Friday, May 16, 2008

That's HOT!!

So Gulf Coast Half Ironman has come and gone. Good times, and more importantly a good time for me to see how I’m progressing for Ironman Coeur d’Alene. No real excitement on the way up, except another example to solidify my theory that no one needs you at work until you’re gone. I put on the voicemail, Call me at XXX-XXXX if this is an EMERGENCY! Sure enough, I get a call. Is it an emergency? Hardly. The office world would be a better place if some people could wear footie pajamas to work. That way they could feel secure without calling just to hear you say that you’ll take care of things when you get back.
Anyway, back to the race. I get my crap at the expo, and am really excited to try and screw up my race. How? Well, I’m gonna run in the “Team issue” marble bag, aka Speedo, aka Man-kini. Never done before, not by this guy. So while I’m at it, I figure to go ahead and buy some new racing flats since mine are shot. Run them in the race? CERTAINLY! Anyway, the only semi-interesting things that happened pre-race are that I got Mean mugged (stared down for those not fluent in Ebonics) by Spencer Smith on his pink Planet X. Yeah, I know my bike is painted like a WWII plane, but yours is pink. And we are in the panhandle of Florida. When in Rome, Spencey boy. The second thing cool was I saw a Hoffbrauir House. The last time I was in one of those, I almost got jumped on the streets of Munich, got denied entry into some German clubs, and we climbed on a Smart Car. In short, it had sentimental appeal. I never did get to that place post-race, but I highly recommend it if you are in Panama City Beach, like beer, and getting plastered at a picnic table.
I didn’t sleep much the day before the race. No real reason, but I felt a bit off for the pre-race. Gulf Coast, while on basically the same general area as Ironman Florida, is WAY more low key than the money making, dream inducing juggernaut. Plus, they have wave starts. BIG PLUS! Anyway, we were the #6 wave, after pros and every woman in the race. I had Timmy Thomas in my wave, so I figured I’d let him know my swim strategy. “Timmy, I’m on you like a Prom date for the swim.” It worked out well, and despite the crazy swells (Some guy in a later wave drowned. Very sad, but proof that the sport is dangerous. So please be comfortable and confident in the water before tackling the distance you choose. That includes open water swimming!) I came out in 30min. Pretty slow, but most of the top guys in my age group were either right in front of me, or still swimming. Got on the bike, and just “Rolled dat Action!” Nothing real exciting. Tailwind out, brutal headwind back. I decided to spin on the way out, and use all the remaining bullets in my gun for the ride back. At the turnaround, I was in no-man’s land between the guys behind me and the pros. It was wicked tough staying focused and in rhythm. There was a group of 3 that included my buddy Will from Denmark and “THE” Jeff Cuddeback (holder of every Hawaii age group record), and they were maybe a minute down at the turnaround. I thought they would catch me, but for some reason they never did. Anyway, I was trying my best to book it down Beach Boulevard and into T2 because I knew I played my cards on the bike. Long story short, when I came through, the people were going crazy! The announcer said “Ladies and Gentlemen, our 1st Age Grouper is coming in off of the bike. We don’t even know who this kid is.” I wondered who he was too! He is pry more handsome than me, anyway. Then he said, “#637 from Scott, LA, John Fell.” Oh Shiite Muslim! That’s me. I’m in the front. This has never happened before. Cool. Well, the announcer decided this wasn’t enough, and wanted a during-race interview. I wished my mom happy mother’s day, and continued pimping out my costume for the run. Man-kini, check. Bret Michael’s bandana, check. Doper’s Suck wristband, check. 5 gallons of Body Glide just in case, check. Well, my meticulous preparation let my buddy Will out of transition before me. So into T2 1st, out of T2 2nd. NASCAR fans would be very disappointed in my pit stop. The chase was on, and I knew I had to close the gap to Will ASAP. See, I might have had too much information knowing that he had done Ironman Arizona in April. So I knew that the longer he held me off, the more confidence he would have in his abilities. So mile 1 was 6:08’ish, 2 was 6:20’ish, etc. until I closed the gap. Once I got there, I immediately attacked him. First was to get away in the neighborhoods, but more importantly I felt bad that he had too look at the horrible Man-kini Faris ensemble’ (Faris rocks his well, I don’t). Run was pretty good until the park. That was about the time that the cool morning breeze and clouds clocked out, and the brutal Florida sun checked in for work. From this point on, I couldn’t get enough water. This was to the delight of one aid station who I heard say, “OOOHHH. Here he come! Here he come! Get that boy some Wata!”; yet to the horror of another aid station where a mother had to tell her kid (who I’m pretty sure was scarred after seeing my outfit) “its ok honey, he’s not from America.” Anyway, I must have asked no less than 100 people from mile 9 on in, “How far is he back?” I got the same reply every time, “Who? There is no one back there.” I felt like a kid convinced the Boogie monster was under my bed. I held that last mile together with duct tape, a bandana, and a prayer. Came across in 4:34:16, and 1st in my age group. I was just happy that I got to race people, as sometimes triathlons involve no tactics, and are just an insanely long time trial.
Now it’s back to the grind of training, and trying to recover enough to get some long stuff in again, with 3 solid weeks of work before the taper begins. OH SWEET TAPER! How I long for thee! The only good thing about the Man-kini run outfit you ask, other than scaring people? Now I know I can pull off the “No speak Eng-leesh” if I need to…

Some pics from the Race (I know, it's like a train wreck. You don't wanna look, but you have to..)


Rollin' dat Action on the bike. And yes, I am proud of my white, Italian shoes....
No imagination necessary. Drink it in, ladies. Drink it in...

See VH1, I can look like a burnt out rock star too! Now, Gimme my own show!



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