Late June found me at Warriors’ Path State Park in Kingsport, TN, toeing the line at my second sprint triathlon of the season. This was the first year for the Warpath Sprint Triathlon, which featured three triathlons in one including one for little kids’ (5-10 year old), another for big kids’ (11-15 year old), and one for kids that never really grew up (adult triathletes). The adult triathlon consisted of a 200-meter pool swim, 7.5-mile bike outside the park and 5K run inside the park.
I got to the race site early so I’d have plenty of time to set up my gear in transition and because my wife and daughter were race volunteers. Always less stressful to get there early. I racked my bike, hung my helmet on the handlebars and organized my gear onto my Star Trek towel. I was better prepared this time. I remembered to bring baby powder to put in my shoes and BodyGlide to apply to the backs of my shoes to guard against blisters since I don’t wear socks for sprints.
Swim Like You Stole It
After the mandatory race meeting, we lined up by projected swim times, the horn sounded and we started our march to the timing mat and the feet-first jump into the 50-meter pool. Warriors’ Path has a very nice pool. It even has lane lines on the bottom. The swim remains the most frustration part of most races for me. I’ve worked very hard this year with a swim coach and made significant improvement but I’m still not seeing it on race day. I’m like the cartoon coyote who runs off the cliff and is fine until he looks down. At some point in the first 50 meters I start worrying about my technique, and it falls apart. Same thing this time, then I get a grip, regroup and get on with it. Then it’s up the stairs, across the pool deck and into transition.
T1 went OK but I could have been faster. I donned my sunglasses, helmet and started putting on my bike shoes. Somehow I managed to fumble around putting them on, and it took twice as long as it should have. I ran the bike out of transition, passed the mount line and took off.
Grinding Up & Darting Down
The bike course seemed more mountainous than the 400 feet of elevation gain recorded by my Garmin. But I’m a big guy and the hills may just seem more painful to me. I quickly exited the park and turned right onto Fall Creek Rd. The police had traffic well in hand, and I made the most of the first downhill stretch rapidly shifting into the big ring and stomping on the pedals. I crossed the bridge and started up the first hill. It’s the longest climb of the course, and I saw three bikes lined up ahead of me. I couldn’t gain on them but took solace in the fact that a year ago I would have been watching them pull away. I’m cranking along, sweat dripping, breathing like a freight train. Glancing up I see Lauren already headed back toward the park. She’s in aero position and coming down the hill like her bike is a Harrier jump jet. I wonder what it would be like to be that fast.
The long hill finally ends with a brief dip then another short climb. Finally I’m cruising downhill keeping an eye on the cars ahead which appear to be looking for yard sales. I’m almost at the turn onto Old Mill Rd when a car stops ahead of me. I have no safe way to go and must stop. You could measure my frustration on the Richter scale. Stuff happens, breathe.
I make the turn onto Old Mill. This stretch is relatively flat, and I push hard to make up for the time lost while stopped. I’m soon at the turnaround and headed back. I make the left back onto Fall Creek easily with the help of the policeman directing traffic. Once more I’m climbing. This hill isn’t that bad but I’m tiring. At the steepest stretch I notice that the guy I’ve been chasing the entire bike leg is stopped beside the road. Looks like he is putting his chain back on. I grind past and top out.
A short dip, a short climb and I’m headed back down the mile-long hill to the bridge. Once more I’m in the big ring, rapidly shifting until right shifter tells me that there ain’t no more. I’m in ninth gear, crouched low in the drops, pedaling hard. Post race I look at my Garmin data and am shocked to see 27 mph and change. It has to be my fastest mile ever. I cross the bridge and start downshifting as I climb the last hill. I get to the park entrance and the policeman gives me the “bring it” wave. I enter the park. At the turn into the pool parking lot my wife is stopping traffic for bikes and runners. I motor to the Whoa! sign and the dismount line. Then I’m running the bike back into transition.
T2 goes better. I ditch my bike gear, don my running shoes and grab my hat and race belt with number. I’m gone in less than 60 seconds. I’m out on the run.
Fearful of Footsteps
The run always plays out the same for me. I go out too hard and my breathing tells me that my pace is unsustainable. My legs just don’t quite work right and won’t for the first quarter to half mile. I start throttling back, wait for my normal running stride to arrive and listen for the footsteps. Within a half mile I hear them. A man passes me, and I quickly realize that it’s the guy that had the mechanical on the hill.
I’m heading down the hill toward the causeway still trying to find my stride. At the causeway I meet Steve, the one-man water stop. He hands me a cup as I stumble by like a man being pursue by really slow wolves. I continue on toward the boat ramp. My Garmin buzzes and I glance at it to see that my first mile on the run was sub 12-minutes, fast for me. Good times. Halfway to the boat ramp I see a man running back toward me and notice that he has black, grease-stained thumbs. Yep the guy that had to put his chain back on again. I make it to the turnaround and head back. This time I turn right onto the causeway heading for the Duck Island loop.
Crossing the causeway I hear footsteps again. A guy passes me, yelling “good job.” My daughter directs us onto the loop. And I hear footsteps a third time. This time a woman passes me. About three quarters of the way around the loop my Garmin buzzes. I’m sub 13 minutes for the second mile, and my heart sinks a bit. Nothing for it but to push on. I cross the causeway, turn right and head for the steep hill that I have to climb to get back to the pool. I’ve been dreading this hill all day. It’s worse than it looks and comes late in the race when I’ve basically got nothing left.
As I head up the hill I try to remember what Triathlon Coach, John Hanna, taught me about running hills. Head up, maintain form, use your arms to control pace. Something like that. I crest the hill, round the curve and turn right into the pool parking lot. My wife waves me through and shouts encouragement. I accelerate across the parking lot. I surprise myself by accelerating all the way across the lot. Then I’m across the line. The race director helps me take my chip off, and I jog to cool down. We hang around for the awards ceremony, and I’m shocked to hear that I’ve made the podium in my age group. Go me.
This was a cool local sprint and a outstanding opportunity for anyone getting started in triathlon, especially kids. It could have been and should have been better attended. I guess that is to be expected. After all it was the first year for the race. Still some folks missed an opportunity here. That got me thinking, how do you promote a new event in the internet age? I heard about this one from my local triathlon group, saw it on Facebook and even took my local bike shop and YMCA some flyers for it.
It was simpler in the old days. You left flyers at the running stores and bike shops. And hey if you got it into a newspaper you were set. I’m not sure when I last read a newspaper. About a month ago I ran out of podcasts on my phone and went to turn on the radio in my van. I had to pull over. I couldn’t remember which button turned it on. I would love a discussion on promoting new events. As always please feel free to comment. See you at next year’s Warpath Sprint Triathlon.