The living room was a clutter of things; socks and towel beside a big bag on the floor, a couple of jerseys hanging by the chair, shoes by the TV set and a road bike leaning on the sofa. I was preparing for my first duathlon and the heat of the night was not helping. My back was damped with sweat and I was tired. It was late and I should be hitting the sack. Only four hours left for sleeping. Sigh! This was my first multi-sport race and I was as nervous as a rat in a cat alley. Why am I taking so long to prepare? Almost two hours now… so much uncertainty…so much checks…so much thinking going on… I have not even figured out where to put the three stickers that came with the race bib. Entering a new sport has its hassles.
My sleep was shallow and dreamless. When the alarm blared, I woke up easily. My nervousness masked the tiredness brought by the lack of sleep. I’m really doing it, I reassured myself. It was just after the Condura marathon since I started training with the bike. Barely two months, and I was uneasy. I quickly moved out before my confidence went tumbling down like snow in an avalanche. Too much thinking…
It was still dark and quiet when my wife and I reached the assembly area. People were already amassing. Vehicles with mounted bikes dotted the parking areas; participants busy gearing up. There was no music, funfare or loud announcers common among run races. But excitement was in the air. Some runners and bikers were warming up. Most were idly chatting with each other. Camera flashes lit up here and there.
It was a consolation that the race will be done on a familiar area… more than a familiar place; this is my training yard…my playground. I have spent thousands of kilometers here running. I know every nooks and corners. I know every trees, rock, manholes, potholes and humps. I know where the wind will blow or where the smell, both sweet and decay will come from. I know where the frogs, the fireflies and the dogs ply their trade. This is my playground.
After gearing up, I had no idea what to do next. Where will I take my bike? How about my things for the transition? When will they mark me? And those stickers, what am I to do with them? My wife was chuckling and giggling seeing me spying on what people were doing. After solving the puzzles, I was glad to see a friend who was also a first-timer; we went to check-in together.
People were proudly displaying their team colors. Reds, blues, yellows, greens and whites. While running was mostly an individual sport, duathlons triathlons and biking were partly team sports. Bikes came in different forms and colors, all of them pristine and gorgeously engineered like a sculpture by a master artisan.
At 6AM, we were herded at the starting point. Light has come and the sky was a clear sheet of blue, unmarked by even one cloud to the horizon. The grasses at the vacant lots were brown on the top, cooked by the summer’s sweltering heat. The first event was a 6K run. I was still contemplating on the pace that I will take when the starting signal was fired. People were sprinting! In running races, only the elite and some would run all out at the beginning. Here, almost all ran like there was no tomorrow. I went with the flow and looked at my watch. It registered 4:10mpk. Are they serious! I was used to running mid-pack where the pace was steady or building up slowly. I realized this was a sprint duathlon; what in the word “sprint” did I not understand? Oh, well, so be it.
We will be passing the hill of Palms Country Club four times. So, I was expecting the sprinters to slow down. But no! They were maintaining speed. Like race horses, they were tireless. It was a different ballgame. I was forced to keep up, huffing and puffing. My ego was challenged; I finished three marathons, a number of half-marys and hundreds of lesser races, I can keep up, I must keep up.
I finished the first run out of breath. My chest was thumping like thunder. I reached the transition area and fumbled to change shoes. I noticed my heart rate in the red so I sat down while putting on my cleats and donning my helmet. Later after the race, my wife told me that I was the only one sitting down doing the transition taking my sweet time while others were hurriedly changing.
After downing half of my sports drink, I stood up and took the bike towards the mounting area. I was doing this very slowly. I started wearing cleats only a week and I have one “semplang” moment. A friend impishly told me that it would take a couple more “semplangs” before I could master it. And no, I did not intend to fall now if it cost me the whole race. The marshal was looking at me in askance as I slowly, oh so slowly mounted. I was thrilled when I finally was riding.
I was now on unchartered waters. My first bicycle race…on cleats! It was a technical six 5-kilometer lap course with three significant inclines and a number of turns. Unlike in running where a straw or a band is handed to mark a lap, in bike rides, the count is mental.
I was maintaining a 25kph speed. On my first two laps, faster riders were overtaking me left and right. It was quite worrisome making me felt I was the slowest one. At the third lap, I finally overtook someone. Whew, I will not be the last! I was starting to overtake a few tiring riders. There were still bikers who overtook me, or even lapped me but I was contented that I was able to get ahead of some.
On the fourth lap, I felt my crouch and feet numbing. My left calf started to harden; a sign of cramps. I started to panic that I slowed down nursing my condition. I realized that I have not drunk since transition. I stared at my water bottle but could not get it. I was terrified reaching for it on the move. Then on a steep downhill at the foot of RITM, while I was freewheeling at 36kph, a woman biker overtook me like a blur. And at that very fast speed, she scooped her water bottle smoothly and drank without wavering. She was still holding the bottle when she reached the foot of the hill and turning left without breaking a stride. Whoa! My mouth dropped. It took me a couple of kilometers more before braving to get my water bottle. And I have to do it slowing down.
On my fifth lap, the lead participants were already on their second run stage. The air was no less dry and the heat no less relentless, with the sun a lump of molten gold high in a cloudless sky. The forming cramps disappeared when I was able to drink more frequently. But the numbness was still there like a pestering bug.
Completing the bike stage, I rushed to the last 3K run leg. I was looking forward recovering some time at this juncture. I was running. I was in my elements! The cold inside me could have frozen the sun. I paced 5mpk easily overtaking many. At the last kilometer, I came across a friend who was slowing and almost on cramps. I decided to accompany and paced him to the finish.
As we reached the finish mat, we raised each others hands in triumph. I completed my first duathlon in 1:58:34 right in the middle of the finishers ranking.
The Gleeman's Tale 