Ah, here I am. After countless hours of swimming, biking, and running, it’s race day. I had set up my bike-to-run transition the night before, and double-checked it again this morning, before riding my bike down to the swim area. I meet up with some of the others I know who are doing the race, and chat for a bit as we set up our transition areas, get marked, and put on our wet suits.
We make our way down to the boat launch as the announcer is describing the sprint course and the long course. I take a quick warm-up swim and make it back a little before the send out the first wave of swimmers in the sprint. Five minutes later, they send out the second wave in the sprint. Then it’s our turn. Men 39 and under for the long course. We have two minutes before they send us out. We swim out to the start, and I try not to get out too far forward since I really don’t feel like being bumped excessively. 3… 2… 1… GO! We start our swim, and I get bumped a little as we make our way to the first buoy, a left-hand turn. Then things start to spread out and I try to get into my rhythm. I have to keep reminding myself to slow my arms down and make sure I grab some water. I also have to remember to pop my head out of the water from time to time to make sure I’m not off-course. Okay, second buoy 180-degree right-hand turn. I get into my rhythm and keep going, making my way to the third buoy. Another right-hand turn, right next to the buoy, and I start to pick up the pace. Of course, the next time I remember to bob my head up, I realize I’m a bit off course and need to get over to the right. Alright, adjustment made, and I pick up the pace. Ah, there it is, the boat ramp. I set my feet down, and run up the ramp, stripping my wet suit off to the waist along the way. A quick look at my watch reveals that I did the swim in about 37 minutes, a new personal record. I find my bike, put on my shoes, sunglasses, and helmet, and put my wet suit and towel in my backpack. A quick stop in the porta-potty, and I’m on my way, taking a couple bites of my Clif Bar.
And so begins the bike leg. I stay in a low gear, so my legs warm up slowly. I make the turn onto Shirland Tract Rd and get ready for the hills. My legs feel okay, but still a weak, the way they’d been feeling on recent rides. Unfortunately, a few minutes in, I reach down to put my water bottle back and start to wobble a bit. I wasn’t going fast enough to keep my balance, and then someone pulled up next to me. I topple over, nearly taking out the guy next to me, and scraping my left elbow on the asphalt. I pick myself up and realize that the gels I had taped to my top tube have all ripped off. Great. I eat one and throw the others in my pocket, hoping they don’t ooze all over my back. Alright, back on my bike and riding up the hills to the Dam Overlook. Most of the ride is pretty uneventful. I ditch my water bottle and open gels, and pick up some fresh cold water at the first aid station. Around mile 20, I see the first-place rider making his way back to the Overlook. Around mile 25, I see Tim, and then Todd, Kirk, and, later, Richard, making their way back, too. Next, I shoot my way down a windy road to the Bear River campground. The good news is that it was a fast downhill. The bad news is that I then had to climb back up the other side.
Finally, mile 30. We’re on our way back to the Overlook. I find myself riding near a few people going about the same pace I am, and we chat a bit as we go. Near mile 35, I pass a woman, and then, as I near the mile 38 aid station, I start feeling a mild cramp in my upper left quad. Great. I ditch my water bottle for some cold Cytomax, and that helps almost immediately. Later, I see a rider at the side of the road, waving inner tubes around. I stop and see if he needs help. It turns out he’d pinched his spare, so I give him my spare tube. He asks for my race number and says he’ll try to remember it at the finish. I say it’s not a big deal and make my way along. Eventually, I catch up to the woman I’d passed before. We end up passing each other a few more times on the way to the bike-to-run transition. I pull in off the bike at about 4 hours, 15 minutes, throw on my running shoes, fill up my pocket with whatever I need, and make my way out onto the run course.
I grab some pretzels on my way, and start out on the trail, just behind the woman I had passed on the bike. Unfortunately, there will be no passing her again. My legs just don’t want to go. I try running on the trail, but eventually am relegated to a shuffle. Then I have to start walking up hills. I try running a bit again, but can’t keep it up for very long. My legs just feel tired and tight. I end up walking most of the first 7-mile loop. I meet a couple of other people in my position and we walk and try to jog together. As I complete the first loop, I decide I’m going to stop. There’s no point in trying to finish at this point. I tell the people at the aid station. They ask me if I’m sure and tell me I look like I can do it. I tell them my legs just won’t go. I make my way to the race officials and turn in my timing chip. They ask me if I’m sure. Really. I’m sure. I’m a little sad, but spending 1 hour, 45 minutes running and walking 7 miles did not bode well for my health over the next 6 miles.
And that’s it. I get a big, fat DNF for this race. It’s no wonder they call it “The World’s Toughest Half”
