A lesson in humility

Well, after doing tris for about 5 years now, I have finally chalked up my first DNF. I went into this year's Boulder Peak kind of expecting it, as I've had a case of Achilles tendinitis that has been bothering me for about a month now. I think I contracted it during the Bicycle Tour of Colorado - and this pain is what caused me to drop from that ride with 2 days remaining. Since the BTC, I've been giving it a lot of rest, ice, and arnica - and it has improved drastically. So much so that I thought I'd give the Peak a go.

The longer these tris are, the earlier one must check in, so I was at the Res a few minutes before 5am on Sunday morning. I got my transition area all set up, eager to take a bit of a warm-up and see how the Achilles responded. My warm-up gave little indication of more pain, but the Achilles was definitely making its presence felt, so I accepted the fact that this may be just a swim/bike.

With that, I dropped the freaking hammer in the water and on the bike. My wave was the 10th out, which meant there were people with a good 50 minute head start, and it was freaking difficult in the water. I struggle with passing people in the water, picking a line is a bit of a challenge for me. Once I have a line, I typically will swim 50 yds or so before I encounter another set of feet and have to pick a new line. This swim was even more challenging, as the group I was swimming was catching people left and right, and towards the end, we were catching the stragglers from groups that had started 15 - 20 minutes ahead of us. I feel for these people, as I know how daunting the swim is for many people, and I don't ever want to add to their fear/frustration. If I could give encouragement in the water, I would.

I came out of the water feeling strong. I took a slower T1 knowing that I probably wouldn't be setting a course record. Off on the bike, I felt pretty strong again. The best/worst part of the Peak is the first 7 miles of the bike course. Lee Hill/Olde Stage are legendary in Boulder, as Lee Hill has about 3/4 of a mile with over 10% gradient. It's a steep mother. There are usually a lot of folks out there cheering you up the torturous climb, chalking the roads up and making you feel like a Tour de France hero. I gave this climb everything I had and managed not to throw up (bonus!). Once through Lee Hill, the ride opens up and you can lay it down. I rode hard, again, thinking I most likely wouldn't run.

With about 6 miles to go on the bike, the thought crept into my head that I should "just give the run a go". There is a certain element of pain associated with triathlon, and up to this point, my pain threshold was still at a manageable level, and my Achilles wasn't hurting (too bad). I got off the bike and headed out for the run. I altered my running form a bit to make sure I was landing on the middle of my foot, which allowed for less extension and exacerbation of the Achilles. I made it about 3/4 of a mile before the pain set in. At this point, I pulled off, and stretched and massaged a bit, trying to battle the voices in my head calling me a pansy. I gave in, and turned around. Less than half a mile from the expo, I gave myself one hell of a pep talk, and decided to try again. I made it to the exact point I had turned around previously, and decided to stop being an idiot and called it a day. The walk of shame back to the expo put me in my place, but I'm glad I made the decision to save my legs.

As I walked up to turn in my timing chip, a 78 year old man crossed the finish line. This actually cheered me up, as I realized that if I take care of my body, then maybe I will be racing at 78 years old. From then on out, I went out about 1/2 mile from the finish and cheered like hell for everyone coming in. It was a really humbling, but really good experience. A few weeks of torturous rest, and I'll be running again, which is better than the alternative if you are messing with your Achilles. It was a good day.

E