Nautica Malibu

In his own version of the midlife crisis, my brother decided he wanted to jump on the triathlon bandwagon, and asked me if I had any interest in doing the Nautica Malibu triathlon with him. The idea immersed in May. I said sure and sent him all kinds of tips for training. I spoke with him periodically throughout the summer and the key thing I was trying to drill into his head was how important practicing in the open water would be. But you know what they say about leading a horse to water...you can't make them swim in it.

Despite the fact that I've officially retired from TNT, I managed to train somewhat regularly over the summer. I even did a great swim in Aquatic Park the week before the race with Rebecca and Nate. It was during the 4-day heat wave we had in early September known as "summer" and actually quite nice conditions for Aquatic Park. But I digress.

The Nautica Malibu triathlon now ranks as one of my favorite tri's to date. While each race that I've done has it's positives and negatives, Malibu is really quite approachable, like the Merlot of triathlons. I flew down Thursday night, Andy I went to register on Friday. Pretty good shwag, including female-specific race shirts which in my book, already makes the race a winner. The San Francisco crew, starring Rebecca, Nate, Geoff, Tiffiny and Shaun were all driving down and arriving later on Friday. Most of us didn't meet up until we found each other in the transition area Saturday morning.

Historically, the race has been a celebrity triathlon offering a sprint distance only. The race directors must have looked at their financial spreadsheet and realized how much money they could make if they extended the race and added an olympic distance. Sure enough, they got 1,000 people to sign up for the Oly on Saturday and another 2,000 for the sprint (including J LO, Matthew McConaughey and Andy Baldwin) on Sunday.

The swim was probably the most challenging part of the race; the first leg was through the breakers, totally new for me and not so easy getting pounded by waves during that first stretch in the water. Getting to that first buoy felt like it took forever, but once out there, it was a straight line to the 6th buoy, turn, and then body surfing into the finish. I came out of the water at 30 minutes, but the walk through the sand to the timing chip sensors put me at 31 minutes.

The bike was an out-and-back, all along a gorgeous stretch of the PCH. There were a couple of rollers but mostly flat and the race organizers managed to get one lane of traffic closed to cars. On the way back, we rode past miles of cars backed up waiting for the intersections to open up. I must confess, it brought me some happiness (the fleeting base kind) to see all the fancy Malibu cars and their self-absorbed drivers (with yappy dogs wearing clothing) standing there looking ticked off. I saw Andy on the bike and was happy to see that he had made it through the swim. Time on bike: 1:30

The run was also along the PCH and completely flat. The ocean was in site the whole time and during one stretch, I saw dolphins swimming in the water right offshore. When I saw Andy on the run and told him the end was in sight, he responded "I f'ing hate this" which made me laugh. I don't know of any triathlete who thinks the run is a fun experience. At mile 4, I looked at my watch and realized that if I pushed myself, I was within reach of getting a sub-3-hour overall time. I picked up my speed a bit, but unfortunately, my knees were not on board with the plan and I had to slow down to my standard sluggish triathlon run pace. Still, I finished with my best run time at 1 hour and overall time, 3:09.

My brother rolled in about a half hour later and as we congratulated him, the confession came out: he swam about 1/3 of the swim then come to shore. He then snuck into the transition area and got on his bike, then he did the run. He actually had a better time on the bike than me (by 3.5 minutes), which we later calculated about 1 minute of that could be attributed to the better bike and the rest was just sheer determination to beat his little sis. Still, ya gotta love the father/child finish, which I captured on video as Abby ran out to meet him on the finish chute.

Sunday's celebrity race made headlines all across the rags and it was interesting to see the special treatment the stars got. J Lo had an entourage escort her from the swim to the bike and Matthew had a chair setup for him in the transition area. But the stars did something that the rest of us couldn't; they raised a couple hundred thousand dollars for the Children's Hospital. For that, I will grant them leeway.

Not sure what's next on the triathlon circuit. Marin is coming up in October...

Air Guitar

Take one part pointless activity, a dash of sarcastic and biting judging, several bottles of proud sponsor, Cuervo Black, and a sprinkling of heavy metal classics. What do you have? A night of manic , hysterical amusement. Who needs the Olympics?

The $10 Blueberry

For a town that prides itself on intellectual curiosity and carries itself with an air of superiority, sometimes I really have to wonder about San Francisco and the people in it. Are we as smart as we think we are or do we just have hyper inflated egos? Do we wake up in the morning and put on compassion like it's an accessory?

A few weeks ago, a Farmer's Market opened in my neighborhood. The neighborhood association announced the grand debut with a twinkle in their eye, so proud that they were able to get Nopa on the farmer's map. On my way home from watching the SF Marathon this morning, I finally got the chance to peruse the market, on the corner of Grove and Divisadero. It's a small little gathering, about 1/2 block long with a modest assortment of vegetable stands, bakers, flowers, and various other non-farmed delectables.

I made my way up the street, hoping to fill my fridge with a cornucopia of local, organic produce for the week. Instead, I walked away empty-handed and empty-hearted. The farmer's market has lost it's soul, it seems, and has become yet another example of price gouging that we all seem willing to passively accept as part of the price we pay to live in this fabulous urban jungle. But when we have the same feeling at the Farmer's Market that we have at the gas pump, I have to think that something is most definitely wrong.

Exhibit A:
"Certified California" is now a classification. Marketing crap 101: use the word "certified" to elevate the status of an otherwise non-pretentious object. Are we taking the Foster's Chicken commercial a little too far here? Are those pesky Oregonians and Nevadans masquerading their produce as Californian because they can charge more here? Obviously, this is a serious epidemic and must be regulated.

Exhibit B:
$7 for "Mountain Grown" blueberries. This is like paying extra for fish that comes from water. Words cannot describe how it feels to realize that I am being targeted as an idiot savant who might not know that blueberries are a) from mountains and b) grown. They must have seen me drive up on the short bus.

Exhibit C:
An extra $3 for the artificial flavoring on an almond. Tip for you shoppers: you can get the same crap at Trader Joe's for 1/4 the price. Try the Wasabi flavored almonds. Delish.

While there was a bumper crop of BS, what I didn't find much of at this Farmer's Market was the word "organic". It was strikingly absent and in it's place were a smattering of dazed shopper wandering around asking the vendors, "is your produce organic?". The dream is still alive, you see.

But there seems to be a complex array of forces working hard to destroy this dream. Do we care more about the cache of what a Farmer's Market implies than whether it's actually done right? And since when did farming become a marketing playground where consumers are dodging meaningless labels and fruitlessly searching for substance and truth? I want to believe in the dream, but I'm most certainly not paying $7 for a pint of it, even if it is mountain grown.

And here's the final proof that this Farmer's Market has lost it's authenticity. No hippies.

Semana 6 Mile

For months, my friend Chris has been making reference to this 6-mile open water swim that he's been training for. I was both impressed and intrigued as is my normal response when I learn of anyone attempting a feat that requires both mental and physical stamina. I had it in the back of my mind that I wanted to go and watch the event (which would be a bit tricky, since it's out in the ocean) so when Chris sent me a text message, asking me if I could pilot his kayak for him, it took me about 2 seconds to reply: yes!

Shortly after arriving in the lovely town of Santa Barbara, we made two stops. First, we went to the start of the race, the Santa Barbara pier. As piers go, it was pretty swell with the usual assortment of beach collectibles. We got a good look at the water and decided it was quite promising for favorable conditions; then we went to the finish where Chris did a practice swim and I went for a little jog. I know this blog entry is supposed to be about Chris' race, but I would like to just give a shout out to the jogging trails of Santa Barbara. Top notch. Well done, SB.

We went back to the hotel and vegged out for a little while, watching a special on the weather channel about the rescue mission for that woman in Antarctica who had breast cancer. Being a pilot, Chris was sure to educate me about how it really wasn't dangerous at all and that the pilots were a bunch of pansy dorks. I pointed the remote control at him and pressed "mute". Unfortunately, it didn't work.

Chris spent some time getting his gear organized for the next day. He had a satchel of food (for me and for him), both hot and cold fluids, and some dry clothes for the finish line. There was some debate over whether he would wear his squid lid and he decided that he'd make the final call in the morning. The water was around 64 degrees. Chris had some gear for me as well: a compass, because we didn't know if it would be so foggy, we wouldn't be able to site. And GPS in case I didn't want to use the compass. I was a little disappointed when the conditions were perfect and I didn't get to use either. Being a long-distance open water swimmer, Chris also had a waterproof casing for an ipod, which he had brought for me. This was by far, the best gear I've coveted in awhile.

Before we get onto the race itself, I have to give a shout out to The Ramada, Santa Barbara which was a fantastic little hotel. Serious. And right across the street from the Ihop, which led to an experiment. Chris and I pondered: we spend all this money on fancy race nutrition: Cliff bars, Powerbars, Mojo, Sharkies, etc. What's wrong with a good old fashioned Snicker's bar, or a stack of pancakes to carbo load? In yet another act of bravery, Chris decided to give it a try. 7am race morning, we were at the International House of Pancakes (which was surprisingly crowded) sampling the syrup varieties on our short stacks.

Aside from a strange dialogue with the Ihop waiter:
Chris: Are there bananas in the fruit cup?
Waiter: What do you mean by that?
Chris: I think I mean that I want to know if there are bananas in the fruit cup.

...the Ihop breakfast was a successful and enjoyable nutrition prep for the race.

We arrived at the pier and started organizing the gear and meeting the other swimmers. It was a friendly crowd, only 32 swimmers, most of whom seemed to already know each other. We were like celebrities, having traveled all the way from the "big city" for the race. It was also a pretty casual environment, the race director Jane pulled everyone together at around 8:45 to give some general guidelines on the swim, and then the kayakers got in the water, paddled out to the end of the pier and waited for the swimmers.

I haven't done much kayaking in my life, let alone ocean kayaking, and I really wasn't sure what to expect. Chris and I had done a test run at Aquatic Park the week before and conditions were pretty crap: super choppy and a strong headwind. Down in the fairytale land of Santa Barbara; however, all was serene, and I finally understood what made this activity so great. There was so much life in the water, dolphins, otters, seals, and I think I even saw a mermaid. I rocked out on the ipod to my new favorite musician Xavier Rudd and had magical moments feeling one with nature.

Chris, by the same wave of good vibes, was having a great race. The water was calm, the temperature was perfect, and he had that extra reserve of energy from the pancakes. So he swam, I paddled, I occasionally asked him how he was doing, he occasionally made a request. And at around mile two, he decided to go commando, throwing his speedo into the kayak. "Things don't get much better than this", I thought, as I transitioned from Xavier Rudd to Hall & Oates.

The finish line came sooner than I expected. I saw the buoy in the distance but it was 45 minutes earlier than what Chris had estimated, thanks to the favorable current. We made our way and then turned in and headed for shore. The rest of the swimmers and a few spectators cheered Chris in and there was a party that the race Director's mom had set up with muffins, coffee, bagels and fresh fruit. We met some nice, down-home people and enjoyed the warmth of the mid-day sun.

I truly felt honored to have been asked to participate in this way and am grateful to have had the experience. At the finish line, there was a flier for a "Santa Barbara 10-mile" swim in September. I saw Chris stuff one of the fliers into his bag.

King's Trail

Maui, I've learned, is the elitist faction of TNT, it's where the "it" people go to race. How I've only just discovered this goes to show how not "it" I am. I would put this race in the category of well-kept-secrets. Why it took me so long to sign up is beyond me...

June 8, race day. Still on Cally time, the 4:15am alarm wasn't the abrasive, jolting annoyance that it could have been. I hopped out of bed, greeted my roomate with a big it's-race-day! smile, and took care of a few last-minute logistics. Warm weather triathlons are easy to prepare for. No layers, no wetsuit, I didn't even need a towel. It all fit nicely in my backpack and we headed downstairs (again, not even a jacket needed at 5am) to meet up with the rest of the team. Good spirits abounded, the general mood of the group was: yes, we're doing this thing they call a "triathlon", but really? Must it harsh our Maui mellow?

We rode as a group over to start location at the Maui Prince hotel, about 3.5 miles. Set up the transition area, ate a banana or three, waited in line for a last trip to the loo, and then headed to the beach to check out the swim course. What, during our practice swim the day before, had appeared as a glassy smooth inlet of water, was now choppy with a smallish swell, I'd say around 2 feet to my uneducated oceanic eye. It was then that I got a little case of the jitters. What was I thinking, having such a cavalier attitude about this race? Since I did Big Kahuna, I have this notion that olympic distance races are, well, just a long workout. But throw a little 90 degree heat and a tough course into the mix and I found myself having to make an attitude adjustment.

Before the race started, we received the blessing from the Hawaian Witch Lady, who made us all (375 of us) link arms into this massive spandex group hug, and she led us in a prayer. While I had wax in my ears (a metaphor for how I feel about the Wicca or a preparation for the swim? you decide), I did manage to catch the jist of her message. She told us that when we were in the ocean, we should drink the blood of Mother Earth (which many of us, indeed did), that on the run we should smell the bones of Mother Earth (or was it just the patchouli from the locals), and on the bike we should feel God's touch from the sun. And then we sang the Star Spangled Banner. Go figure. Yes, the Witch Lady was a little esoteric, but I like that kind of stuff. I like being reminded that there's a bigger picture and of how very lucky I am.

At this juncture, the race began and we went off in heats 3 minutes apart. I started at around 7:30 (it's Maui, timekeeping is not a science). The swim was a bit dodgy. I put my breathing-on-both-sides skills to good use, this was the only way to escape getting splashed each time I came up for a breath. Other people were getting mouthfuls of water, which in turn was leading to mass vomiting (which in turn, led to more fish in the water). After I passed the fifth and final buoy, cruising full speed level four to the finish, I happened to notice a shadow looming underneath me in the water. And that was the happy moment of the triathlon, when I saw the turtle. I don't know why, but these creatures are just so clumsy and jovial, they make me laugh.

Swim time: 32 minutes. While certainly not anywhere near my better swim times, given the conditions, I was satisfied.

The King's Trail bike course wins the title of lamest bike courses ever. I felt like I was riding a course that had been designed by a stoner with ADD. It was up, down, up, down, stop, up, down, stop, turn, stop, turn, down, stop. It just made no sense. You couldn't get any speed and I ended up with an embarrassing time of 1:50, inflamed knees, and quads that were totally spent by the time I got on the run.

But run I did. It is now that I would like to give a shout out to my running inspiration, Ben, who sent me a text the night before the race and told me to really go for it and run the whole run. He knows that I have a weakness for stopping to walk, that I am not a runner at heart. His words stuck with me and it really amazed me how much of it was mental. I wanted to stop and walk during this run like I've never wanted to stop before. My knees were killing me, it was hotter than a whore in church, and my legs basically felt like cinder blocks. Fortunately, the water stops had freezing cold sponges which pretty much saved us, I'm guessing the same stoner who planned out the run course was also the mastermind behind this. But in exchange for a little cooling action, we ended up with soaking wet shoes; every step I took went: squish, squash, squish, squash.

Run time: 1:05.

Crossing the finish line was an awesome moment. I fell happily into the arms of my sweaty and repugnant (no offense guys) teammates where we proceeded to re-live every gruesome moment of the race. Just like always. Then I went and grabbed my phone and called my cohorts in San Francisco who had raced Alcatraz to get their race reports. Everyone had a great race; the main difference was that we got to go back to a hotel and lounge by the pool with Pina Coladas for the rest of the day. :)
The most amazing factoid of the race is that I somehow managed to rank 10th in my age group, out of 32. Now, while I do plan to get as much mileage out of this as possible, I really shouldn't let it go to my head. My overall time was not that great: 3:37, and I basically chalk it up to the fact that the race was predominantly TNT people who maybe, like me, were more interested in a Maui vacation than in excelling in a triathlon. Still, a very gratifying experience overall to be a part of the TNT Mai Tai division.

Maui

I like Maui.
And I haven't even been there yet.

Bare Asses: A Sign That All is Right in the World or Armageddon?

I posted this video on flickr. A day later, I received the following email:
"As per our Community Guidelines, “restricted” video
content is not allowed on Flickr . We’ve removed your
video.

If you continue to upload videos that contain
“restricted” content, we may take further action on
your account.

Regards,

Flickr Customer Care"

The whole time I was at Wildflower, I was pre-occupied with whether the streakers would do their thing. As the sun began to set on Saturday night, I grew worried, unsettled, discontent. No streakers at Wildflower, I just couldn't fathom the possibility. But they came and they were glorious. And now, I'm meant to feel shame for wanting to share the laughter they invoked in me with others. Flickr, I would just like to remind you that there is FAR more offensive content on your photo sharing site than the tushies and boobies of some drunk CalPoly students flapping in the dusk.