Where Have You Been!
Me? Where the heck have you been? Fasolo has posted like twice in the past year almost. Scott is on hiatus, and Donna is preggers but won’t show us pictures of her insides. My sister fell off the map so I have to join the My$pace posse, and Joel stopped writing right after I put him on my page. Kelly keeps writing, but for a while I didn’t know, because her site moved.
So there!
Well, where have I been? Well, I went to Bratislava, and also I’ve been working a bit. I rode in an all night Mountain Bike race, I had a friend or two visit, and I’ve just been generally swamped. But I know what you want to hear about. My latest disaster. The Xterra Germany Triathlon.
Yes, I did it again. It went better this time. A colleague of mine agreed to come along and spoon up any stray bits of me if I suffered another disaster, which was good. We went down to the Black Forest, and got in a bit later than expected, but managed to stay at the hotel where the race was hosted, so we were in the center of things. The night before the race we had a sampling of some nice Bavarian beer, and I introduced her to the Mojito. This place made them better than anywhere else I’ve ever been. Seriously.
The race started off nice. I took this photo…
My new racing wetsuit worked like a charm. I don’t have the official results yet, but I think I managed to get in and out of the water in around 10 minutes, which is good for a 500 metere swim. I went slow, in the back of the crowd until the first buoy, then I busted out wide, and went around everyone. I finished about in the middle of the pack, which was good since I didn’t feel like rushing. I felt a bit nauseous and light headed after the swim, but that isn’t really uncommon.
Riding up the first stretch, I passed my first competitor. Going wide around the sawdust used to cover everyone else’s puke (they went too quick out of the transition), I felt pretty good about taking my time and being the last out of the transition. No rush, really. I just wanted to finish. After about 500 more meters, I knew I was going to be chucking up too, so I dismounted and strolled up the hill. I already knew there was at least one rider behind me, so I decided to be the hare to his tortoise.
The ride was fairly uneventful. I got to the top of the hill, rode around and vaguely regretted trying out a new goo for the first time in this race. I never did puke, and after a while I stopped wanting to. Riding quickly through much downhill, I managed to overtake a few more riders, some of which were race officials, and some of whom were actual racers. All in all, I was feeling good. I enjoyed riding down the part where my brakes failed last year, and also enjoyed “seeing” some of the track for the first time ever.
I overtook another official, who stopped to ask me (while I was walking my bike up a steep bit), how long the race was supposed to be. I found it was a bit odd that he didn’t already know, but whatever. Then, whipping downhill, I had a great idea. I was riding a fire road, there were two ruts, with a pronounced mound between them. The left side had been used by almost all other riders, so I went right. I didn’t feel like riding in the mud. Only, the overgrowth on the right kept grabbing my handlebars and pulling me off track. It was steep, and I wanted to catch another rider, so I decided to quickly hop the mound and ride on the slimy left.
My first attempt failed, since it was slippery and steep to get on the centerline. So, I committed my weight to hopping onto and over the median, as I realized there was a drainage ditch, about 6 inches wide, cross cutting the entire path. With my weight way over to the left, I couldn’t hop the ditch, and I would never be able to clear it in my current position. So, I ditched my bike, and went down on my left side. I slid for a while, long enough to think “Okay, this isn’t so bad.” and then slammed into the far side of the left ditch with my shoulder, arresting my movement.
“OW.” I thought, as I got up cradling my arm. The race ranger came up behind me. “Are you alright?” he asked. “Kleine moment.” (small moment), I replied. “Okay.” he replied, and rode off. I thought to myself… “I could have been faking being alright, buddy…”
Decision time: Wait long enough to realize I’m hurt and end the race here, or get going and finish the race before I realize what I’ve done to myself. I was back on the bike in seconds, and moments later wondering if I should have checked my bike to see how well it had survived the crash. There were no further incidents on the bike. My left shoulder ached, and I loathed using my thumb to shift gears for the pain it caused my whole arm. I did marvel at the caked mud and blood on my forearm. Kinda cool, in its own way.
Back in the transition, I debated calling it, but there was no way I would let this race beat me. My ride took about 2 hours, which was longer than I wanted, but it was over. I threw on my shoes and off I ran. Nothing bad happened. No more nipple pain like last year, as I had the sense to wear UnderArmour, which protected my delicate bits. As each stride jarred my arm, I thought pleasant thoughts like… “At least I finished the swim first.” and “All things told, the nipple trauma was actually worse.”
I got some nice shots of my injuries after finishing my 44 minute 5K (pathetic, I know). I was passed by one runner, and I believe I finished the race in dead last. I think the two other riders I passed early on never finished.
But I finished. The whole damn thing, and I’ll have times to prove it this time. So, in a future post, expect some shots of my gory wounds, and the time results. During the race, I asked myself repeatedly why I do this to myself. Today, in the pool exercising my arm, I was looking forward to next year. My shoulder still hurts quite a bit, but only 5 days have passed, so that is to be expected. The bigger question is whether or not I will go riding this weekend 
So… Where have you been, again?