2014 Oceanside 70.3 Race Report

Triathletes are often caricatured as vain, neurotic, middle-aged control freaks who show consideration to the uninitiated by displaying finisher medals on the inside of their cubicles.  In the year and half since I started training for triathlons, I've resigned myself to the fact that I am that person now.  It's just easier at this point to explain why I'm that way than to deny it.  For example, neurosis is a natural consequence of spending the dark winter months pumping away on my indoor bike trainer watching vapid episodes of Survivor on Amazon Prime, in hopes of shaving a few minutes off of my bike split.  Then, in the days before the race, I become irritable as I obsess about whether said improvement will actually materialize. 

So it was that I got up at 4:45am, pumped up my tires, grabbed my a bag laden with everything I'd need for the next 7 hours, and headed off to T2 (the place where I'd stash my running shoes so I could change after the bike).  The lonely ride over to this spot indicated that most competitors weren't staying south of the Oceanside pier area (that's where my family and I were staying) but soon enough the flood lights over T2 revealed hundreds of racers teeming around with nervous energy.  I dropped my run shoes, sunglasses, and a belt with water bottles in a pile under my number on the rack before heading off to T1 (where I would stash my bike for the beginning of that leg).  Once there, I racked my bike, pulled on my wetsuit, and waited for my swim wave to begin. 

As we waddled down the chute towards the swim start, I found myself afflicted with an acute case of "haole feet", grimacing as I pranced around on the sharp rocks of the pavement.  The more enlightened competitors had brought with them disposable flip flops that lay discarded in a large pile atop the sloping ramp into the water.  As we swam out to the start line, I was pleasantly surprised by how warm the water was.  Living in eastern Washington state, I had completed exactly zero open water swim sessions before this race.  In order to calm my anxiousness, I had gone out to flounder around a little in the surf of Buccaneer Beach the day before.  The water in Oceanside Harbor was 3-4 degrees warmer than that had been, and felt great to me. 

I moved up to the front of the group, and the horn sounded.  The start was calm and orderly.  The swim is the strongest discipline for me, and I enjoyed it a lot.  After endless laps under florescent lights, a long swim in the morning sun felt like a rare privilege.  There was some jostling as the faster swimmers in my group and I overtook wave after wave of swimmers in front of us.  I found some nice booties to follow, and tapped them a few times (easy to spot - they had a swirling orange pattern).  If the owner of the booties reads this and is incensed, I apologize.  I just kept my effort steady and smooth, but eventually struck out on my own about half way back to the swim exit.  Sooner than I expected, it was over.  As I jumped up on the ramp, a helpful volunteer ripped open my neck strap, pulled down the back zipper, and pried one shoulder of the suit off.  I felt good enough to run to my bike.

Swim split: 31:59

I pulled off the suit, bagged it, donned helmet and race number belt, and ran off to the mounting area with my bike.  This is the first triathlon I've done with a power meter.  It's a different state of mind, and vastly simplified the bike leg for me.  I just aimed for 210W on the flats, and 260W on the large hills.  Although I'm not a strong cyclist, I enjoyed the bike part of the race the most.  The course, aside from a few sections that run behind Camp Pendleton strip malls, featured stunning scenery.  Similar to the swim, I've only done a couple of outdoor rides in months, so to be in 62 degree sunshine rolling around the hills of Camp Pendleton was amazing.  I settled into a rhythm, and found myself going a similar speed to 3 or 4 other riders.  I passed, and was passed, nearly constantly for the entire bike leg.  This was a minor annoyance - the fact is that a race with so many participants will be crowded.  I had to exercise a lot of caution not to violate drafting rules, something that wasn't so hard in the much smaller Boise HIM. 

A far greater annoyance occurred as I wound my way through the parking lots heading north along the coast.  I glanced over at a passing cyclist, a fateful decision that I immediately regretted.  An ambitious chap wearing bib number 2612 (even now, it is easy to recall) was bent low over his aero bars and pushing the pace.  He sported a threadbare tri-suit that left nothing to the imagination.  Although I'm told that using a freshly washed kit is considered common courtesy amongst cyclists, his suit's useful life expired 50 or so laundry loads ago.  A bit of research shows that his bike split was a blistering 2:29, meaning that hundreds, and maybe even thousands of competitors will bear the mental scars of his criminal negligence. 

The 3 large hills proved challenging, but manageable.  For me, the aid stations were more problematic, as only one of them was on an uphill (that I remember). I was surprised by the other two, and got only 1/2 a bottle of sports drink between them.  I had some gel packs in a water bottle on my bike, though, so plan B came in handy.  The seemingly endless string of cyclist thinned out the last 10 miles of the bike, and I didn't really detect an anticipated head-wind.  I pulled into the strand, and saw runners huffing and puffing their way along the beach.  One last uphill, and I rolled into T2.


Bike Split: 2:49:25, 19.8mph, Ave. Power 192W, Weighted Ave Power 204W

In retrospect, my fondest hope was that keeping my bike effort within reason would lay the foundation for a strong run.  These hopes were in vain.  I transitioned reasonably fast, and ran out on to the course.  My first three miles were at 7:45 per the plan (except for a bathroom stop).  After that, I struggled mightily to run close to this pace.  I forced down 4 gels on the run, so I don't think it was a fuel issue.  Mile 5 turned out to be my last sub-8min mile.  As usual, the loop run supplied that moment of exquisite sadness where I had to turn right for another loop while watching giddy competitors dash down the finish chute to glory.  I kept stomping on, encouraged by the cheerful residents of South Pacific St., one of whom asked "would a beer help you?".  As I hit the turn around and mile 11, the reality that my self-inflicted suffering would end slowly dawned.   I bit down and pushed as hard as I could.  Even so, mile 12 came and went, and the fact that the race was almost over seemed the only thought that could counteract a powerful urge to stop running.  Down on the strand, and with the finish line in sight, I tried to keep a steady cadence through the finish line.  I ran through the large inflatable gate, and the race was over.


Run Split: 1:49:57, 8:23/mi.

After : Regaining feeling in extremities

Even having done one HIM before this one, I was shocked at how spent I was after the race.  I had to lie down for a few minutes after collecting my finisher medal and pint of chocolate milk, as I felt unsteady.  My wife and kids were there to greet me at the finish line, and my daughter referred to my post race state as "freaked-out race finish dead mode".  In the hours after the race, I felt a strange mix of relief that the race had gone well, and genuine misgivings about ever doing one again.  This also happened last year after my first HIM.  With the benefit of a few days, I'm happy with how the race turned out, and also looking forward to my next one.