August 29th 2004. Dawn was several hours away when the alarm sounded at 4:00 A.M. The streets were still damp from overnight rains. The day promised to be cool, cloudy and windy. The biggest triathlon in the world (7,000+ racers…and me) kicked off in several hours. This was my ‘A’ race, i.e. the focus to all my training and obsessing.
Though I live in Chicago’s western suburbs, my brother (the Ironman-distance triathlete) and I elected to stay at the Fairmont Hotel. The Fairmont is a cut above the race’s “official” hotel for about the same price. The lobby is blissfully devoid of bike-lugging, lobby-clogging tri-geek hordes, and the hotel-to-transition walk is much shorter.
The transition area opened at 4:30 A.M. and quickly took on the colorful, manic energy of a small city. Triathlete Magazine reports that a relay team brought baloons to identify their spot in transition…only to find that 40 other racers had marked their spots with the same identical balloons. With everything set up I returned to the Fairmont for an hour of relaxation. At least that’s what I told myself.
8:40 A.M. Wave 29, 150 people strong. Down the steps I go into 64-degree Lake Michigan. Treading water, trying to avoid whatever might be lurking on the lake bottom (used needles, ’46 Fords, monster carp…) The horn sounds and off we go, southbound, toward the Shedd Aquarium and the buoy marking the turnaround point.
The water (especially northbound) was surprisingly choppy. Waves would pass from my right, bounce off the seawall and smack me from my left. More than once, as I rolled to breathe, I saw only a wall of green water. It’s hard to act like a triathlete when you’re sputtering and coughing.
Finally, finally, I arrived at the swim exit. Now comes the part of the Chicago tri that most people complain about: the quarter mile-long, barefoot slog from the swim exit back to transition. I make it with tingling feet and a resolve to leave sandals by the fence next year.
My bike is located just inside the transition entrance; nice for locating it but it leaves me with a long run to the bike exit. Hizzoner the Mayor may want to think about taming some of LSD’s expansion joints. A few of them were the size of malevolent speed bumps, littered with water bottles and the other detritus of riders taking them too fast.
Like most triathlons, Chicago is a “non-drafting” race, meaning that what gets Lance Armstrong through the Tour will get you penalized or disqualified. Nevertheless, I saw numerous peleton-like formations going past me northbound. (Nobody passed me going southbound! Yes!) What is different about Chicago’s bike leg, though, is you ride on the left, pass on the right. LSD traffic is relegated to the outermost lanes so, if you’re flying, you’re passing cars and their frustrated occupants with abandon and a sweet sense of comeuppance.
Two loops, northbound against the wind, southbound with the wind, and back down the Randolph Street ramp to the bike finish. That long run again through transition and out on to the run.
My first mile was sub-seven minutes, way too fast for me and I paid for it by mile 3. My average per-mile run pace was around 8:50 but there were several 10:00 miles in there to overcome.
On past the museum campus, (that abortion formerly known as) Soldier Field, McCormick Place, to the turnaround, back up around the Shedd Aquarium and on to the finish line. 2:58 and change. Under 3 hours but well off my goal of 2:30.
Chicago was my least favorite race of the season. The crowds, the waiting around, the run from the swim exit to T1, poor surface conditions on LSD, the grassy knoll in the run’s first mile all seemed to conspire against me. Yet, I’ll be back next year (in fact I’ve already registered.) The city is spectacular, the scenery is the best, and, somehow in spite of all my carping, the race was a lot of fun.
