Ahh, what a day.
My day started at 0430. Ok, that isn't entirely true, I am a night owl, so I didn't actually sleep very much, but it's close enough for government work.
Anyway, after a bit of breakfast and some coffee, it was hop on the bike and ride down to the San Diego International Tri to be a volunteer swim buddy.
I should have been racing. But I was dumb, and waited too long to register and it sold out. The race was so full that even my realtor, who is one of the sponsors, couldn't get entries for people. So, when the call went out for tri-clubbers to volunteer as swim buddies, I figured, "what the heck, I needed a swim workout this week anyway, between a sewage spill at one of our beaches and my family schedule I hadn't been able to squeeze one in this week.
The basic concept is that us more experienced swimmers make outselves available to anyone who is nervous and just wants someone to swim alongside them for moral support. Then when we're done with out individual clients, we just follow the last few swimmers in.
This was a whole new perspective on the swim for me. I have never been more than a mid pack swimmer, but getting into the water with the intention of going slow was liberating in and of itself. It was also cool to help people through their first time, some it was first time at the international distance, some it was their first time in open water. My first client was a lady who was doing her first international. She had done some open water, but wasn't sure she could do the distance. Turned out she had no problems, and I was just a safety blanket. So once she was done, I went back out and caught the tail end of the sprint waves and just basically talked a guy through the sprint who was basically doggie paddling. He had a great attitude though, just figured he'd catch everyone on the bike and run. He finished, and there were still a couple of long coursers in the water. Turns out all three of them were friends and all Purple People. (aka TnT) One was slow, but wasn't having any problems other than speed. The second was having sighting difficulties. It was pretty hard to see the final buoy since it was right into the sun, and her goggles were horribly fogged, no matter what she tried to do. I basically wound up being her seeing eye swimmer, since I could see the bouy, I told her just to keep swimming at me until we got there. The last one was in the most trouble. She was seriously hyperventilating. She would stop, grab the lifeguard's board, and hang on until she could breath again, swim for about ten yards, and hyperventilate again. But she wouldn't quit. It took quite some time, but she made it. There were three of us swim buddies in the water with her, along with a pair of guards on boards, the rest of the buddies and guards were waiting at the timing mat cheering. I hope she finished the race.
It really got me thinking. For all my races, from my first sprint to my first Ironman, I had put in the training time. I had done all the distances. I didn't know how fast I could race, or how rough it would be to put them all together with the race adrenaline and such, but I at least knew that unless something happened like an injury or bike breakdown, I would finish. But here are these people just throwing themselves out there, for a friend, for a cause, hurting and not giving up. Damn, it's humbling, and really makes me re-assess what it means to be a tri-athlete. I have never really had a cause. This has always just been something I do to fill a hole in my psyche, no greater purpose. I have never had a cause to suffer for. I just like to suffer. I think I am missing out somehow.
Moving on, I rode home after the swim, showered up, and went off to help a couple of friends move. This is where the day gets really interesting. Friday, my loan broker for the house, e-mailed to let me know the underwriter had just pulled some last minute stuff, and I needed to some up with another huge sum for closing. (it is legit, property taxes and some other crap- I knew these things would come up, just had no idea how bad they'd hurt.) So, after much wrangling and number crunching, I got it worked out. I was talking about/around it with my wife, and I actually said something like, "well, gutted the Ira (which I did) and the savings, emergency funds are gone. We can do this, as long as nothing goes wrong for the next few months, like the truck blowing up." (in a movie, this would be known as "foreshadowing")
So, back to moving. At some point in this oddessy, I notice my battery light is on, and my battery gage is reading rather low. Ok, I figure no problem, a few days ago, the interior light got left on for a few hours, only done some short trips since, I will take the battery to get checked out Monday.
Last trip to pick up stuff. Kevin's truck and my Jimmy for loading, Kevin2's sedan for slave labor. We pull up to the house. Get out. Kevin2's car (which he has had for about a week) decides to spew anti-freeze all over the street and his radiator boils over. (it is about 97 degrees outside). He helps up load, then calls it a day. Durwood and I hop into the Jimmy to head out. I mention how weird it is that K2's radiator died, and my electrical system was being funny. Durwood chimes in that it can't be the alternator since if it was, the truck wouldn't be running as well as it was. As if on cue. the electrical system entirely cuts out, thus killing the fuel pump, and bringing the Jimmy to a sputterring halt. I call a tow, Durwood calls the other truck to tell them to drop off their load and come get outs before the tow gets here.
Then we sit on the curb. Five minutes later we notice the ants on the curb and also subsequently in our shorts. (yes, we had ants in our pants.) , after a brief interlude slightly reminiscent of the Tommy Boy killer bees scene (not really as crazy- much calmer) we wind up standing.
The other truck finally shows up. It is important to note at this point that neither Durwood or I actually packed my truck, we were pulling stuff out of the garage. So, we open the rear hatch, and nearly fall over laughing when the crushing irony hits us. We have been standing on the curb for half an hour while we had a truckload of perfectly funtional dining room chairs.
So, the terribly ironic chairs and Durwood get loaded in to K1's truck. They head out to finish the move before the Del Cerro triangle claims another vehicle, and I wait for the tow. Finally gets there, loads Jimmy and I up and brings us to the auto shop.
The driver offers me a ride home, and I almost take him up on it, then the tri-geek in me takes over. I had this wonderful flash of insight.... I have already done a swim and a ride today.... it's only a couple miles home.... it's starting to cool off for the evening.... no, I don't need that ride, thanks!
So, the summary... I did a three sport brick, helped a friend move, and killed my truck. Now if you'll all excuse me, it's beer thirty.
Anyway, after a bit of breakfast and some coffee, it was hop on the bike and ride down to the San Diego International Tri to be a volunteer swim buddy.
I should have been racing. But I was dumb, and waited too long to register and it sold out. The race was so full that even my realtor, who is one of the sponsors, couldn't get entries for people. So, when the call went out for tri-clubbers to volunteer as swim buddies, I figured, "what the heck, I needed a swim workout this week anyway, between a sewage spill at one of our beaches and my family schedule I hadn't been able to squeeze one in this week.
The basic concept is that us more experienced swimmers make outselves available to anyone who is nervous and just wants someone to swim alongside them for moral support. Then when we're done with out individual clients, we just follow the last few swimmers in.
This was a whole new perspective on the swim for me. I have never been more than a mid pack swimmer, but getting into the water with the intention of going slow was liberating in and of itself. It was also cool to help people through their first time, some it was first time at the international distance, some it was their first time in open water. My first client was a lady who was doing her first international. She had done some open water, but wasn't sure she could do the distance. Turned out she had no problems, and I was just a safety blanket. So once she was done, I went back out and caught the tail end of the sprint waves and just basically talked a guy through the sprint who was basically doggie paddling. He had a great attitude though, just figured he'd catch everyone on the bike and run. He finished, and there were still a couple of long coursers in the water. Turns out all three of them were friends and all Purple People. (aka TnT) One was slow, but wasn't having any problems other than speed. The second was having sighting difficulties. It was pretty hard to see the final buoy since it was right into the sun, and her goggles were horribly fogged, no matter what she tried to do. I basically wound up being her seeing eye swimmer, since I could see the bouy, I told her just to keep swimming at me until we got there. The last one was in the most trouble. She was seriously hyperventilating. She would stop, grab the lifeguard's board, and hang on until she could breath again, swim for about ten yards, and hyperventilate again. But she wouldn't quit. It took quite some time, but she made it. There were three of us swim buddies in the water with her, along with a pair of guards on boards, the rest of the buddies and guards were waiting at the timing mat cheering. I hope she finished the race.
It really got me thinking. For all my races, from my first sprint to my first Ironman, I had put in the training time. I had done all the distances. I didn't know how fast I could race, or how rough it would be to put them all together with the race adrenaline and such, but I at least knew that unless something happened like an injury or bike breakdown, I would finish. But here are these people just throwing themselves out there, for a friend, for a cause, hurting and not giving up. Damn, it's humbling, and really makes me re-assess what it means to be a tri-athlete. I have never really had a cause. This has always just been something I do to fill a hole in my psyche, no greater purpose. I have never had a cause to suffer for. I just like to suffer. I think I am missing out somehow.
Moving on, I rode home after the swim, showered up, and went off to help a couple of friends move. This is where the day gets really interesting. Friday, my loan broker for the house, e-mailed to let me know the underwriter had just pulled some last minute stuff, and I needed to some up with another huge sum for closing. (it is legit, property taxes and some other crap- I knew these things would come up, just had no idea how bad they'd hurt.) So, after much wrangling and number crunching, I got it worked out. I was talking about/around it with my wife, and I actually said something like, "well, gutted the Ira (which I did) and the savings, emergency funds are gone. We can do this, as long as nothing goes wrong for the next few months, like the truck blowing up." (in a movie, this would be known as "foreshadowing")
So, back to moving. At some point in this oddessy, I notice my battery light is on, and my battery gage is reading rather low. Ok, I figure no problem, a few days ago, the interior light got left on for a few hours, only done some short trips since, I will take the battery to get checked out Monday.
Last trip to pick up stuff. Kevin's truck and my Jimmy for loading, Kevin2's sedan for slave labor. We pull up to the house. Get out. Kevin2's car (which he has had for about a week) decides to spew anti-freeze all over the street and his radiator boils over. (it is about 97 degrees outside). He helps up load, then calls it a day. Durwood and I hop into the Jimmy to head out. I mention how weird it is that K2's radiator died, and my electrical system was being funny. Durwood chimes in that it can't be the alternator since if it was, the truck wouldn't be running as well as it was. As if on cue. the electrical system entirely cuts out, thus killing the fuel pump, and bringing the Jimmy to a sputterring halt. I call a tow, Durwood calls the other truck to tell them to drop off their load and come get outs before the tow gets here.
Then we sit on the curb. Five minutes later we notice the ants on the curb and also subsequently in our shorts. (yes, we had ants in our pants.) , after a brief interlude slightly reminiscent of the Tommy Boy killer bees scene (not really as crazy- much calmer) we wind up standing.
The other truck finally shows up. It is important to note at this point that neither Durwood or I actually packed my truck, we were pulling stuff out of the garage. So, we open the rear hatch, and nearly fall over laughing when the crushing irony hits us. We have been standing on the curb for half an hour while we had a truckload of perfectly funtional dining room chairs.
So, the terribly ironic chairs and Durwood get loaded in to K1's truck. They head out to finish the move before the Del Cerro triangle claims another vehicle, and I wait for the tow. Finally gets there, loads Jimmy and I up and brings us to the auto shop.
The driver offers me a ride home, and I almost take him up on it, then the tri-geek in me takes over. I had this wonderful flash of insight.... I have already done a swim and a ride today.... it's only a couple miles home.... it's starting to cool off for the evening.... no, I don't need that ride, thanks!
So, the summary... I did a three sport brick, helped a friend move, and killed my truck. Now if you'll all excuse me, it's beer thirty.