Introduction
I sweat a lot. I smell like chlorine. I have more bikes in my garage than most people own during their entire lives. I eat a lot - often. My snacks are often wrapped in Mylar. I know a lot about my own metabolic activity and physiology. My car has a roof rack that I don't think I've ever removed. I've been to Clermont, Florida, and while it's not the consummate tourist destination, I would return without hesitation. I have a closet full of race T-shirts, many of which I'll never wear. "I'm doing Chicago" has meaning. On the fitness/obesity scale, I am a statistical outlier. I fully appreciate the generosity of volunteers, sponsors and homestays. I am a triathlete.
My name is Tim Sandfort. At the time of this writing (July 2, 2004), I am one of four professional triathletes from the St. Louis area. The others include Sam Yount, Sarah Haskins, and Amber Mounday. We are all within our first two years of professional racing. Since I know each of them, and their respective backgrounds, I can tell you that we all had modest starts as single-sport athletes. We competed in our primary sports in college and began triathlon later, as something of an afterthought - it was a novelty to keep our competitive fires stoked. Outside the sport, we're each relatively normal people, with everyday jobs or educational pursuits.
This is a diary about real life. I'm here to dispel the myth and tell you what life on the ITU circuit is really like during a rookie year. Many amateur (age-group) athletes seem to think that making the jump to professional racing results in instantaneously faster times, glamorous photo shoots, free world travel, and sponsors climbing over each other to get to you. While this might be true for about 10 of the top triathletes in the world, it's certainly not true for most pros, even many of the very good ones.
It is my hope that the experiences and mistakes I make (and relate) will help shed some light on what life is like as a non-mainstream professional athlete. As such, some of it will be happy-go-lucky, with jokes about stupid situations I've found myself in, fun people I've stayed with, or the good times I've enjoyed both on and off the course. Other parts will be unhappy and difficult for me to write. These will probably be about getting sick, crashing, financial pressure, physical or mental failure, or goals that have gone unrealized.
This journal is designed as an e-publication for distribution through swimbikerunstlouis.com (and its sister websites). All copyrights are as published on the respective sites. The webmaster retains full editorial control over content and distribution, but from what he's told me, I'm a decent enough writer to deserve some latitude in my introspective meanderings. So if it's bad writing, it's my fault, not Matt's.
All the best,
Tim Sandfort
Part One
My First Pro Race: A Generous Homestay, a Near Arrest, and a DNF
I had my professional debut in Tempe, Arizona on May 22, 2004. From beginning to end, the weekend appeared to be a disaster. The race itself first felt like an unpleasant and disheartening experience. In the end, however, it proved a motivational swat to the pants and an exercise in appreciating friendship and never underestimating the competition.
After duking it out yet again with the baggage checkers in St. Louis, I had to pay $80 to ship my bike to Phoenix. What a tragedy - I'm sure there were at least a dozen businessmen on my flight who got their 90 lb. golf bags on board for free. I almost missed my flight as a result of my ticket counter belligerence, and it was only due to a very nice TSA bag checker (who ran me through the first class check) and a mad sprint to my gate that I made the flight. So at least I got to Phoenix.
Phoenix is a cool place to visit. No way in hell would I ever live there, though. It's scrubby, filled with cacti and craggy, short, mountains, and lots and lots of heat. It's arid, so there's almost no humidity, but it's really hot and sunny. And I really like the green humid armpit of the Midwest. Call me nostalgic, but it's home.
My friend Kristi Willenberg picked me up at the airport. Kristi used to live in St. Louis, but now lives in Phoenix with a great guy named Andrew, to whom she will become engaged at some point in the near future. Kristi and Andrew are both very good triathletes in their own right; Kristi was a member of the US National Junior Team, and Andrew is an exceptional long-course racer. These two friends served as more-than-generous homestays to both myself and my friend and fellow pro Dave Messenheimer. More on Dave and his race shortly.
The generosity of homestays is totally understated. Even though you expect as much from friends, it's really amazing how selfless people can be. Without asking for anything in return, Kristi and Andrew lent Dave and I a bedroom and family room couch, computer access, food, and one of their cars for the weekend. And Andrew's copy of The da Vinci Code, which I promise I will return soon.
For me, much of the time before all races (amateur and pro alike) is spent in reflection, anticipation, and rest. So although I was in Phoenix for the better part of 5 days, I only got out to explore for a couple of hours. I did a lot of email, race research, and reading (Angels and Demons by Dan Brown) in the days immediately preceding the Tempe race. One of the reasons I try to stay in is to avoid trouble, which invariably seems to find me whenever Dave and I go out together.
The morning after our arrival in Phoenix, I went for a 5:00 a.m. run with Kristi and Andrew. Dave and I got in touch with mutual friend (and St. Louis native) Sam Yount, who had traveled from Chicago. We picked up Sam from his homestay and headed for the race venue, Tempe Town Lake, which was about 20 minutes away (we were all staying in Phoenix proper). The "lake" is really nothing more than a dammed up creek about 12-20 feet deep. It's emerald green in color, with very steeply declined sides, and several scenic bridges across it. The lake runs parallel to Arizona State University, and is just across the street from Sundevil Stadium. Evidently, it's also a municipal park.
After we drove the 4.2 mile criterium style bike course a couple of times, we thought the weather looked right for a swim. We headed down to where we expected the Transition Area to be, changed clothes and hopped into the water for a couple of loops between the bridges. On the far side of the lake, we met a kindergarten class that was thrilled to see people swimming in a big lake. How novel. Dave got in some extra yardage while Sam and I paddled back across the lake to the beach. On our approach, I recognized a pickup I had seen by the kindergartners as it pulled up. A couple of big, burly, not-so-friendly gentlemen with Motorola units on their shoulders got out. I needlessly informed Sam "uh…we're in trouble." The three of us got out of the water and were informed by the Arizona Park Service that we had just committed a crime that would normally have landed us in the town pokey. As they were telling us this, another pickup full of large, sturdy officers pulled up. Fortunately for us, they were in a decent mood. We were there for the race, were deferential, and evidently quite stupid. They let us off with a warning, and told us to not come back until race morning.
The good news (aside from evading arrest) is that we got to try the water, which was quite nice, a balmy 78 or 80 - nowhere near wetsuit legal. We got some food and visited an ASU art museum, then headed home. Kristi and Andrew took us on a nice ride into the Phoenix hills before we all loaded up for dinner in Tempe with the Next Step to Gold team.
On Saturday, Dave and I found trouble again, but of a different kind. He desperately wanted a swim again, so we went pool hunting. Someone was out to thwart us, I'm convinced. The first pool we went to hosted a middle school-age synchronized swimming meet. Of course we were both thrilled by this, and headed out to find the local JCCA, reportedly just down the street. Yeah, we forgot too - Saturday is the Jewish Sabbath, so all of the local J's were closed. Crap. We went home for lunch, frustrated, called the local Parks & Rec, and finally found a pool about 20 minutes away. I ended up swimming for all of 15 minutes, while Dave got in a good 45. I was in no mood for a workout at that point.
The pre-race meeting was fun. We met up with the Next Step team, who Dave and I both trained with last summer in Clermont, FL. It was pretty impressive to see a room with Doug Friman, Chris McCormack, Matt Reed, Mark Fretta, Julie Swail, Jessi Stensland, and numerous other big gun pros. You sort of realize at that point what you're up against. The meeting was short and to-the-point, not the humdrum hour and a half presentation that I have been told is the norm. The message: be safe, keep legal, don't get lapped. The meeting ended and we headed to Sam's homestay for a fantastic dinner of pasta, chicken, and salad - one of my favorite pre-race meals.
OK, so let's talk about the race itself. It didn't play out as planned for a variety of reasons (and for a variety of different people). Here's the scenario. We started at about 9:30, if memory serves me right. It was originally moved from 3pm to 11am. The 9:30 start was a race-day surprise. By the time our race was done, it was already 95 degrees Fahrenheit - really hot. We got in a good warmup swim and Sam and I went out for a short run. We were sweating heavily within several minutes. So much for warmup. On our way back to the Pro TA, we saw Dave riding back toward us on his bike. He was bleeding. He had gone out for a spin with former NTC Teammate (and Xterra expert) Eric Lujan, who had slid out on a corner and accidentally taken Dave down too. Crap. Dave was pissed, but not too much worse for the wear. He said his wrist was sore, but nothing major was wrong. Lujan was a different story - he had some bad road rash and a sore arm.
When we started, they lined us up according to our ITU ranking. Athletes within the top 125 got introduced with a bio and got to pick their start positions. The rest of us just waddled into whatever slots were still open after the big boys took their positions. As I mentioned, the sides of the lake are really steep, and after two steps, you had to dive and start to swim. I stayed to the far right side of the field, in hopes of avoiding the early-swim mauling that takes place in every event.
Let's digress just a moment to talk about my training, or lack thereof, preceding the race. I was finishing my semester at grad school, and knew my run was weak in the winter. I was focusing on the run training with some longer rides. I wasn't doing due diligence in the pool because of overconfidence. I had just won a little local race in Cape Girardeau, and figured that no matter how weak I was, or how strong the field was, I was still a good enough swimmer to hang with the pack in an ITU race. WRONG ANSWER.
I got lit up because I was under prepared. After the start, the pack split up the middle, and I got caught in the open middle water with no draft at all. I was unfit, and my day was done after about 400 meters. I was trying as hard as I could, but I got spit out the back of the pack halfway between the first and second turn buoys (the course was twice around a box). I swam the entire course by myself, with only one other athlete behind me (from Mexico), by the time I exited the water. I'm not sure which was worse: the pity applause from the spectators, the fear of being lapped out on the bike, or the disgrace that I already felt for having let down both myself and my sponsors with my performance. I set about salvaging what I could on the bike.
Meanwhile, Dave was unhappily hammering with the second pack up near the front. He had been working his ass off all winter on the swim and it paid off. Even with the sore wrist, he had come out of the water in position to win both money and ITU points. It was a banner day for him - the position he had been working toward for about 8 years. The short beach run lead up over a sidewalk, down the curb, and immediately into the transition area, which was about 200 feet long. Dave was one of the only guys to roll down his top into his swimsuit, and as he was pulling it up and over his shoulders, he missed the 3" lip from the beach up onto the sidewalk and mashed his big toe into it hard. He went ahead into the bike, able to ride, but unable to stand for the climbs over the bridges.
Lujan's day was over after the swim. He was in good position at the exit, but the sore arm was telling him to throw in the towel and save himself for a better day. It's hard to make that kind of decision, especially when it's your pride that is driving you.
I was making decent time on the bike. I knew there was a broomwagon pack a short distance ahead of me, and I was riding between 25.5 and 27 mph on most of the course to try to catch them. The ride was flat and fast, with a little dip into TA, and a little climb on the way back out. None of this race was easy, though. One of my good friends had laid down his bike and was vomiting on the back side of the course - too much effort or too much lake water. The crowd was supportive, and I found out I was making up time on the broomwagon pack on each lap, according to a couple of coaches around the course.
I was worried, and with good reason. Race leader Doug Friman had grouped up with Matt Reed, Macca, Victor Plata, and one other cyclist for the lead pack. Any one of those athletes could have dismantled me single-handedly - together they were lethal. At the end of my third lap (exactly halfway through the bike), the inevitable happened. I went through the turnaround and was heading into the TA when I saw the motorcycle coming over a rise. I cursed, made it through the TA, and then the officials caught up and asked me to retire. I could tell that he felt bad for making me DNF, but that's the knocks. When you must retire, you have to surrender your time chip and then you're free to take a cool down lap to spin out your legs. What can I say - I got what I deserved.
It was a hard day all around, a story which the results list doesn't accurately reflect. I was listed as a DQ (for being lapped out), but there was nearly a full third of the field that withdrew or DNF'ed. My sick friend Chris recovered and returned from the back side of the course. Lujan and I talked with him until the end of the bike. Minnesota stud Nate Kortuem narrowly avoided a wreck that took down three contenders in the second or third pack. Kortuem hopped a curb and rode in the uncontrolled lanes of oncoming traffic for several hundred meters before rejoining his pack. Collegiate National Champion Barrett Brandon melted down on the run and needed a couple of IV drips to recover - but at least he finished. Malaika Homo, in great position in the second pack of the women's race, also succumbed to the heat, narrowly missing money and points by finishing 11th. Sarah Haskins, St. Louis native and recent addition to the US Emerging Athlete Program in Colorado Springs, finished 10th - a very solid first ITU performance. Dave joined us in the DNF's when he changed into his flats and discovered his foot didn't work right. The purple colors he got over the next couple of days told the story well enough, and X-rays later confirmed 2 fractures in his big toe. He's still recovering...but doing plenty of open water swimming.
The point of all this is that pro racing is a hard thing to do. This race was my first career DNF - I was disgraced and the experience made me a little gun-shy. I had no desire to race at all for about 3 weeks; all I wanted to do was train, and train hard, so that I never EVER had to involuntarily withdraw again. I got back in the pool with Rockwood Swim Club, and have been dutifully cranking out the yards, as well as further developing my run. Hopefully the training is working. Time will tell. My next ITU race is in Caledon, Canada on July 31. I'll write again after it's over.
Train Hard,
Tim Sandfort