From first to worst. This race was a logistical nightmare from inception. I'll admit I'm not a world traveller, but how hard can it be to book a hotel room in Wisconsin for one night?
Granted, I thought I was a veteran after only one race, a race I didn't travel for, but I quickly found out making reservations and travelling is the hidden leg of triathlon. I spent two weeks making phone calls trying to find a hotel room on campus until I found a room in a dorm that would be vacated by a band camp that morning. After a boob-headed goof lost my reservation, I unpacked in the room and blocked the door with a dresser, a trick learned from brother John while he was working for the railroad.
At 11:00 p.m. I was awoken by some goof trying to get in, claiming it was his room. We exchanged unpleasantries through the barricaded door as I explained that their was only one bed in this room and I was sleeping in it.
At 2:00 a.m. I packed my equipment and drove twenty minutes to an all night diner for my prerace meal. What a rookie mistake. Loaded up on pancakes with syrup, sausage, bacon, hash browns and two gigantic glasses of milk.
The swim was great and I still have a most excellent photo of me sprinting out of the water. The bike course was better than Chicago, thanks to my upgrade to a Nishiki road bike, but on the run the milk from breakfast curdled in my stomach and I got Montezuma's revenge. That was fun, trying to race all cramped up and trying to keep my breakfast down.
My stomach was so sick after the race I couldn't chance sitting in the car for the drive home until it had safely passed, which took about three hours. No hotel room to return to and afraid to eat anything, I sat in the student union playing video games like a vagabond idiot. Finally, I chanced the drive home and thankfully made it in one piece. This was the beginning of a bad series of Wisconsin races for me.
Granted, I thought I was a veteran after only one race, a race I didn't travel for, but I quickly found out making reservations and travelling is the hidden leg of triathlon. I spent two weeks making phone calls trying to find a hotel room on campus until I found a room in a dorm that would be vacated by a band camp that morning. After a boob-headed goof lost my reservation, I unpacked in the room and blocked the door with a dresser, a trick learned from brother John while he was working for the railroad.
At 11:00 p.m. I was awoken by some goof trying to get in, claiming it was his room. We exchanged unpleasantries through the barricaded door as I explained that their was only one bed in this room and I was sleeping in it.
At 2:00 a.m. I packed my equipment and drove twenty minutes to an all night diner for my prerace meal. What a rookie mistake. Loaded up on pancakes with syrup, sausage, bacon, hash browns and two gigantic glasses of milk.
The swim was great and I still have a most excellent photo of me sprinting out of the water. The bike course was better than Chicago, thanks to my upgrade to a Nishiki road bike, but on the run the milk from breakfast curdled in my stomach and I got Montezuma's revenge. That was fun, trying to race all cramped up and trying to keep my breakfast down.
My stomach was so sick after the race I couldn't chance sitting in the car for the drive home until it had safely passed, which took about three hours. No hotel room to return to and afraid to eat anything, I sat in the student union playing video games like a vagabond idiot. Finally, I chanced the drive home and thankfully made it in one piece. This was the beginning of a bad series of Wisconsin races for me.
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