So here I go again, blabbering on about yet another race, although this time, we're looking at only the 4 mile leg of a triathlon that both Dara and I did for Team Disney, so put down the gun and calm the hell down.
We had to drag ourselves out the door by 5am today, the effects of which will bceome panfuly obbvioiss soooon. We arrived at Zuma beach in Malibu to the sight of hundreds, ne, thousands of cars plugging the parking area. Waved to the very first lot, we began our 1.2 mile walk to the transition area, where athletes change from their wetsuits to their cycles and then again to run. We arrived and hooked up with our teammates, mine: Steve, our swimmer, and Rio, our cyclist. It was only about a half hour before they sent the swimmers into the sea, and whatta sight, I tells ya. The elite competitors FLEW the 1/2 mile distance, some in under 10 minutes. Steve ran into the transition area to pass off the timing chip to Rio in an awe-inspiring 15 minutes or so, and she was off, estimating an hour for the 18 mile bike race.
Dara and I hung out, chatted with other folk. She excitedly witnessed X Files stud David Duchovny (might not be safe for work or men's senses of self esteem) dash by in his wetsuit, 2 of her own fantasies come true at once. We laughed, ate some Gu gels, and then the cyclists started pouring in. I saw Rio dashing up the blue carpet laid out in the center of the transition area, and I waved her in to the bike rack area, where we'd exchange the timing chip. Of course, it took me almost a full minute to figure out how to velcro the little fucker to my ankle, and then I was off!
I decided, my leg of the race being only 4 miles, to push it hard the entire distance, and I sprinted off along the beach with the other runners. I was passed for the first mile by about 5 runners, 2 of them the elite traithletes (whose bodies were un-fuckin'-be-fuckin'-lievable), but then I began to overtake..and overtake...and overtake. I passed in total about 30 runners, and to be fair, quite a few of them were doing the entire triathlon, for which I felt incredibly guilty about passing them, giving them, "You're doing GREAT"s and "Looking strong"s along the route.
At the turnaround at mile 2, I stepped it up to a pace that was, what I believe, about a 7:30/mile. We were heading back towards the start, and runners just starting out dashed by on the right. Passing more runners, I came upon my little Dara, racing her ass off, who screamed, "Babaaay!" at me, and I almost didn't notice her since I was concentrating on keeping my upped pace. Luckily, I think I got out a "Gaaaah!" before she zipped by.
At the final mile, I hit the gas and went into a "sprint" (I'm sure the pace that I saw in my head and reality's tale were 180 degrees opposite, but it's the intention that counts...right?), overtaking a few more runners, one of which, from the Herbalife Team, yelled, "Burn it, team Disney!" as I passed. I lept through the finish chutes, the clock reading 1h, 56m. Since our starts were staggered, and our swimmer began 5 minutes after the official clocked started, I figure we polished off that sucker in 2h 2m or somethin' like that. Not half-friggin' bad for a trio of dorks.
So now, Dara's crashed out on the bed, and I'm trying to induce the same feelings of exhaustion, but they won't come (right now. Check with me later when I'm drooling on my pillow and twitching like a sleeping dog).
We had to drag ourselves out the door by 5am today, the effects of which will bceome panfuly obbvioiss soooon. We arrived at Zuma beach in Malibu to the sight of hundreds, ne, thousands of cars plugging the parking area. Waved to the very first lot, we began our 1.2 mile walk to the transition area, where athletes change from their wetsuits to their cycles and then again to run. We arrived and hooked up with our teammates, mine: Steve, our swimmer, and Rio, our cyclist. It was only about a half hour before they sent the swimmers into the sea, and whatta sight, I tells ya. The elite competitors FLEW the 1/2 mile distance, some in under 10 minutes. Steve ran into the transition area to pass off the timing chip to Rio in an awe-inspiring 15 minutes or so, and she was off, estimating an hour for the 18 mile bike race.
Dara and I hung out, chatted with other folk. She excitedly witnessed X Files stud David Duchovny (might not be safe for work or men's senses of self esteem) dash by in his wetsuit, 2 of her own fantasies come true at once. We laughed, ate some Gu gels, and then the cyclists started pouring in. I saw Rio dashing up the blue carpet laid out in the center of the transition area, and I waved her in to the bike rack area, where we'd exchange the timing chip. Of course, it took me almost a full minute to figure out how to velcro the little fucker to my ankle, and then I was off!
I decided, my leg of the race being only 4 miles, to push it hard the entire distance, and I sprinted off along the beach with the other runners. I was passed for the first mile by about 5 runners, 2 of them the elite traithletes (whose bodies were un-fuckin'-be-fuckin'-lievable), but then I began to overtake..and overtake...and overtake. I passed in total about 30 runners, and to be fair, quite a few of them were doing the entire triathlon, for which I felt incredibly guilty about passing them, giving them, "You're doing GREAT"s and "Looking strong"s along the route.
At the turnaround at mile 2, I stepped it up to a pace that was, what I believe, about a 7:30/mile. We were heading back towards the start, and runners just starting out dashed by on the right. Passing more runners, I came upon my little Dara, racing her ass off, who screamed, "Babaaay!" at me, and I almost didn't notice her since I was concentrating on keeping my upped pace. Luckily, I think I got out a "Gaaaah!" before she zipped by.
At the final mile, I hit the gas and went into a "sprint" (I'm sure the pace that I saw in my head and reality's tale were 180 degrees opposite, but it's the intention that counts...right?), overtaking a few more runners, one of which, from the Herbalife Team, yelled, "Burn it, team Disney!" as I passed. I lept through the finish chutes, the clock reading 1h, 56m. Since our starts were staggered, and our swimmer began 5 minutes after the official clocked started, I figure we polished off that sucker in 2h 2m or somethin' like that. Not half-friggin' bad for a trio of dorks.
So now, Dara's crashed out on the bed, and I'm trying to induce the same feelings of exhaustion, but they won't come (right now. Check with me later when I'm drooling on my pillow and twitching like a sleeping dog).
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