Cal.E. is calling me from the warden’s car. She says they will be back late tonight, after getting a later than expected start. The warden is driving as fast as the law allows (with minimum stops) to get back to Houston so that he can be on time for his job on Monday.
C.: How is it going, d.c.?
d.: Okay, can you talk with the car going so fast?
C.: Yes, but the warden really wants to get home in time to be on time for his job on Monday. I will NOT, however, be home in time to watch the Texans’ game with you, d.c. Will you record on your DVR for me, please? Then, we can watch the game without watching the commercials. That is the way I like to watch football, anyway.
d.: I can do that, Cal.E. I like to watch football games the same way. However, you DO know that commercials are what I call a “necessary evil.”
C.: Why is that? I think that all football games should be put on a commercial-free channel. Then, we could all watch the games in peace, without commercial interruptions.
d.: Would you be willing to pay for that channel, Cal.E. Like premium cable?
C.: NO WAY! The constitution guarantees me life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. The pursuit of happiness, to me, means commercial-free football. I am going to write my congressman when I get home and tell him to make it happen!
d.: Do you know how much professional football players get paid?
C.: No, but I know that it is more than enough for two meals a day. That is all anyone needs, though.
d.: Almost all professional athletes get paid millions of dollars a year. Even filling a stadium that holds 70,000 people every week does not pay their salaries. Most of the money comes from television contracts. That is also the way you can watch the games on T.V. without paying a dime! Just skip over the commercials on your DVR if you do not like them. Writing your congressman will not do you any good, anyway. He has more important things to worry about than a channel with free football on it. Besides, one of the most generous philanthropists in Houston advertises more than anyone else. He made his fortune by advertising his product. Now, he shares the wealth with those in need. Most Houstonians will stop their DVRs and watch his commercials out of respect for him.
C.: I never thought of it that way, d.c. Being a cat, I only worry about sleeping and where my next meal is coming from
if it is not football season. Speaking of which, it is time for my first nap of the day. I will see you tomorrow! Until then, take care!
And now, chapter twenty-two of “Beyond the Thirteenth Mile; The Iron Man Chronicles.”
CHAPTER 22: RACE DAY
Run Course, Mile twenty-one: Okay, I feel better now. Whether this is just a “runner’s high” or I am catching my second wind is irrelevant. All I want to do now is finish these last… five miles? My brain is as tired as my legs! I can always do simple math in my head quickly. That is what I enjoy the most about these race days. Setting a goal and challenging myself to beat that goal after I have figured out my splits. That makes race days more enjoyable…
*************************************************************************
Race day for most triathletes, me included, usually starts between four and five in the morning. This is only about half an hour before I get up as a rule. This allows time for the triathlete to eat and digest breakfast, as well as check over his/her gear before heading to the race site. Most race directors prefer that you check in at least an hour before the first wave goes off.
Over the past three years, I have developed a phobia of forgetting something really important on the way to a race, including, of all things, my bike! I often feel like Steve Martin's character in the movie "The Jerk" as I head out the door on race day morning, jokingly saying, "This is all I need in this life," with both arms overloaded with my gear. Usually, a quick glance to the back of my truck, or a frantic rummage through my backpack will produce the item I fear that I've forgotten. This is usually my knee brace.
This year, it finally happened, not once, but twice. Aside from forgetting my goggles and my USAT card on the trip to Florida, I also forgot my timing chip on the next race that I attempted. Without that chip, my times would not be recorded, and the race would not be counted in the final standings. Fortunately, this particular race was only five miles from my house, and Nicole and I had started a few minutes early. Nicole graciously volunteered to go back to the house and retrieve the chip, which definitely saved my day. She made it back fifteen minutes before the gun sounded for the first wave, which included my age group.
I knew something was amiss when the "race day jitters" didn't start until a rummage through my backpack didn't produce the timing chip. After that, the jitters began, and in brutal force.
Although we made it to the race site in plenty of time, I was still setting up in the transition area five minutes before it closed for this purpose. Something, however, was working in my favor on this particular race day. Nicole found the chip easily, and although the swim took about two minutes longer than I had hoped, I had a strong bike leg, even though my chain came off as I turned into the dismounting area. The bike course was about one mile and one-half shorter than it was supposed to be, according to my computer and everyone else's that I questioned. That left me within striking distance of my goal as I started on the run course in just under an hour. That was just where my calculations from the night before had put me. All I had to do now was run three sub-eight-minute miles.
The first mile did take me over eight minutes to run, because I had walked the first fifty to sixty feet, drinking water and clearing my sinuses. The second mile was one of my better ones, leaving me with six and a half minutes to run one mile and hit my goal. I have run exactly one six and a half minute mile since I was fourteen years old, and that with the aid of a 25-mile-per-hour tailwind. I remembered something from the previous year's race, though.
The last two-mile markers on this particular course seemed to be in the wrong places, making the second mile a little longer, and the third a little shorter, although I believe that the course is still three miles long. In spite of feeling an all too familiar twinge in my right hamstring while on the bike leg, my legs seemed to be doing well, and my lungs seemed to be recovering nicely. I decided to try to mimic Scott Tinley and see how many people I could run down from behind (my answer-one). I went about 50 seconds over my goal, which was fine since I had had a bad swim leg.
This is a fast course, though, and I soon learned that the first woman across the finish line had beaten my time by over ten minutes.
A word of explanation about amateur athletes and triathletes in particular, I feel is in order. We all want to believe that we can do something (usually a race) faster, better, or more efficiently than anyone else can. The brutal truth is, however, that most of us (99.9%) don't have the athletic abilities of a Michael Jordan, a Tiger Woods, or a Marc Allen. If we did, we would be racing for money, not just for fun!
We are, by and large, Joe or Jane Smith from down the street. The only difference between someone like me, and your average couch potato, is dedication. We're the people you see running before and after work. The men and women doing 100-mile bike rides on a Saturday morning when 90% of the rest of the world is still asleep. We are the guys and gals you see at your local YMCA swimming laps to exhaustion, only to catch our breath and swim another 800 meters.
I have known some men and women who have such tremendous athletic ability that they can practically fall out of bed and run five miles in under one-half hour. The longer courses, however, usually weed out the under-trained from the more dedicated athletes.
When I see one of my “training companions" must pull out of a race because of injury or severe cramps, I think that it hurts me almost as much as it hurts him or her; because I know how hard he/she has trained for this particular event. The average couch potato... has no idea.
Comments