Politically Active Triathletes: Tempe's Prop 400

I got an email from Red Rock Co. a few days ago, and in the midst of the usual "Sign up for this race now!" reminders, something caught my eye: A request that Tempe, AZ residents vote yes on Tempe's Prop. 400.

Proposition 400 proposes to raise Tempe's hospitality tax, charged on hotel rooms only, from 3% to 5%.

So what does that have to do with triathlon? I remembered talking to Xterra last year about their moving Xterra nationals from Incline Village, NV to Ogden, UT. One of the main reasons for the move? A lack of the usual support from Nevada's financially-sucking tourism board.

But what does that mean? Does a tourism board pay race production companies to put a race on in their town? Between the SOMA Half, IMAZ, and the gazillion other races put on in and around Tempe Town Lake, Tempe is reaping financial rewards from being triathlete friendly.

(Tempe Town Lake)

In an email, Red Rock Co.'s Event Director, Mike Melley, helped me understand the delicate relationship between event producers and city tourism boards. Or, in this specific case, between Tempe-based Red Rock Co. and the Tempe Convention and Visitor's Bureau. (CVB)

Erin: Does the city's tourism board help produce sporting events?

Melley: The tourism board does not help produce events. The City/CVB has a vested interest in events that bring in tourism, patrons, and out of state visitors as this increases revenue, sales and hotel stays. Take an event like PF Changs Rock n Roll Marathon (AZ) they bring in 35,000 athletes and impact the revenue of the surrounding communities positively. As an event promoter this may enable them to leverage lower costs to shut down roads, pay police and other expenses necessary to produce an event of that magnitude.

Erin: How much of an event's budget depends on money received from the city's tourism board?

Melley: This is dependent on the city, their budget and the impact of the event. I can only speak to those events for which we are fortunate enough to get some support from the City/CVB. No event should ever DEPEND on the city to succeed. We don’t depend on it, but it certainly allows us to help improve the quality of the event for the athlete while ensuring we keep the course safe and fun.

Erin: How would the passage (or not) of Prop 400 directly affect Red Rock Co.?

Melley: Prop 400 stands the chance of eliminating CVB/City sponsorship of the event (Soma in particular) and would force us to re-evaluate our costs across the board and the event as a whole. Prop 400 is not just about events, actually it is likely a very small part of the prop that is an effort by the city to help increase revenue (to be in line with the other surrounding cities) in a time of a severe budget crisis.

So if you're living in Tempe, go vote March 9th to help keep events like SOMA healthy and rockin'. I have a special place in my heart for it; it was my 2nd half ever.

Sorry, SOMA, Big Kahuna will always be my first.

Triathlon Terms / Jargon For the Uninitiated

If you are new to the sport, or want to make it through this blog with your head on straight, there are some terms you need to know. And you should want to know them, because letting them slip at random in front of your non-tri-knowledgable buddies will make you seem infinitely cool.

(Note: There are a gazillion tri-terms to choose from. These are the fun ones.)

Let's start off easy. There are a lot of terms that describe the extent to which a triathlete feels like crud.

A brick (n.) is a bike-then-run workout. It is named thusly because that's what your legs feel like when you run after you bike. Triathletes love bricks.

ex: You: I just went swimming easy this morning 'cuz I have a huge brick planned tomorrow.

Your friend: Woah.

You hit the wall (v.t./n.) when you have nothing left. You gave it everything and you can't make yourself go any harder. Like running into a wall. There's nowhere left

to go. And it hurts.

ex: You: Man, I hit the wall at the end and Carlos kicked it in to the finish ahead of me.

Your friend: Carlos beat you? You wuss.

Maybe you hit the wall because you were about to bonk. You bonk (v.i.) when you screw up your nutrition and your body is eating itself to try to keep you going. Or it will start eating you if you don't eat something, like pure sugar. Avoid the bonk (n.).

ex: You: Man, I just totally bonked and limped home.

Your friend: I know, you were sucking my wheel all the way back and never took a pull. You jerk.

Time for some cycling terminology:

Wheel sucking (n/v) the art of riding with only centimeters between you and the person in front of you.

To take a pull (v.) to ride at the front of the peloton so the people behind you can draft off of you.

To draft (v.) to follow closely behind another cyclist(s) so they block the wind and do all of the work for you. The faster you go, the more you energy you save by making someone else pull you. That's why drafting is illegal in most amateur triathlons. Every triathlete for his/herself!

Peloton (n.) a large group of cyclists.

Tri-ton (n.) a large group of cyclists with aero bars.

Aero bars (n.) those funny things that stick out of some people's bikes where normal handlebars used to be so the rider can (comfortably) crouch down in a more aerodynamic position, thereby looking mean and fierce and letting the rider go all aggro if s/he wants.

Aggro (adv/adj) aggressive. You can go aggro. Or you can be aggro. Or some jerk in your

peloton can go all aggro on you and push you till you puke. In which case, if you can keep up for a few seconds an get alongside him, you can snot on him.

To snot (v.) the art of snot rocketing while on the bike. Cycling makes everyone have a runny nose. It's physics. Place your hand on nostril opposite the snot-loaded one, and blow.

ex: You: Dang it! I just snot on myself!

Your friend: Gross! You gotta work on that.

Your friend then proceeds to snot on you, and in trying to avoid the gelatinous projectile, you swerve and hit something, tacoing your wheel.

To taco a wheel (v/adj.) to whack something in such a manner that you bend your wheel in the shape of a taco. Your wheel is now tacoed.

Neapolitan tan (n.) what happens when you wear 2-3 different length bike shorts on separate rides and wind up with a progressive tan up your thigh. Like the shade gradation of Neapolitan ice cream.

T1 (n.) transition #1. Where you go to switch from swim to bike.

T2 (n.) transition #2. Where you go to switch from bike to run.

T3 (n.) transition #3. Where you go to switch from run to massage or food. This term is not as well-knwn as T1 and T2, but is equally as important.

Transition area (n.) where your stuff hangs out and waits for you while you're doing other things. Sometimes, they're in two places. At an Ironman, your stuff is in bags and thousands of volunteers grab it for you, help you change, put sunscreen on you and hand you your bike. It's like being a tri-celibrity.

Ironman (n.) a triathlon of this exact distance: 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run. AKA an event that you do so you can brag for the rest of your life, and develop an entire wardrobe based on a corporate symbol: the M-Dot. Maybe even get some tattoos. (See below.)

70.3 or Half Ironman (n.) exactly half the distance of an Ironman (140.6). The World Triathlon Corporation (WTC) owns the Ironman and 70.3 names, so if you see a race that's called an Iron-distance triathlon, or a half-iron distance triathlon, it's 'cuz they'd get sued to call it an Ironman. Only official Ironman-distance races can qualify a triathlete for Kona.

Kona. (You know, the city in Hawaii?) The place every triathlete dreams of going. The holy grail of Ironman racing. It's where the Ironman started, and where you can't race unless you qualify by finishing another Ironman at the very tipity top of your age group. (Or you get a media slot, or win in a lottery.)

Olympic distance triathlon: the distance that was used in this year's olympics. This is the exact distance for any triathlon labeled "olympic distance": 1500 meter swim, 40K bike, 10K run.

Sprint triathlon: any combo of swim-bike-run at a shorter distance than an olympic distance tri.

Xterra: an off-road triathlon. They can be all different distances, but most championship races have a 1500 meter swim, about a 20 mile bike, and a 10K run. Just like the Ironman World Championship are in Kona, the Xterra World Championship is in Maui. Unlike Ironman, if you commit a long time in advance to the Maui race, you can race it without having to be the best in the world. ALthough the best in the world will be there, and they will crush you.

USAT: USA Triathlon. The governing body of triathlon racing in the United States.

So now the next time someone says to you: "Dude, I did a brick yesterday morning but I still did the 70.3 today and I went all aggro and hit the wall." You can nod your head in understanding. And not in an eyebrow-raising way as if to say, "Riiiiight. Sure you did."

I think that's enough for now. Let me know if I missed anything! More terms to come: dolphining, chain suck, DNF, mashing, and lube.

The "Ironman Trophy"...Seriously?

Last year, Ironman made itself an easy target for ridicule by releasing "Ironman, the Scent." Scent of what?, athletes wondered, Pee and sweat?

Now the brand has licensed its name to The Ironman Trophy, a $700 (yes, $700!) m-dot styled hunk of bronze reminiscent of the plastic m-dot trophies age-group podium finishers receive.

Seriously?

Aren't the race t-shirt and hat--symbols of the achievement included in the race fee--enough? These are things in which an Ironman can parade around, silently screaming about his achievement to fellow gym rats, grocery shoppers, etc...

Is a 16-lb (yes, 16 lbs!) trophy on a mantle, typically a sign of top 5 placement, really necessary? Is it perhaps even uber dorky? (Particularly considering it cost more than the entire race?)

Why not frame your Ironman race number, writing your finishing time and placement on it, as an even cooler-looking acknowledgment of achievement? Or shell out $50 for your finisher photo. Those are pretty nice, and show the athlete in action, verifying he/she did, in fact, cross the finish line.

Kudos to "The Ironman Trophy" for valiantly entering America's never-ending quest to create things people don't need....and to deplete our, um, ever shrinking bronze reserves.

On the bright side, when an Ironman finally decides he no longer needs to visualize his past accomplishments through corporate logos, "The Ironman Trophy" can be placed out of sight--something that can't be done with an m-dot tattoo.

RAGE in the Sage Triathlons- They Cracked Me Up

BBSC Endurance Sports gets it. Like really gets it.

For a mere 160 bucks, I got to participate in the most idyllic, yet challenging, half ironman-distance event I have done to date.

Being a poor future-grad student, I appreciate not getting gouged on entry fees. Or on anything that goes along with racing. (Please, oh please stay down, gas prices!)

Coachubby and I picked the RAGE Half in place of Wildflower. Both courses are known to be difficult. But Wildflower has not only a longer drive, on top of a whopping $270-ish entry fee, it costs the most money an athlete could ever pay to sleep on a patch of dirt and share a few bathroom stalls with thousands of people.

For $50, we stayed 3 minutes away from RAGE's race start in the Hacienda Hotel and Casino, allowing for a little nappy nap after a 4:15am shove-breakfast-down-the hatch call.

A quick little descent led us to the freakishly long transition area, where about 100 of the 800 people there were setting up to do the Half. (Other options: Olympic and Sprint triathlons. Fun for the whole family!)

The charmingly humorous announcer guy then said something that cracked my cloud-9 feelings about RAGE: "The water is a lovely 56 degrees, folks!"

56! That's colder than it was at Coeur d'Alene...and I wore booties! Coachubby, did you hear what he said?!

"He said 65, right?"

I prayed the announcer was verbally dyslexic, not coachubby. But one toe in the water, and I ran back through the tall and skinny transition to grab another cap.

The start was chill. (Pun intended.) We all rounded one green buoy, then took the announcer's word for it that there was another green buoy out there marking the turn around. My inability to breathe to the right was rewarded, as the buoys had to stay to the left, and the chop created from the wind would've only flooded the mouths of right-side breathers. Sorry coachubby!

Just when I got sick of swimming, it was over. And I wasn't a frozen Erincicle. In fact, the air temperature was so pleasant, I couldn't have have been happier.

I set out on the gorgeous bike course, ready for the advertised 6000+ feet of climbing, with my original Ironman motto humming through my brain: Just chill. Add a little "spin to win" and that's pretty much all I thought about the whole way out.

I saw coachubby was in 5th place. Apparently I was, too. When I saw other women on the "back" section of the out and back, I wanted to get 'em. A few had passed me, but I wasn't about to blow my motto in an effort to catch ladies who may just blow up on the run as a result of pushing too hard on the bike.

Another woman passed me on the way into T2, so I threw Pinky on the rack, shoved my feet into vaselined running shoes, and bolted out ahead of her.

This is where the magic happened.

A 42 year old member of the Las Vegas Triathlon Club, whom I will 95% positively identify as one Geoffrey Clark (in case he Googles himself, as James Vicente did last week.), ran next to me at a pace I felt was perfect.

"What pace you goin'?" he asked.

I saw he was pacing himself with a Suunto.

"Don't tell me! I don't want to know! I go by how I feel!" I exclaimed like a psycho.

"This is a good pace," said Geoff.

Then I proceeded to run a few paces back of him for approximately the first 6 miles uphill. Geoff made conversation, and flexed his biceps for all of the middle-school girls womaning the aid stations, until coachubby ran the other way.

"That's my husband!" I exclaimed.


Coachubby told me I was in 5th place.

"Does that mean I'm fourth woman?" asked Geoff.

He took off a little faster. Then, right at mile 6, he told me to go forth and conquer. "If you shave :30 off of each mile back, you'll catch them!" he said. Then, according to his race results, he died, while I powered on, knowing gravity was on my side--it was mostly downhill the entire way back.

I crossed the line in my best half-ironman time to date, only to find out later I went 2 minutes slower than I had thought, because, according to the timing people, "the clock isn't synched with the chip system. It's just an approximation." Quelle bummer. It was still my best half time, even with 2 added minutes, and my best half-marathon ever. (In all fairness, the bike course was really more like 53.7 miles, not 56.)

Free massages awaited broken people at the finish. As did the most massive blisters known to mankind. Yes, foregoing socks was a brilliant way to get into the top 5. But now I'm paying for it. I couldn't walk right after I finished because of the massive blisters on my left foot.

I only realized yesterday that the blisters, once popped, were not to blame for my lame footedness.

I broke my foot.

Not broke broke. I fractured--hairline fractured--a sesamoid bone. It was evil enough to make my foot swell, and hurt to walk, and to make me go to the doctor to get an xray so I could see the tiny white line in the bone.

I believe the closest thing to what I've done is called "turf toe", only I did it without turf, cleats, or any football maneuvers.

So just after my most glorious run ever, thanks to the pacing efforts of Geoff, and the most beautiful, engaging run course known to mankind, I can't run anymore. At least, not for a while.

Phooey.

IN CONCLUSION: Do RAGE. Just make sure to bring your own Gatorade, because they use HEED on the course, and if you've ever had HEED, you probably know it tastes...unforgivably disgusting. Barf-inducingly disgusting.

If you have gastrointestional issues race morning, you'll be happy to know there was never, ever a portapotty line.

And they had very cool technical race shirts...unfortunately they ran out of my size before I arrived at packet pick up. I am eternally bummed. Normally, I'd think, "who needs another race shirt?" but these were truly neat-o.

And if you're really, really into awards ceremonies, you'll be gravely disappointed. The "ceremony" was conducted when only 5 people were still around to receive awards. However, the age-group awards (if you're coachubby and you get 3rd overall, you get a big ass trophy), are marvelous vouchers for a personalized plaque--complete with your choice of photo, your name, place, and time. Snazzy.

The course is stunning, the people fun, and the run course is fabulous. You'll run on what used to be an old railroad track, through several tunnels, and have great views of Lake Mead and the surrounding mountains.

And when you're done, you can ice bath in the freezing lake, then take the fam to see the Hoover Dam and the crazy bridge they're building just South of it.

Wishing you fractureless racing fun this season,

Erin