Santa Cruz Sentinel Triathlon
Sunday, October 1
  1 mile swim
  23 mile bike
  6.2 mile run

How on earth can it be October already?  Where did the season go??

For a lot of us tri-geeks in Northern California, the Santa Cruz
Sentinel Tri is the season finale:  a really fun event in a
fantastic setting on a course that's *just* tough enough to be a bit
challenging.  Hey, this late in the season, who wants to deal with
hills :-)?  The bike rolls gently, a few modest climbs here and
there, and the run barely rolls at all.  Last year, the biggest
challenge was spotting the pier through the early morning pea
sou---- uh, fog.  This year, we were presented with the opposite
scenario, the challenge instead being to keep from overheating on
the run!

Skippy and I drove down to Santa Cruz from way the hell up in
Petaluma, 110 miles north, where we'd spent most of Saturday
"crewing" at my sister's horse show.  We left the stables around
1:30, and I was already bushed.  Take my word for it, playing
"groom" at a horse show is hard work (though it did pay off--- Cathy
and her horse Danny took a third, two seconds, and a first
altogether).

Three and a half hours down the coast highway, a really beautiful
drive, and we arrive in Santa Cruz, pretty well pooped.  Heading
directly to the Spokesman bike shop, I worried we wouldn't get there
in time to have my bike checked.  Pulled right up front, whipped the
bike off the rack, wheeled that puppy in, and had it checked in 5
minutes.  *whew* Back out to the car and.....  Oh, @#$%^&*.......
The expletives spewed forth only mentally (for the moment).....  A
meter maid slapped the ticket under my windshield wiper, even as I
rushed out protesting that I was moving it *right now*!!
Urrrrrrrgh.  *Not* a good way to start this event.

Well, next stop, The Dream Inn.  The race ends directly in front of
the Dream Inn, and the transition area is across the street in one
of its parking lots.  Each of the past two years I've done the
Sentinel, I've wished I could stay in the Dream Inn to revel in the
luxury of its proximity to the race; this year, I finally splurged.
The hotel is really nothing spectacular; in this case, location is
everything.  It's right on the beach less than half a mile north of
the famous Santa Cruz Boardwalk, and every room has a balcony
overlooking Cowell Beach, the Municipal Wharf, and the blue Pacific.
The rate for a single night was outrageous, but I figured, "What the
hell!  Season finale, just enjoy it."

We settled into our room and dashed out to the beach for a quick
swim.  So, how cold is it this year?  We-eh-...eh---ell, it's sss
not tt-tt-t-t-tooo b-b-bad once you get in.  Aw, heck, this is
nuthin'!  Piece o' cake tomorrow, especially with a fullsuit.  I
hope the weather holds.

The Upper Crust on Mission in the north part of town makes excellent
pizza.  However, on this night, their service left something to be
desired.  To make a long story short, we came outta there having
each consumed two free slices of cheese pizza, wasted over an hour
waiting for the pizza we actually ordered, and ended up with mildly
upset stomachs.  Oh, yuck!!  Well, at least we didn't hafta *pay*
for this case of indigestion.

Exhausted as I was from all the "grooming" and driving, I was out
like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow.  So much for
pre-race nerves.  In the morning, I awoke well before the alarm went
off.  Getting up and peering out the window, my eyes were greeted by
a brilliantly clear and beautiful dawn.  Wow!  I've only ever seen a
morning this clear in Santa Cruz once before, on the day of my first
Sentinel tri in '92.  It's absolutely gorgeous!  No fog this year,
that's for sure.  Boy, I bet it's gonna be toasty on the run,
though...

The usual race morning preparations were executed in decadently
leisurely fashion.  Ah, how nice to wake up 100 yards from the
transition area!  I could get used to this.

Check-in is quick, painless, well-organized.  As usual, this year's
T-shirt is fantastic, a really marvellous and witty design.  That
has always been a big plus at the Sentinel, consistently great
T-shirts.  Waiting in (a very short) line to check in, I overhear a
couple of folks mentioning "RST".  Turning to them eagerly, I meet
Sean Lev Tov and a couple of his friends, and we chat for a few
minutes.  Cool!  One RSTer down, 6 or 7 more to go!

Transition area security at the Sentinel is excellent.  Body marking
is performed as you enter the transition area, and only marked
athletes are allowed in.  This makes excellent sense to me, and,
with plenty of body markers ready to go with pens in hand, I've yet
to see it cause any bottlenecks.

The racks are marked with number ranges, and my range (#101) turns
out to be in the very first row of racks, directly across from the
pro racks.  All right!  I say a silent prayer of thanks to the Tri
Gods.  Las year I beat my time from '92; this year, I want to do
even better and, hopefully, go under 2 and a half hours.  A good
transition spot will be very helpful in this endeavor.

The bike racks comprise another big Sentinel "plus".  Instead of the
standard hook-your-handlebars-over-the-pole type of rack, these are
the kind that you slide your rear wheel into.  Ah, no worries about
messing up your STI or having someone accidentally knock the entire
rack over!  And, because it's obviously one bike per slot, there's a
pretty clear limit to transition spaces.  I like it!

I see Eric Roseme as I'm setting up.  We're both rarin' to go.  Hey,
that makes *2* RSTers!  After a few quick words and "Good luck"s
exchanged, I embark upon the monumental task of squeezing the Bass
Lake Women's "Big Dogs" Champion into her fullsuit.  Ay yi yi yi
yi....I *gotta* lose some o' this blubber before Wildflower!
*Whew*!  Ok, all set to go.  I collect Deb Melnikov (who makes 3),
we meet Skippy just outside the transition area, and down to the
beach we go.  Skip leaves us with a hug before we reach the actual
starting area; she's going to walk out to the first "bend" in the
wharf, about halfway out, and try to get pictures as we swim by.
"Good luck, you guys!" she calls as she takes off.  "I'll be looking
for you!"

Santa Cruz Sentinel:  The Swim

Deb and I trudge through the sand toward life guard tower number
two, some 200 yards south of the wharf.  Such an incredibly clear,
beautiful morning!  A huge crowd of black-clad humanity swarms
along the shore.  Wow, great turnout!  We melt in with this group,
finding friends here and there and discussing how different this
year's swim will be from last year---we can *see* the pier!

I head toward the water to get wet.  Deb coyly repeats her mantra
from Pacific Grove:  "It's cold out there; I'm not getting in 'til I
absolutely *have* to!"

Yeah, it's cold, but nuthin' like Pac Grove.  And it's kelpy, but
again, *nuthin'* like Pac Grove.  This is a more "delicate" kelp,
y'know, kinda like Kentucky Blue Grass compared to bamboo.  Anyway,
a coupla strokes of butterfly and I warm up right quick.  Hey,
it's not cold, merely refreshing!

I'm still out in the water when I hear them starting to make some
announcements, so I stop to listen (as well as I can).  I hear them
saying something about a course change on the bike, but it's
impossible to hear exactly what they're saying.  Well, I already
heard something about this anyway, so I I'm not too worried, it
didn't sound major.

They were determined to start on time this year and, miraculously,
that's just what they did!  The pros took off right at 8:00, and the
rest of us followed in short order at exactly 5:00 intervals.  Boy,
that was one efficient start, I was impressed!

There in the staging area, the cold sand squishing between my toes,
I wait with the rest of the women for our start.  I'm soaking up the
moment.  I love this sport.  I revel in the kinship I feel with
those around me, in the excitement and anticipation before the horn
sounds.  Deb and I exchange a hug and "Good luck!" I spit in my
goggles while thoughts race through my head:  Last race of the
season, make it good, girl.  It's a Clydesdale race, you can win it,
you can take it!  This is your third Sentinel, and you're in the
best shape ever; you can break two and a half this time, just try to
focus an....  "10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, *HHHOOONNNNK*!!!

Wooooosh!  Race pell-mell down the slope to the water, *splash*
*SPLASH*...through a bit of surf, oops!  I start to swim, I see Deb
just ahead of me still wading...geez, maybe I shoulda stayed upright
a bit longer...naw, it's ok, get your face in, start gettin' used to
the cold on your head...Wow, we're packed like sardines here!
Everyone's bein' pretty good about keepin' out of everyone else's
way, but boy, it's like a washing machine out here, yow!  OK, get a
str...ouch!  Jammed my finger on some lump of neoprene in front of
me; boy, that hurt!  Well, coulda been worse, coulda got your
....yow!  ....head kicked, as I was saying.

Things start to smooth out at about 100 yards.  We're spreading out
slowly, but it seems to take forever.  After swallowing a couple
gallons of sea water, I finally get a smooth stroke going and feel
less like I'm in the agitation cycle of the old Maytag.  Still some
swimmers kind of cl...  BAM!  Geez, girl!  Try to watch where you're
swimmin'!!!!  Damn!  She clocked me, knocked my goggles half
off...sh*&%#!!  I press the left goggle back on more tightly.
That's the first time I've gotten hit hard enough to knock my
goggles half off; man, I could do without that experience!

I continue swimming, my anger at my assailant fading as I remember,
"Hey, nobody's *trying* to clobber anybody else; it just happens, it
can't be helped, no point in bein' pissed, just keep on goin'."
Another 25 yards and it's obvious, however, that my left goggle is
not going to stop leaking.  Shoot, should I just ignore it and keep
swimming?  I *really* want to try to beat last year's 25:36 for the
swim.  Ah, hell, this is leaking too much, take 10 seconds to fix
it.

I flip over and continue kicking hard and steady while emptying my
goggles and carefully refitting them to my face.  There!  That
should do it; now, back to work.  There are just a couple of girls
near me now, and I catch a draft off one of them.  We're getting
close to the bend in the wharf, and I decide to veer further right
to get a bit closer to it and hopefully catch sight of Skippy.  I
can see folks up on the pier already, grinning and cheering us on.
Each stroke I look up on the right and try to see her.  Shoot, where
is she?  I can't see her, but I'm at the bend, so I holler,
"Skippppy!!!" and wave blindly at the pier.  Geez, where is she??
Hell, quit looking for her, you're wasting time, SWIM!

I return my attention to my forward progress.  Unfortunately, I'm
distracted once more by seawater masquerading as saline solution for
my left contact lens.  Oh, man...  All right, fix it again.... GO!

I increase my cadence a hair, trying to make up for time lost on
goggle adjustment.  Almost out to the end of the pier, now look for
the shortest line around the end, don't follow her, she's goin...
*glug*  ugh, more seawater down your gullet, bleah!  Well, hell,
it's gonna be hot today anyway, you'll probably need the extra salt.

I round the end of the pier and head for shore.  Oh, man.... yep,
you guessed it; flip over again, empty 'em out, put 'em back on....

I'll spare you the rest of the goggle adjustments, but, suffice to
say I never got them quite right and had to fix them at least half a
dozen times in the course of that swim.  Arrrrrgh.  Oh, well, just
chalk up another learning experience in triathlon.

Except for being bodily swum over by a relay swimmer making a
beeline for the beach (and those goggle fixes), the rest of the swim
was a straight shot.  Finally, at the shore, I stop stroking and
stretch downwar...ooops, too soon, a couple more strokes....yeah!
OK, hit the split button, now rip off the wetsuit, in the
water...come ON, what's the problem???  Shoot, get OFFA there!
Damn' sleeve's caught on my HRM receiver; ok, come on, get it all
the way off, go!

I galumph up the beach to the roar of the crowd.  I glance down at
my watch and silently curse: 27 something, that's AWFUL...bad way to
start a PR day, TriBaby; you're gonna hafta haul now!  Through the
sand, awkward and breathless...shades of Alcatraz....now the climb
up that steep little hill to the transition area....oh, geez, I
don't remember this hill *hurting* so much before!  UUGHGGHHH....

Desperate as I am to make up time for my lousy swim, I'm really
running hard up the 75 yards or so of this hill, and it HURTS.  My
feet, half frozen, can barely feel the pavement, and my knees seem
hardly able to bend, treating me to the novel sensation of running
on two stumps.  OOooo, boy, this is fun....  Near the top of the
hill I hear Skippy cry out encouragement, but I'm hurting too much
to even look up and search for her face in the crowd.  My own face
is contorted with the effort (and Skippy got the pictures to prove
it) as I cross the street at the top of the hill, tiptoe through the
kiddie pools to rinse the sand from my feet, and barrel into the
transition area.

OK, think, think!  Toss the wetsuit behind the bike, dip your feet
in your basin (the kiddie pools didn't get 'em totally clean), grab
your towel.  Socks, one shoe, other shoe....Oakleys, snap your
helmet strap.  OK, get on.... A volunteer directs, "Bicycles out
this way, bicycles out this way!" OK, I know which way to go, now if
I can just get my bloody cleat into the pedal.  "Come on!" I shout
at my shoe in vexation.  "URGHHH, get IN there!" *click* "Finally!"
All right, you wanna make up some time now, GO, GIRL!!!!

Santa Cruz Sentinel:  The Bike

"Thank heaven, there were still a *lot* of bikes in the transition
area," I think to myself as I get going.  "Maybe
my swim wasn't *too* horrendous."

Zzzzzzooooooommmm!  Out of the transition area, onto the road!

Still dripping, still trying to catch my breath from the run up the
hill, I click through a couple gears as I get up to speed.  A couple
of turns on residential streets to avoid some road work, then we're
on a straight section.  A lot of intersections out here, but the
volunteers and the police do an excellent job of controlling
traffic.  "Thanks!" I holler as I roll through each one.

Getting settled in the saddle now, getting your spin going.  A girl
catches and passes me, then a second one.  I try to stay with them
for a bit, but decide to be prudent and drop back to a steady spin
in a lower gear.  Don't be tempted to go after the rabbits, just be
patient, it's early yet and you know this course, you can catch them
later.

A few more turns, then over the railroad tracks and out to the
intersection at Highway 1.  Every year they say they're going to
require us to stop at this intersection, and every year the police
controlling it just wave us through!  So through I go, turning left
and now heading north toward the tiny town of Davenport about 10
miles up the coast.  It's a straight shot, a no-brainer, except you
have to be careful to avoid both the slower riders ahead of you and
the auto traffic whizzing by on your left.  So, come on now, be
careful, but HAMMER....

Furious with myself for my lousy swim, I now have but one thing in
my head:  Make up the time, make up the time....  No holds barred,
ride it hard.  You've done it before and still had something left
for the run; even if it hurts, push it, crank it, haul it, MOVE!

This single-minded determination propels me up the road, blasting
by slower cyclists as I set my hungry sights on those farther ahead.
I gobble them up, a guy on a mountain bike here, a gal on a Trek
there, even somebody on a Softride; I chew 'em up, spit 'em out the
back, and move on to the next victim!  Oh, yeah, and a couple of
guys pass me here and there.  ;-)  My particular target is the two
girls who passed me at the start of the bike; they're up there
somewhere ahead of me, and I'm gunning for them.  They can't escape
my voracious charge for long, I'll get 'em!

The course rolls enough out here to keep things interesting.  I do
most of my passing on the flats and the downhills; I struggle to
hold my position on the uphills.  For the most part, however, after
about 3 miles on the highway I'm riding solo, for which I'm
grateful.  It's tough passing people with the cars going by.  On one
rise a guy on a Zipp zips by.  We crest the hill and I start to gain
on him again as we descend the other side when I hear an ominous
*thwip* *thwip* *thwip* and see him slow to a halt. Oh, bummer!
"God, I *hate* that!" I sympathize to him as I whiz by.  Poor guy!

Kinda makes you stop and think, huh?  You know, you're taking this
one too seriously, lighten up!  I ponder for a moment, realizing
that I really *am* being a bit gonzo, and remembering that, while
it's nice to make a PR and win your division and everything, that's
*not* why you're out here.  Come on, don't forget to just enjoy the
experience, Hammerhead.  Yeah, so it's the last race of the season
and you want to do well, but don't be all obsessive about it, ease
up a little.

OK, I'll keep riding hard, but I feel much better now.  I suddenly
realize that I feel relieved; I wasn't even aware of how much
pressure I had been putting on myself.  Wow!  OK, now that you've
put your ego in its place, get on with this race!

I'm cranking up a rise and working hard when suddenly a herd of
Harleys roars by and I practically fall sideways as I flinch in
surprise.  God, I *hate* that!  Turkeys, what are these bozos doing
up at this hour of the morning???  Urrrrgh!  So much for being Miss
Mary Sunshine....

At last, the final dip of the road before Davenport!  150 yards of
quick downhill followed by about the same of uphill before we turn
right into the little town.  I *fly* down the hill and hold as much
of that speed as possible going up the rise, passing a handful of
cyclists as I do so.  There's some traffic backed up here and I
cruise by the Harley Herd on the hill, engines revving in loud
irritation at the delay.  Ha!

Into Davenport, around the block, grab a water bottle at the aid
station, jam it into your empty cage, churn up the rest of this
hill.  OK, one more left turn back toward the highway again, where
we'll go left at the light and head back to Santa Cr... hey, oh,
damn!  OK, hurry up let 'em go....

The CHP are holding the cyclists up here to allow the backed up
traffic to proceed through the intersection.  OK, fine; give 'em a
couple seconds....I hold a semi-track stand as I wait, creeping
forward only by inches, waiting, waiting....Come ON, I said a couple
of *seconds*, not a couple of *minutes*!!!   Geez!

The Harleys roar by, and now I'm getting pissed.  "Come ON!" I
holler to the CHPs.  By now I've given up on my track stand and
clicked out of one pedal.  I watch one guy whom I'd passed just
before Davenport head back down the hill on the left side of the
road, completely avoiding the intersection but probably endangering
his life and the lives of the cyclists just coming up that rise.
For a moment I consider following him, but then I think, "Naw, it's
not worth it, they've got to let us go soon anyway."

I should have followed him.

After what seems an eternity, they finally wave us through.  I was
not amused.  However, my ire softens a tad as one of the CHP
officers calls out to us, "Sorry 'bout that, guys!"  I feel like a
real twit for being so pissy, so I call over my shoulder as I start
down the hill, "That's ok, you were just doin' your job."  Urrrrgh.

Yeah, now get going.  So many cyclists got bottled up here, though,
that it's hard to weave through them and pick up any sort of speed
now.  Boy, I just got myself into a nice relaxed mindset, but now
I've really got to fly.  No matter how mellow I want to be about it,
that was an awful lot of time to waste; now just see what you can do
about it!

Down the hill I hammer frantically, doing my darnedest to pass as
much of this pack as possible before the uphill slows me down.  I
succeed in getting to the front of the bunch before the rise, so I'm
not stuck behind too many riders when the climb slows me down
(sometimes being a Clydesdale is a *real* pain!).

The climb shreds the group somewhat, quite a few passing me, but
more staying behind.  For the rest of the ride back I do a lot of
yo-yoing with the guys who passed me here, though we're not
consistently all that close.  I crank along and think about how I
rode this stretch last year, holding back, not wanting to fight the
crowd, wanting to save some energy for the run.  Not this time!  I
rip the packet of Gu from my aerobars and squeeze it down.  Take no
prisoners, onward!

With about 2 miles left on the highway, I see one of the two girls
who passed me at the start, and I smell blood!  By the time we turn
off the highway, she's 20 yards behind me and I'm looking for the
other one.  I never catch her, but the thought of doing so fuels my
race back to the transition area, and on the way I pass yet another
guy on a Softride.

OK, time to start thinking about the run.  I can hear the crowd
somewhere nearby, so I know we're almost there.  I put in a last
burst of speed through the turns of the course returning through the
residential area, and then the transition area is before me.  I
reach down and rip the velcro open and start to pull one foot loose
from the cleat as I approach the entrance and slow it down.

Roll through the racks, don't hit anybody!  OK, there's your space,
get your feet all the way out, now rack it.  Wow, not too many
bikes back here yet.  On with the shoes, take a drink, grab your
number, your hat, your Gu, get going....whoops, take your helmet
off, *now* get going!!

I hit the split button on my watch as I leave the transition area
and grab a cup of water.  I drink half, throw the other half over my
head, and pray to the TriGods that there is *something* left in
these legs.....

Trot, trot, trot...

Out of the transition area.  I look down at my watch:  1:38:xx.  Oh,
man!  I would need to pull off a 52:00 10k to make my goal time of
2:30.  That means a steady 8:30 per mile, and I've only ever done
that at sprint tris.  Well, all you can do is your best, kid, so
let's go.

I actually don't feel all that bad as I head out of the finish area
onto West Cliff Drive.  Wow, I rode like a maniac, but I still have
a bit of spring in my legs, this is pretty good!  Just try to keep
relaxed, see how long you can keep this up.  Boy, it sure is HOT
though.

The beautiful dawn had ripened into a gorgeous morning, and the sun
showered warmth all over the land and the sea.  As we trot up the
coastline, we're treated to a spectacular view of a sparkling
Monterey Bay, complete with surfers down there awaiting the perfect
wave.  Absolutely magnificent!

"Tricia!"  Who's that?  He just ran by me..."Kurian!"  "Good job,
Trish, how are you doin'?"  "Oh, just hangin' in there, not really
having a great day, just hanging on!"  "Yeah?  I had a flat!"  I
can't hear the rest of what he says as he speeds away ahead of me,
but I throw a "Go get 'em!" his way as I continue my own steady
trot.  Man, I wish I could keep up with Kurian, RSTer number 4 for
the day.

I reach the first mile marker and am a little disappointed to see no
aid station there.  Well, it's ok, I don't feel *too* thirsty, I'm
doin' ok.  I check my watch as I pass the marker; hey, I did an 8:30
mile!  All right!  This is great!  OK, now just keep it up, steady
as she goes.

Trot, trot, trot, trot.... it's feeling a little tougher now, I'm
feeling the sun, and I'm getting a wee bit tired.  Well, hang on,
it's not too much farther to that aid station.  I know exactly where
it is.  People are passing me right and left, but not as many as
I've come to expect.  Hmm, and it's definitely more men than women,
that's good!  Every woman who *does* get by, I scrutinize closely to
see if I can tell if she's a Clydesdale.  I don't *think* there are
any, but who can be sure?  Come on, keep going!

Ah, there's the two mile marker, and the aid station.  Quick, look
at your watch:  Wow, another 8:30 mile!  Maybe there's hope!  I rip
open the packet of Gu I've been carrying in my hand as I approach
the aid station and squeeze it into my mouth.  Slowing
substantially, I take on lots of liquid at the station.  Aaaaah,
that's good!  Whew, I really needed that.  OK, let's go, just
another mile to the turnaround.

There's a slight rise after the aid station, and I force myself to
speed up going over it to make up for the time lost refuelling.
Ugh, that hurt!  Not too much farther, come on, keep it steady.
Another quarter mile and we turn inland, away from the coast,
heading for the turnaround.  Now I can feel myself slowing, feel the
effects of my hammerfest on the bike.  Without the distraction of
the crashing waves, the sparkling water, and the fresh breeze
straight off the ocean, it's a little harder to push here.  But you
know you're nearly to the turnaround, just hang on!

"Tricia!" It's Melanie Mociun (RSTer #5), running toward me on her
way back to the finish already.  "All right, Melanie, go, girl!"
Wow, how on earth did I ever finish *ahead* of her at Pacific
Grove???  She looks great, like she could run all day!  Whew!

A left turn, and just 100 yards more to the turnaround.  Chug, chug,
chug....ah, more water!  A little Gatorade, some water over the
head.  Ahhhhhh!  Back to work!

One woman caught me at the turnaround aid station and got out of
there ahead of me, and I concentrated on catching her as quickly as
I could.  Back that 100 yards, turn back toward the coast, she's
slowing, come on, you can do it, another 25 yards...you got her!
Ah, the little victories!  OK, keep it moving!

Finally, we're back on West Cliff Drive and running on the coast
again, thank heaven!  There's even this slight downhill now heading
back to the 2-mile marker and the aid station there.  But, oh, it's
hot, and I'm hurting.  My pace had already slowed when I checked my
watch at the turnaround.  Come on, you gotta keep it up!  You just
gotta try your best!  Come on, you took your division at Bass Lake
at 3425 feet, you're only at sea level now, you can do it!

I huff and puff into the aid station, this time stopping completely
as the volunteers offer me a "shower", a thorough dousing with cups
of water.  Ahhhh, THANK YOU!!!!!  Take a drink, now GIT!  Just two
miles to go, see what you can do!

Those two miles.  Two of the longest miles I've ever run.  And yet,
afterward, they seemed to have gone by so quickly!

I'm hot and I hurt.  Hot, hurt, hot, hurt.  And I *can't* let myself
slow down!  I already know that there's no way I can break 2:30
unless I can pull off something just under an 8:00 pace for those
two miles, ha ha ha ha ha ha!!  Still, I could at least beat my
previous best time, 2:32:something.  So keep it up!  You gotta try!
Remember, you have no idea where the other Clydesdale women are, and
you lost a chunk of time sitting there twiddling your thumbs in
Davenport.  Don't think about it, just run.

My mind drifts to next season.  Man, I cannot *wait* to do a half
Ironman!  Yeah, yeah, it'll be long, and how can I even think of
such distances when right now, here I am suffering with the sun
pouring down on me and my legs feeling like two slinkies?  But just
think:  When you do a half IM, you'll just be doing it to *finish*;
you won't be putting any pressure on yourself to be competitive, or
beat a previous time, or do well in your division.  You'll just be
*doing* it, not racing it, so you can just jog along at 11 minutes
per mile if you like!  However, right now, you gotta work; just see
if you can hang on to 9 minutes per mile, come on, you're almost
there!

It's meager consolation that there are still people just starting
the run as I'm heading in for the last half mile.  Poor things,
it'll probably only get hotter out here.  I'm so wasted I can't even
spare the energy to cheer other folks on, which I nearly always do
in a race.  I *know* I'm really trying hard when that's the case!

Ah, I've rounded the bend in the coastline and now I can see the
wharf, the Boardwalk, the giant surfer statue on the point....a
little further, and there in the near distance, the Dream Inn...home!
OK, you've only got about a quarter mile left; keep it steady now,
save a little something for that final stretch, come on.

My legs and lungs fairly sear with the effort, my quads and
hamstrings protesting violently.  It's so hot!  I'm starting to hear
the crowd now, though.  Here we go, the 6 mile marker!  Only 2/10 of
a mile to go!  I'm in the final straightaway, and I start to wind it
up....good god, this is the longest 2/10 I've *ever* run!!  I swear
I'm going to explode....  There's the line now, come on, as Kurian
says, you wanna "leave nothin' but fumes" in the tank!  There's one
guy in front of you, come on catch him, pass him!

I blow by the lone runner ahead of me and have a good 5 yards on him
when at last I plow over the line, offering a weak little victory
hop that in no way emulates Welchie's!  Oh, thank god!  I can stop
running now!!!!

I trudge through the finish chute, hand over my tag, and stop just
outside the end of the chute, bending over, hands on knees.  Here
comes Skippy..."Good job, Tribaby!  How ya doin'?  Are you ok??"  I
shake my head in the negative.  No, I am most certainly *not* ok!  I
HURT!  And I'm dehydrated.  "Water!"  I croak.

Poor Skip, I think I scared her!  I head for some shade and she
heads for the water table to grab me a couple of bottles.  *gasp*
....gurgle gurgle gurgle....ahhhhhhhhh.....  She sits down beside me
and tells me, "I actually was kind of worried; I saw a couple of
guys finish a little while ahead of you who were actually foaming
and looking all glassy-eyed.  They did *not* look good.  I heard one
guy had to have an IV."  Yeah?  I can understand that!

Sitting in a shady corner of the front parking lot of the Dream Inn,
I slowly recover and tell Skip something about the race.  As we're
talking, a girl walks by us to a nearby clump of bushes and heaves
to!  Yeah, I'm pretty close to that feeling myself.  She walks back
by us a little sheepishly, grins and says, "What the hell, I feel
better!"  "God, don't worry about it!  I know how you feel," I
reply.  Boy, do I!

Oh, but wait!  We're not 100 yards from our hotel room, air
conditioning, something cold in the 'fridge, and a SHOWER!!!!

That alone was worth EVERY PENNY that the damned room cost.  Come
hell or high water, I will stay in the Dream Inn once again for next
year's Sentinel!


Just Call Me "Clyde" :)

So, how did I do?  I did not break 2:30, surprise, surprise!  I
didn't even beat last year's time, dang it.  Final time was 2:33:45.
*However*, I did succeed in keeping my average pace for the run
below 9:00 per mile (it turned out to be 8:58 per mile, Yay!  ;-) ),
and I *did* win the female Clydesdale division---by nearly 5
minutes!  Geez, I didn't need to run so hard after all!!!

After my heavenly, refreshing shower, we headed for the awards
ceremony with Deb, who won the women's 40-44 division, the animal!
There we met Patrick Goebel, RSTer #6 for the day.  Really nice guy
(and fantastic legs, yow!  Look out for him, guys, when his running
gets as good as his cycling, he will HAMMER).

I didn't know for certain that I'd actually won my division until
they announced the 2nd place winner and her time, at which point Deb
absolutely squealed with joy for me, it was great!  I had been so
intent to win my division here 'cause they actually give you *stuff*
at the Sentinel.  My prize consisted of a certificate to be filled
at the Runners' Factory in Los Gatos for a running/cycling
jacket/shell that will be custom embroidered with "Santa Cruz
Sentinel Triathlon" on the back.  Pretty cool!  Deb won a nice Giro
helmet, yeah!

Well, there it is, the end of the season.  I'd like to take this
opportunity to thank everyone on RST for playing a huge part in
making it such a fantastic one.  What an incredible summer it's
been!

Thanks to everyone who's slogged through all these race reports.
I'm going to have to think of some way to make them more exciting
and interesting next year---I'm afraid they're all starting to sound
the same!  Well, I've got 6 or 7 months to think about it.  In the
meantime, I'll be training Skippy for *her* first tri next year, and
training myself for *gulp* Wildflower long course in May (heaven
help me!!).  And Skippy herself is threatening to write an account
of TriBaby's great season from the *crew's* point of view....uh oh,
this could be scary!!

Thanks again, everybody.  Good luck on your off season training,
and, for those of you down under, good luck as your season just
begins.

As Deb likes to say, "COWABUNGA!!"

TriBaby