Santa Cruz! Roll the name around your tongue and conjure up the thoughts that accompany this name; then think "Monterey Bay", and do the same. I was there this weekend on a Triathlon Bootcamp, preparing for the Santa Cruz Triathlon at the end of the month. The sun was shining and it was warm - what more could you want?
We all met up at a car park near the Pier, which will be the transition area for the tri. I met my fellow athletes who were all really friendly, and we got our bikes built up. 1 coach (Dave), 2 guys (me and Beto), 4 girls (Mary-Catherine or MC; Ro; Julia; Angela). Soon we were rolling out of town onto Pacific Coast Highway which is the bike route. It's an out and back - 20K out, turn around at a big restaurant and 20K back. The route is rolling so for me it was straight down onto the tribars and away. I was pushing around 210W and feeling a steady burn in my legs, working hard but at a pace I could sustain for the 1:20 time I was aiming for. I was out in front, and the coach came past in the "Sag Wagon" (a follow up car to deal with issues, collect those who can't do it, fix punctures and so on. A bit of a luxury having that kind of support for sure.) I gave the coach a big grin and thumbs up. I was feeling pretty good. I knew the others were sheltering a bit behind me but they weren't supposed to be drafting so I assumed they were working as hard. Then MC came past looking like it was easy and she'd just got bored sitting at my pace; then Beto came past followed by Ro and Julia. First to last in about 25 metres! I dug in, and kept my pace and effort levels the same. At the turnaround point I was still in touch with Beto, and we caught Ro, but MC was long gone and we'd dropped Angela. As we came out of the turn I passed Beto and Ro, but had a feeling it was going to be temporary. Sure enough, Ro retook me shortly after and she looked like she meant business, with an aggressive position that suggested "no prisoners". I didn't see her again. Beto and I swapped positions and stayed together for the rest of the ride. He was more powerful than I was, but I had the advantage of the tribars against his standard setup, I was making better use of my gears and keeping a consistent effort level. He was riding inconsistently and was also, relatively speaking, sat up in the breeze while I was more aerodynamic.
We all met up at a car park near the Pier, which will be the transition area for the tri. I met my fellow athletes who were all really friendly, and we got our bikes built up. 1 coach (Dave), 2 guys (me and Beto), 4 girls (Mary-Catherine or MC; Ro; Julia; Angela). Soon we were rolling out of town onto Pacific Coast Highway which is the bike route. It's an out and back - 20K out, turn around at a big restaurant and 20K back. The route is rolling so for me it was straight down onto the tribars and away. I was pushing around 210W and feeling a steady burn in my legs, working hard but at a pace I could sustain for the 1:20 time I was aiming for. I was out in front, and the coach came past in the "Sag Wagon" (a follow up car to deal with issues, collect those who can't do it, fix punctures and so on. A bit of a luxury having that kind of support for sure.) I gave the coach a big grin and thumbs up. I was feeling pretty good. I knew the others were sheltering a bit behind me but they weren't supposed to be drafting so I assumed they were working as hard. Then MC came past looking like it was easy and she'd just got bored sitting at my pace; then Beto came past followed by Ro and Julia. First to last in about 25 metres! I dug in, and kept my pace and effort levels the same. At the turnaround point I was still in touch with Beto, and we caught Ro, but MC was long gone and we'd dropped Angela. As we came out of the turn I passed Beto and Ro, but had a feeling it was going to be temporary. Sure enough, Ro retook me shortly after and she looked like she meant business, with an aggressive position that suggested "no prisoners". I didn't see her again. Beto and I swapped positions and stayed together for the rest of the ride. He was more powerful than I was, but I had the advantage of the tribars against his standard setup, I was making better use of my gears and keeping a consistent effort level. He was riding inconsistently and was also, relatively speaking, sat up in the breeze while I was more aerodynamic.
Coming into transition I was off the bike and running, catching MC in the process and I was off up the road feeling strong. I kept up my target pace of 4:40 /k and enjoyed the run along the seafront watching the surfer dudes and the sealions enjoying the rolling waves. I finished strong and spent an hour or so winding down and chatting with other triathletes also training for the upcoming tri. I then spent a nice couple of hours wandering about the town enjoying the beach volleyball. Great sport that.....
That evening we all had a meal together down by the harbour. We swapped stories and got to know each other a bit. They asked me where I was from and I told them Blackpool. "What's it like?" They asked, and I had to say: "Well its a bit like Santa Cruz, but without the sun." that's not a bad comparison, honestly, although Blackpool Pleasure Beach is bigger and better than The Boardwalk. To complete the transition from Santa Cruz to Blackpool I think you would also have to swap chavs for beach babes and fish 'n chip stalls for organic kale juice outlets, but after that you'd be about right. I went to bed early, leaving the youngsters to go and enjoy the funfair. Youth! completely wasted on young people; they have no idea of its value!
Next morning we met up by the pier to do the swim route followed by the run course again. I have big problems with swimming, and am taking lessons to try and improve, but even worse than my basic lack of skill in this area is my fear of open water. Partly, its about drowning but mostly its about sealife. I like my wildlife to stay on the TV where it belongs, I have no desire to share my life with it. So, in the Irish Sea, or Salford docks my fears are, in order: meeting a fish; dying; the cold; coming out last. In the Pacific though, there's an extra element: sharks. I know they're there. I'm thinking - I only need to be faster than one other person, and all the sharks will get them not me, but I'm not convinced I am faster than anyone in the water. People talk about swimming with dolphins, and how "ethereal" it is and all that nonsense. No thanks.
The weather was fine, the water was warm, but that attracts sharks, doesn't it? And anyway, I'd seen the sealions on the pier struts yesterday. They were all over it; massive, they are. I was really, really afraid. So were a couple of the others which actually made me feel a bit better, but I was still shaking as we gathered on the beach. I just decided to go for it, and dived in. My breathing was out of control, and I couldn't get into a rhythm or stay at a sustainable pace. 100 metres in, and I was shot to bits, thinking I'd have to go back to the shore. I was supposed to go all the way out to the end of the pier, round it, and back. Approximately 1500 metres. Past where all those sealions were bathing. God I was so scared. People had said things like: "They're only curious." "They only nibble your feet" " They only want to play with you" . None of this made me feel any better. I gathered myself and set off at something like a race pace and got into a bit of a rhythm, all the while trying hard not to look at the water. A bit difficult when you're in it! I just really didn't want to see a sealion; I probably would have passed out. As I passed the end of the pier they were all there, barking that horrible honk. They looked even bigger from here. "Leave me alone - I'm just a small boy from England; I don't want to play!"
They stayed where they were, and I got round. On the way back the tide was helping and I got a nice rhythm and had a good marker to sight on so I didn't go off course. I got to shore, stood up and..... BLAM! the next wave picked me up and threw me back down like a discarded chip wrapper and I was face down in the sand chewing seaweed. Schoolboy error. I'd watched it, swum in it, felt it- then forgot it as I stood up. I wont do it on race day. I started taking off my wetsuit and goggles, running towards my transition area, much to the consternation of a group of people in the car park shouting at me. It seems I'd wandered into another race, but I ignored them and ran through. I got my running shoes on and set off, MC staying with me for a short while. I had a really nice rhythm although my stomach was churning as a result of the amount of seawater I'd swallowed. I was in real danger of throwing up and I had a stitch as well so I didn't feel too good, but it wasn't affecting my pace which was bang on target at 4:45-4:50/k. (7:40/mile) I was steadily passing the runners from the other race, which caused some interesting reactions, although most of them yelled "Good job!" "Awesome" as I passed. Now, I know what you're thinking, but get over it. When you're trying hard, you're guts are boiling and you're legs burning its bloody terrific when someone shouts encouragement. And if that encouragement comes in a stereotypical form such as "Awesome, man!" I'll take it. Every time.
I passed the turn point for the other race and carried on, using my Garmin to tell me where 5K was. I wanted to do a proper 10K to see what my overall time would be. I wanted 47 minutes. I passed the Triathlon turn point, and into a park until Garmin told me to turn. I then went back doing negative splits all the way, averaging 4:35-4:40. My guts had settled and I was really enjoying this. My pace felt good, I was working hard but feeling strong and even had time to take in some of the views. I did a full on sprint finish to do a 46.44 for the 10K. Checking my HR later it had risen slowly but steadily from 140 to 150 which for me is pretty ideal. I was happy. Then I threw up.
That evening we all had a meal together down by the harbour. We swapped stories and got to know each other a bit. They asked me where I was from and I told them Blackpool. "What's it like?" They asked, and I had to say: "Well its a bit like Santa Cruz, but without the sun." that's not a bad comparison, honestly, although Blackpool Pleasure Beach is bigger and better than The Boardwalk. To complete the transition from Santa Cruz to Blackpool I think you would also have to swap chavs for beach babes and fish 'n chip stalls for organic kale juice outlets, but after that you'd be about right. I went to bed early, leaving the youngsters to go and enjoy the funfair. Youth! completely wasted on young people; they have no idea of its value!
Next morning we met up by the pier to do the swim route followed by the run course again. I have big problems with swimming, and am taking lessons to try and improve, but even worse than my basic lack of skill in this area is my fear of open water. Partly, its about drowning but mostly its about sealife. I like my wildlife to stay on the TV where it belongs, I have no desire to share my life with it. So, in the Irish Sea, or Salford docks my fears are, in order: meeting a fish; dying; the cold; coming out last. In the Pacific though, there's an extra element: sharks. I know they're there. I'm thinking - I only need to be faster than one other person, and all the sharks will get them not me, but I'm not convinced I am faster than anyone in the water. People talk about swimming with dolphins, and how "ethereal" it is and all that nonsense. No thanks.
They stayed where they were, and I got round. On the way back the tide was helping and I got a nice rhythm and had a good marker to sight on so I didn't go off course. I got to shore, stood up and..... BLAM! the next wave picked me up and threw me back down like a discarded chip wrapper and I was face down in the sand chewing seaweed. Schoolboy error. I'd watched it, swum in it, felt it- then forgot it as I stood up. I wont do it on race day. I started taking off my wetsuit and goggles, running towards my transition area, much to the consternation of a group of people in the car park shouting at me. It seems I'd wandered into another race, but I ignored them and ran through. I got my running shoes on and set off, MC staying with me for a short while. I had a really nice rhythm although my stomach was churning as a result of the amount of seawater I'd swallowed. I was in real danger of throwing up and I had a stitch as well so I didn't feel too good, but it wasn't affecting my pace which was bang on target at 4:45-4:50/k. (7:40/mile) I was steadily passing the runners from the other race, which caused some interesting reactions, although most of them yelled "Good job!" "Awesome" as I passed. Now, I know what you're thinking, but get over it. When you're trying hard, you're guts are boiling and you're legs burning its bloody terrific when someone shouts encouragement. And if that encouragement comes in a stereotypical form such as "Awesome, man!" I'll take it. Every time.
I passed the turn point for the other race and carried on, using my Garmin to tell me where 5K was. I wanted to do a proper 10K to see what my overall time would be. I wanted 47 minutes. I passed the Triathlon turn point, and into a park until Garmin told me to turn. I then went back doing negative splits all the way, averaging 4:35-4:40. My guts had settled and I was really enjoying this. My pace felt good, I was working hard but feeling strong and even had time to take in some of the views. I did a full on sprint finish to do a 46.44 for the 10K. Checking my HR later it had risen slowly but steadily from 140 to 150 which for me is pretty ideal. I was happy. Then I threw up.
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