Sh#*! Happens

“In reality shit happens in every race”

                                                       Jaime Dispenza, Laughing Dog Tri Coach

There was very little room in the pool area so all of the assembling for the pool

portion of the sprint triathlon was done in the parking lot. I was doing my first

pool swim race in over a month. I was led from the parking lot into the pool area

with 11 other racers. We were told to pair up and that once our lane was clear

we could jump in and practice. Skip, a friend of mine, and I paired up and bided

our time as we waited for our lane to clear. One swimmer out, one continued on.

The minute hand clicked closer to our heat and still our lane did not clear. Skip

and I nervously chatted and kept an eye on the swimmer in our lane – now the

only swimmer left in the pool. Finally, with less than a minute left until our heat

began the swimmer struggled out of our lane. Skip and I quickly jumped into the

pool. For a second everything felt fine and then a feeling of alarm came over me.

My trisuit top was too big!

When Jaime and his wife Heather moved to Bend Jaime was kind enough to loan

me a Laughing Dog Tri singlet to wear when I raced. At that time I was quite a

bit heavier and so the singlet fit pretty tightly around my middle. I wore the

singlet under my wetsuit in a couple of races and it did just fine. However, I

hadn’t really taken the time to assess how the singlet would handle in a pool

setting. When I jumped into the pool I discover just how much weight and girth I

had lost in the last couple of months. My once snug singlet was now very loose

in the water. I could feel the fabric floating around my body and I panicked. I

needed to get the singlet off otherwise I’d be wearing something that would slow

down my swim. However, before I could begin to remove the singlet my heat

began. I swam the race wearing a nice drag singlet that felt like I was pulling a

parachute down the lane.

The first hundred yards of the race I went through several emotions. I was

panicked about having the singlet on, then I was pissed at myself for not

swimming in the singlet in the pool prior to the race, and then I was depressed

because I knew that this would slow my overall race time. After that first 100 I

finally got myself settled down and swam a decent, though slow 400. I emerged

from the pool and told myself, “well that portion of the race is done, you’ve got

two more races to finish, let’s go!” I went out and finished the rest of the rest. My

swim time sucked but on the bike and run portions I had personal bests. I didn’t

podium, but I wasn’t last, and in the end I got a burrito, a beer, and a teenage girl

said I looked cute in ‘my doggie top’ – what couldn’t be better?

When I ran through the race with Jaime he made the comment about shit

happening in every race. As I thought about it, he was right. I’m not sure that

anyone can say they’ve run an absolutely perfect race. Maybe a piece of

clothing didn’t go on right. Maybe a piece of equipment failed. Maybe there was

a delay in coming out of the transition area. Maybe a wrong turn was made.

Maybe an unexpected cramp occurred. At the end of the race I chatted with a

couple of friends who participated in the race and each had experienced their

‘shit happens’ moment. Neal related that he came out of pool and tried to put his

singlet top on but couldn’t get it unbunched over his chest so he rode the entire

portion of the race looking like he was wearing a bikini top, albeit one exposing

his nipples. John chuckled as he described how he fell on his bike as he came

into the transition area when it went from asphalt to grass. Aaron described

taking a wrong turn in the park and running toward the finish line with a volunteer

quick on his heels yelling at him to turn around. We all had our shit happens

moments during the race.

I realized after talking to Jaime that the trick in all of this is to determine how

you’re going to respond when your ‘shit happens’ moment occurs. I could have

easily just ‘mailed in’ the race after my swimming debacle. Instead I told myself

that what was done was done. It had happened, there was nothing I could do

about it, and I needed to move forward, and finish the two portions of the race I

had left. I ended up having a pretty good race and it was fun to laugh with

friends afterwards about our mistakes, pitfalls, and pratfalls. After that race

Jaime loaned me a one-piece trisuit for my next race. I made sure I wore it for

one of my practice sessions. I jumped in the water and swam a couple of laps. It

fit like a glove. I knew I’d have another ‘shit happens’ moment in my next race,

but at least this time when I swam I wouldn’t feel like I was wearing a parachute

in a wind tunnel.

The next race I did great on the swim. However I missed a turn on my bike when

a volunteer wasn’t paying attention and I blew through a roundabout. As I turned

around and got myself back on the course I smiled and thought to myself, shit

happens in every race.

Nothing New on Race Day

Jaime, my coach, has many mantras that are often repeated through the race

season. One that resonates with me is the mantra of “Nothing New on Race

Day”. If you’re going to introduce something new into your race day make sure

you don’t choose to do it the morning of the race. I’ve heard horror stories of

riders who put new wheels on their bikes the day of the race only to get a flat and

not have a way to repair or replace the wheel. Two personal experiences stick in

my mind that made me take Jaime’s words to heart.

My first experience came when I did the Rolf Prima Triathlon over in Cottage

Grove, Oregon. This was my first Olympic distance triathlon. Jaime wanted to

get some heart rate readings for the race and I wanted to know distances so we

agreed that I’d wear my heart monitor and wear my Garmin Forerunner. Since

the Forerunner wasn’t waterproof I’d need to put the watch on after I emerged

from the swim portion of the race. I kept telling myself I needed to practice

getting the Forerunner set up so I’d be ready to go but I would either forget to do

so or just leisurely set it up before I went for a run or a ride. On the day of the

race I still hadn’t practiced setting it up in a race situation. I ran into the transition

area, stripped off my wetsuit and started trying to get the things on I would need

for the bike portion of the race. I strapped the Forerunner on and then began to

try to get things set up. The adrenaline of the race left my fingers fumbling and

my patience at a minimum. The Forerunner wasn’t setting up quick enough, and

worse, it was delaying my departure from the transition area. I got on the bike

and rode out of the transition with my left hand on the handlebars and my right

arm clumsily trying to set my Forerunner so that I could read the data. Having no

success, I finally said, “to hell with it” and just started riding. I ended up finishing

the race just fine, but I also think the bike portion of my race would have gone

better had I known how far I had gone and how far I still needed to go.

My second experience is one that really sticks in my mind. This one occurred

when I participated in the RAT race in Redmond, Oregon. When Jaime and his

wife Heather moved to Bend Jaime was kind enough to loan me a Laughing Dog

Tri singlet to wear racing. At that time I was quite a bit heavier and so the singlet

fit pretty tightly around my middle. Fast-forward two months. I’m still wearing the

same singlet but I’ve also lost quite a bit of weight. It still fits but it isn’t as snug

as it once was around my torso. The swim portion of the RAT was done in heats

in a pool. Prior to that race the two other races I had done with the singlet were

done in open water with a wetsuit. I hadn’t really had a chance to assess how

the singlet would handle in a pool setting. Our group was led into the pool area

just minutes before our heat began. We were told we could get into our lane

once it was empty of racers from the previous race. Unfortunately my lane had a

very slow swimmer that didn’t emerge until approximately 30 seconds before the

race began. I jumped into the pool only to discover just how much weight and

girth I had lost. My once snug singlet was now very loose in the water. I could

feel the fabric floating around my body and panicked. I needed to get the singlet

off but before I could begin to remove it my heat began. I swam the race wearing

a nice drag singlet that felt like I was pulling a parachute down the lane.

What did I learn from this, other than listening to my coach’s wisdom? I learned

to practice every part of the transition, no matter how minor, and I also made

sure several days ahead of the race that I practiced with the equipment and

apparel I would be utilizing.

If anything this type of practice and preparation gives you a certain confidence in

your abilities once race day arrives. It doesn’t mean that problems won’t occur

(more on that later) but it does mean you’ve done as much as you can to prepare

effectively in order to be successful on race day.

What is an Athlete?

This past weekend was pretty brutal. Temperatures hovered around zero. It was

sunny but very cold and the ground was covered from a snowfall on Friday. My

training for the weekend involved a long run and a brick (a bike spin followed

immediately by a run). If I waited for the snow to melt it could very well be

February.

I knew I’d have to find some winter traction for my running shoes. Thankfully the

nice folks at FootZone were happy to fix me up and get my shoes outfitted with

nice sheet metal screws. They even showed me what to use (3/8” sheet metal

screws), how to attach them, and how to get them off my shoes once the weather

warmed up. Outfitted and bundled up, I was ready to roll.

Though it was very cold, the sun felt warm and there was no wind. The sky was

clear and the views of the mountains were phenomenal. It felt good to be alive

and I felt strong and happy. I made my way along the deserted and snowpacked

roads and reveled in the moment. I heard a car behind me slow down on my

right. As the car came up along side me I heard the window roll down and a

person in the car say, “See dear I told you.” I glanced over and saw the driver,

an older gentleman, smiling at me. I nodded to him. He said, “I told my wife

when I saw your Laughing Dog Tri emblem that I knew you were an athlete.

Only an athlete would be crazy enough to run on a day like today.” With that he

rolled up his window and sped off. I smiled and felt a warmth work it’s way

across my body. For the rest of the run it may have been cold, but I was

definitely, to quote Dan Patrick, “en fuego”.

Many years ago a high school administrator, who was nothing more than an

oversized adult bully, told me “You will never be an athlete”. They say that

words can be like bullets, and that once they are out, it is hard to control the

damage that is done. For years those words, repeated to me so often when I

was at a fragile stage in my life, rode herd over my thoughts, my mind, and my

actions. I competed in many races but I never thought of myself as an athlete.

Even after I began working with my coach Jaime I still struggled with how I

viewed myself and I lacked confidence in my ability to be successful. It really

wasn’t until after the Leadman that things came into perspective.

Jaime writes a triathlon-related blog on that appears in The Albuquerque Journal.

The Leadman is a long distance race held here in Bend that covers 125

kilometers and it was my first long distance race. In his blog on the race Jaime

referred to me by name as a “fellow athlete”. That simple reference resonated

and hit me like a ton of bricks. For someone of his athletic caliber to consider me

a fellow athlete truly meant something. Three and a half decades of hurtful

words were shed and I felt like I had finally made a breakthrough. As I noted in a

post after I read Jaime’s blog, “35 years ago words were spoken by my coach

that beat me down and hurt me. Yesterday, words written by my coach uplifted

and healed me.”

This liberation forced me to finally question just what an athlete might be. I had

always thought of athlete as a gifted person who did well in a given sport. Author

and news anchor Robin Quivers probably said it best when she described her

first New York Marathon. “Being an athlete is a state of mind. It’s setting a goal

of measuring your performance against it. It means making the outcome and

how you got there matter.”

As I continued on my run on that clear, cold, and crisp day I thought about how

far I had come in the past few months and where my journey was going to take

me as an athlete. I was pleased in knowing that this time out on the road was

part of making how I get to my race outcomes truly matter. With that I picked up

my pace and headed home content in knowing that I now felt that I truly belonged

and that I considered myself an athlete.

Blue Lake

Well I hear the whistle but I can’t go

I’m gonna take her down to Mexico

She said oh no

Guadalajara won’t do

                                     My Old School

                                     Steely Dan

Some people have their superstitions. I put a lot of faith in positive things

occurring when good music is playing on the radio.

As I exited off I-84 onto Fairview my spirits lifted as Steely Dan filled the car with

one of my favorite songs. I thought to myself, this is going to be a very good day.

Spirits lifted or not, I was a wreck. This was going to be my first open water swim

and I was nervous as hell. I picked the Blue Lake Triathlon in Portland as my

first open water swim for several reasons. First and foremost, this race offered a

triathlon for beginners that featured an open water swim of just a quarter mile in

length. I felt this would be my best shot at easing myself into an open water

swim. Since I had done the bike and run I wasn’t as worried about those pieces

but the open water swim was a different matter.

I arrived early at Blue Lake, paid my entrance fee into the park, parked the car,

and made my way to the transition area. I picked up my packet and found where

to rack my bike. I discovered that each participant got a wheel bag – sweet! Of

course at this time I only had the wheels on my current bike, but it was sweet just

the same!

I got my wetsuit on without too much trauma, either to myself, or to innocent

bystanders. I kept my eye on the clock. I wanted to have time to get in the water

before my heat started. I could begin to feel the nerves tensing up as the start

time drew near. Right before I made my way to the lake an announcement was

made that the start would be delayed for an hour due to a backup of athletes

trying to get into the park. I texted Jaime, my coach, and he encouraged me to

relax, sit for 30 minutes, and then begin the warm-up process again. I joked to

him that the Deschutes Brewery tent was looking good. I received a reply with a

smile that said simply ‘take a deep breath and step away’.

I took Jaime’s suggestion to heart and found a place by the lake, sat down, and

tried to relax. After 30 minutes I walked down to the lake and began to practice a

few swim strokes with some other swimmers. Eventually it was time to assemble

for the swim. My swim group was herded into a staging area and counted. One

of the officials told us that this was to make sure they had the same number

coming out of lake that went in the lake. I can’t say I necessarily found comfort in

those words. I gathered with the rest of the group about ankle deep in the cold

water. I didn’t feel like I’d be one of the fastest swimmers so I positioned myself

toward the far side of the group.

With a “ready, set, go!” our group was in the water – a churning mass of arms,

legs, and oxygen bubbles. I figured that the first 25 yards would be the worst and

then everyone would spread out and things wouldn’t be so rough. What I did not

plan on was a moving swimming scrum throughout the entire race. Within yards

of the start some racers who went out too fast or were too freaked out were

already flipping over on their backs struggling to relax. Others were treading

water or resorting to the breaststroke. My strategy of hanging back to avoid the

melee simply meant that I had to pick my way through the neoprene carnage.

I turned at the first buoy and began to find my rhythm. I started sighting on every

tenth stroke and headed toward the next buoy. About halfway to the next buoy

another interesting thing occurred – I began swimming into the back end of the

group that went before my group. I weaved my way through the group and

rounded the last buoy. That is where things really got interesting. It was at this

point where the short course and long course swimmers all came together in a

final thrashing sprint to the shore. My one memory of that portion of the swim

was of a guy swimming perpendicularly through the rest of the group oblivious to

the fact that he was completely off-course.

I approached the shore and felt the lakebed beneath my feet. I struggled to lift

my body out of the water and run up the ramp. I was wobbly and felt like

perhaps some stout vodka had been added to the lake water. I made my way in

zigzag fashion to the transition area and slowly extracted myself from my wetsuit.

After what seemed like an eternity I found myself steering my bike out onto the

racecourse. I can’t say that I remember much about the rest of the race. The

course for the bike and the run was mostly flat and I remember passing others

and feeling like I was in a good zone. As I came around a bend in the run I saw

the finish line and a guy in my age group just ahead. I turned on the after

burners, passed the guy, crossed the finish line, and got a nice shiny medal.

Better still, my finish entitled me to a nice frosty beer! I savored the taste of the

brew, listened to the music from a good local band, and awaited my results.

Rather than putting the results on a board the results were placed on a table,

which was immediately surrounded by a throng of finishers. After several

minutes without the throng dissipating I chose to start packing up my things. My

wife and kids were back at the motel waiting for me and I figured I’d just check

the results later online.

The rest of the day was spent in Portland walking around with my family and

savoring my first open water race. I got back to the motel that evening and

decided to pull up the results. After a bit of navigating I was able to find my age

group. Lo and behold I discovered I finished first in my age division! I had a

chance to podium and didn’t even realize it or get the chance to experience the

thrill. I chuckled to myself, thought back on a day well spent with my family, and

hoped that I’d get that podium opportunity another time. As the presence of

Steely Dan foretold, it had in fact been a very good day.