Memphis in May - TriathlonOlympic

The seas were angry that day, my friends. A strong Nor'easter had the water boiling and white caps churning on ol' Casper Lake, and surely some of the lesser among us would soon be visiting Davy Jones Locker.

But at 71-degrees, the water felt like a nice warm bath compared to the air temp, and I stroked off directly into the crashing waves-- yes, I was headed right for the mouth of the monster! Actually, it wasn't that bad-- kinda like Lake Michigan on a pretty typical day, but definitely took a little extra effort and threw off the breathing at times.

Because it's always my first open water swim of the season, it takes me a while to really find my rhythm at this race, but just as in years past, I turned in a good swim. I sighted well, swam straight, despite heading directly into the morning sun at the first turn. I never found feet to follow, but that's typical because the water is so silty brown I wouldn't have seen a 3-foot snake until it came up and bit me on the nose. Which is good, because just like every other year, I did see a couple patrolling the shoreline when I checked in the day before.

Before I knew it, I was heading up the ramp and into transition. I checked my watch: 28:11-- a full one second slower than last year. Well, I'm nothing if not consistent. However, given the conditions, this year was actually a much better swim.

Worn flippers.

No, it was a solid swim. Although I was surprised to see after the race, the swim was my relative weakness this year in my age group results. It's usually my strength. I guess old guys are better swimmers.

As I was waiting to enter the water, I remembered that I forgot to practice my transitions even once this year before the race. The result? My fastest T1 here ever. The time may seem a little slow, but just as with any major race, it's a biiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiig transition area. And it has a run-through Starbucks, so you know I had to stop for a skinny Venti latte with a shot of Toffee Nut syrup.

Gone with just a grande. Milk is crap to run on.

Did I mention it was windy? I swear at one point I saw a little dog blow by, followed by a tin man and a lion.

Except for a few very short stretches, it felt-- as always-- like we were heading directly into a headwind. This was where Jorge's off-season bike training plan really paid off. Despite the wind, I felt really strong, catching and passing rider after rider who at least looked like they were fairly decent cyclists. Sure, I got smoked by a few killers with their Zipp discs as always, but I felt like I turned in a strong performance. And I seemed to fare best when the wind was blowing it's worst-- from around mile 17 to the end, and especially along Navy Rd., we were totally exposed to a relentless headwind. In fact, at times, it reminded me of the footage you see from those classic Kona races because we were all riding at about a 15-degree angle to keep upright in the crosswinds. But I was able to still pick my way slowly through the pack. What's more, I resisted the temptation to really hammer, saving my legs for the run, which has always been where I've fallen apart in years past.

Despite the hurricane, I was able to pull off a split close to last year's and an average of of nearly 21 MPH-- heady stuff for a formerly snail-slow rider like me. Of the events, the bike was also my relative strength, which I don't think has ever been the case before. Guess it shows hard work can--and does-- pay off. If that's true, I pity the fool that is Charles Benson, because I feel like I really did work my tail off this off-season.


Pack a mast and sail to mount on the bike.

Another solid transition. Maybe I should practice these less often.

I'd become a doctor, like my Mom wanted.

Oh, they probably mean "What would I do differently in T2?"

...and so at last, it was time to face my nemesis. The course that twice before had dashed my hopes for a solid race and left me quivering and whimpering in the heat by the side of the road like a dying roadkill raccoon on some lonely country road. The course I see in my mind when I lay awake in the morning, contemplating whether or not to hit the "Snooze" button, and the one that laughs mockingly at me every time I order another Margarita (not that it stops me, mind you.)

Coming in to T2, it was clear my plan to bike conservatively paid off-- my legs felt good and I still turned in a solid bike split, given the extremely windy conditions. As always, I felt like I had to pee like a racehorse, but was able to suppress the urge and headed right out onto the run.

The run course is an out-and-back that begins with a few small hills, after which there are a few big hills, then some hills, then you get to turnaround and do them all over again in reverse order. Fun, huh?

Not surprisingly, given my history here, I started out conservatively, just gauging my legs on each of the first few hills. Before I knew it, I was at the first Aid Station, where one of the volunteers was cranking Social Distortion's Greatest Hits over the loudspeakers in his truck. I remember thinking, "Who is that f-ing cool to be blasting Social D-- one of my all-time favorite bands-- at a tri in Memphis? That has to be a sign from God that it's gonna be my day."
Yes, my friends, on this day I would ROCK the run instead of RALKing the run.

With Social D's "Mommy Little Monster" now on endless repeat in my brain, I began to tick off the miles-- not quickly, mind you, but ever so steadily. On reaching the turnaround, I knew there would be no walking today-- in fact, I even turned it up a notch as I made the long trek back to the finish.

Memphis is a national race and clearly draws a lot of higher level athletes. Some guys went tearing by me at unbelievable paces, but I paid no mind, just staying within myself. It was a little disappointing to see two guys in my age group pass me at a pretty good clip with just 1.5 miles to go, but there was no way I could hang with them.

Soon, I was once again passing that first Aid Station where the Social D disc was now playing "Born to Lose"... not today, Mr. Ness, today would be a day of personal victory. As I crossed onto the grassy path which led to the finish, I picked out a guy in my age group about 50 yards ahead and committed myself to taking him. Giving my all, I sprinted down the path, taking him easily well before the finish and bringing a satisfying conclusion to my Run for Redemption.

Today, I would earn my post-race barbecue, made all the better because it was served up with a huge helping of Sweet Revenge.




You know, no matter how well you do at a race, you leave thinking, "I could have pushed it harder" or pick out places where you left time on the table. But at a full 8 minutes faster than my previous best finish her in Memphis, I was satisfied with my performance.

My run time and pace doesn't look impressive, but it was solid on such a challenging course. And quite frankly, my bike time doesn't look nearly as good as it really was, given the extremely windy conditions. Oh, and my swim? I'm now fairly well convinced no matter how hard I train I'll still swim at relatively the same pace. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

Warm-down? It was 60 degrees with a chilly wind. I went inside the PortaPottie just to warm UP.


The accuracy of the course. If they had measured it shorter, I would have done much better.


As always, Memphis put on a great race-- and the post-race barbecue was better than ever. I'll be back again next year. But long before then, I have a few more personal demons to slay. Are you reading, Mr. Benson?