The Old Man in the Donut Shop

I know I know. You thought that either your RSS feed for this blog was broken, or that I fell off the face of the earth. Well, both sound way better than the actual truth. The actual truth is that I have been writing, but mainly in my journal. Anyway, it’s about time I start blogging again, and I have a doozy to start this whole party off. It’s about that time when everyone is kind of getting tired of the training and the racing, and that tailgate party you keep getting invited to is looking way more exciting than another 5 hours with a bike seat. I mean, boudin, beer and BBQ, or Gatorade and Gu? I know, tough choice.

Since that desire is creeping in all of us to wrap up the season, most people are definitely not pondering what their weaknesses are and what they need to work on for a successful year next year. I am definitely in this camp, as I’m sort of like the grumpy old man that has been drinking his community coffee and reading the paper every day at the donut shop. I mean, I’ve done what I’ve done for many years now. There are certain workouts I think I need to be ready for an Ironman, or some wattage/pace/swim numbers that I need to see before I’m comfortable and confident knowing I’m about to race. And it’s not just the comfort in these numbers, but there’s a “relatively” comfortable training path to get there. They say men love routine, and I must be the annotated picture in the science literature that proves this. So I kind of shocked myself that I wanted to start asking some people that I trust what they see and what I can do/change to improve. Well, if you do decide to do this, make sure you have had an EXCELLENT few days or are half drunk. Cause hearing where you suck might be a touch of the buzz kill. But I think it’s important to do this, as everyone myself included, views their training/numbers/log with rose-colored glasses. And there is a definite explanation for certain biases, workouts, ideas that you have. Even if these ideas are completely stupid, they are your ideas so you stick to em. So I’m writing this to you, but also as a public challenge to myself. The only way you get better is by improving (Thanks, Captain Obvious). And the only way to improve is to work on what you’re not good at. And the only way to truly know what you’re not good at is to look at the numbers, or ask some training mentors/confidants and get your answer. Once you get your answer, it’s all up to you. As for me, I started the process and getting ready to make a few changes to my grumpy old man in the donut shop training. I do love my training set up, and the way I’ve done things up to this point. However, if I keep doing what I’ve been doing, I’ll keep getting what I’ve always gotten. The way I look at it is that I can only get better. And if not, I know exactly where the donut shop is.

Chicken or Fish? Uh, Cajunman....?

Now, why would I write a race report on a sprint race? Well, it’s simple. First, Rusty puts on a killer race. B, winning this race is one of only two things that I’ve wanted to accomplish since starting triathlon. I mean, it IS my hometown race (Technically, the Scott Triathlon is, but since it is now defunct we will annex Cajunman as the hometown race). And 3, whether it’s a state championship or not, Cajunman is THE race that started it all (mad respect to New Roads tri, another long-standing classic on the south Louisiana race calendar). Rusty’s race set the bar on what and how a top notch sprint triathlon is supposed to look and feel like. Anyway, I digress. The Cajunman is a crown jewel that I’ve never won but continue to swing for the fences on. I came close in 2007, finishing second to a studly and wicked fast Neil Rowlland. That close call is what keeps me coming back, and a reason I signed my name on the dotted line to race again.

This year was, uh, hot. I mean, that kind of hot where it’s summer and you’re standing next to a running 18-wheeler engine and there’s not breeze outside. Yeah, that kind of hot and it’s only 7am. The good news about the heat is that your warmup can be pretty minimal. Anyway, after seeing and chatting with a few people pre-race, it was time to get in the water. Since it is South Louisiana, and I get exactly zero opportunities to wear that badass TYR wetsuit in the swamp, I called Kiwami and had them whip up a Kaiman onesy with my favorite bike shop’s logo on it. I knew it’d be a good boost (even if it was just mental) to have a super fast tri suit on for the swim. The only problem? Well, it is red and when it gets wet, um, let’s just say people can tell if you’re Jewish or not. So I modified a pair of tri shorts to fit under this super slick, super fast suit. All I remember of the swim is that the bouy kept creeping over toward us, and then I was getting bumped around. After about the 5^th time of getting hit, I knew it was time to swim wicked hard. After that, I had some clean water and just swam long and controlled. I focused on reaching the stroke, and not getting frog kicked in the face by one of the stragglers in one of the previous waves. A unique part of the Cajunman is the deep water start and exit. After exiting the water with your heart rate at MAX + 10, you have a nice long stroll to your bike. However, if you’re trying to win it’s an opportunity to sprint while hopping from carpet square to carpet square and moving that heart rate to MAX + 30. After my carpet hopping, I got to the beautiful, always ready newly slick Speed Concept. Sometimes I just get my geek glasses out and just gawk at all the details and engineering that went into this steed. But this was not the time, as I knew that of the other main contenders here, I had to push my swim advantage as far as I could. Onto the bike I was so excited to go that I MAY have almost wiped out in the first chicane out of transition. I was hoping no one saw it, but there were about 40 people that got a nice giggle out of my elementary school bike handling.

You know that route you go home every day, and you feel like you could drive it with your eyes closed? Well, that’s how I feel about this bike course. I’d hate to even give a guess on how many times I’ve ridden parts of that course. But just in case the previous 400,000 trips down these roads didn’t do it, I pre-rode the course the day before for about 2 hours. I knew every bump in the road, and at times I just buried my head and hammered. About halfway through the ride, I see what just about every triathlete sees during the bike. It’s almost like a mirage on the horizon, as you see people and they look like they are grouped together. As you get closer, you realize that they aren’t anywhere near each other. However, this time there was a group that looked like they were riding tip to tail with one poor soul pulling the train not knowing he’s towing a school bus full of kids. As I passed I reminded them triathlon was “individual effort”. And I honestly felt bad for the guy towing all these guys shamelessly drafting, as he had no idea they were camped out on his wheel. That was all of the infamous drafting that I saw, and honestly a lot more goes on in just about every race I do. I didn’t really have a wattage goal for the bike, but I knew that if two things happened I would be going well. One was going cross-eyed and the second was drooling on myself. Check and Check. Into transition is where things really got interesting. I was hauling into T2, and saw Kevin Cart’s bike already racked in transition. Now, Kevin has PHENOMENAL bike skills, but how did he outswim me too? I started to freak out a little that I had to run him down. As I hit the run, a friend of mine yelled that I was only 1:30 down. Oh great, I ONLY have to run 30 seconds a mile into him. Uh sure. Well, it must be Kevin’s excellent skin and taking care of himself that made me forget that he is 41 and went off in the wave in front of me. In my oxygen depleted state, I finally realized this at mile 1.5. After this groundbreaking discovery, I just tried to run as hard as I could because I knew that the Primeaux brothers were gonna unleash some nasty fast runs and it was gonna be all I had to hold them off. In retrospect, I thought that maybe I could’ve run harder. But my buddy Eric put me in my place when he said, “Dude, I disagree. I heard you before I saw you. You sounded like a race horse with a weezing problem. You were in the hurt locker.” Crossing the line was nice, as was my sister and Scott bringing me a bag of ice to stick on my chest. I joke when I call myself a big diesel engine, but this was one of those times when you could feel that engine overheating. I wanted to climb into either the ice bucket with the beer, or the big ice chest with all the bags of ice. Neither worked out as there was a security guard next to the ice chest and I had enough groping in the swim so the beer ice was out too.

In the end, I got 2^nd place, and was beaten by a faster athlete on the day. Mark had a great race, and was really strong across all 3 disciplines. He’s got a bright future in the sport, and it’s fun to watch these young guys go so fast. As opposed to saying the young guys are the racers of the future, they’ve proven they’re here now to win. It’s good motivation for 2011 as I drag these old bones around training for next year. However, I did get a 2^nd place trophy AND a hug from Tammy D, so that’s as good as the winner’s trophy for me! Thanks a million to Rusty Bex and his people for keeping this classic race going. It’s one of the original and still one of the premier races around. Also thanks to my awesome family at Capital Cyclery. Jason built up the sick Speed Concept and keeps it running flawless. And what can I say about Lisa, except that she’s the best and I am grateful to have her help to continue chasing the dream. And of course thanks to Elyse, Kellee and Scott for suffering through the heat to cheer me on. I don’t know if free Buffalo Wild Wings was a fair trade for being out in that blast furnace, but it’s a deal I’ll take every day! Till next time, it’s back to the grind. Thanks for reading.

What's been up

In short, i've been away from this blog for way too long. I actually forgot I had it still active. The crazy shizz that has transpired in the last 6 months is too much to go over. The good news is that my vision is back to acceptable, and I can train again. Enough with the sob story, since you're a faithful blog reader I am gonna post a piece I wrote for the Texas magazine "The Racing Post". It was all because of the pic below:

“Elyse, can you grab my helmet out of the truck? Thanks, love.”
I guess it’s time to warm up. What am I doing here? Just 2 months ago I was completely blind in my left eye. I mean, hell, I just got my vision back to acceptable like a month ago. These guys all look so fit. I’m not even close to my best fitness this season. I should have chosen my first race back a little more wisely; maybe stick to triathlons or try agrandfondo for fun. But a ‘cross race? You’re certifiable. Weare getting called to the start. Man, this is about to get real. Where do I line up? Oh crap, I’m on the front row. Don’t make eye contact, don’t look around. I just looked around; not good. Everyone is staring at me like a vulture about to feast on its prey. Ok, relax. Don’t panic now, just adjust your goal. The new goal is to not finish last, and a bonus for not getting lapped. My name gets called, it’s too late to bail now. How are my hands numb? It’s like 75 degrees outside. There’s the gun! BIG POWER. GO GO GO! CLIP IN CLIP IN! Get your position in line for the first hard right hander. YOU’RE GOING TOO SLOW! PEOPLE ARE FLYING BY YOU! I told you this race was a bad idea. Unclip and jump the barriers. BACK ON THE BIKE! CLIP IN CLIP IN! Next lap clear those barriers less like a ballerina and more like a ‘cross racer. POWER UP THE HILL! TURN, TURN! You gonna jump or dismount? JUMP OR DISMOUNT? MAKE A DECISION! THE LOG IS HERE! That was weak, the guy behind you is pissed. Make a decision and stick with it.Downhill into the sand. PICK A LINE, DON’T CHANGE!YOU CHANGED, NOW POWER THROUGH. YOU’RE LOSING TIME ALL OVER THIS COURSE! YOU GOTTA PULL THE LEADERS BACK, DON’T LET THEM RIDE AWAY! That’s it, this is where you’re gonna fly. Get to the pavement, and around the baseball field. That’s it, lay the power down. GOOD EFFORT, GET IN THE PAIN CAVE. As the race gets longer, you get better. OH, TOO CONFIDENT IN THAT CORNER! CRASH! GET UP QUICK! CLIP IN, CLIP IN! PEDAL, PEDAL, PEDAL!You didn’t lose too much time. CLAW BACK INTO THIS RACE! Be smooth over the barriers. You know you’re faster once we’re out of the sand. No mistakes now, the race is almost over. Ok, just take a quick peek to see if someone is back there. You’re clear. Can I catch the guy in front? He’s so close. BIG EFFORT! VENGA VENGA VENGA! It’s the last turn, DIG DEEP! So close to catching him. Maybe next race. Now breathe. I gotta grab my wheels and find a place to clean up. Where is Elyse?
“Well, how was your first race back?” she said with a smile.
“It was just as painful as I remembered. Would you be cool with me racing next weekend?”

Maybe it's time to quit goofing off and put up some updates, eh?

FINALLY, the St. Croix report...

This is so late, I know. But I wanted to write some other stuff about training, so I figured I'd post my St. Croix reveiw.
St. Croix is always mentioned in the small list of races that you have to do if you race triathlons. So when my buddy Brennan called and said that he and a friend were headed to St. Croix to do the 70.3, it didn’t take much convincing for me to book my ticket. The humorous part of this little adventure was that it was Brennan and Khalid’s first half ironman. Good thing Khalid never bothered to look at the course profile before signing up, as Brennan would have never jumped on board and I would have never been coaxed into going.
First thing about St. Croix is that it pretty much sucks to fly in to. American Airlines has really outdone themselves in being ridiculous with flight schedules, and equally ridiculous in ripping every dime you have out of your hands just to get your tri gear there. However, you forget about it as soon as you set foot on the island. The people are genuine, upbeat and not in a hurry for anything. And it is OBVIOUS that you are a tourist there, but that doesn’t stop anyone from greeting you on the street and telling you “Good luck Sunday” when you pass. We all went out to the swim start Thursday to get a swim in and check things out. To say the water was clear is a huge understatement. You could easily see 30 feet to the bottom. After the swim, I went to registration before realizing I forgot my I.D. In true island spirit, they said “No problem”, two people who agreed that I was who I said I was worked for them. After registration, we hit up a restaurant that looked good. However, when they told us it was a vegetarian and raw restaurant, we tried to leave. The waitress was heartbroken and pleaded with us to try it. I’ve had break-ups that were less uncomfortable than this little exchange. I don’t think she got it when I told her, “It’s not you, it’s me.”
Race morning came early, 4a.m. We loaded up the transition bags, and rode over to the swim start. For a world-class 70.3, the venue is super chill. I was putting my bike on the rack and setting up my transition area, and took a glance around. There were some real age group studs here, and it was pretty clear that this was gonna be a fast day. Keeping with the spirit that everything in St. Croix is just “a little more difficult”, we had to swim across the channel to a little island where the race would officially start. It was a quasi-beach start where it was a drag race for 50 yards, then you take a hard left. When we took off, there was chaos, followed by a hard left, followed by more chaos. The good news is that I didn’t get hit in the head and I got out of the water in a good position. Now, here’s the first of many things I learned in St. Croix (besides that it’s a good place to hide if you have outstanding warrants). Make sure you pre-drive the course, even if it is “only” a half ironman. Good thing for me, THE Jeff Cuddeback gave us some tips and tricks on how to stay out of trouble. The thing that most stuck out in my mind was “Don’t even think about racing until after the Beast. That’s when it starts to get tough”. That was good advice, and definitely helped out. Of course, driving the course would’ve shown the countless sharp turns, pavement, how difficult the backside of the island was, and oh yeah, where the 10 unmarked HUGE speed bumps were on the course. Nothing gets your attention like getting both wheels off the ground at 25mph while you’re in your aero bars. It’s quite an experience…really. A word on the Beast. It is as bad as they say it is. Good thing that the locals have a heart and a sense of humor. They paint the road to show you the start of the climb, and are kind enough to paint each 1/10th of a mile (the climb is 7/10ths of a mile in total) as well as painting the percent grade next to the mile marker. Like I said, those locals are super friendly AND helpful. After you crest the Beast is where the fun begins. That is where the coastal winds start to really hit you, and the shade is nowhere to be found. If you made the mistake (I did) of wearing an aero helmet, the backside of the island is where your head starts to cook. As for me, I kinda felt I went WAY too easy on the bike, but it made me ride strong the last 15 miles of the bike. I was shocked to see how many strong guys were sitting on the base bar just soft-pedaling in those last 15 miles. Being able to ride strong past those guys, and the energy to dodge that rooster (seriously, a rooster on the road) told me I made the right call on riding easy. I came into transition in about 11th for my age group, and knew that the run was going to be brutally hot. Brutally hot isn’t my favorite weather, but being from the swamp of Louisiana, brutally hot is about all the weather that I know. Ice on this course was mandatory. I was stoked to have my K-Swiss K-Ona shoes on, since they are wicked light but also have holes in the bottom for all the water I was dumping on myself to escape. I ran without a watch, but would just run on effort and try to run faster the second loop. When we were running through the golf course, Bryan Rhodes passed me. He didn’t fly by me, which is what I’m accustomed to whenever a pro passes me. This told me I was at least running ok. That 2nd lap was a real gut check. While picturesque, this race is brutal and grueling. I saw some pretty fit dudes and girls walking, or just sitting under a tree blown up. It was quite the sight. In the 2nd time through the golf course, I caught 4 or 5 guys in my age group. I had a nice foot race going with this one guy and thought that I would start my surge like 2 minutes before the 2nd lap turnaround. Well just a head’s up to anyone wanting to do that race, the finish line is NOT just beyond the turnaround. It’s 3 blocks down, then a block to the right, and then 3 blocks back in. So my little surge turned into a ridiculously long time in the pain cave. When the damage was done, the clock read 4:51:00. Not my fastest half ironman time by a long shot, but it was a satisfying finish on a tough course against some truly BAMF triathletes from around the world. Of course, the fun of this race would be the awards ceremony and after-party. I won’t answer any questions directly, but there was a good time had by all, and I do in fact know that Cruzan rum is made in St. Croix and that there are quite a few different flavors of this storied rum. Here are some pictures of said events: http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=112986&id=516672989&l=b0262f396d

Pre-St. Croix and the Parable of the Mustang

So I’m headed out tomorrow to St. Croix to race the half-ironman there, and see what this beast business is all about. I’ve been kinda messin’ around with doing the St. Croix race report to a Dr. Seuss theme, but it’s all still touch and go right now. I don’t know if I’ve got the chops to pull it off. He was a grumpy old genius who hated kids and still the people bought his children’s books. I’m a 7-5 paper pusher who occasionally highlights. I know my role, but I might give it a shot anyway.
While in St. Croix, I thought I might be no dice on the twitter, as my phone has decided to give up on me. Well, not completely, maybe the phone is on strike. So the 2, 5, and 8 keys don’t work. Try texting anything without the letters on the 2, 5, and 8 keys. Most of my stuff is Word!, Yes!, No, good. Real smooth vocab, for sure. However, they’ve got free Wi-Fi at the hotel, and Da Bear has an extra Cingular phone “just in case” that he’s loaning to me until I can FINALLY upgrade to the new iPhone in June. Who knew his “just in case” would actually happen (him, I’m sure.) Anyway, that’s a long-winded way to say stay tuned for updates, and general silliness from the US Virgin Islands.
I’ll end this quick blurb with my favorite parable. A buddy of mine called and we were talking smack. He told me something someone said he heard 8th hand from a guy next to a bus stop talking to a lady who used to babysit for my friends’ parents. Anyway, you get the picture. He told me the story, which was basically slamming me. So I felt inclined to share my “Parable of the Mustang”. It goes like this: When I was in high school, I had a 1968 Mustang. This beast was BAD. 390 cubic inch engine, slicks in the back. Just the sort of car you want a 15 year old full of testosterone to have. Anyway, this car attracted all kinds of attention; good and bad. But without fail, every time I drove the car anywhere, some dumbass would make a comment that went like this: “Well I’ve got this friend who’s got a (fill in the blank), and it’s got a (###) engine, and it would smoke your car!” After hearing this enough, I finally put together my clever reply. “Well go get your car. You should call your friend and get it and then we can race. I have nothing important going on, so call him and we can race right now.” This little reply was usually met with stuttering, mumbling, or embarrassment when they said, “I told you it wasn’t MY car, but a friend of mine’s. He’s pry not home anyway, volunteering at the nursing home, etc. etc.” While my bad ass car is long gone, the moral of that story still rings true today. Don’t run your mouth about a friend of a friend of a guy who used to live in your neighborhood, and how he would crush all our wills’ to live. Or how if your buddy could just sober up long enough to train, he’d be like miles ahead of us. You just end up living vicariously through other people, but more importantly you just look silly. A wise Portuguese fellow once told me, “You’re only as good as your last race.” But more importantly, in drag race talk, You gotta run what you brung. You don’t get to run what your buddy used to be able to do, or the race you woulda had if only x, y, and z didn’t happen. Talk less, train more.

The First Hit is Always Free

In short, I got tempted the same way I’m sure that any addict gets lured in. As I was walking off the pool deck after swim practice, Claire said “John, we have an entry for the Louisiana Triathlon this Saturday if you’re interested.” Now, I had fully resigned to the fact that I was gonna race New Orleans and then St. Croix with nothing but training between. Well, it was that offer that set the wheels into motion.
When the alarm went off at 4am, it was pouring. I mean, typical south Louisiana swamp deluge. So I made the deal that since I was already up, I earned my bowl of pre-race Cinnamon Toast Crunch. After that, I would look outside and make the call. As luck would have it, the rain broke just long enough for me to pack the Banana Trek and all my gear into Subie and get on the road. I wasn’t even down my driveway, and I got a text from Jeremy. We were both waiting for the other to say they weren’t going, but neither of us did. The whole way to New Roads was pouring rain with bouts of driving rain. Thank goodness for Subie’s all-wheel drive, and nimble footing. And to the drunkard going the wrong way down the boulevard in Krotz Springs, thanks for staying to my left. I got to New Road’s, and parked Subie in a spot that I felt was way too close for the time I arrived. This is never a good sign.
Despite my negative Nancy thoughts, registration was wide open, and from what every volunteer and race official said, it was “Game on.” False river looked especially inviting with its white caps rolling into the boat launch. The usual pre-race was in order with the small adjustment to prepping the Banana for racin’ in the rain. 100psi in the tires, K-Swiss stickers on the disc, and roll dat action!
The water was kinda chilly, so they let us wear wetsuits. Right before the gun went off, a blast from the past (Terry B!) hollered at me to get on the other side of the dock. I guess he saw the bouys drift and could see the current from way up there. Turned out to be a good call. Thanks T! The gun goes off and it’s pandemonium. I mean, I swim HARD for the first 200, and there are 5 guys in front of me, and like 6 on the side of me. I know I can swim this hard to the turnaround, but don’t particularly want to. However, natural selection and lactic acid got rid of most of the guys next to me. At the turnaround, I was with two dudes, and I could live with sitting back there. I came out of the water right behind Lawson and some other dude that was wicked tall and had exquisite taste in wetsuits (2XU). I hit the boat dock and just decided to go. T1 was as fast as I’ve ever done, and with my new “Stay Fly” Bontrager kicks , I could actually put my shoes on while riding the bike. After my sweet knee gash trying to ride up the boat ramp last year, I decided to run up the hill. But don’t worry, my injury streak is still going as I somehow managed to find something sharp enough to gash my foot. You need a souvenir from every race, and nothing says souvenir like a scar!
Now, before I wig out, I gotta gather myself and get my shoes on. F that, Holy Shi-ite Muslim, Batman! I’m leading this race! I mean, not my age group, but the flippin’ cop car is out there in front for me! The internal dialogue went something like this:
“This is crazy.”
“Ok, focus.”
“Quit geeking out.”
“Obey the yellow box(PowerTap).”
“Man, this is SO COOL!”
I knew that coming out of the water with Lawson meant I maybe had 45 seconds or so lead on the guys behind me. So I just tried to ride around 270-310W on the yellow box of pain. I was frightened to look back, and with my choice of the ridiculously deep yet uber-cool Zipp 1080 on the front couldn’t because I was getting blown around from the gusts of wind. I hit the turnaround and figured this was where I could figure my time gap. I was 1min up on Lawson and about 2:30-3min up on JJ, Johnny D, and Norman. If I could keep the gap, and keep the pressure up, I might actually have a chance to be the Triathlon King of New Roads (it has a nice, trashy ring to it, eh.). I came into transition convinced that I held the gap the same, or maybe put a little more time into the guys behind (I was WRONG). Tammy D was too sweet with her comments when I was trading the banana for some runners and a visor. She bragged about my fast transition, so I kinda felt obligated even though I wanted to just chill for a minute and take my time. In retrospect, it was good she told me to get movin. As I came out onto the run course, Terry B shouted “You got plenty of time! No need to gut yourself. Just run.” (Note to self: ALWAYS gut yourself, but never in the first mile.) I still knew those guys were behind, but figured that I had plenty of time (2nd note to self: Never think during the run of a sprint. VAMOS, VAMOS, VAMOS!) I looked back a few times, until finally the biker leading me asked what I was doing. I said, “Looking who’s coming.” He said, “Who, dude? There is NO ONE even on the road.” The realization that I might actually do this sunk in. However, when we made the turn, the biker kept looking back. I asked what he was looking at, and he said, “That guy that just passed the car wash.” I didn’t need to see, I knew who it was. JJ was running me down. I knew pre-race that this would be a Battle Royale, and he wasn’t just gonna let me win. I kept digging but I felt slower and slower. The cruelest thing about New Roads is that you pass exactly 4 feet from the finish line with 1 mile to go around a concrete track; and everything is open, so you see it all. So I saw JJ as he ran into the park and flew past the caboose while I was just starting on the concrete track. I couldn’t believe I was gonna lead this race outta T1 only to lose it on the concrete jungle track. I made the decision to muster up my “sprint” on the backside of the loop, as I figured he’d gutted himself to bridge up to me. Maybe this surge would break him. Well, it worked, but barely. I just had enough time to zip up the UL-Lafayette jersey and come across the line. Mignon made me laugh when she said, “Well, you made that look easy.” So I took off my shoes and showed her my souvenirs. I think I may have frightened her.
Post-race was crazy, as I got to visit with TTrahan and Mignon, CBoggs, Hunter, Mr. Gary, and re-live being hunted like a gazelle with Jeremy. However, I think the coolest part of the whole day was the lead police guy coming up and introducing himself, and telling me congratulations. This dude made my whole week, and kept me safe; although he wouldn’t let me get close enough to the car to motorpace. Another cool part of the day was running back (well, me limping) with the legend, Johnny D.
Sorry to be so long winded, but this was special as it was my first big triathlon win. When I started this game, it was New Roads that kicked off the season. I always wanted to put my name on the top of the results list, and it was a special feeling to finally do it. It’s a shame that there might not be a 2010 edition of the race, as Mr. Dunnaway is retiring after 16 years. Even if it is, thank you Mr. Dunnaway for all the years of motivation to get out in the cold because I knew the Louisiana Triathlon was coming up, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself. I’d also like to thank Mr. Gary and Mrs. Cecile for the entry, and my awesome sponsors: Giles Subaru for Subie, Capital Cyclery for my pimp daddy Banana TTX, Zipp for my go-fast wheels, K-Swiss for those awesome K-ona shoes, and my parents for, well, everything. You guys are the best. Oh, and thanks Claire, for offering an addict a Saturday hit of adrenaline….

Coming in off the bike, trying to figure out how not to crash into Transition

Maybe I should zip the jersey AND fix the hat next time, so I don't look drunk

"You stalker, mother trucker!"
"Another half mile, and I woulda caught you."

Right before I show Mignon the New Roads souvenir on my foot. She'll never be the same.

Me and JJ, talking with the Legendary Johnny D.

Oh, you better believe you're giving me a hug! I even put on a dry shirt!

Just a preview of what's to come. Johnson/Fell, Rematch 275. This time, it's for the Title....