against the 58F water.
I trudged forward, reveling in my new found status (at least in Larry’s eyes) as a favorite, and forgetting to rev up my inner amps enough to justify the status. It always pays to get mad about someone or something to do well in a race, but I just couldn’t seem to conjure up a cause for the day.
My swim was about a minute slower than my fastest effort here, but I felt good the whole way, not even cold. I had a quick enough transition, and got out onto the bike, which twists and turns the first three miles before hitting Vandergrift Road into the Marine base. There, I hoped to find some buddies to ride along with, trading time at the front (“pacing”, not “drafting”), and pulling each other along. Soon, a tall guy with “62” on his calf, slowly cranking his bike came rolling by – “Lou”, his race number announced. This would be Lou Briones, who set the age group record in Coeur d’Alene last year, which I hope to beat this year. He was followed by “Hannah”, age 26, who was going plenty fast for a girl bigger than me.
This was a challenge I couldn’t ignore, so I dropped in behind, keeping Lou in sight for the next 20 miles or so. At times, as we sped up the coast with a good tailwind, I ran out of gears (literally, in the highest gearing on my bike), and almost lost him. I caught back up on the first set of hills inside the base. but determined to consciously let him go as I visited the porta-potti at about 26 miles. I kept up what I felt was a good pace for another hour or so, into the final set of hills, where I caught him again. Going down hill, he had a decided weight advantage, so I had to say good bye once more.
It was just about here that I noticed my saddle was coming loose from its moorings. I’ve heard stories about guys losing their saddle in a race, being left with only a naked seat post below them, necessitating standing the whole way – not good for the legs going into the run. At this point I was trading places with a 31 y/o female age-grouper who seemed to be getting more and more tired, but we pulled each other into those last 3 miles, and then headed through the Oceanside Harbor area into T2. But the whole way, the last 15 miles or so, I was worried I might actually lose my seat – the saddle was wobbling back and forth like I had mountain bike suspension.
Out onto the run, I let my racing alter ego take over, gradually punching up the pace over the first 7 miles. At about mile 3, just before the turn around, I saw someone in my age group about 40 seconds ahead of me. I made a pit stop at about mile five, and then just past mile 7, came up to this same guy again. I knew I was going faster than him, but after I passed him, he tried to stay with me. Problem was, he had some swishing sound as he ran, which I couldn’t abide, so I moved into a higher gear, one I normally wouldn’t use until mile 11 or so, and held it from 7 to 8. But, once in front, I have a hard time easing off, so by the time I got to mile 10, my body thought it was time to be done. I couldn’t very well start walking with 2-3 miles to go, so I just suffered through until the end, something I REALY don’t like to do.
During those last 3 miles, I felt I was running with a distinct tilt to the right. I have watched older men run for years, and noticed that some of them seem to get off kilter, and shuffle along at the oddest angles. That’s how I FELT, although my family watching me said I looked strong and quick. It’s just not fair, that the people WATCHING in the last few miles of these races, can’t FEEL what we’re feeling inside, even if we don’t show it.
Anyway, I got over the line, in just under 5 and a half hours, and felt like I could not have gone any faster at any point. Greeting me there, finishing 90 seconds earlier was Lou. We introduced ourselves, gossiped a bit, until he said “Whoa, I’m starting to see black and feel faint.” Knowing I could not possibly hold him up if he started to crash, I excused myself and went in search of my bike and clean clothes.
I checked my heart rate on the bike – 133.8 average, which was higher than I would usually do a race about half that distance. I knew my run effort was as hard as I could go that day, so I was left with the following facts: I came in 4th (AGAIN; god, how I HATE 4th place now), in 5:29:34, and could not have swum, biked, or ran any harder. And I got beat by the guy whose record I want to smash in three months.
I think I have some work to do between now and then.