Oregon Dunes

Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse.

                                               Murphy’s Law (one of many)

It was a podium moment, albeit a podium of sand. It was highly unlikely that I

should be standing above the handwritten ‘1’ in the sand, but there I was. The

journey to this moment was anything but normal. It was a race that Murphy

would have relished with wild abandon.

The original plan was for me to drive to Florence after work on Friday. I would

race the Oregon Dunes Olympic Tri on Saturday, return to Bend after the race,

and get home late Saturday afternoon. About three weeks before the race my

son’s high school robotics team decided to participate in an underwater

competition in Lincoln City. Though this was 1.5 hours north of Florence I agreed

that I could be a driver for my son’s team. I would drive part of the team over, get

up early and drive down to Florence, and return to Lincoln City after the race.

My reasoning for doing Oregon Dunes was twofold. First, it was an opportunity

to participate in an Olympic distance race. Second, it would allow me the chance

to swim in the open water. Since my half-ironman in Boise would be a month

later this would be a good confidence boost as I began my last month of training.

Bags were packed, packing list was double and triple checked, bike was loaded.

My son and I swung by his high school to pick up a couple of his buddies. A

quick stop at Dutch Bros., a good luck text from Jaime, and we were off to the

coast. We crossed over Santiam Pass and the clouds grew dense and snow

began to fall. As we dropped down into the valley this became a steady and

constant downpour. We stopped briefly in Salem for dinner and the sun made an

appearance. We reached the coast in time for a beautiful sunset and got our

room assignments at the beach house where we were staying. I knew it would

be an early morning so I turned in not long after our arrival.

I was surprised by my alarm. Surprised mainly because I slept good and hard.

Usually before a race I have trouble sleeping. Perhaps I should have taken this

as an omen. I showered, loaded everything up, and was out of the door and on

the road by 5 a.m. A couple of Cliff bars and a stop at Dutch Bros. in Newport

and I was heading down the coast through an intermittent rain. The drive was

beautiful, peaceful, and got me in the right mind frame for the race. I arrived at

the transition area just after registration opened and got my packet. I went back

to the car and swapped out the wheels on my bike. I put on my timing chip and

slapped the race numbers on my bike and helmet. I gathered up everything I

needed and made my way to the athlete’s entrance.

While I was waiting in line to get marked I heard my number called and was

asked to report to the registration table. I walked up to the table, bike and gear in

hand and was told that I’d been given the wrong chip. A lady came around the

table and took the chip off my ankle while the other handed me my correct chip.

My hands were full so I jammed the chip in my sweats and walked back to the

entrance where the line had grown considerably. I waited patiently until it was

my turn to get marked. I made my normal smart ass remark to the lady about

enjoying the fact that she gets to tell all the guys to take off their shirt and drop

their pants. I got the obligatory blush and chuckle and got cleared to head into

the transition area.

Some races have specific areas for your stuff based on your number. Others are

a catch as catch can. This race had the latter type of transition area so I tried to

find a place where it would be easy to spot my bike as I was coming out of the

water. I found a good spot and started laying things out. I got everything just so

and then pulled my wetsuit out of the transition bag. Now the fun would begin. I

stripped down to just my racing suit and threw my sweatshirt and sweats into my

transition bag. As I was ready to start wiggling my way into my wetsuit a squall

came through and with it a deluge of rain. It’s interesting enough when you’re

dry and try to work your way into a wetsuit. It’s even more comical when you’re

watching a group of soaking wet athletes try and pull on their wetsuits. Let’s just

say that Miley Cyrus could have learned a thing or two about twerking had she

been in that transition area.

Finally encased like a sausage, I made my way to Woahink Lake. It had been

almost eight months since I had swam in a lake. In that time I had forgotten just

how cold lakes in Oregon could get. This one was around 55 degrees. Yes, it

was downright frigid. I started slowly plunging my face into the water to get

adjusted to the temperature so my chest wouldn’t tense up. Blair, the race

director mentioned something about timing chips and my stomach immediately

sank. I pictured the timing chip, still in the pocket of my sweats - the sweats that

were in the bottom of my transition bag. I immediately pushed my goggles up,

ran up the ramp, and headed as fast as I could to the transition area. Apparently

I wasn’t the only one as there were two other people hot on my tail. I ran into the

transition area, found my bag and ripped it open. I located my sweats and dug

into the front pocket. No chip. Damn! Thankfully when I jammed my hand into

the other pocket I found the chip. I slipped it around my ankle and stuffed

everything back into my transition bag.

As I ran out of the transition area I grabbed my goggles and pulled them down

over my eyes. As I went to let go I felt the goggles separate at the bridge of the

nose. Are you kidding me?! Frantically I ran over to the registration tent. I knew

I had another pair of goggles in my bag but I wasn’t sure how long it would take

me to dig them out of the bottom of the bag. At the registration desk I found a

straight pin and pinned my goggles together. I pulled them over my eyes and

tested them – they seemed to hold. I heard the race director begin the

countdown. There was no time to waste. I dashed back to the boat ramp.

Originally I envisioned spending time in the water before the race. I would

visualize the race. Visualizing myself using cam and steady strokes. I would say

a little prayer and think of my friends and love ones no longer with me. I would

ask for their strength and guidance during the race. I would remind myself to not

only survive the swim but to thrive in the swim.

As I sprinted back to the lake I realized that none of my plan was going to

materialize. I began to wonder if I would even be able to complete the race. I

had no time to test my goggles and since I wear contacts, just going without

goggles was not an option. Adrenaline was ramping up at a time when I wished I

could be centered and calm. I rounded the corner and headed down the ramp, 5,

4, 3, 2, 1, the crowd roared and a gun went off. I hit the water and dove right into

the middle of the melee.

I have related before that the start of an open water swim is not for the faint of

heart. It’s messy. Arms and legs are flailing about. It’s a writhing mass of black

neoprene coming at you from all angles.

The Olympic start had all the racers beginning at once so it was a large group

that started. Because of the layout of the course, the beginning chute was

narrow and forced all of the swimmers into a very small space. When I hit the

water I was in the middle of a racing frenzy. Immediately I had arms and legs

coming at me from all sides. I struggled to get my bearings in all the splashing

and air bubbles. As I raised my head to sight the buoy I took a hard ankle to my

left temple. All of the sudden colors were swirling and I was seeing stars. I

stopped swimming though my head was doing a bang up job of the Australian

crawl. As I struggled to mentally right myself I felt a heavy weight on my

backside. I felt myself violently pushed to the bottom of the lake. I tried to get

my head back up to the surface but felt myself pushed down by another swimmer

coming over the top of me. All thoughts of the race vanished as I began to panic

and swallow water. The fight or flight syndrome took over and I started punching

and thrashing wildly. I didn’t care whom I hit or hurt, I needed to get my head

above the surface and breathe some air. I dug my feet into the mud and rose up

to the surface. My head was spinning and I was choking and sputtering water.

As swimmers bumped by me I coughed up some water and was thankful I didn’t

puke. I let a few swimmers pass me and then I started the swim stroke again. It

took me awhile to get comfortable and even then I still had to stop, center myself,

relax, and then start up again. The swim was two laps and required us to swim a

lap, run out of the lake, round a pylon, and then run back into the water and

complete the second lap. I would have loved to see my splits between the laps

as I felt my second lap was so much faster and comfortable than my initial lap.

During the swim it had rained off and on so I discovered when I emerged from

the water and ran into transition that all my things – gloves, socks, windbreaker,

were soaked to the gills. I made the decision to go minimal and just threw on my

socks and gloves and hopped on the bike. I raced out of the transition area and

made my way out onto the racecourse. I decided to get a quick drink from my

nutrition bottle. Refreshed, it was time to start hammering at the ride. I reached

down to put the nutrition bottle back into the bottle cage. As I made a connection

with the cage I felt the water bottle (which was also wet) slip through my already

wet gloves. Before I could grab it tight it fell out onto the road and rolled down a

steep ravine. Every mental explicative went through my head at the moment.

No use crying over spilled nutrition. There was nothing I could do now. I knew

that there would be a feed station at mile 18 so it was time to just put the head

down and ride. Hills came and went, as did other riders. I rode a tightrope

between riding too hard and not riding hard enough. I was a bit unclear on how

the lack of nutrition would affect my race so I probably played things a bit too

conservatively. Mile 18 came at the highest point in the race. I grabbed a bottle

of Heed and headed back downhill toward the transition area. I felt comfortable

and finally felt confident enough to air things out a bit and push myself on the last

bit of the bike. I came into the bike transition feeling pretty good about things. I’d

passed quite a few riders and felt like I still had enough gas in the tank to put

forth a pretty good run.

I slipped on my wet running shoes and sloshed out onto the trail. The run

consisted of two loops along a trail system that threaded through some dense

forest areas. It was a mix of rolling hills with a steep portion over the highway. It

was fun to run through a canopy of trees and bushes. I found a good rhythm and

started slowly pushing the pace. I passed a couple of runners and completed my

two laps. From there the final portion of the run weaved along an inlet and came

out onto the dunes for the final literal and figurative push. The last bit of the

triathlon involved running up a steep dune to the finish line. Talk about a final

push! Given everything I had gone through that steep climb to the end seemed

pretty appropriate.

The race was done. I made my way down the steep dune and worked my way

over to the feed tent. It was great to get some food into my belly. What made it

even better was the fact that it was fresh Oregon clam chowder. I chatted with a

couple of athletes from the Oregon State triathlon club and then walked over to

check my results. I didn’t have any preconceived notions and after all that had

happened I was happy just to have finished. I scrolled down the list and was

pleased to discover that I didn’t have to scan too far. More surprising I

discovered that I actually won my age group! I was thrilled that I got a chance to

podium – and in the true dunes fashion it meant one final climb up the dunes to a

‘podium’ constructed on the side of the dune. As I shook the hand of the third

place finisher I thought about what an odd race I had completed. It was

frustrating. It was thrilling. It was also downright scary. The photographer asked

us to pose with our arms raised. The gentleman that finished second was not

present so there was an opening on our podium. I thought that more than likely a

certain Murphy was raising his imaginary hands there along with us. He had

definitely been quite present throughout the race and had been an ever-present

partner. I was just glad that I had finished slightly ahead of him!