Kerrville Triathlon Half Aquabike
The foundation for this race was built on the crushed granite of defeat. A month earlier at the TriRock Austin Olympic distance Aquabike, I got
beaten. It was a shock after winning the first four races of the series by good
margins. I lost the race in the water. Over the course of just 1500 meters in
the swim, someone put over three minutes into me. I never saw him in the water
and had no idea anyone was ahead of me.
I’d had a decent day on the bike, averaging
23 mph and returning to an empty T2, thinking I’d sewn things up. What I didn’t
know until the results hit me like a sledgehammer later, the winner, Douglas,
had started a couple minutes behind me at the time trial start, passed me in
the water, and was up the road. I managed to regain 45 seconds in T1, and about
two minutes on the bike, but it wasn’t enough, and I’d lost TriRock Austin by
20 seconds.
This ate at me in the weeks leading up to the
Kerrville Half Ironman, and I desperately wanted to win the season finale on
the way to wrapping up the series title. It was a point of pride. The swim was
going to be longer, at 2000 meters, or 1.2 miles. Because he was clearly faster
in the water, I was at a disadvantage. It didn’t help that I’d started
re-architecting my swim stroke five weeks earlier based on coach’s advice. I
felt faster in the water, but not as fast as Douglas was.
I’d have to win the race on the bike, where I
held a speed advantage. Another interesting development from TriRock was that
Mike McCarty had a slightly faster time on the bike, despite crashing. If he
showed up to Kerrville, I’d have to swim fast enough to neutralize him on the
bike.
In order to have the best appraisal of the
situation, I started the swim two seconds behind Douglas, next spot in the time
trial start. I easily slipped onto his feet and caught a draft. The pace felt
attainable and I imagined myself in the catbird seat, stepping out of the water
right on his heels and easily taking time out on the bike. It was going to be a
good day!
Unfortunately, the pace started to wear on my
and I lost his feet. I surged to regain the draft, but came to the conclusion
that if I blew everything trying to stay with his pace, I might blow up
entirely, and not be able to come back on the bike. It took a lot of self-talk
to convince myself to let him go, not panic, and just swim my race. He was
going to get time on me in the swim, but I had 56 miles to pull back the slack.
Since I had started just two seconds behind him, I’d know the margin I’d need
very clearly. I settled into my best pace and swam the straightest line around
the course, deviating significantly from the majority of the swimmers who
didn’t notice that the intermediate buoys traced a longer course that was
defined by the tetra buoys that truly defined the course. If you swam the
tangents between those, you were swimming less.
I clambered up the ramp at the end of the
swim and got a miserable strip from the wetsuit strippers, so lost time there.
T2 was no speed clinic and I consciously gave away a little time to make sure
my bike computer hooked up to the satellite and started; accurate speed and
distance were going to be critical to me. I’d set a goal to reel Douglas in by
the halfway point to leave myself plenty of road to put time into him.
The two-lap Kerrville course is challenging
as you’ll note from the course profile below:
As you can see, the course climbs most of the
back half, with a nasty 12.4% climb, but a bit of a decent coming into the
finish. Net climbing per lap was only 900 feet, but what the course profile
can’t show is the quality of the roads and how much of an impact on the race
the tarmac would have. Heading out from the start and along the bank of the
Guadalupe River, the roads are smooth and fast. Immediately at the turnaround,
the roads turn to heavy, chip-seal asphalt that feels slow punishing.
I was making good progress through the field
throughout the bike as well. The aquabike division swims last because we’ll be
done earlier. That meant a steady stream of riders to pass. I picked my way
carefully around those who’d started before me. I’d passed plenty in the water,
but was really punching tickets now on the road.
I kept the pace modest, knowing that I’d get
a look at everything first lap, and if I paced it correctly, my second lap
would be faster. From my initial read on the first lap, I’d also have to leave
a little more in the tank for the back half of the course to make up for the
heavy road conditions and the stinging climb. Beyond the course profile, the
course design itself would actually play a big role in my race strategy. As you
can see from the course map below, at around mile 20, there’s a short
out-and-back section the race organizers were compelled to include to make the
full race distance:
This out and back was important the first
time through, as I estimated that I’d be able to see Douglas. It’s only about ¾
mile, but a good chance to see those immediately in front of you on the bike.
As planned, I caught my first glimpse of his kit on the out-and-back. Time to
start reeling him in and then I’d have over a lap to put time in. In theory
this would even keep me in the race if I flatted, a very real and frightening
possibility fresh in my mind coming off a race-ending flat in the sprint the
day before. I’d had to leave the race while in third place overall. A
heartbreaker and a real cause of concern for me in the half today.
It took far longer than I thought it should
to catch him, which indicated that we were moving at comparable speeds and that
this was going to be a tough rundown. I made the actual catch at about mile 23,
just before the steep climb. Leading to that climb, there’s a left turn that
conceals the climb so I hit it in my big ring alongside a couple other
unfortunate souls and we all ground over the summit cross-chaining our big
rings and big cogs. I made a mental note not to repeat that on the second lap,
while sizing up Douglas about ten bike lengths ahead.
There’s a very sharp right-hander over the
top of the climb and a decent downhill section that led toward the second lap,
or next time around, the finish. I also had a suspicion that the road surface
would improve as I got closer to town.
I decided to hang back and make a really
definitive pass on the downhill. I run a 55-tooth chainring, where most of my
competitors run a 53-tooth. That
provides me a significant advantage on the downhills, so I decided I’d make my
pass there. I wound up the gears on the downslope and made the pass with about
a 5-mph speed differential. I wanted the pass to be psychologically damaging.
I settled into a comfortable pace and
expected to start piling on the time gap. The run-in to the finish did get
smoother and the downhill approach was high speed. There were a couple
dangerously sharp turns into the finish and I sized them up in case things went
bad and I really had to take some risks to gather seconds in the finale. The turns
also gave me a chance to assess the damage behind me and going into the second
lap, no sign of my rival.
I started to dial up the pace a little and
felt pretty good on the smooth section headed back out to the turnaround. The
return to the chip seal was unpleasant and I started to feel like my speed was
flagging and fatigue was setting in. I was saving a little for the last climb,
so didn’t put too much into the roads leading up to the out-and-back. The
number of racers in front of me were getting fewer as well, but I caught a
glimpse of my team manager on the out portion of the out-and-back and I knew
I’d soon catch her.
I rounded the turnaround and almost shit
myself when I spotted the white Tri Amigos jersey no less than 25 seconds
behind me. Panic set in! He was going to catch me and I’d have to hang onto
him. My mind raced through the rest of the route trying to calculate where I
could make up just the two seconds I’d need in the last few corners. It was
going to be risky, but this was going to be a tactical finish, just like a
one-day road race, down to the sprint.
This didn’t sound good, so I calmed myself,
rounded out my pedal stroke as much as I could, getting every ounce of power
out of each pedal revolution. I
concentrated on pulling up and over the top of the pedal stroke instead of
falling into my default pedal-mashing downstroke that is less efficient. I set my jaw and put what I could into it,
saving a little for the last climb. This was a 12-mile time trial now.
A few miles later, I arrived at the turn
leading to the climb. I downshifted into my lowest gear and spun as best as I
could up the climb, knowing I’d need the freshest legs possible for the run-in
to the finish. Douglas still hadn’t passed me, and I dared not look back, but I
thought I could hear him and feel hot breath on my neck.
The downhill began in earnest and I gave
everything I had, straining and pouring sweat. Still no pass, but I thought
ahead to the final turns where I’d have to risk everything. I DID NOT want to
lose today! I continued to lash myself and fight to keep the pedals turning
smoothly, shifting down to a smaller gear in favor of pushing a big gear and
bogging down. It hurt more than anything had all year. It was not a flat-out
anaerobic effort that taxed the lungs to the limit, but a leg-searing lactic
acid grind. It was agony, but still no pass.
I caught and passed my team captain on the
run-in, but couldn’t even muster a grunt as I went by. Normally my entire team
encourages one another when we see each other on the course. I was so buried in
the effort with my nose to my stem that I couldn’t even manage a “good job” to
Erin.
I had not looked over my shoulder since the
turnaround but I afforded a look back on a right-hander about 1.5 miles from
the finish. Remarkably, and thankfully, no sight of the Tri Amigos killer. That
meant a sensible last few corners into transition. Whenever I could, I snuck a
look over my shoulder after the turns. Still no sight of Douglas.
I busted into T2 breathless and spent. I
looked back over the bike finish an started counting one-one thousand… two-one
thousand… three-one thousand… four one-thousand and silently said to myself,
“that’s enough.” I walked to my rack and sheathed the bike. Still no sign. I
put on my shoes, visor, and run number belt.
Then I saw him. I’d actually put about two
minutes on him, but man did I pay for it. What a race, and what a satisfying
end to the season.
