Eppies Great Race - "Another One (Almost) Bites The Dust"

Eppies Great Race (now known as "The Great American Race) is a Triathlon held each July.  The route covers Sacramento's scenic American River - the heart of gold country. Eppie's is billed as the “original” Triathlon.  

This is an account of my fourth and likely last time running in the "Ironman" division, meaning a person who competes in all three legs of the event, running, biking and kayaking.  The run is about 6.5 miles, the biking is 12.5 miles and the kayak portion returns you to the original start, another 6 miles.  In my case, you can more appropriately substitute the "compete" part with "participate" as I typically dwell in the very back of the pack.

Yours truly during the 'sedate downriver Kayak portion.

That year I had marginal training as I was busy consulting on a project in Atlanta for months immediately prior to to the race (yeah, yeah no excuse I know).

Race day on the 25th anniversary of the Great Race.  Got a good night’s sleep.  I am ready.  Get up early.  Already have bike and kayak loaded in and on the Jeep.  Head out to drop off Kayak.  To Sunrise Bridge near Negro Bar on American River.  Beautiful day!  Put kayak on rocky north bank of river along with many (a thousand?) others.  Place my life jacket and water bottle in it and it’s ready.  Everyone is in great spirits anticipating a lot of fun.  

I head west for about 12 miles to the Guy West Bridge near Sacramento State College – It’s a copy of the famous Golden Gate, designed for foot and bicycle traffic – neat bridge and the day is still beautiful.  I position my bike, helmet and gloves on a rack in the over-50 Ironman Division (A hell of a good sounding name don't you think?!). I then secure my jugs on the bike…one is water and one is Gatorade. I have been sippin’ on a big stainless steel mug of coffee all the way through this – delicious!

Return home and Julieann, my wonderful “Pit Boss” is prepared to drive me to the race start point near Arden Pond, a couple of miles away.  I fool around the house and waste time so Julie gets me there as the race is about to start.  I head for the bathroom anyway, along with several hundred entrants with the same mission.  I am a clever, seasoned veteran though so avoid the plastic outhouses and head a couple of hundred yards up the trail to the permanent facilities.  They are not crowded but I still don't get back to the start line until after the race has started.  No problem, I just turn around and fall into a jog with the lead runners.  I am accustomed to being in this position, the lead pack that is, for the first few hundred yards of most races because I like to find my way to the front before the start.

Then, several hundred, or several thousand, people proceed to pass me on the way to our destination.  I like to do this because people feel good when they are passing me – whatever I can do to advance mankind you know.

I am with the Ironman contestants.  The wheelchair entrants, who are faster than anyone, began two minutes before us and the relay teams will begin two minutes after us.  After I get a mile or so down the trail, the lead runners from the relays usually catch me.  These are the guys who are 5’6” tall, weigh 145 pounds and do 5-minute miles. As they approach from behind, the sound of air whooshing in and out of their lungs is very powerful and they look like they can run forever.  I believe these are the people who will tell you a runner’s high is indescribable.

We run (I shuffle) 6.5 miles west on the levee that adjoins the trail.  Along the way, around the three-mile point, we are fortunate to find a couple of folks who have run water hoses from their homes backing up against it.  If you want, they will spray you from head to toe.  It’s a great feeling because it is usually in the 90’s by the time you hit this point.  The first year I did this race, one of the “hose” guys noticed me struggling and said, “don’t worry buddy, there are millions of people out there today who aren’t doing a damn thing!”

We continue on to the Guy West Bridge.  I am somewhere around 70 minutes along.  My pace is something over 10 minute miles but ahead of last year!  This is great!  At the bridge I get on the bike for the return trip 12.5 miles up river. 

Over 90% of the contestants are gone by this time. Nonetheless, I head out with a great WHOOP!!! (I am so fired up at this point) to celebrate the end of the run.  The bike and kayaking are a piece of cake in comparison.   I am heading east along the river.  It is still a beautiful day, I've got plenty of beverages and I'm making good time…drafting some guys for a while.  It’s a lot of fun and most of them go faster than I can.  They pull ahead so I go solo until I catch up to two women who are switching drafts on each other.  I fall in third and they are moving at a good clip for me, 18.5 miles an hour. 

We are within a half-mile of finishing the 12.5 bike portion when a squirrel suddenly runs across the path in front of the second woman, the one I am following. I am within a couple feet of her rear tire; she swerves to avoid the squirrel and goes down immediately.  I know I am going too, my front tire is a couple of feet if that much from her body and bike lying across the trail.  I let go of the handlebars as my bike collides with hers and I do a flying “W” or somersault over the front, landing on my back on the trail.  

I am expecting the worst but she gets up immediately.  She and her friend start asking me if I am OK.  I am laying there taking inventory to see if everything still moves and I say, “yeah” when I don’t have a clue.  But I stand up and start looking over the damage and they take off as an emergency medicine technician comes running up from a station a couple of hundred feet ahead.  

He congratulates me on a “spectacular crash" and begins watching me pick up my bike to check it out.  He stands back like he is not supposed to assist me for fear of complicating my position among the entrants.  (Yeah right buddy. I'm in a race here to see who finishes last...)  I ask him to hold the bike while I attempt to get the rear tire to turn.  Failing, I then decide to carry it in manly fashion to the finish.  

First, I have him apply a Band-Aid to my finger because it is bleeding all over the place.  Then I pick up the bike and head down the trail.  An old man (as if I am not) comes by and asks me if I need some help.  My "manliness" diminished I say, “why not?” and set the bike down to check it out again.  I finally notice the rear wheel isn’t turning because the adjustable brake has been jammed into the tire rim.  It only takes a second to reach down and adjust it and I am back on the bike!  

I come whipping into the finish, in a little shock but damn happy that everything seems to function.  Julieann the Pit Boss is there to catch the bike and point me across the bridge to the kayak.  I quickly tell her my pitiful story, hopefully without too much embellishment, and head off to finish in the kayak.  I still can’t feel anything hurting too bad – musta' been some kind of miracle.

Then, I am heading down the river in the kayak, taking it pretty easy knowing I am now so far behind my normal pace it doesn’t matter.  I am chatting with a few other entrants along the way.  I even help a female (rookie) get out of a swirl she is caught in.  Now I am feeling manly and heroic again.  Doesn’t take much…

I approach the San Juan rapids, which is normally nothing more than a rough chop but due to "unseasonably high run off” is a little higher chop this year.  Of course, I am a seasoned veteran and know to paddle like hell to get through without losing balance and tipping over.  As I am about half way through, my “paddle like hell” technique suddenly fails and I tip over.  Since I am way behind, it’s ok.  I am floating down river clutching my upturned kayak, paddle and water jug.  The water is moving fast so I am wondering if I am going to be able to tip it over and climb back in as I have been taught…but haven’t practiced in a couple of years.  

A river volunteer paddles over and asks me if I want some help.  I look over and recognize him as the guy who taught me how to kayak through rapids in a beginner class a few years before.  Of course “I want a refund!”  but all I get is a laugh and a tow to shore with my gear.  So I proceed to empty the water out of my kayak, put my gear back in and head down stream. 

Finally, the true finish!  I am feeling pretty good, having worked out a little with weights to strengthen the upper body. I notice Julieann, my trusty Pit Boss, is standing there to cheer me on.  I go to roll out of the kayak while the attendants grab it so I can waddle to the finish line.  Getting out of a kayak into a foot or so of water is ordinarily a very awkward maneuver and this time my left leg has fallen asleep and won’t work!  So I look pretty pitiful as I collapse a couple times into the river before the leg starts responding again.  All the time I am thinking Julie is going to be worried this has something to do with the earlier bike accident. 

Finally, I stumble a hundred feet to the finish much to the relief of my Pit Boss who is patiently waiting for my 'Don Quixote' like mission to be complete.

With luck, I’ll be back next year, maybe wearing leathers (heh…heh…) to minimize the road rash I picked up all over the right side of my back.  

Life is an amazing thing.  If I was to do it over, I wouldn’t have smoked cigarettes so many years(or at all), I would have had more kids, started running sooner and I would have been a better husband to Julieann.  I am extremely grateful for what there is though...definitely. 

Post Script:  This year will mark the 42nd Race.  I have threatened to do another off and on now for seventeen years, a great feat of procrastination. Still, I did four of 'them there puppies' and I am damn happy I did.  In my next life, I will not put it off.  I will run at least twice as many and hopefully, skip the flying W's. 

Combat Consultant Badge

- My Combat Consultant Badge -
A red cross signifying specialization in health care.
A quill signifying further specialization in writing about health care.
(Formerly the logo of Campbell Health Management, Inc. - a company
that helped win billions of dollars of health care contracts over a span
of some 20 years and left it's founder, as his wife fondly referred to
him just today; "A babbling idiot."

Well it was just time is all. After more than 20 years of serving as a consultant to absolutely anyone who asks*, yes...it was time to award myself the Combat Consultant's Badge.

Those who know me and my deep, abiding sense of modesty will be surprised to learn I have decided to accept the Badge on behalf of all the pitiful consultants who came before me and those who will drag themselves along after.

I promise to dutifully work on my acceptance speech and plan to deliver it on a date, time and location known only to me and its presenter...also me.

Reflect, if you will, back for a moment to the great Northridge, California earthquake of January 17, 1994.  It was a Sunday. We had a small team of consultants working on a billion dollar plus government contract proposal for Blue Cross of California (then Wellpoint, now Anthem). We were at their headquarters in nearby Woodland Hills...the only ones other than some security folks in the large building there.

It is noteworthy to learn that consultants are often the only ones working in client offices on Sundays because regular company employees like to bail...as would anyone in their right mind. Consultants, who are not in their right mind, tend things on Saturdays and Sundays and late on weeknights.  With them, it's the billable hours...sometimes 90 hours a week, sometimes 0 hours a week.  You gotta' get'em while you can Vern.

We were parked in cubicles on one of the building's upper floors. Suddenly, the entire building began to shake...big time.  I, being a natural born leader (at least I was once recognized as such by one person...I think) and a quick decision maker and all simply shouted; "Get under your desks!" We all did. Fortunately, that was a pretty decent guess.  The shaking was so intense that immediately thereafter, my still hot morning cup of coffee fell off the desk and soaked me while I was in an extremely undignified hands and knees position. After a few moments, the shaking stopped and we were all thinking about what sort of effect the quake would have on our billable hours. Quickly, we decided "none." That was it for the day and we headed out for our hotel.

There was a long covered walkway at the building exit and we noticed much of the ceiling had fallen, leaving the walkway underneath a mess.  Someone mentioned they had just re-stuccoed the structure. The hotel was only a few blocks away and we gratefully camped out there for what was to be no further danger.

This is just one of many combat related incidents that have happened to me and others of my ilk over the years.  Their stories, like mine, are painful to recall but recall we must...for it is only through these valuable life hacks that we learn to set our coffee out of harm's way before diving under a desk during an earthquake.

*The reference to "anyone who asks" is part of the "damned if you do" dogma of a consultant's life. That is, if someone asks you do something and you have absolutely no idea what they are even talking about you say "yes" anyway.  Then, you find someone who knows how to do it, or you fake it, or both...