Triangle Running Group

Update! Read Rap Master’s full report after the jump!

From the team that brought you Pathetic at Kinetic.

“One day it started to rain, and it didn’t stop that day, or the next day, or the day after that either. There was big fat rain, tiny stinging rain, sideways rain, and rain that somehow seemed to be coming up from below.”. — Forrest Gump.

As Alan said, the difference between IMLP and waterboarding was the board. About 150 people dropped out some time after the swim, and all of them seemed to be around me.

If your body fat was below 12, forget bicycle and think popsickle. The ambulances were picking up three and four Smurfs.at a time. The medical tent looked like the audition line for Blue Man Group.

Just before seven a.m., we bobbed in our wetsuits, trying to conserve energy while slowly treading water. There is nothing like pounding Smashing Pumpkins, a hovering Versus chopper, and Mike Reilly’s familiar, enthusiatic voice on the P.A. to give you serious butterflies.

At the cannon’s boom, I started wrestling with 2500 motivated athletes for space to swim. I got pushed aside, crawled over, and tugged under. And I weigh 207 lbs.

The first fat raindrops on my swim cap were confusing. Then I was just getting pelted from above and below at the same time. Still, I swam the 2.4 miles at exactly the same pace that I swam 750 meters the previous week at Crabtree. I passed Alan at the beginning of the second lap.

After getting stripped of our wetsuits, we sprinted a quarter of a. mile through town to the transition area. Thousands of screaming fans lined the streets, slapping our hands.

Dale, our first casualty, spent 31 minutes shivering in T-1 while an apparently illiterate volunteer brought her wrong bag after wrong bag. I knew something was awry when I hopped on my bike, and she was right in front of me.

Not only was Dale freezing, but her brakes would not hold. We passed each other a few times going downhill, and I had a NASCAR moment: “Dale’s brakes were fading, so I had to get away not to be caught up in the crash.”

We started up the first hill, and Dale passed me (of course). Then somebody else did, and another, and another. I stopped at the first aid station to check my tires. They were fully inflated.

Alan zoomed past me, and I saw him and Dale conferring at the top of the mountain plunge to Keene. I assumed she was deciding whether to go screaming brakeless for six miles at 50 mph.

I tucked down, held my breath, and let go. As my glasses had fogged over, I had to peer over them or under them. It was like trying to look into a firehose. I did not know one could take so many pellets to the eyes without going blind. Stick your head out the window while driving in the rain, and try to stay on the road.

Every time I came up on a slower bike, there was a momentary panic that they would hit me, and then zing! they were gone. My biggest fear was not merely falling, but sliding across the road and under a truck coming up the mountain. I was not worried about getting hit from behind, as I was going faster than any cars. The only thing that passed me was Alan.

No Dale. I later learned that she turned around and rode home. Smart move.

We took a left at Keene, and zipped another 14 miles or so into Jay. Then the axe fell.

As we turned onto 86 for a six mile climb into Wilmington, the parade formed on my left. Everyone who had not passed me on the hill outside Placid went around me. Mountain bikes, folding bikes, tandems, training wheels, unicycles.

I stopped and checked my tires again. No problem. Then I checked to see if a brake pad was rubbing the wheel. Nope.

I saw Alan before the Hazelton Road turnaround. He was about three miles ahead of me.

As we were coming up the last hill back to Wilminton, a rider got off his bike and started pushing it. At last somebody I could pass. Just as I got to them, my front tire did go flat. For real this time.

It took about 12 minutes to fix the tire, but I could never get it quite full. Each time I took the CO2 nozzle off, some air would hiss out before I could close the valve.

This was at 43 miles. I hunted for a techie with a pump till the 89 mark.

At some point, I had an epiphany. What if my deep dish rims had filled with water? That had happened in a minor way once. Sure would explain the heavy sluggishness. For the rest of the ride, I imagined that this was the problem.

The 12-mile climb through the Notch was hot nearly as bad as I recalled. Soon, I was onto a second lap, virtually solo this time.

On my way back up Hazelton Road, I picked up an NY State Trooper motorcycle escort. It then dawned on me that I was the Last Biker. Smokey stayed with me the rest of the way in. Each time I would pass somebody, I would go another mile up the hill and be passed by a State Trooper SUV with that competitor’s bike on the back..

After the turn at Papa Bear, I had two motorcycles with sirens. We swept up two more competitors in town, who actually finished behind me. People were still cheering, believe it or not.

After I got to the Dismount Line, a nice lady snatched my chip: “Sorry, but your races are over.” No argument from me, but the guy behind me was in tears, pleading with her while I fled to a dry tent.

Epilogue:

Dale spent the day curled on the sofa, watching TdF and swigging hot chocolate.

Alan finished ten minutes before midnight, and rested comfortably in the medical tent till 1:30.

We spin my bike wheels at the Inside Out tent yesterday morning. “Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle!”

People came over to listen. A girl said it sounded like her Sleep Machine.

I felt strong the whole day, even after finishing the bike. I did not plan on a nine-hour weight workout, but it may have been good for me.

Anyone up for a slow marathon this weekend? My body is one short.