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I came across this article today.

Here’s the take-away quote:

“A-Rod opted out of his record $252 million, 10-year contract with the New York Yankees and figures to set another high—Boras told the Yankees they would have to put a $350 million offer on the table just to get a meeting with Rodriguez.”

Just take a second and re-read that. Opting out of a $252 million deal and wants $350 million. What? Are you kidding? When was the last time you went to the World Series, A-Rod? Yes, I know you hold lots of records for home runs, including being the AL MVP, but you gotta produce real results before you can demand a $350 million contract.

The owners need to put a stop to this. Decide nobody’s going to touch him. Offer him league minimum until he produces. Sure he’s got potential, but you don’t get paid for potential. You get paid for results.

You know, professional sports is not the only place I see this. Take a look at some information on CEO Compensation. It’s funny, because many corporations are going to a variable-pay/pay-for-performance model for employees. Of course the pay-to-performance ratio at the lower levels is still nowhere near the ratio at the upper levels. Go figure.

4:30AM. Roll out of bed, put on my shorts, jersey, and warmups, brush my teeth, get my bags (food and gear) together, and head out the door. I eat a PB&J sandwich on the way, and arrive at Lake Almaden Park just as the sun is rising. I find a spot in the transition area and start set up. Bike in the rack, towel on the ground, running shoes, hat, race belt, food. Cycling shoes, socks, helmet on the aerobars, clean the sunglasses and put them in my helmet, ready for wear. I munch on half a clif bar before I make the requisite stop at the porta-potty. Luckily, I get there before the long gets ridiculously long and only have to wait a couple minutes. I make my way over to the body marking tent, and chat a bit with my friend Ruth, who happens to be racing today as well, with the UC Davis team.

6:30. I do a quick bare-footed jog on the grassy areas of the park, avoiding duck presents, and then stretch as I examine the swim course and take in the scenery. I make my way back to my bike for one last check to make sure everything is in place. Water bottles, shoes, socks, timing chip on my ankle, food, in my hat, race belt and bib on my running shoes. Helmet and sunglasses. Yep, it all looks good. I grab my swim cap and goggles and make my way down to the water. After helping a guy zip up his wetsuit and stretching a bit more, I get in the water for a quick warm-up swim, noting that there are only a few other guys swimming without wetsuits. The water is warm, but pretty murky – in no small part thanks to the ducks, I’m sure – and I can barely see beyond my outstretched arm. Ah well, not much better than Folsom Lake, but definitely not as clear as the pool. And no conveniently-placed black line at the bottom (at least not that I can see).

7:00. Time to send off the first wave – the pros and all the collegiate competitors. The bagpipes tune of “Amazing Grace” starts coming over the P.A. and we count down to send off wave one. 3… 2… 1… With a gunshot and a cheer they’re gone. My wave is next. We get in the water, and strangely enough, only a few guys really head out while most of us kind of just hang back until the last moments before they start us off. And so they send us out to start our race. I manage to keep up with the back of the pack to the first buoy. And then I somehow end up a bit wide of the path everyone else is taking. Okay, minor adjustment as I make my way to the second buoy. My arms are moving pretty fast, and I’m keeping up with the couple guys next to me, but then I decide to smooth my stroke out a bit, relax, and make sure I’m catching some water. I’m breathing every other stroke and sighting when I can. Things are pretty uneventful until I get near the 4th buoy. I manage to be wide yet again and almost end up beached on the shore. I make the turn to the last buoy and then the last turn for the home stretch – where, once again, I’m swimming over grass and rocks (but I think everyone else is, too).

I emerge from the water 29:48 later to AC/DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long”. I rip off my cap and goggles as I run up the carpets to the transition area. All the way around the horseshoe, drop off my goggles and cap, grab a bite of the clif bar, put on my socks, shoes, glasses, and helmet, and start walking my bike out to where I can mount up.

The bike ride starts off feeling pretty good. I take it easy at first, not really letting it bother me that people are passing me. The first half of the ride is into a bit of a headwind, but mostly flat. Ruth passes me a few miles in, and I gradually try to pick up the pace as I go. I notice that many riders are passing me in clumps. Almost everyone is pushing a pretty big gear (bigger than the one I’m riding in), and they’re bikes probably cost a multipe of what I paid for mine – Kestrel, Lightspeed, Orbea, and some I’d never even heard of before. Anyway, I make the turnaround and notice something – things just got a lot easier! I ratchet up through the gears and am now moving at a pretty good clip. As I make the turn on to Bailey, I realize I should probably eat my gel before the hill. That slows me down a bit, but again, I’m not worried. I’m just here to have some fun.

And we start the climb of the “hill”. After Auburn International, most hills look pretty tame. I manage to pass a couple people as I climb the hill and start the descent. I take it easy down the hill, as they’ve posted warning signs that the road is steep and bumpy – exaggerated for insurance reasons, I’m sure, as I didn’t really notice anything too bumpy or steep. Eventually, I’m riding in top gear (or close to it), and passing more people. I’m pushing harder, and it definitely feels like I’m working. As we near the end of the bike, I drop down a couple of gears to spin my legs down a bit, and I slip one foot out of its shoe. I don’t manage to get the other one out before we have to dismount (and swerve a bit as I try, almost causing a pile-up). So I walk my bike through the transition area with one sock and one shoe.

I rack my bike, pop off my helmet and shoe, and get ready for the run. Running shoes on, hat on (I remembered to put it on this time!), race number on, spray on some more sunblock, grab my gel, and head out. Again, I start off pretty slow, letting my legs get used to running after 1:17:34 on the bike.

And again, people pass me on the early part of the run (well, throughout most of the run, actually). A woman who’d passed me on the bike (and then I passed her, etc) caught up with me on the run about mile 1. We chat for a bit as we run before she pushes on ahead. The run consists of two out-and-back sections – the first section covers the first 2 or so miles, and the second one makes up the rest. Most of the run is pretty uneventful. I run alongside a guy in my age group for a while, and we chat until I pick up the pace before mile 4. My legs now feel surprisingly strong, and I’m able to hold a pretty comfortable pace. It’s so comfortable, in fact, that I don’t notice how quickly the finish is approaching and I don’t start my finish sprint until I’m almost in the chute. Ah well, so I may have been able to shave a little bit of time off my 56:58 run, but it doesn’t matter. I finished and I had fun doing it.

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”

Well, where to start? As July 31st grew near I could feel the energy and anticipation building. I felt like I was going to get to the race and turn into a ball of flailing arms and legs as I tore along the course. Everyone would ask if I was getting excited, and the answer was always a resounding yes.

Thursday night, I go to Buca di Beppo with some folks from Tri-Sierra to begin carb-loading (mostly just to hang out, though). Friday, I leave work early and drive to Windsor where I meet up with Fred and Lisa for dinner at the Bear Republic Brewing Company in Healdsburg. We buy a bunch of groceries and settle into the condo Lisa booked for us for the weekend.

Saturday morning I go for a short run, bike ride, and swim just to stay loose. Fred, Lisa, and I head out to pick up our race packets and meet up with our cheerleaders, then we all go wine-tasting (well, I watch as they taste). Back to the condo to prepare my bike and stuff for the race and make pasta, garlic bread, and salad (go figure). After dinner, we decide we want to go play wiffle ball. Of course, I had my reservations, so I went along thinking I’ll just take some pictures. Well, as I see people swinging away, I decide it looks like fun and take my swings. After a few misses, I go back to taking pictures. Then I make the mistake of pitching. The second pitch comes right back at me as a line-drive right to my forehead, which forms a lump instantaneously. Laughing, I head back upstairs to ice my head before calling it a night.

Sunday. The big day. This is it. Wait. What time is it? Jeez. 5:00 AM. I must be insane. Well, may as well get to it. Bagel with peanut butter, Cytomax Pre-formance shake, and a banana. Bill is kind enough to drop me off at the start of the race where I set up my swim-to-bike tranisition area and wait for my turn to start. I run into some familiar faces, wish them well, and eventually make it into the water as my wave is called on-deck. Good news: the water is warm and shallow. I joke around with some of the other guys starting in my wave and wait for them to send us off.

And we’re off. I’m surprisingly calm and reassured when I see that I’m ahead of a few guys. Just keep chugging away… stroke, glide, stroke, glide, stroke, glide, breathe. As we approach the bridge, I notice some guys walking. Yes, the river is that shallow here. I try wading, but find that swimming is far more efficienct, so I get back to it. A little before the turnaround, I realize that the leaders from next wave of swimmers have already made up the eight minute difference between our waves. No need to worry, since I know I’m not a fast swimmer. I make it around the turnaround and head downstream. Then, I see the finish! There are a few others around me, so I start picking up the pace a little and eventually end up in an all-out sprint. As I run out of the water I look at my watch – 45 minutes (or so), just as I was expecting. Off to find my bike, strip off my wetsuit, throw on my bike gear and run out of the transition area.

I don’t even bother mounting my bike until I’m at the top of the hill right outside the transition area. I watch others struggle to get going on this 25-yard steep hill. Alright. On the bike and I’m cruising. Thankfully it’s still cloudy/foggy and cool. Let’s hope is stays this way for a long while. I cruise along at 18 or 19 miles an hour and some rather fit- and serious-looking people pass me – they have the full tri setup on their bikes – aerobars, wheel discs, etc. (Maybe I’ll worry about that stuff next year). After a while I think my stomach has settled enough to try to choke down a Clif bar. Clif bars are tasty, but my only complaint is that it is hard to chew one and breathe while you’re riding (assuming you can get the wrapper off). Ah, aid station. And boy, do I have to pee! Grab some water and off I go. At some point after this, Richard passes me, saying “hi” as he cruises by. The ride is incredibly scenic – through some forested areas early on, and then mostly through wine country, surrounded by vineyards. The clouds finally burn off around 9:45 – about 20 miles into the ride. It’s still not too bad, though, since it is still relatively cool. Most of the ride is pretty uneventful, just chatting or saying “hi” to people as I pass them…until Chalk Hill. I was all ready to tear up this hill, but my fron derailleur does it to me again as the chain slips off as I try to shift to my small gear. Trying to keep some momentum as I try to clip out, my legs just free-wheel and I eventually (slowly) fall over. A few greasy fingers later, I’m back on the bike and charging up the hill. I just wish I could’ve done it without the technical difficulties. I make it to the next transition without any further problems. I did notice, however, the carnage of the bumpy areas of the ride – water bottles strewn about the road near potholes or railroad tracks where they were jostled loose from their cages.

It’s a long run from the dismount point to the actual transition area, but it’s a good way to get your legs under you. My legs feel like jello as I hop off my bike and take the first few steps. I hear the announcer calling out finishers’ names as I find the spot where I had left my shoes, hat, bottle, and food the day before. A quick look at my watch tells me the ride took me about 3:10. I hang up my bike, lose the helmet, gloves, and shoes and throw on my hat, running shoes, and race number. A quick stop at the port-a-potty, and I’m on my way.

I up finding a guy who happens to be in my age group and running about the pace I want to be running, so we start chatting and keep pace with each other the entire run. It’s about noon now. It’s sunny. There’s not a lot of shade on this course (and this course isn’t exactly what I would call flat, either), but thankfully there are aid stations about every mile. I make use of every one of them – grab a cup of water, drink some, dump the rest on my head. A couple of stations have hoses and misters set up, too. I have to hand it to the volunteers – doing what they can to keep the water and gatorade flowing, as well as cheering us all on. We make it to La Crema winery – the turnaround point where we actually get to run on a path through the vineyard. About mile nine is when I start feeling my legs want to cramp up – quads, hamstrings, and calves all at once. But I fight it off and keep going, making sure I keep up on my electrolytes through my cytomax/gatorade and gels. About mile 10, Ricardo and Maria pull up on their bikes, cheer me on, and snap a few pictures. Then they ride ahead and wait for me at the finish. Mile 12 aid station. Almost there. Just keep going. We turn the corner and run towards the high school. A lady cheers us on, saying, “only a half mile to go!”. A couple minutes later, another lady says the same thing. “That’s what the last person told us!” I jokingly shout back. But I see the high school and the chute cones. Finally, the home stretch! I see a couple Tri-sierra guys and they cheer me on as I pick up the speed (I’m surprised I have this much leg left!) and bid farewell to my running partner Jake (who is also cheering me on). I round the last corner and hear the announcer call out my name. I hear friends cheering me on as well, but I have tunnel-vision. All I see is the finish tent.

6 hours and 45 minutes after I started the 1.2 miles of swimming, 56 miles of cycling, and 13.1 miles of running, I have finished my first half-Ironman race. I’m exhausted. But I’m done. Until next year? Well, we’ll see how long it takes me to forget the pain. :-)

5AM. On a weekend. Am I nuts? It’s a good thing I packed most of my stuff last night. Load the bike in the car, make a quick peanut butter sandwich, and head out to Camp Far West. 20 minutes later, I pull into the parking lot, register, and start setting up my transition area. Hang the bike, towel on the ground, gloves and sunglasses inside my bike helmet, bike shoes, running shoes, socks, Power Gel. Put my numbers on – the bike, helmet, and jersey. Get my body markings. 1019. We have a quick athlete’s meeting to go over the rules and course directions.

The wetsuit is on, and I head down to the water. I get in to try to calm down and warm up a little. The water is actually pretty warm, thankfully. I swim out towards the first buoy and nearly get tangled in a bush. Ah, the joys of open water swimming. “30 seconds!” Crud. I flail my way back to the start line and wait with the 20 or so other triathletes. “5… 4… 3… 2… 1…” and the airhorn goes off. I’m sure the campers loved hearing that at 7AM. I make my way out into the water, taking my time because I have no delusions of keeping up with most of the others. I put my face in the water and start swimming. Too fast. Not getting enough air on my breaths. It’s weird swimming in the lake. All you can see is your arms moving through the water, and maybe the rocks or bushes. I try to calm down, but have to pop up to catch my breath. I knew this would happen. It happened the day before, on my first open water swim. The open water and compression of the wetsuit make me panic a little. So I roll over onto my back and start doing the backstroke. At least I can breathe and hyperventilate to my heart’s delight. Brian is in a kayak next to me, telling me to just relax and calm down. I’m not doing any worse than his first open water swim. Just gotta relax. I can do this. I try swimming again, and am able to better, breathing every other stroke instead of every 3rd. This feels a little better, and I’m making more progress. Brian stays with me almost until the turnaround point, where there’s another guy, Tim, in a kayak. Eventually, I finish the swim and make it up to the transition area.

Cap and goggles off. Wetsuit off. Throw the wetsuit over the bar to dry. Bike shoes on. Helmet and sunglasses on. Gloves on. Make my way out of the transition area and off I go. I’m riding along, trying to keep my cadence up as I go up and down the rolling hills. I feel a little sore at first, but it goes away as my muscles warm up. Hmm.. I should probably eat some Power Gel. Wait. Oh CRAP. I left it at the transition. Luckily, this is a “short” ride. Ride, ride, ride. Push, push, push. Not a soul in front of me, or behind me. I keep an eye on my heart rate to make sure I’m not riding too hard, while not going too easy, either. Finally, I make it back to the entrance. The last leg of the bike ride. I look down at my computer and I’m going 23 miles an hour. Up hill! It’s amazing what adrenaline can do.

I hop off my bike and run into the transition area, hang up the bike, take off my helmet, shoes, and gloves. As I put on my running shoes, the timekeeper tells me I’ve made up some time on the bike. Cool. Throw the Power Gels in my pocket. Eat one as I take off on the run, and grab a Gu packet from a woman holding one out for me. Off down the running trail I go. I check my heart rate and notice it’s a little high so I slow down a bit. Down a hill. Up a hill. Down a hill. Ah, a port-a-potty. I make a quick pit stop and I’m once again on my way. I see some other competitors coming back along the out-and-back portion of the run. Maybe I’m not that far behind. I keep plodding along. Not a whole lot to say about the run, other than it was hot and sunny. Thankfully there were two water stations and we passed each one twice.

Oh yeah – note to self for the run – BodyGlide. Armpits.

And after 3 hours 25 minutes, and 55 seconds, I had finished my first Olympic Distance Triathlon. 1.5km swim, 40km bike, and 10km run.