Two months ago I qualified for the New York Marathon, running a 7:15 pace over 13.1 miles. Two weeks ago I wrapped up my training for the Duathlon Nationals with a hilly 5-mile tempo run at the same pace. So why, now, could I barely hold that pace over a flat 5k?
I was in Mile 3 of the first run at the draft-legal sprint duathlon national championship in Irving, Texas. It was a hot afternoon but the course was flat. I had already adjusted my expectations for this event. I just needed to be in the top 18 in my age group to qualify for the 2023 World Championships in Ibiza, Spain.
While 2 weeks ago I had been feeling strong, today was an entirely different story. In the intervening week, I had come down with a nasty cold. A week ago I went through a box and a half of Kleenex in a day. Six days ago I dragged myself to the drugstore to get a COVID test and more Kleenex. The test was negative, but the cold was hitting me hard. Four days ago I finally felt good enough to go for an “easy” run that wasn’t easy at all.
The next day I went for another run that felt a little better, and I decided that I just might be able to make my way to Texas and give this race a shot.
Arriving in Texas on Friday for my Sunday race, I was still going through Kleenex at a prodigious rate. The spring allergy season wasn’t helping matters, and I doubled up on meds. I set up my bike and rode to the race start to pick up my packet — it was a hot and humid afternoon, and the weather only looked to get hotter over the next two days. I retreated to my hotel room to cool off.
Saturday’s shakeout run felt a little better but I could tell there was no way I would be racing this event at the pace I could have easily done just two weeks ago. I settled on a goal pace of 7:00 per mile for the first run, only barely faster than my recent half marathon.
The format for Nationals was a 5k run, then a 12-mile ride, then a 2-mile run. Now, 2 miles into the first run, even that 7:00 pace was slipping away. “C’mon, Munger,” I told myself, “just get to the ride. Then you can catch someone’s draft.”
I finally arrived at the transition area and was able to locate my bike quickly. To save time in transition, I had put flat pedals on the bike so I could ride in my running shoes. That worked great, and I ran to the bike mount line and hopped on. There was another cyclist just ahead and I accelerated as rapidly as I could to try to catch his draft. It was no use—I couldn’t catch up. I decided to relax and wait for someone to catch me. In a minute, another rider passed me and I jumped onto his wheel.
I was able to hang on and recover a bit. After a minute, I passed him and said “30-second pulls?” He said okay, and we were a team. Another rider passed us and we joined him with the same offer. But clearly this guy had overextended himself just to catch us, and we dropped him. After a couple miles with my new teammate, I was starting to flag on my pulls. I told him I wasn’t sure I could keep this up.
“Just do what you can,” he said. “Whatever you can do will still help me.” So he started pulling for a minute at a time while I did 30 seconds. Then a group of four caught up to us and we hooked onto them. They had one really strong rider, and my buddy was very strong, while me and the other three guys were a little weaker. We would hang on for dear life when the strong guys were pulling, then get a bit of a rest when one of us pulled.
I managed to hang on to this group until we were about a half mile from transition. Then I let them go on ahead while I prepared myself for what I knew was going to be a slog on Run 2. Thanks to the drafting, I ended up with an average pace of 21.5 mph for the ride. Still weak from my cold, there’s no way I could have done that on my own!
As I dismounted, I realized just how much the hard ride had taken out of me. I hobbled with my bike to my slot in the transition area, removed my helmet, and headed out for the run. Since I didn’t have to change shoes, I was ahead of my cycling group, but I figured this wouldn’t last long in my condition. There was an aid station just outside the transition area and I stopped to walk for 5 seconds to make sure I got some water. I dumped the rest of it over my head, which offered a bit of relief from the 88-degree afternoon heat.
My pace at this point was barely faster than a 9-minute mile. Slower than my usual “easy” pace. Surely I could at least get down to an 8-minute pace. A couple of the guys from my cycling group had passed me, so I focused on keeping them in sight. I passed through the first mile in 8:15. Not great but at least it was an improvement. I took another 5-second walk at the aid station to get some water and dump more over my head, then plodded on. I could still see one runner from my cycling group just ahead. “Hang on, Munger,” I told myself.
I tried to pick it up for that final mile, but the best I could do was maintain the same pace. It would have to suffice.
I ran through the finish and managed to stay standing to get my medal and let a volunteer drape some cold, wet towels over my shoulders. The guys from the cycling group were there, and I thanked them for pulling me along. Then I went off in search of shade, where I could collapse and check the results.
I was 10th in my age group, which would probably qualify me for worlds, but there was a caveat. I’m in the 55-59 group, but current 54-year-olds would also be eligible for my age group at the 2023 worlds. I went to the USAT tent to check my qualifying status, and they told me I had made it — as the 16th qualifier out of 18!
I know I could have gone much faster if I had been 100% healthy going into the race, but I’m proud of this effort. I gave it everything I could at the time and I made the team for worlds. I’ll take it!
Details of my race are on Strava, linked below.
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