You mass produce a PINK PIG and you’ll sell it for days… You breed a BLACK PIG and you’ll get top dollar for that SWINE forever!   

In my Pre Race Report I dropped all of my event expectations. I was calling “bullshit” on that as I typed it because the truth is, San Dimas XTERRA is the only event I’ve done twice. Going into it I wanted to crush my time from last year. I mean what the fuck, isn’t that what we do as bottom-line, goal-grabbing, over-achieving Americans?

THE SWIM: I started in the second wave that was comprised of old dudes and women. This came as a big surprise to me because I’d never started with the old dudes and chicks before. Last year I was in the first wave.  It’s just dudes, don’t matter if you’re 14 or 44, you’re just a dude and the gun goes off and you do what dudes do! For a second I was like, “What the fuck? I’m the youngest of four, the baby in my family, I ain’t ever growing old, why the fuck am I starting with the old dudes and chicks?” It’s the opposite of saving women and children first, it’s old dudes and chicks to the back of the line! Alright motherfuckers you send those young douchebag rattlesnakes off first! I’ll abide by your dumb-ass rules. We’ll see what kind of venom they got left when they breach the beach.

Once I quieted my anxious chatter about the second wave thing I calmly walked to the starting line. There stood an old dude in front of me and a chick to my left. The starter gave us a thirty second heads up, my breathing was on pointe, I pulled my goggles down over my eyes and I let out a fairly loud “Ooooooosh” to my swimming sensei’s and the many people who have inspired me getting to this moment… BOOM goes the gun! I high-fived a low hanging American flag as I proceeded to GO JUMP IN A LAKE! After a few dolphin dives I began to kick it freestyle. The lake tasted good! I was getting subtle notes of trout and sturgeon. Last year this lake tasted like the Exxon Valdez’s ass. I eased into my stroke and managed anxiety that my body and mind habitually wanted to do by telling myself this, “Dude, first of all, slow the fuck down and shut the fuck up. You’re in the old dude bracket now! Old dudes with your skill and knowledge don’t blow their wads, they can’t, nothing will make sense today if you T-K-O yourself sixty seconds into round one.” And with that advice I swam with grace, power and even got my palate greased by a tasty trace of caviar out there by the half-way buoy! I didn’t see anybody pass me during my half-mile A.M. aquatic journey. What I did see from my peripheral porthole was a lot of buoyant bodies wrapped in rubber drift past my face and fade out by my feet. Once the exit spot was in my sights I kicked on the outboard motor and floored it to the beach. I had the fifth fastest swim time out of the entire field of 170ish and second best in my age group! By far the most satisfying swim I’ve had in triathlon…

THE BIKE: I decided not to tempt the flat-tire gods by racing flat prepared even though my gut was telling me not to. My tires lasted the fifteen-mile trek with no blow-outs. My legs held up fine, I know they can go harder though… My head asked this question a few times while my heart rate was maxed and taxed, “Why the fuck am I doing this shit again? Can’t you just go out for a bike ride like a normal person?” Answer, “No I can’t. Not yet anyway.”

THE RUN: This run course was wrong. If you’re not a Marine or an insane person you probably haven’t run up a hill in a while. It’s stupid. It’s like gorgonzola ice cream. Why would anyone do that? Actually, with some really good lavender laced local honey and a shot of Noble Rot it could work… No it wouldn’t, the shit is gross! I’m glad it was cloudy because blue cheese and hot mornings have no integrating skills whatsoever. Neither do my legs and obscenely challenging 5K XTERRA trail runs that easily translate into 10K road runs if not more.

THE ANXIETY: Well, this useless soul sapping negative emotion got its ass beat on this day by an old dude rockin’ a onesie and the bottom line is this: I crushed my time from last year by twenty-one minutes and I don’t even have a goal-grabbing, over-achieving personality. But I am an American!

Listen to this with your morning cup of DOE JOE…

CRANK THIS ONE UP FOR YOUR A.M. COMMUTE…