“The Odyssey Off-Road Triathlon is not by any means a ‘typical’ triathlon.” — Odyssey web site
Nestled in the Shenandoah Mountains not far from Richmond, lies the Sherando Lake Recreation Area, the site of the Odyssey Off-Road triathlon and duathlon series. This July triathlon is yet another exciting event in the XTERRA Point Series. (more…)
The 170-year-old Assumption Grotto Church sits quietly on Detroit’s Northeast side. Behind the Church, nestled in the Parishioner’s Cemetery is the Lourdes Grotto, an outdoors Marian shrine. Since 1881 this Shrine has purportedly bestowed miracles. Since I’d soon be starting the toughest, longest mountain bike race of my life, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a miracle in my back pocket.
But my 20 mile pedaling pilgrimage ends at a disappointing sign — “Closed at Dusk.” I had assumed it never closed because you never know when you might need a miracle. Oh well. I was at least on the Grotto grounds and hopefully that that was good enough for a partial miracle. (more…)
In this photo from Windsor, I’m obviously still smiling, floating inches above the Canadian soil and hanging on to a sub-6:30 minute per mile pace. I had originally planned on keeping a 6:30 pace from the gun. My racing partner Joe Deighan said he’d do the same. That first mile was 6:20 then 6:15. I slowed down as Joe continued to push the pace up and over the Ambassador Bridge.
Our pace changed during the next 21 miles.
Still, I hung on for a 2:52:59 finish, almost beat a bonking Kenyan, and qualified for a pilgrimage to the Boston Marathon.
It all started with an argument over who were the best athletes: swimmers, cyclists, or runners. During a 1977 running race awards banquet in Hawaii, Navy Commander John Collins grabbed a microphone and laid down a challenge which would settle the debate. He invited the crowd to an ultra-endurance race which borrowed courses from the Waikiki Roughwater Swim (2.4 miles), the Around-Oahu Bike Race (112 miles) and the Honolulu Marathon (26.2 miles).
“I said the gun will go off about 7 a.m., the clock will keep running, and whoever finishes first we’ll call the ‘Ironman.’”
Twenty-two years have since passed and I find myself standing on a chilly beach in Panama City, Florida hidden amongst a crowd of other racers. The announcer’s voice is barely discernible as last minute instructions are repeated and the countdown clicks toward zero. The start cannon blasts and the mass of adrenaline-filled competitors scurry en mass to the Gulf water. The inaugural Florida Ironman triathlon is underway in grand fashion.
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Sometimes you can learn too much on the Internet.
It’s a week before the 1999 Iditasport 100-mile race in Alaska and I’m surfing the Anchorage weather web sites. “Worse cold snap in 10 years!” Even the old-timers are having a hard time remembering such cold weather. A day later and I’m calling to confirm my motel reservation near the race start. “It’s only 45 today. It’s been 55 for the two weeks.” There’s no need say “below zero.” Welcome to a brutal Alaskan winter courtesy of La Nina.
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