Angry Kids Rock the Tri

The first annual Granite Kids Tri was today in Windham NH. Team Angry Junior was in attendance, with a first timer kicking butt.
Timmy, Molly, Jack, and George all were raring to go. I can attest that Timmy was up at 3:30 am, and dressed by 4 for the hour and a half ride up to NH.

The weather was spectacular! Low 60s, and driving wind and rain from Hurricane Danny passing offshore. The lake was about 10 degrees warmer than the air, and most of the parents and spectators were jealous that their wet clothes were colder than the kids. They did cancel the bike portion for safety reasons, but the rest was on. One thing about kids, there were no wetsuits in evidence anywhere. You all rocked, kids!

They ran it in 3 waves, and we had team members in all three, so the pictures are sporadic.

George, 6, was a monster, he came in sixth in his wave, and was the FIRST six year old to finish! WOW!

Timmy and Molly started their wave next, and really rocked. Molly finished third in her age group. Way to go Molly and Timmy.

Jack went in his wave, and he rocked his too.

Meme’ and Papa came down for the excitement, and it was great seeing them. They loved watching the show, even if Papa did have to park with everyone else, and not in the No Parking area like he thought he should be able to.

Let's get it done!

OK, time to go through the checklist.

Speedo on? Check.

Time chip secure on my ankle? Check.

Bike on rack, not blocked by the cooler, bag, and K's lounge chair? Check.

Team Angry, ready to go? CHECK CHECK CHECK and CHECK! lets hit the beach!

We walk over, cross the river to the starting area, and mingle in the crowd. It's an ocean of wetsuits. Needless to say, Team Angry's official uniform makes an impression, as always. Complete strangers come over, as we say hi and chat. Family and friends take pictures. Stranger's family and friends take pictures. Joe, the Clydesdale favorite, comes over to wish us well. Damn, I love the Timberman.

There are two kinds of competitors. Those loving this and hiding any nervousness, and those who are focused and obviously nervous. Mostly about the swim. Which really surprises me. It's not even a half mile, and the deepest point is not even five feet. Oh well.

The Clydesdales are second wave, going off at 7:06 a.m. Nicki is 18 minutes later. We jump in the water, and it is gorgeous. Feels like about 76 degrees to me. Wetsuits are allowed. Ha! Wetsuits are for pussies. Which is actually 99.96% of the field. I see one non-Team Angry woman in a Speedo, and us. I retain my self satisfied sense of smugness as I watch all the body image cowards in their black rubber exposure suits.

The first wave has their countdown, and off they go! We walk through the timing gate, past the guy with the woman's wig, and into the water. Keith and I drift over to the left corner, to avoid the crowd. With a last round of fist bumps, and a see you at the finish line, we get set. Our countdown comes, the horn blows, and off we go.

The swim was without incident. I felt good, didn't swim over anyone, and only kicked two people in the teeth when I switched to breaststroke. My split says it was slower than last year, but my ranking went up, and it felt great. I suspect it was slightly longer than last year. people were walking in from 75 yards out. I swam till I almost ran out of water, and finished with 4 butterfly strokes, to stretch out. I hit the beach running harder than any other year, sprinted past all the people being helped out of their wetsuits, high fived the family on my way by, and got on my shoes, grabbed the bike, and zoom! Right back out, onto the bike course.

Here is Team Angry Junior Varsity! They should be racing this weekend, as long as the newest hurricane passes NH.

Where do I start? How about the beginning.

The weather could not have been better. The walk down was typical, temps in the 70's at dawn. I usually walk down to transition alone these days.

I enjoy the view, get my head straight, and try not to puke. I was sure I was going to have a picture this year of the place I didn't puke up my breakfast.

No such luck.

I love Timberman. Once I was empty of my nervous energy, and Carnation instant breakfast, I walked down the last road, got my number, age, and C marked on my body, and headed into the transition area. Team Angry were all in a row, and in a sweet rack area. Kind of unusual, we are typically separated all over the place.

Yeah, that's us all, almost ready to start.

This year, the Clydesdales are in the 2nd wave, at 7:06 am. Nicki is in the 5th wave, 18 minutes later. We made a quick call home to let them know to get their asses down there, now, for the start, listened

to the murmur of announcements, and penalties, which is a lot clearer now, and feigned interest in Oh, Canadia. I tried, I really did. We have a strong Canadian heritage, going back to the 17th century, from an island, off an island, off of Cape Breton. Great Uncle Napoleon loved it last time I tried to sing it, even if it was horribly, horribly inappropriate at the time. Thanks for the rum, uncle Nap.

Then we showed true enthusiasm for our own Anthem, forgot my watch, and headed down to the water.

Let's go get angry. Or not.

Timberman 09 is in the books

Quick results, more to come.

Team Angry had a great time at Timberman 09!

We all finished, alive, with no injuries. I broke 2 hours, Keith, 1:43.35, with a mystery penalty, Todd, 1:50.00, and Nicki, 1:45.02. All had good times, the statistics will all be compared and discussed later.

Great weather, some rain on the bike, that felt phenomenal, and a good time was had by one and all at the tent afterwards.

We worked as volunteers at one of the big turns, the Hosey Hell Hill, on the bike course on Sunday, for the Half. Stories to tell about that. And yes, "Channel", you are, and will always will be, a F'ing A'hole. We know who you are, and will start our never ending torment of you very soon.

Did I mention that I broke 2 hours?

And, of course, that we had a great time? As always.

Thank you Timberman Crew!!!

Oh hell, It's tomorrow

I better go train.

Heading up north in about an hour. Team Angry will kick ass.

I will break 2 hours. And, as my personal massage therapist tells me to tell myself, I LOVE THE RUN.

I'll let you know how that worked out, Pat.

Bloody stump

Okay. You all wanted to hear this one.

2006.

This is the year we are all doing the Timberman Individually.

I had trained, a bit. Had the swim. I was ready for the bike. This is the first time Team Angry had a full showing. Todd is there. Captain K is there. I am there.

I puked, as always, on the way down to the starting point.

We stroll in. The volunteers marked our age, and the big C on our calves. We head down to the water together, joking, keeping it loose. Chatting with friends and acquaintances. I spot a lawyer friend from home, we see Team Flashner. The family is out in full force.

I hit the water, and almost immediately my chip comes off my leg. Luckily, the person I just passed grabbed me and gave it to me. I put it back on, and got going. The swim went well, I caught up to a few people in the prior waves, left a lot of people behind, and came in better than halfway through the entire pack, 416 out of 948.

Ok, pretty happy with myself. I even butterflied the last 10 yards, just to make my point.

I ran into the transition area, Shoes, socks, shirt, and headed out.

Onto the bike, quick right turn, then up the hill.

I was already hearing “Hey, OLD SCHOOL!” from behind, mostly because of the bike rack. I get to the top of the first hill, about 1.5 miles into it, and it happens.

The guardrail leaps right out in front of me.

Actually, somebody passed me, I was going to slow, wobbled, and hit the guardrail with my right shin. Hurt life a motherfucker.

Which I then said. I stopped, and looked. “Gee, that looks like blood. Kinda a lot, too.” Maybe I should do something about this other than swear?.? So I did step one in my lifeguard handbook. I rolled up my sock, took a few steps, to make sure nothing was broken, and got back on the bike.

As previously expressed from last year, I would rather die, with my sweet old mother watching me go down to a watery grave than not finish this damned race. So I start pumping, glad beyond expression that I am near the summit of this hill. I get to coast for about a half mile, taking stock, readjusting my GI Joe bandage, and just curse myself for my clumsiness.

Long story short, I finished the bike (937th) (How the hell did I still beat 9 people?) and headed out of the run transition. Only 3 miles to go. Past the family. Twice. The homestead as right at the one mile mark, so I sucked it up, and kicked it into a jog. Dad’s there, the kids, the spouses, and Cory, from Team Flashner. As they all cheer encouragement, Cory starts to jog along.

“Hey there Curt Schilling….what’s going on down there?”

“Shh…don’t tell Mom, she’ll freak.”

“Ok Dude, go easy”

“Urrmph”

So on I went, actually slowing to a walk, but kept going.

Those last hundred yards were the best of my life. K & T, done hours before (of a race I finished in 2:14) were pre-warned by Cory. I didn’t even get to the transition area, they walked me over to the EMT tent. Where one of Gilford’s finest pealed down my sock, and said, quite matter of factly

“OK, you have 2 choices, ambulance, or on your own.”

So I look down, and found out that I can actually look at my own exposed

shinbone without puking my guts up.

Went to the hospital, patched me up by 1:30, so that I could make it back the Gunstock to go see Tim, and the rest of Team Angry, Jr division, compete in their trialtlon.

So that explains the divot in my right shin.

Gears are for pussies

At least during training.

A week to go, and doing more bricks.

The swim seems fine. The bike is there. I decided about 3 weeks ago that all training will be in top gear. The few hills I have need to be conquered the hard way, because New Hampshire’s hills are…

never mind, I’ll just sound like a wimp.

The transition still has a bit to be desired, and I am leaving the MP3 at home now, just training with the soundtrack of my mind. Kinda difficult, since the only music I have committed to memory is a few choice Zep, a few choice Doors, one or 2 AC/DC, a Proclaimers, a Jace Everett, and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Oh well, me pace will be interesting.

Back soon, I still have to explain the scar to all my followers.

Great day

Better than a baby in a microwave.

The neighbor kids even came over to see the carnage. Is there anything better than chainsaws?

Bouve very well could be the best brother-in-law on earth. Thanks for the military chainsaw. It was almost as awesome as the Iraqi Panty Knife