I Love Post Race Timberman

A). It’s over, and I feel great. Team Angry, Team Angry Jr, and Anger Management are all there. Hugs to my bro’s, sis, and family. Big gay hug to the BFF. Ice cold towel, fresh water, and a smile. We go over to the transition area, and just start to chill. The beer tent awaits. And now, the full effect of Team Angry hits me. We are 4 of the happiest bastards going right then.

2). My mom wants to get a picture of the team together. So we cluster together, and the strangest thing happens. 5 flashbulbs all go off at the same time. We have paparazzi. One guy comes over with a get well card for us to hold. It’s for one of his teammates who had something horrible happen to him last week, like a broken back, or skull. He’s getting picture cards from a bunch of the regulars, giving him a thumbs up. God, I hope he didn’t have a yeast infection. More people take our picture. Usually from behind. I have no clue why. Well….maybe I do.

Cow). The beer tent.
How much better does it get than to have a really good workout, followed by free beer, laughter, congratulations, and teams of nubile athlete women clamoring to get their pictures taken with Team Angry in full plumage?

Not very.

We ran into K’s BFF from the last race, who of course won the Clydesdale division this time. Great job yet again, Joe. I met a fromer NE Patriot who wants Team Angry to make a special appearance at another Tri in September. And we just hung out. I love this
$). Post race gear trading. Well, not exactly trading, since the owners are gone. There are seagullthletes swooping around transition area, which is almost empty, grabbing cool t-shirts before tomorrow's racers come in, and do the same thing. I think it’s a swimmer thing. There weren’t any CCCP sweats, or Bernal’s Gators towels, or Old Colony YMCA t-shirts out there, but I saw some happy thieves. (I’ll give you this Boston Marathon shirt for that Las Vegas triathlon – the size fits you better) Lost and Found, indeed.

Gears are not for always for pussies, at least not in the race…

The bike was great this year. Training in Flatsachusetts does not get me ready for the Timberman. I’ve already discussed this, ad nauseum, in prior posts.

I will say, it wasn’t so bad this year. I made it past the carnivorous guardrail, through the twists and turns in the course, and then, just as I started to get worked up, the rain came. A light, gentle, warm, life giving rain that totally rejuvenated me, and everyone else on the course. Except this one guy.

He left a lot of flesh & blood on the course this year. And still he beat the crap out of my time. I raise a drink to you, stranger in the transition area.

No stops, no wobbles, no near misses. My soundtrack kinda got stuck at “I Wanna Do Bad Thing To You” for about 2.5 miles, uphill, in the rain, but that’s another issue. I did indeed use my gears, finally, and there were a few downhills where I couldn’t even keep up with my peddles. I love going that fast, on wet pavement, passing people. I felt like a drunken Hermes.

The bike ended, and I started the run on legs that were still almost good. I made it all the way up to the street, past Anger Management, Jr, and friends, and most of a mile before I slowed to a walk. My favorite massage therapist’s advice came back to me. “I love the Run” started moving through my mind, with nothing to really latch on to.

Good try Pat, it ain’t happenin’.

After 2 or 3 sprint-run-sprint cycles, I noticed another guy, doing the same thing. So, my next time past, I slapped him on the shoulder and said something like “fug-git, we’re in the same boat, let’s get this bitch done.”

So I have a new BFF. Whose name I immediately forgot. I’m pretty sure it’s Wes, and if you ever check this, let me know, ok?

It worked out well. I had my best time, ever, by over 11 minutes. Each time I passed another Angry, I was running, which was cool. I also beat my goal by over a minute, and I didn’t collapse.

We were going to cross the finish line together, like a couple of g—s, but woman in a blue shirt like his cut between us, and I thought she was him, so I picked up the pace. And burned my BFF. Sorry Wes.

However, thank mighty Thor I did, because Nicki was only 3 steps behind me, a fact of which I was clueless, because when I passed her earlier, I still had half a mile on her.

Then it was on to the celebration..