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How I Escaped from Alcatraz or the story of
a cold swim and a lot of hills.
For years I have read the stories and
reports on the top triathlons in the country. Alcatraz always
is on at or near the top of the listing. The pressure to
participate is immense, I even read somewhere that “you can’t
really call yourself a triathlete unless you did the race” So I
had to do the race.
Escaping from Alcatraz has come to mean so
much more than a triathlon. I mean where else can you buy a
“Escape from Alcatraz” t-shirt at the 10,000 touristy t-shirt
stands. The race is a little different than the “dig, Swim, and
Run” or my favorite “Drink, Eat & Sleep” “triathlons” on the
shirts. And of course every time you see the island you hear
Sean Connery saying “Welcome to the Rock”
Everyone I told I was doing the race seemed
to be concerned about sharks. I ignored them. Heck this is the
25th edition of the race, and there was no mention of
attacks in the race brochure. But as I slithered into my full
body wet suit for a practice swim I thought about how much I
looked like a tasty seal or sea lion. I recalled a joke about
not being the fastest runner when being chased by a bear, just
being faster then the other guy. My plan quickly evolved into
swimming next to someone who looked tastier than I.
All during the pre race meeting, the talk
was of the swim. The water temperature, somewhere above
freezing, the people who swim the route on a weekly basis—some
guy was introduced who had swum from Alcatraz over 250 times –
without a wet suit!! They talked of currents, tides, spotting
areas, temperature, busses, departure times, and the run to
transition. No one spoke of sharks. They must not have talked
to my friends. And oddly, no one talked of what was the true
“killer” in this race either. – but I will get to that later.
Race morning I got to transition early.
Don’t really know why – because they had our areas pre-assigned
by race number… BTW – to all race directors – What a great
feature – you spot isn’t a source of controversy or
competition.. you don’t have to analyze the race layout or star
alignment to find your optimal location—only to have it crowded
by some late comer who shoves their bike into your space. your
location is pre-assigned, you just go where they send you.. no
fuss, no muss. The pre-race tension was evident in everyone’s
faces.. And everyone kept looking over at the island and at the
water in between.
They said this was the best conditions ever
for the race. The sun was shining in the morning – no small
feat for San Francisco and the water was very smooth. I saw
hardly a ripple, and to my relief no dorsal fins. The current,
they told us was a 6 mph tail current – meaning the water was
rushing out of the bay, under the Golden Gate Bridge towards
Australia at 6 miles per hour.. Stay on course, aim up current,
and let the water carry you toward the finish was the
instruction.
Every 33 seconds they announced how we had
to get on the bus to get to the boat. As a connoisseur of race
port-a-potties, I figured the ones near the boat would be much
nicer then by the transition area… so I grabbed my wet suit, and
headed for the bus. An early morning tour of San Francisco,
was not quite the same with a bus load of pre-race tension. A
lot of people must have been thinking about the sharks.
They loaded us onto what someone described
as a river boat casino, without the casino. It was a swanky,
carpeted, mirrors on the ceiling, and bars on both sides, warm
boat. I had pictured a passenger ferry, cement floor – bench
seats – one bathroom. What a great surprise. The bathroom was
gorgeous – there was even breath mints.
We were on the same boat as the pros – but
they were in a separate area. Didn’t get to see them… You know
that cool picture you see where they are hanging over the
railing before the swim, didn’t get to see that either. What I
saw as a swanky boat filled with 1400 people in wet suits
pushing against each other for the door. Someone yelled “shark”
a lot of people laughed, I looked for the tastiest looking wet
suit to stand behind.
With a bang the race began and the shoving
started. They have a goal to unload the boat in 6 minutes.
They did. Picture those old world war II movies where they open
the door to the plane and the military guys is there screaming
“GO,GO,GO” and shoving them out. It was just like that. I am
glad I had my goggles on before I got near the door.
With a splash I was into the water. No
easing in, no time to think about the temperature, just in. And
the race began. They say one of the cool things to do is swim
out a couple hundred feet and look back to watch others jump
off. They were right. – that was neat. The adrenaline of the
race warmed up my body and I really didn’t feel the cold.
Staying with the pack and spotting the city also took my
attention from what may or may not be coming up from the
bottom. No theme song from JAWS. It was actually very fun.
The tail current didn’t hurt either.
We came up onto shore a hundred feet up
from the finish area and found it was quicker to run on the sand
then to swim in. I finished the swim, with all limbs intact and
enjoyed the cheering crowd. You have to run about ½ mile to get
to your bike. So I put on my running shoes and ran for it.
Along the way I was passed by “one armed Willie” one of the
dozen “challenged athletes” doing the race… what studs. There
were three blind athletes and a women without a leg. What
studs!!
Earlier I mentioned the true killers in the
race. Discovered them on the bike. The hills. I think for the
entire 18 miles there was about ½ of a block that wasn’t going
up a hill. Even though the course was out and back, I think
they managed to find a few extra hills for us to go up- they
didn’t seem that steep going down. It was great, you climb a
hill and get to the top, only to turn the corner and climb
another hill. You hear about the hills of San Francisco, but
one does not really get the experience until you are riding up
one, in your granny gear, huffing and puffing and wishing you
had another set of gears to use just to survive the climb.
But what goes up must come down. There is
no better feeling than reaching the last peak, knowing the rest
of the ride is downhill. Somehow the hills seem shorter on the
downhill. Once we were on flat ground, a tail wind did pick up
making the ride into transition easy and fun. Which is what you
want when you are riding in-front of a crowd.
Boy the crowds were great. The last ½ mile
of the ride and for the run were lined with people… it is a real
boost to hear all the cheering.
Getting off the bike and onto the run, you
quickly realize you are going the same direction as the hilly
bike course. After 2 miles or so you suddenly leave the
comforts of a paved running path and begin an off road hill
climbing odyssey. Up a set of steps, under a bridge made for
midgets, over a river and through the woods, the run snaked
through the park that surrounds the golden gate bridge. As I
was running on a single path on a cliff over the ocean, jumping
out of the way of the pros on their way back, I imaged this is
where the idea for xterra came from. It was cool getting to see
the pros, all be it for a nanosecond, as they raced towards the
finish. I think Chris McCormick sweated on me.
The forest hill climb empties out onto the
road, where you get to enjoy a bit of a slight downhill and then
turn into the beach. Climbing down the steep steps to the
beach, again the thought of what goes down must come up came
flashing into my mind. This thought was briefly halted as the
run crossed soft, deep sand – what they couldn’t make us run
through rivers and throw mortar shells at us? I felt like Bo
Derek running on the beach, while probably looking more like
Dudley Moore. And then came the sand ladder.
I watched the race on TV last year and it
didn’t seem so bad. I saw it in person the day before and it
didn’t seem so bad. I had a nightmare the evening before in
between shark attacks and it didn’t seem so bad there either.
Well, I was wrong. What was missing from all of those visions
was the miles of uphill climbing fatigue in my legs. I attached
the sand ladder with a mission- I was not going to pull on the
ropes that straddle the structure. The theme song from Rocky,
Chariots of Fire and Vision Quest all were going off in my head
as I began to climb. I was running around people, even clawed
my way over someone (I think) but the hill kept getting
taller. After about 300 miles of the climb, the firm wooden
steps suddenly became buried in sand and all that remained was
very steep sand pile. Again I trudged on, determined to tame
the beast. And there it was, the top of the ladder – aghh my
legs seemed to scream, a break from the climb. I had made it.
This is where I think the race directors are very evil people.
They talk about ladder and the quest to
climb it. Throw in a few stories about the sharks, cold water,
and bike hills just to scare you. But what everyone failed to
mention was after you conquer all of that, at the top of the
sand ladder is ANOTHER $#%$@’ing hill. Yes, the mountain path
climbs again, off road of course, into the woods and up for
another ½ mile climb. They are evil. But hey this was the
Escape from Alcatraz – there wouldn’t be any demand if it was
easy, the “swim in warm water, ride downhill with the wind at
your back, and running track jog” race doesn’t sell out in 45
minutes.
After climbing the last hill, the rest of
the run was downhill with the wind at your back. This was where
the race was fun. The crowds, the other athletes, the beautiful
views, seeing Alcatraz across the bay over the top of the finish
line, and the announcer calling you in and telling everyone
“they escaped”.
Usually my finisher race medals end up in a
drawer someplace, the race results read- but quickly put away –
who wants to study the fastest T2 split, and the shirt added to
the collection of workout wear. But this one was different.
Yes it was hard, yes it was cold, hilly, and um.. hilly. But I
did it. I did something I normally don’t, I showed my medal
to my friends and told them the stories of fighting sharks and
climbing hills.
When I drove out of San Francisco I looked
back at the Alcatraz, I felt a sense of accomplishment and
pride, it was a cool race – I’d do it again. It wasn’t so bad,
and there weren’t any sharks.
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