Big Easy, Over Easy

Didn’t think I would have anyone asking how the bet went. Good thing it turned out favorable for me; not only would I be deprived of the gloating at office, I would have been subject to Brad’s gloating. I’m trying to keep it civil. Honest. With just a little jab here or there. For now, Brad is my bitch.

Since then, he’s been threatening to throw people across the office and put people in sleeperholds. He’s clearly moved on.

So tale of the tape: Oceanside was from all accounts pretty ideal weather wise. Brad was on pace for a fast swim but was kicked in the shoulder by a woman from an earlier wave (yes, a woman), resulting in one of his frequent shoulder dislocations (I am not making this up). He found a nearby piling just 100 yards off shore and began banging his shoulder against it, trying to re-set the sucker in socket. So he accounts for five minutes of that.

On the bike, his first half was beset by a tight back. On the half marathon, his first half of the run, like the bike, was beset by the tight back. 5:19 was the final damage of his race.

My race? Considering all the travel I have undergone in the last three or four weeks (Arizona for TriFest, then Thailand and Arizona again for a couple birthdays), I was pleased that my impromptu taper on airplanes and in my car seat along Interstate 8 between Tucson and San Diego worked out so nicely. And it was nice to be on the run in Nawlins, knowing that I had run in hotter temps in Phuket two weeks earlier.

The point-to-point swim was awesome—longshore in the murky Pontchartrain without a bit of contact. Swimming was the one thing I did the least of (swimming once a week, getting in once every two weeks every so often as time didn’t permit) and I expected an ugly time. That said, I started easy and found a good set of feet that I latched onto, battering anyone who contested me for them. I wasn’t letting go of this pacesetter. Ended up with a 34-minute swim.

The bike was my favorite. I love flat courses—just love to tuck in and jam. Through 30 miles, that was it—jamming out east of town into Bayou Sauvage. Race officials said we might see crocodiles out there, and while I didn’t, a few pros said they actually saw a couple. But I saw some shit there I didn’t expect. A forest of trees, absent their foliage after the hurricane, looked like erect toothpicks. But something caught my eye; a 40-foot closed-bow boat was jammed in there behind the trees, clearly forced up nearly onto the road by the Katrina winds that shoved water high up the shore. There was no water around now, the boat stranded in a prison of trees, high and dry.

An out and back along the Bayou Sauvage was crankin at 25 mph. But I saw the guys coming back in from the turnaround at a much slower pace, and I knew what was coming: ugly headwinds. A turn onto the main highway was hoped to be a respite, but no dice; it was wind in the grill the rest of the way home. My early dreams for a sub 2:30 bike were gone, but I was happy to split 2:37. But I also wondered if I overcooked the bike.

As such, the run was gonna be the big question. At mile one, I got dehydration tingles in my arms, and expected it to be a walkfest. The sun beating down, paired with the humidity, reminded me of my run in Phuket two weeks ago. I found a cat who was cruising super easy, and just locked into his pace. I’d rather ease into the run and finish stronger, especially in the heat—at the advice of my wife. I didn’t want to walk a step of the run. At every aid station, it was water over the head, water across the chest, ice into my singlet, cool the engine room.

It paid off. After five miles, the sun tucked in behind the clouds, and the going got easier. I invited my run partner from Dalton, GA to join me when I was gonna pick things up after mile six. An aid station later, he dropped off and I never saw him again. So I picked up the pace 30 seconds per mile through the rest of the day, enjoying the shade trees that covered the rest of the run course.

Somewhere along the way, I had a laugh; some fans held out a bedsheet with YOU CAN DO IT! spraypainted across it. All I could think of was Rob Schneider’s little Cajun character in all of Adam Sandler’s flicks like The Waterboy and 50 First Dates.

I came across the finish in front of Jackson Square, the chute beset by spectators that were only a few feet wide, a Jazz band playing off to the side, and I immediately put this race in my top three of all time ever done: Monaco, Alcatraz, and New Orleans. It’s an ESPN Instant Classic. My time: 5:13. Brad spotted me 45 minutes, and I beat him outright by five minutes.

Thanks for the unofficial snag of images from Brightroom.

Some folks are bitching about not getting cold towels (queue teardrop) during the run. But goddamn it, what the hell do you want? The spirit of this event from the early days has always been one of self-sustainance (remember the days of using electrical tape to secure a banana to the stem?)

Just because you paid an entry fee does not mean it is a catered buffet with guaranteed deviled eggs, escargot and champagne flutes. Race director Bill Burke said he was shocked that so many first-timers (not first timers to that race, not first timers to the half-Ironman distance, but first-timers to triathlon) were laying out their transition race morning, and setting off for the swims start—without a bottle on their bike. And he took heat for being shocked about that. I’m as shocked. Granted, it was hot and people went through too many bottles. But sorry, no sympathy for these whingers. One bottle cage on your bike for a half Ironman? Really? Take ownership of your day—end of story. I learned it’s one more thing for my “First Timer” articles: bring nutrition. I thought it would be a no brainer, but I guess that’s what happens when you assume.

And logistics? I was from out of town, figured out the map, rode to the race start, checked in my bike and got a cab back to my hotel the day before the race. After the race, a shuttle got athletes back to transition. A point-to-point race makes the race itself greater than any out and back or loop—that’s the tradeoff. I’ll take a bit of hustle in periphery to the race in deference to the actual race experience. This is one reason this race makes my top five—I mean, we traversed town from Lake Pontchartrain to the Mississippi River and the French Quarter. Without the “inconvenience” of a finish at Jackson Square, this race is just another 70.3. With it, this race is special.

Beyond this all, the race did something else; it wrote a check to A Shared Initiative, an organization that is helping rebuild houses in the Lower Ninth Ward. Burke took me on a personal solo tour of the Ninth Ward; upon crossing the bridge, he pointed in the direction of where a river retaining wall (which stood about 13 foot tall) failed, flooding a massive neighborhood with waters that ripped houses from their foundations, ripped the only possessions from folks, ripped folks from the lives of loved ones. Burke pointed out some green homes that Brad Pitt was having built to help rebuild the hood.

But the area still needs so much help. I’ll be doing a travel piece in Triathlete on this race. There’s so much to see, but athletes need to see this area.

I wanted to show two photos I took on my tour with Burke that resonated with me: one of a table set on its end, with a message to then-President Bush… which I am sure extends to President Obama. New Orleans is out of the media spotlight, but the area still needs help. Click on the pic to read what it says. The site was home to a headstone for one resident who died. Behind was a trailer, housing offices for the guys building some of Brad Pitt's new rebuild project homes. It was encouraging to see that, because beyond that, there was nothing but steps up to homes.. without the homes even being there.

The other is from inside a home, any home, about seven blocks inland from the wall. It wore the proverbial scarlet letter that so many of the homes wore: a spraypainted X, with numbers and codes that alerted emergency staff to status of lives—or deaths—inside. To see the waterline still set on homes was appalling.

But walking into this particular home, only held up by 2x4 supports, it hit home more. A pile of photos lay on the linoleum floor. A little girl features in the first one I see. I don’t know the status of the family, but to see this family’s belongings sitting, water-stained in this empty home was like walking on a grave—I felt like an intruder.Of course, if nobody pays notice, nothing changes.

This 70.3 race, with whatever tourism dollars were generated by athlete presence, helps rebuild the community, the city. This was my first time to New Orleans. I saw a t-shirt that said “Recover, Rebuild, Restore New Orleans” Of course, I also saw a t-shirt that said “I got Bourbon-faced on Shit Street.” Whatever your pleasure, injecting dollars, tourism or otherwise by doing as little as buying a t-shirt, or an order of beignets and a cafe au lait, helps get this great city back on its feet.

After the race, I joined the LifeSport crew—coach Lance Watson and athletes Brent McMahon (your race winner), Linsey Corbin, Chris Lieto, Magali Tisseyre and Justin Park well as elite age groupers Nat Faulkner and Sean Bechtel—for some Bourbon Street revelry. Much fun was had by all, but things, as they probably always do on Bourbon Street, devolved as the night went on. Starting the evening with Hurricanes at Pat O’Briens was great; Brent drank, hilarity ensued. Upon leaving at 2:30 a.m., you think we can get out unscathed?

No, not when there’s a bar open with a mechanical bull. Park, Tisseyre and I were dumb enough to ride the bull. I had to represent my Tucson rodeo upbringing (well, it was merely watching in the stands as a kid). I wrapped the rope around a hand and channeled Ty Murray.

I sucked. We all did. But it was fun.

Taking my Pacificos home from work now. Don’t like my choice of that beer for my race earnings? That’s ok; you don’t have to drink it, and summer is coming soon enough, it’s warm enough to start drinking it here in San Diego.

Next up: a detailed look at T.J. Tolakson’s race rig.

Eve of Ironman 70.3 New Orleans

Well, well, well. 'ol Brad, and his 45 minute buffer at Ironman 70.3 Oceanside. I won't announce his result, and I never like to count my chickens before they've hatched, but... my brother, who finished his first Ironman 70.3 at Oceanside today in 5:40:09 (great job, Jon!), chimed in that even he would have fallen well, well within the 45 minute buffer had he taken the bet.

Do they sell Belgian trappist beer by the case? No, no chicken counting....

This morning, I circled with Inside Tri freelancer Stephanie Pearson, photographer Robert Murphy (he of all the kick-ass photography in the new Inside Tri) and pro T.J. Tollakson for some magazine shots. Always good to hang with T.J. because as a trained engineer, he loves to play and tinker with his bike setup. He has a wicked new Praying Landis setup that I'm sure the Slowtwich iPhone wielders in transition here in New Orleans will be running to his bike to check out. Say what you will about his setups, he does them all on his own—he doesn't wait for companies to go through tooling and prototyping—he does his own prototyping, with whatever he can find that will get the job done. He actually has several of his custom carbon Kona setups backordered for a bunch of consumers.

Here, getting the job done with a setup that works here in New Orleans means a couple of armrests comprised of jock cups, and a really, really cool bottle that refills, has a straw that is right at his head position (no ducking to take a drink) I have shots on my camera, which is currently with Stephanie, and will load to our website soon. But I'm sure the Slowtwitch-erazzi will be all over it. For it's MacGyver build, I settled into it—and can see how it's a comfortable setup for T.J. He has power numbers that back his position and prototyping. I am sure lots of companies are looking at T.J.'s ideas with careful thought; and I told him I'm sure he'd be able to find a job with any of the tri companies once he's done racing if he desired; he's a thinker and a tester of the outside-the-box variety.

After a long ride from my hotel at the Riverwalk area of town along the Mississippi River to T1 at Lake Pontchartrain (which, as you can see is a bit brackish), it was a cab home. Time to connect with T.J. for dinner right now, then chill out, watch a bit of Ironman Australia and South Africa, with a nice 4:30 alarm a fun bus ride across to the race start and a 7:20 wave start. Looking forward to that finish in the French Quarter—I love half Ironmans, but this one promises to be pretty fun.

UPDATE: Just back from dinner with T.J. and his girlfriend Ashley, and I ran into Hawaii Ironman race director Blair LaHaye and her husband (and St. Anthony's Race Director (Philip LaHaye). Seems Nawlins is Philip's hometown, so he had several tables pulled together, and several kids clawing at him.

But the cool thing about dinner? We struck out at two pasta joints (one had a line out the door, the other was completely gutted of its pasta by triathletes that beat us to it), so we went to a Southern place, Mulates. Live New Orleans band playing (complete with a guy playing the washboard). And T.J.'s dinner? Alligator, on a bed of penne. Awesome. I tried the 'gator, and... it tastes like chicken. I'm serious. I'll actually order it next time.

Unless the gators on the swampy part of the bike course (they said in the pre-race briefings that they're out there) get me first.

Nawlins: Half Iron, Full Party

I’m starting to revisit the wisdom of the last couple weeks. I have my first race of the year coming up this Sunday at Ironman 70.3 New Orleans, and in the last two weeks, I have probably 20,000 air miles logged, having gone last week to Thailand to visit Vittoria Tires production facility, Phuket for a couple days of decompression, back to San Diego. I’ve chased that with a weekend drive to Tucson for two birthday parties. My cats don’t recognize me anymore.

Regardless, I’m grateful to have the chance to be here for the debut of this race in Nawlins. I am about 99.9 percent sure this race will be a roaring success, for several reasons:

First, the race is being put on by rockstar race director Bill Burke and Premier Event Management. Throughout my career, I have been impressed by the level of energy that he puts into assembling races. He was the man behind the popular Dannon Duathlon Series a decade ago, which—while du ain’t as fly as tri—were some of the funnest races I’ve ever done. Plus it spawned some awesome talent, from Paul Thomas (former national champ and now national sales manager at Kuota Bicycles) to Kimberly Bruckner (now Baldwin, who kicked ass on the road with the T-Mobile team before retiring a couple years ago) to multi-time national champ Greg Watson. He treated the athletes like family, and does the same today with all athletes in his races. He is known for organizing great events—and doing every bit of the grunt work. I recall the LA Tri last year, watching him hustle to put on transition racks at Venice Beach the evening before the race. Bill is a high-energy hustler.

Second, New Orleans (well, Metaire specifically) is PEM’s home. Which means Burke and crew will roll out the red carpet, since this is in their backyard. No way they're not gonna put on a good show.

Third, I think our community (not just us in triathlon, but us as Americans on the whole) wants to see the New Orleans area recover from the effects of Hurricane Katrina, by injecting some tourism dollars into an already depressed economy. Burke promised to take me on a tour of some of the areas ravaged by the Hurricane, including the Lower 9th Ward, an area still struggling for survival.

Fourth? Even with 70.3 Oceanside, this is turning out to be a sick field; reigning 70.3 World Champ Joanna Zeiger, Des Ficker, Natascha Badmann, Kate Major, Heather Gollnick, Nina Kraft, Yvonne Van Vlerken… this sounds like a European championship. And the guys will have Macca, Brent McMahon, Tim O’Donnell, Chris Lieto, Brian Fleischmann, Chris McDonald, Brandon Marsh, Luc Van Lierde, Joe Umphenouer—this one is revenge of the American ITU short-coursers. Looks like everyone is keen to race.

I’ll be updating here a bit on my trip last week to Bangkok and visit to the factory where they make Vittoria Tires and Geax Tires (I even got to make my own Geax mountain bike tire), as well as my quick side trip to beautiful Phuket. I must say, while I may be jetlagged and knocked sideways from my trip, there’s nothing quite like run training for a potentially humid race in New Orleans on the run course for the Laguna Phuket Triathlon, in literally humid training conditions. Good practice.

Meantime, I turn my attention to gluing up tires and taking on a visual of this course, which looks on paper fairly flat (good for me), but will invariably draw those wheelsuckers with no morals (bad for me and the rest of those who hold a utopian view of a world without cheating drafters). I hope the officials do their job and sit those pack bitches on the side of the road. And if they don’t come, I hope they get stitches, cramps and GI distress that leaves them bawling.

Can you sense I loathe drafters? If I could have the guns and knives-spinning-from- wheels on my bike that my boss John Duke wishes he had on his car for shitty drivers in his way, I’d be a happy boy.

And I’m looking forward to scooping up a finish at famous Jackson Square, right down in the heart of the French Quarter. Maybe they’ll have a hurricane (the drink!) waiting for finishers! And I’m trying to envision the finishers medals… with beads?!?! Hopefully things don’t get as sideways in the finish gantry as they do during Mardi Gras….or hopefully they will!

Meantime, on to the little bet Brad Culp and I have; he’s racing Oceanside, I’m racing New Orleans. He gave me 45 minutes (45 minutes!!!) and winner gets a case of beer. This is easy money. We both just got our battle axes set up yesterday (see above).. should be fun.

Guess the Part, Win a Prize, Part 2, and a fun bet

OK, I've had a few stabs, but no hits. Jordan Rapp excluded himself and gave up, asking to know what it was. He now knows, but is thus eliminated from grand prize contention.

So I'm sending another shot at a cocked angle. It's a bit soft... sorry, my iPhone sucks for macro shots.Other hints: It is comprised of aluminum, for what it's worth. The hardware with it are what is included in the package, if that gives you any leads.

It is a product in the line of a major aerobar manufacturer. American company. But the product, being as small as it is, is not on their website.... at least I can't find it there.

Before I sign off for now and await some more guesses, I gotta put out there a bet my esteemed colleague Brad Culp and I threw together. We're both racing the first week of April; he at Ironman 70.3 Oceanside, and I at Ironman 70.3 New Orleans. From what I see, Nawlins will be an easier, flatter course. But heat could be a factor, I don't know. Or cold and rain could be a factor in Oceanside. Could go either way.

But none of that matters to Brad, for his ego is larger than the Obama Fan Club. No, he said he will slay my time by more than 45 minutes. He may be faster than I am, but hell, gimme some credit. I figure I will come withing 30 minutes.

So we have a bet: regardless of condition at either race, I come within 45 minutes of Brad's time, and I get a case of beer of my choice. I fall outside it, I owe him a case.

Of course, if you've seen his blog, you know he like to fancy himself some sort of alcohol connoisseur. Of course, I've seen him drink Zima and say "man, this stuff is awesome, bro, especially when you mix it with Red Bull, gimme a glow stick so I can get loose on the dance floor" so I don't give his brew opinion much credence. Zima? Sad.

I'll take his 45 minutes. He may give me a case of beer, but I'm not all taking. I'll buy him a box of cookies to bury his sorrows in.

Interoffice smacktalk prattle off. Let's have some guesses.