Alligator Grill

Went to eat with Adam, Sarah, and some other friends tonight at the Alligator Grill, a pleasant stop on S. Lamar. They had 50 cent oysters, which I haven't had in awhile, but you can only order them a dozen at a time. Consuming those, combined with the dozen shrimp I ordered, probably met my recommended mercury intake for the year.

Funny thing: Every time I eat shrimp, I think back to my senior year in college and Tyler's salt water fish tank. Not only did he have an assortment of tropical fish in that tank, but also a single tiny delicate living shrimp running around. It would move it's little legs so fast it looked like the underwater version of a hummingbird. Unlike the clownfish, who looked sleek and strong, and who could shoot through the water, the little runt of a shellfish looked like he would collapse without the support of the water. I've forgotten his name, but every time I have shrimp tacos, scampi, or paella, I think of that little guy. Is that weird?

At one point tonight, we started talking about the ongoing Texas Renaissance Festival being held just outside Houston. It conjured images of knights and wenches, horses and weapons. I remember going to this thing as a child, and actually having a pretty good time. I wonder though, would it be the same now? Could I ever find myself in costume, brandishing a standard and speaking in Ye Olde English? Probably not. In fact, I've never really liked wearing costumes at all. It's not that I feel silly or embarrassed. Rather, I think it has more to do with a really firm sense of identity. I find it hard to play something I'm not, even if it's just for fun. I'd probably be a terrible actor ;-) At any rate, I think the Tex Ren Fest would be a really good time, I just don't think I'm gonna have time to make it out there...

CHAPTER TWO

And thus begins the next chapter in this blog. I haven't written anything in a while because, well, I felt like i was in a bit of a transitionary period. Writing doesn't come as easily to me as it does to other people, and sometimes the thoughts and emotions I am going through are difficult for me to verbalize. All I can say with certainty, is that I have begun a new chapter.

More to follow tomorrow...

4 Hours and 28 Min of Hell

I open my eyes, but the room is still dark. Turning to the alarm clock, I see that it is only 3:30 am. I roll to my side and close my eyes again, but sleep seems hopeless. I'm somewhere between excitement and anxiety, and perhaps outright terror. I think about the what will start 6 hours from now and all the training I have done to prepare. Just like before a test, there is nothing I can do at this point, I will either make it or I won't. This actually brings me some peace and I nod off again...

7:00 am - Tyler, Liz and I hike down to the transition area with our bikes. We are 3 bodies in a march of hundreds. Young and old, pros and first-timers, everyone is going through their pre-race rituals. Some are tweaking the bikes, others are rubbing in sunscreen. Some are talking a mile a minute, a few are silent. The sun is just breaking over the hills. I rack my bike and start working through my mental checklist...

9:00 am - An air horn blows and the first wave is splashing into the water like a rush of penquins. These are the elites, the pros. They go first, so rookies like me don't get in their way. Tyler and I are just now getting into our wetsuits; our wave won't launch for another 20 minutes. We are in the Group B section of men ages 24-29. Looking around, I see a lot of really ripped guys and I began to wonder if I should have drank more protein shakes. Those bananas just don't pack the muscle on apparently. And as usual, I am Mr. McShorty in this group of trees...

We are now at the water's edge. Race clock reads 0:18 min. I manage to finally get the wetsuit on, despite a belly swollen from last night's pasta binge. For me, carb-loading is necessary, but it isn't pretty. Our wave gets one minute to splash around in the water and get used to the temperat .... oh holy god in heaven this water is cold. The lake temperature is 65 deg (about 10 deg colder than here in Austin), and it's going to be difficult for me to get into a rhythm. I walk out of the lake and tell myself that I will need to warm up as fast as possible - and not really sure on how I plan on accomplishing this. I adjust my goggles and start backing up to the rear of the pack; no need to get in the way of these guys, I will be one of the slowest. I hear 4....3....2....1.... HOOOOOOOONK. My wave starts marching in-step towards the big red gate. Tyler is on my right. My feet are in the water. Now my legs. I'm wading through waist deep water when the guy in front of me dives in. I take one more step and jump.

I hit the cold water and my body tightens almost instantly. My face goes under and I open my eyes. I'm looking into a giant glass of dark green tea sprinkled with tiny yellow specs of pollen. I see feet flapping in front of me and arms to my left. I turn for my first breath, and all I can manage is a ragged shudder. My lungs have completely tightened on me. Two more strokes and I turn again and repeat my shudder. I've now gone 6 strokes and have yet to really breathe. My chest is starting to burn. I turn again, but this time I come way out of the water and force myself to take in a huge gasp. I repeat this process for the next hundred yards or so. I'm creating huge amounts of drag, but I don't know of any other way to get air. At the 100 meter mark, I flip on my back, and start backstroking to calm down a bit. I haven't even made it to the first turn, and I'm breathing hard already. I look around and notice that there are about 3 or 4 of us that are really struggling. The man a few meters behind me trembles as he mutters, "this is bullsh*&". That is the last time I see him. I move back into my freestyle stroke and again find my face, arms and lungs colder than I'm used to. Freestyle, backstroke, freestyle, backstroke. Eight more brutal, panic-stricken minutes and I work my way past the first turn.

I'm 200 meters into a 1500 meter swim and my heart rate is through the roof. I look around at all the life guards and wonder if I am really ready for this thing. The majority of my age wave is down the course and pulling away. I can barely see the halfway marker in the distance. It just doesn't seem possible.

"Well I'm not drowning just yet," I mutter. I wasn't giving up. Are you kidding me? Certainly not at 200 meters. I've trained too long and too hard to throw in the towel. Sucking in a big gulp of air, I plunge my head under water and start kicking hard. My body planes out and I turn to breathe. Air finally rushes into my mouth and lungs. I stroke again and breathe. Again and breathe. I start moving at a slow, but steady pace. I get tired and flip over and backstroke for a minute, then repeat my drill. My breathing is doing a lot better, but I am still cold. Then I hear the sounds of the next approaching wave.

Looking back I can make out the bobbing heads of the men's 30-34 group quickly catching me. I try to move to the outside, but the lead guys are fast. Before I can clear, I am being run over, kicked, and generally knocked around while california's fittest 30 year olds blow by me. I try to swim hard and manuever out of the way, but it's like trying to ride a moped on the interstate. The wave finally passes and now I am swimming with the 30-something stragglers. Now this is a group I like.

After what seems like an eternity, I make it to the halfway mark and check my watch. It reads 36 minutes. I find out later that Tyler is already out of the water. I'm finally warm and breathing well. As tired as I am, I feel much more at ease in the water. I turn for the last 700 meters and just keep swimming. Two or three more groups pass me. I think I am swimming with the late 40s group when I see the exit ramp. I see the crowds... I see the end to alot of uncertainties... I'm at 200 meters... Kick, stroke, breathe... I'm at 100 meters... 50 meters...

My fingertips touch gravel. I gradually stand up and take a deep breath. Slowly, I start walking out of the water, like a dazed castaway who has washed onto shore. It literally takes a couple of seconds to sink in. Meanwhile, the sporty forties are springing to their feet and jogging past me. I don't care. My watch reads 56 minutes. I was in that water a long time...

I get to my bike and say a small prayer of thanks. It went something like: "geez, thanks God, for getting me the hell out of that lake... Amen" I strip off the wetsuit and put the bike helmet and sunglasses on. For those of you who think that the sunglasses are to look cool, try riding hard for two hours without them. Your eyes will be redder than a pair of tomatoes. I know, because, well, I learn things the hard way sometimes. Still dazed from the swim I get through the bike gate, onto the saddle, and start pedaling. My legs are tired, but we haven't hit rubber-knee stage yet.

The first mile of the bike course is a 7% climb. For those of you unfamiliar with grade terms, that means that in the first mile, the cyclist must climb about 400 vertical feet. If you live in Austin, that means that in the distance between 15th street and Cesar Chavez, you will climb a height roughly equal to a 33 story building (think top floor of the Frost Bank Tower). I throw my bike into the lowest gear and start my crawl to the top. I am one link in a mile-long train of cyclists snaking its way to the top of the hill. No one is speeding up this thing; everyone is pushing one slow pedal stroke at a time.

Once to the top, the group begans to spread out. Now moving at a good pace, I reach for the Powerbar taped to one of my water bottles. After a few desparate attempts, I sadly realize that there is no way to unwrap my only source of delicious calories without causing a NASCAR crash around me. Someone, possibly Liz, later asked me why I didn't just stop the bike and un-wrap the bar. I don't really have a good answer for that one... Perhaps I was caught up in the moment and thought such pragmatism would anger the triathlon gods. Delirious and frustrated, I simply bite into the bar, plastic and all, and let my mouth sort out the digestable from the not. It isn't pretty.

The bike course is set in the hills around Lake San Antonio, and I will now freely admit that I hadn't ridden enough steep hills here in Austin to be well prepared. Where the swim had been an incredibly tough challenge psychologically, the bike course is proving to be the most physically demanding of the three events. The 200 ft climbs last 2 to 3 miles and every pedal stroke seems like it has to be the last. My quads are on fire. I just keep putting another foot forward, sometimes moving at a crawl. Meanwhile the downhills fly by so fast that I can't even pedal fast enough to keep up with my wheels.

Random spectators have come to their gates to cheer us on. Occasionally, a support motorcycle comes passing by, but for the most part the road is quiet. I silently pray that I am spared any mechanical issues like a flat tire. After the race, I hear about a guy who broke one of his pedals and did the bike course using only his right leg. Un-freaking-believable.

Two hours and 26 miles later, we're coasting down to the transition area again. Feeling great about finishing the first two stages, I hop off the bike and almost collapse. My legs aren't holding me up, but thankfully, I catch myself and use the bike as a crutch to keep myself from falling. It takes a moment for me to regain my balance and start walking. I CAREFULLY walk to my area and rack the bike, ditch the helmet, and grab some PowerGels.

As I speed up to a jog, I can tell I am hitting a wall. 6.2 miles left, and I have no energy left, nothing in the gas tank. I can still think clearly, but I couldn't sprint to save my life. I probably couldn't even climb a staircase at this point. All I can do is keep flinging my feet out in front of me. I make it to the first aid station and down a PowerGel with the water. Almost immediately I feel better. I want to eat another one, but I remember someone telling me to space them out at least 30 minutes. As I run, I hear the trail crunch underneath my shoes and I feel the sun on my shoulders and my neck. I'm not running fast or hard, just a simple we'll-get-there jog.

With two miles left to go, I start to see the camp sites, the spectators and the race officials. With a mile left to go, I head down Lynch Hill and listen to the annoucer calling out names at the finish line. Making the last turn and I see the lake again, where this whole adventure started, and I begin to relax. People are clapping and cheering; people who don't even know my name are urging me on. It is unlike anything I have ever experienced in sports. We aren't winners or losers, we are Survivors. As I come down the last hundred meters, all I am thinking about is: DON'T PUKE IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE. And, luckily, I don't ;-) The finish gate looms larger and larger. I can't believe I am going to make it. Twenty feet to go, and the announcer calls my name and my city - Austin, Texas. As I pass through the finish gate, I'm immediately given water and a cold,soaked towel. A young college volunteer drapes a medal around my neck. I finally stop moving. I fold my hands behind my head and breathe. I can finally smile. Somehow, I have finished. Somehow, I am a triathlete.

Soooo the good news is that I'm pretty sure I did really well on my PE exam. God-willing, in three months or so, I will be a licensed engineer with all kinds of new liability insurance needs. The bad news is that I may have forgotten to bubble my name in. Oh well, some things you just can't study for.

So now that Part I is complete, here comes Part II. On thursday, I leave for California to go compete in the AVIA Wildflower Triathlon. After a night in San Diego, Tyler, Liz and I will drive to Paso Robles in central california and pick up our registration kits for Sunday's race. Apparently this is a pretty big event, with something like 7,500 athletes competing on Saturday and Sunday. I even read somewhere that two of the couples from the reality show Biggest Loser will be competing in the long course.

When I started this whole adventure, the swim seemed kind of ridiculous. I mean, I didn't really know how to swim in October. I've jumped in a pool as a kid, but actually knowing the technique is something that requires real coaching. The first couple of trips to the pool were pretty discouraging. How are you supposed to swim a mile when your heart is pounding and you are coughing water after 25 meters? There just seemed to be a huge reality gap between where I was and where I wanted to be. People tell you that hard work and determination will get you there, but i think a pair of floaties and flippers would have been my first choice. But then I remembered something I learned from building racecars with blocks of metal and an engineering textbook: you take on a huge goal by breaking it down into smaller ones. AND you trust that with enough time and patience, you will get there. I stopped thinking about the mile. All I needed to do was to swim 25 meters. That was my finish line, nothing more and nothing less. Confession: it took me about 2 months before I could do it consistently. It took me another month before I could do 50 meter laps consistently. And the sad part is that I was training 3 or 4 times a week! But 50 became 100, and 100 became 200, and 200 became 500. This past weekend was the first time I've swam the full 1500 meters. And when I was done, I wasn't coughing water. (I also couldn't feel my shoulders.)

A lot of people think these kind of events are for crazy type-A personalities, but it's because they are only looking at the end result. For me most of the adventure and reward has been in the journey to this point. The race will be a ton of fun I'm sure, but it was the winter nights I spent swallowing pool water where I learned the most valuable lessons. More to come this week .... ;-)

I should be reported to Blog Protective Services

I agree.. It's ridiculous. I mean, why start a blog if you are going to treat it with utter neglect, and wait a MONTH! between posts. I sincerely apologize to my two readers. Mom and Dad, i promise to write more ;-)

Ok so wow, lots to catch up on. In the utter chaos that now roughly resembles my life, a lot can happen in a month. Truth be told, I was working on this huge "special edition" South By Southwest (SXSW) blog post that was going to blow everyone away... I briefly had visions of a Pulitzer.... but it never really materialized. And after awhile, it just seemed, like, oh hell, the moment has passed... you know? Long story short, it was an amazing time, it was a loud time, it was a naked-people-in-the-apartment-pool-at-3-a.m. time (no, I was not involved), it was a climb-onto-the-roof-of-the-apartment-building-to-see-Ben Harper-and-Third-Eye-Blind time (I was very much involved), and it was a let's-take-Sunday-to-reset-body-chemistry and get some sleep time. I really haven't had that kind of crazy, toeing the line sort of fun since college.

It was also at SXSW that I met someone whom I briefly dated for a couple of weeks. I won't go into details, because I don't do that kind of thing over the internet. But the experience did teach me alot. I think it has become quite clear to the people around me that I have healed pretty well from the pain I went through last year. Originally, I had thought that once I had moved on, I would be ready to start seeing other women again... However, I'm quickly learning that I kinda like where I am right now. I think God is giving me a little time to just be me. I enjoy the freedom Emma and I have to pretty much set our own schedule. I like hanging out with all the new friends I have made. And honestly, I'm just not in a rush to find someone new... I'll go out on dates, but I'm not forcing anything. Closing in on 28, that might sound silly to my family - after all, almost every cousin within 3 years of me is married with at least 1 child. But I'm holding out for that deepest kind of love again. And I'll know when it comes, whether it's tomorrow or years from now.

Speaking of such things, Andy Hogg, a college buddy of mine, just got married last weekend. I flew to North Carolina to help him celebrate the occasion and was able to see a lot of old friends. It's great when you can just pick up where you left off with certain people. It's like you never really leave that place, and that person has just been waiting for you to come back. I've always felt this way about my car team brethren. Even though we've now been apart longer than we were together, no one lets go of the friendships.

Ok, I'm done chatting for now. I have to get back to studying. My PE exam is a week from today! And the triathlon is the weekend after that! Come May 4th, I'm not going to know what to do with my time anymore ;-)