"Mike and Rob's" is the last Qualifier in California before the big Hawaii Ironman on Oct. 7th. They give 2 Ironman slots to my division. My goal for next year is to place high enough to get one of those slots. This year, however, the goal was to get into the top 10.

On Saturday, Aug. 12th, Dave Slothhour and I checked out the race site. A bright sunny day lit up beautiful Ventura. We toured the "flat, fast, and technical" course noticing a bounty of scenic delights. First, we would plunge into the pounding surf (a step that could spell grief for rest of the race) and swim along the famous Ventura Pier. After a sprint up the beach to our bikes, we'd ride through the ritzy yacht harbor, through the Naval Construction Battalion Center, along the US Air Force flight museum, and through strawberry farms and shadowy boulevards. Then the run would take us along the beautiful coastline, churning with surfers and beachgoers. Although the course had plenty to enjoy, I knew the top 10 would be focused and it was going to be painful catching them.

On Sunday we were all poised at the line, many hungry for an Ironman slot, watching the surf crash on the beach below us. But, the fog rolled in thick, the buoys became hidden, and the beach patrol halted the start; it would be too dangerous. 800 of us waited an hour in the cold. The course was modified and much shorter. Finally, we heard the gun! Some were knocked back as quick as they dove in. Goggles & contacts were lost. The current pushed us away from the buoy. Trying to chase a swimmer ahead of me, I saw Craig next to me, swimming without goggles. Coming in, a huge wave broke ahead of me and suddenly those I was following were gone... taking a free ride to shore. I didn't mind, the waves were too big, I wanted to finish alive.

The bike WAS fast. We were hammering right at the start, 27mph, some guys were drafting, words were exchanged, and soon the draft marshals came alongside and penalized them. It was hard to drink and eat because we were either flying down the straights in our aero tucks or negotiating tricky RR crossings, wooden ramps, potholes, and tight corners. There were 70 cops blocking intersections (and we were thankful) but one cop seemed to forget why. I watched as 4 guys ahead of me locked up their fancy disk wheels, skidding left and right, to avoid the patrol car that was racing to control traffic. "That was a close one". Then the headwinds came, our legs were burning trying to maintain 22mph. Suddenly I realized I missed 6mi of the course! Then I noticed we all did. The course was shorter to make up for the race delay. Then I was riding near Arney, a guy who's usually ahead of me. We went through a turn and he skidded and almost went down. I pulled ahead and kept pushing hard through the last miles. I averaged 24.5mph. I saw no one ahead but knew the lead group was still out there.

After a quick transition, I started the 13.1mi run fast. Too fast I thought. But guys were flying by me at 6:20 pace! I threw my "6:50/mi" plan out the window and tried to keep visual contact with those ahead. I knew it was risky but I kept reminding myself of the goal: "to get top 10 in a qualifier". And this was my last chance of the season. My pace was 6:35-6:40, the feet started hurting, the blisters were coming. I made sure to drink lots of water and not to use Ibuprofen. A guy from an older division caught up to me & recognized me from Vineman. He said, "your stride looks good. You're up in good position" and had me pick up the pace a little. At the turn-around, I saw the leaders, the gap wasn't that big! But 22 guys were ahead of me and I didn't know how many were in my division. I saw guys behind me that usually weren't. I kept the pace. Some of the speedsters started hurting. I passed a guy in my division, I could see the "wheels" starting to fall off. I passed another in my division, he was walking, he was the guy at the beginning doing 6:10 pace. He tried running with me a ways, I think he was hurt, I even offered him a Squeezy but he refused and soon bagged the race. 2mi to go, my feet are trashed, I don't know my place, but I know I must give everything I've got and hold my position.

For the first time, I look back. I'm being chased! I pick it up, but he passes me fast... luckily I see the "R" on his leg, he's a relay team. Less than a mile to go, the guy in my division who was in 2nd place comes out of a bathroom next to me. He had gone so hard, he got sick. I see the people cheering and the finish line and I manage to smile as I thankfully finish the most exhausting race of my season. I'm completely happy with my race and know that I gave it my best effort. My knee doctor, Dr. Warren Scott, came in behind me for the first time, and said he refuses to treat me anymore.