Aluminum Man Triathlon 2004

Foundation

Tuna fish sandwich

Excellent

100% - Very Prepared

5 - Jacked Way Up

5 - Jacked Way Up

Music, Friends/Family, Focus on Race

Aluminum Man… why would they call it ‘Aluminum Man’? Must be some sort of smelting in the area…

…I wonder if their local fish have three or more eyes...

Naw, it’s probably safe to swim in the Columbia around there… can’t be too bad with all the windsurfers down the road in Hood River-

The Dalles is a small town (~13k people) perched on the OR side of the Columbia River, about 85 miles east of Portland. Turns out it’s Aluminum manufacturing in the area. And don’t pronounce it like, “Dallas, Texas”… no no no… think of saying “Towels”, but replace the D with a T, and say it fast. Dalles. Faster. Dalles. Perfect- now you’re a local.

But Chris, what does “The Dalles” mean?

Thanks for asking- “The Dalles” is derived from the French word "dale”. It is used to describe the river rapids flowing swiftly through a narrow channel over flat, basaltic rocks.

But Chris, I don’t give a $#!% about the town, or your 5th grade book report. Where’s the race summary?

Ahh… yes… the race…

The Saturday evening before, I was back on my normal tuna fish sub as a pre-race meal, and napped during the afternoon. The forecast was for thunderstorms, which required packing some extra clothes… and while it rained a little on the drive out in the morning, it was nothing but hazy, (albeit windy) warm weather out in the Gorge.

Set up- about 250 competitors total, 140 doing the Sprint, 80 doing the Olympic, and a few for the Duathlon. The Olympic distance race started at 8:30, and those of us doing the sprint (69 men & 71 women) walked along the waterfront, upstream about 400m to the start of the race.

Swimming only 500m in the Columbia? Downstream? Should be no problem, right? Nope… until the winds kick up to 15-25 knots, and whitecaps are cresting in the opposite direction… and there’s thick seaweed, 10 meters wide all the way along the shore…

Wetsuits and caps on, two other people I knew- Tami Condray and Drew Walker and I assembled in the choppy water (about 68 degrees), and turned in some practice strokes. A common scene (and pre-race conversation topic) was someone swimming for about 15 feet, running into the seaweed blob, popping up confusedly and mildly disgusted, the plodding ahead. How could someone possible train for something like that? Your body bouncing along whitecaps, every other breath a mouthful of water blown into your face, seaweed trailing off your arms and goggles and ears?

How? During a vacation in Minnesota earlier this summer, as thunderstorm season kept our family of six cooped up in a small cabin for several days, I twice escaped by jumping into the 64 degree water of Gull Lake in a bathing suit; dodging seaweed, dead fish and wind-blown whitecaps. Kharma- believe it.

And they’re off! Men’s wave first, women followed 5 minutes later. I moved near the front for the start, to the outside so I wouldn’t have to battle anything but the elements. In the first 100m, I must’ve drank about a half liter of water. It was impossible to time your breaths between waves. Spotting the buoys above the waves was tough, too- most of us were doing the prairie dog pop-up, to keep from veering back into the seaweed, or too far out to sea.

About 100m from shore, we turned the last buoy, charged through the blob, and were back in the sandy shallows.

With about 4 guys walking in front of me, I decided to high-step the thigh-deep water and pass a couple, running towards the shore-

Splash, Splash, Splash, “OWWW WHAT THE…”

I had firmly planted the arch of my right foot, with about 250 lbs of downward pressure, on a fist-sized rock. I limped onto the mats… and resumed running up to the transition area… where I was greeted by the encouragement of a surprise supporter- Dan, my buddy from Lewis & Clark-

(Sidenote: since I’m getting the whole “triathlon lingo” thing down more, I’ll bring you up to speed, too- transitions will here forward be referred to as “T1” - transition from Swim to Bike, and “T2” - transition from Liquid Metal to Man… wait, that’s Arnold Schwartzenegger… T2 is transition from Bike to Run.)

T1 (see how I effortlessly combined my new vocabulary into the dialogue, saving time and space for both the editor and reader alike? Man, that’s so much easier than typing out “transition”…) Anyway, after impaling my foot, T1 went well. Came out of the water in 15th place, hopped on the bike, and crossed over Interstate 84, heading east up into the hills.

I didn’t have a chance to drive the bike course prior to race day, so I hoped to keep a rider in sight to pace me through turns. After accelerating past several riders at the start, we hit a long uphill. I shifted down, and tried to keep the cadence high. A little ways from the top of the first hill, I was passed by a rider that had attacked the hill… and I hate getting passed.

So as we crested, I fell in behind him (> 3 bike lengths back- no drafting), and waited for a chance to pass. We tackled another hill, and as we crested, I stood up and pushed hard to get the lead on a slight downhill. As we approached the next rise, he passed me again on the ascent, and again I passed after the crest. We tore through a couple of long 90 degree turns at about 35-40 mph, but as we flattened out against the wind, I had expended too much energy, and slowed to catch my breath. He re-passed me, and I was left to battle myself.

With the turnaround a mile or so away, I could see the leader coming towards me. I gave a smile and a wave, but the hardened focus of this man did not waiver. Another rider followed him about 30 seconds later. And another. I could see the turnaround now- two cones and two race volunteers checking numbers and handing out water. The guy that had passed me was only about ¼ mile ahead, and another rider was between me and him now. Yay- new prey. Knowing I’d have a tailwind to assist me shortly, I buckled down and quickly made the pass. Seeya later budd- NOPE… now he’s passing me. Hmm….

This cat and mouse persisted for the next 3-4 miles. Dozens of smiles, nods, and mutual encouragement from the men’s and women’s field as they headed out to the turnaround- the camaraderie and spirit during racing continues to impress and motivate me.

On the final hill, I stood up and attacked for the entire length, finally dropping my pursuer, but leaving me entirely ALONE. No riders in front of me, no riders behind me, no visual cues ahead of which way to go on the course. This was a little unsettling for about a mile… I could see the bridge back into the park about a half mile away, but the race director had said our course was 15 miles, and my odometer read only 13.5… was there another out and back or loop?

Nope, just turns out it was 14 miles, not 15. I came off the bridge as the leader sprinted away on the run course.

As I’m turning down the road, the loudspeaker shouts out- “AND COMING DOWN FROM THE BRIDGE NEXT… IS… CHRIS ARENDS!”… the road’s packed on both sides with spectators, loudly cheering me on. Totally unexpected for me- I had always kinda been in the middle of the pack… by which time you don’t get individual attention from announcers or spectators or podium girls…

So, as I’m daydreaming (clearly) about this moment, casually watching the person in front of me gracefully dismount at a half-sprint, it occurred to me that I might want to do something to get myself ready… like, I dunno, unclip my shoes from my pedals maybe?

But with the loudspeaker… and the people… and the pressure… I unclipped the wrong shoe, throwing off any chance of exiting normally from the bike… slowly, I teetered back and forth, back and forth, with both of my toes dragging on the ground… until I came to a complete stop, and saddled off the bike. -3 pts for style.

Into T2, I saw the person that had passed me on the bike. He got out about a minute ahead of me, so the chase was on. Up the road, then along the Columbia River.

Now, I’d like to tell you a courageous story about how I tucked into the vicious headwind, and shook off the baking sun and throbbing foot, inspired by Bill Bowerman and El Gerrouj, whistling Chariots of Fire as I sailed past competitors…

I’d like to tell you that…

but that didn’t happen.

Instead, I got to see four exceptional athletes in front of me. I saw Drew just a minute behind me, and exchanged a hand slap on my way back. I gave and received encouragement- “Good Job”, “Great Work”, “Keep Going!”, “Almost There!”- from Tami and scores of competitors, mostly smiling and all driving towards the finish.

And… I looked over my shoulder a couple times to make sure no one was going to pass me =)

Immediately after finishing, my foot begged for mercy, and I found some ice to help...

5 - Completely Overachieved

(Later on… like 2 hours later… I realized I had dried seaweed covering most of my head and face)

I took about 2 weeks off to relax (Vegas, Bend, sleep), and am back on an abridged training schedule for next season. Thanks for your support and encouragement throughout this summer. I look forward to seeing you all soon, and hopefully convincing a few of you to race next year.

Absolutely!

Awesome

Awesome