Devil's Challenge Race Report

After perfect weather for Ironman Wisconsin, the rest of the week went downhill in a hurry. Monday was rainy and cool, eerily similar to September 10, 2006. Thursday was the lone bright spot with sunny skies and mid-70s for highs. Then the front blew through. Friday was cool. Friday night was even cooler. The forecast was 32 degrees. Frost warnings were out and plants were to be covered or hidden in the garage. With a race start at 8 AM, I expected temps to be in the low 40s. As a result, my focus was on my apparel for the race. I spent most of the Friday evening worrying about which top I should wear for the bike. Heavy and thick or thin and lightweight? Do I wear gloves? A hat under the helmet? An ice scraper to chip the ice off my bike? I decided that I should bring everything and make a lot of race-time decisions. I spent so much time on what to wear, I didn't leave enough time to properly inspect my bike.

The alarm went off at 5 AM. "It's race day!" I got up, got dressed and had a quick bite to eat. Loaded the heavy transition bag, bike and bike pump in the car and set off for Devil's Lake. The thermometer at the house said it was 42. All the banks on the way up to the race said 35. Fog filled every valley, growing thicker and thicker as I neared the Wisconsin River valley. My stomach did little leaps as I saw more cars with bikes as I neared the race site. On the far side of river, the fog was still heavy, but now the ground was covered in a thick frost. The last bank showed 34 as the current temp. "Heavy. Definitely wear the heavy top," I told myself.

I parked the car in a perfect spot, unloaded the bike, pumped the tires, not really noticing that the rear tube was at 40 psi when I started. I rolled into transition, found a spot on the elite racks. After multiple races of competing with the elites from the age group waves, I decided to join them and push myself a bit to stick with them. I checked in, received race bib number 2, and stopped briefly by the fire that had been lit. I made my way back to the elite racks, pulled out my thickest layers. I set out for a quick, light jog to pass the time. When I got back, we traded layering strategies in transition. Some were going with leggings, others just shorts. All were going with long sleeves up top. I got antsy, finalized my gear, pulled on my wetsuit and got out of there.

I put my feet in the lake to keep them warm. Rumor was it was 70 the day before, but with the amount of evaporation that was occurring right in front of my eyes, it was definitely in the upper 60s, but still thirty degrees warmer than the air. Then it was time to race.

SWIM
The horn blew and everyone ran into the water. Everyone started to swim right away. I didn't have room to dive, so I kept running until I found the right spot and took the plunge. Immediately I couldn't breathe. Even though it was thirty degrees warmer than the air, at the same time the water was thirty degrees colder than my body. It took several breaths and lots of calming thoughts to get myself under control and used to the water. By the time I did, I was in the think of things. All of us hit the first turn at the same time. The course is an rectangular course with two left turns. When you're on the north shore of a lake, turning left means turning to the east, directly into the rising sun. The sun, combined with the fog/steam rising off the lake provided no buoy to sight. So I just headed for the glare off the cars in the parking lot beyond the lake. By now there were two of us in front. He kept fading to the left, while I maintained my line to the cars. Finally, with ten feet to spare, the buoy eclipsed the sun and I turned underneath it and headed to shore. I swam until my fingers dragged through the sand, got up and ran to the shore. The cheering crowd felt really good.

T1
Several people were right behind me and we all madly began to thrown on layers. "Man this stuff is hard to put on wet!" I threw my jacket, socks, shoes and gloves on and tore off as fast as possible. Lots of long transitions from everyone.

BIKE
I was barely out of transition when I felt my back rim bottom out on the first bump. A quick look down and it's half deflated. I don't know if it was because I was frozen or dumb, but I kept going. "Get up the first hill and change it at the top," I reasoned. Well, the first hill is 1.5 miles long. Pedaling with half a tire on the back up a 1.5 mile long hill in 35 degree weather with a wet body is like pulling a stubborn mule through molasses. However, I did manage to pass a couple of people with my "spin to win" mantra. Finally, at the top, it was time to see how fast I could quickly change a tube. I was confident I could manage a quick change and still pull off a good race. I pulled off the rear wheel, deflated the tube the rest of the way, and went to pinch the tire to loosen it from the rim. Only it wouldn't pinch. It was stuck to the inside of the rim. My cold hands couldn't budge it. I'd get some spots, and think I was good to go only to not get anywhere. I reached for my tire irons to see if they'd help. I stuck them in, and pulled them around, only for them to get thrown out of the groove by the sticky tire. By now, five minutes had gone by, and my hamstrings are tightening up as I'm bending over my uncooperative rim, swearing at it between breaths. Finally, I get the tire unstuck all the way around on one side to get the old tube out. I blew up the new one to give it some shape and stuff it in. I double checked it wasn't pinched and then started pumping furiously. I lost track of time spent at this point, but it was well over 15 minutes. Later waves were passing, some nice enough to offer condolences. After pumping for enough time to fill the tube completely, it was only half full. That's when I heard it. A quiet "psssssssssss" coming from the tube. I first thought I didn't have a tight seal on the pump. I redid it and kept pumping. "Pssssssssss." F#(@*! I double checked the valve and started again. "Pssssssssss." I put my ear up close and it emanated from somewhere other than the valve. At this point, I was getting cold again and felt as deflated as my two broken tubes. I put the wheel back on the bike and began the walk of shame back to the transition area. My race was done. As I got back to the bottom of the hill, the leaders were already finishing their rides. As I made my way along the access road, they started their run. I was just at my stuff in transition when the winner finished. A few minutes later and it would've been my turn.

POST-RACE
As I handed my timing chip in, the woman said "All that cold and wet for nothing, huh?" I grunted agreement and shuffled off. For the whole ride home, I thought she was right. As I was bumming in the stands of the Badger Football game, it took my wife to set me straight. (Don't they all?) Indirectly, she made me realize that it's only a failure if you don't learn anything. Here's what I learned:

1. I had the correct clothing for the conditions.
2. I failed to inspect my equipment properly before the race. (biggest lesson of the bunch)
3. I rode on a tire that had been on the trainer. My hypothesis is that the tire got heated enough on the trainer to melt to the rim. The heat more than likely contributed to the failure of the tube.
4. Change your tire as soon as possible.
5. Stay calm and relax while changing a tire.
6. Learn how to use CO₂ cartridges.

So what else is there to do? For me, I signed up for one more race to redeem the ending of this season. I will get two new tires and look into a CO₂ system. Now I have some drive: that nagging feeling failure and embarrassment every time someone asks how my race went.

To put things in final perspective, my race failure compares to nothing of the pain that the family of one athlete is going through right now; A 55 year-old man lost his life at the race.