Anatomy of a DNF

This is my twelfth year of triathlon with close to 50 finishes under my belt. An iron distance, a couple of halfs and lots of Olympics and Sprints. I have never been particularly competitive and have always been happy and satisfied to finish injury free and with a smile on my face. When I prepared for my iron distance race and the half distance leading up to It I followed a regimented plan. For basically all other races I have simply prepared by engaging in SBR which at this point is interwoven into my DNA My perfect completion record came to a halt last Saturday at the Charlottesville Xterra Olympic Triathlon. I had been aware of the Xterra series for a number of years and since my passion for triathlon has waned of late, this seemed like the perfect endeavor to re-ignite the fire. I have been a mountain biker longer than a triathlete so no problem there and have had experience trail running. This race was in the bag. Another checked box in my now lengthy triathlon resume. Not so fast. I had made a campground reservation for the Friday night before the race. As forecast, it rained incessantly the day before the race. In the pre-race ride the trail was already becoming a sloppy mess. A portent of things to come. The swim was wetsuit legal and in a small natural body of water that certainly did not meet the criteria of a lake. Nonetheless it went well and I felt really good. There was a considerable run to transition but all was well. Now I should point out at this point that I had I finally broke down and purchased a sweet new Trek Fuel EX 8 mountain bike back in February. There was NO way I was going to ride the new steed in this race. The potential of damage or worse yet theft (in transit) was just too great considering the newness and cost of the bike. This decision figured into my ultimate demise. I opted to instead ride my trusty 20 yo. Trek 8000. A solid bike but a hard-ail with side-pull brakes and rubber brake pads that were reduced to shadows of their former selves in lap 2 (read zero stopping power). With about four miles left into the second lap I thought my shoe lace was loose. My mountain biking shoes were only slightly less old than my bike. My laces weren't loose. The sole of my right shoe was coming apart. The plan then became push the bike for the remaining four or so miles with what was left of my shoe. This plan changed when the shoe completely disintegrated. New plan was to push the bike the remainder of the way with one bare foot over eel slick and often rocky terrain. This went on for a while. Under no circumstances did I want to DNF but for the first time ever I wasn't having fun in a race. Despite my intense desire to finish this was not going to happen. With a mile or so to transition I could see a bail out and I took it. I had actually been the last person on the course. I was dejected and a little embarrassed. I licked my wounds and began the three plus hour trip home.There were obviously unforeseen factors that figured prominently in my failure to finish but truthfully I had not given the race the respect it deserved. It was humbling and maybe the very thing I needed to put a fire under my butt. Needless to say I have that race on my radar for next year as well as others in the series. Time to get back on that horse. Yipikaye!