Where Water Buffalo Roam

It's dark.  There is a nip to the otherwise dry desert air and four green carpet steps lead down to murky water smelly enough to taste.  A flash flood memory of Mae Sot, Thailand sparks the first drip of adrenaline and the body recoils; class III rapids down main street, sinking refugee camps, and spilling sewage.  Memories rear their head at the oddest of times.    My warm face hits sixtythree degree water and flight turns to fight. Second drip of adrenaline.  Don’t forget to breathe.  Sixty male professional triathletes doggy paddle in a very large drainage ditch somewhere near Tempe, Arizona.  The announcer gives the one minute warning.  “Boom!” goes the cannon, we’re off. Back off or say hello to my elbow.  The pack of sixty quickly turns into a long line of ants marching, with me somewhere in the middle. Catch, pull, breathe, and site. Losing focus the mind drifts to riding my bicycle, knowing later it will warm and smells of juniper will roast in a high-noon

I was first introduced to triathlon on a rainy morning standing outside the rec center at Seattle University.  A very awake and strong contingent of folks around twice my age talked excitedly about rides, runs, and swims completed over the weekend.  I was a burnt out soccer player searching for something.  Long story short, I followed them to the pool, was welcomed with open arms, and started to learn about ‘triathlon’.   People in this group were fascinating.  A chemist, pharmacist, doctor, chiropractor, and real-estate developer, the list goes on.  It was this highly motivated group of great people who welcomed me into a sport that has changed my life.  Tom was a corner-stone to laugh ter and wit within this group of legends, and though we didn’t log hundreds of miles together, he was a spirit that a person doesn’t soon forget. Normally anesthesiologists trend towards humor backed by high intelligence, which Tom certainly embraced, but Tom wasn’t normal. Tom bucked the norm

DETOUR #1: Driving over the Eastern Sierra was very relaxing after a solid week of work.  I finished work at 2:30pm, arrived in Santa Rosa to race Vineman 140.6 at 11:30pm.  Turns out there is a fire near South Lake Tahoe, which translated into a turd chase on windy county roads trying to get down and around. DETOUR #2: Exited water feeling pretty good and in 4th place.  Solid bike legs came around and we were cranking in 2nd or 3rd place (pretty strung out and no one giving splits) just past mile 100 of bike.  Head down and hammering a corner full of volunteers shouted left turn, I turned left.  Ten minutes later I realized I'd been sent out on lap 3 of a 2 loop point to point bike.  Missing the "lolly" part of the "lolly pop," was at 120mi and 10mi from the bike to run transition when things hit the fan. Most days are awesome, so everyday can't be.  It's my responsibility as an athlete to be familiar with the course.  That was the fi

Miles of trials, the trial of miles. Time is starting to move faster. Finding space to slow it down feels good. A long time ago Nick met Sarah. Eventually they got married.  Here's a song that sums it up: Time went on. Happy and moving swiftly. Then came the most magical moment: a daughter. Introducing 'B': In a place as powerful as Yosemite, with friends turned family, the experience can only be described as follows: *** A couple photos from in between hugs: Day 1 trail run 20ish miles Tuolumne Meadows to Yosemite with a huge net loss.  Day 2 ride Yosemite back to car in Tuolumne Meadows with a huge net gain.  Long rides are longer without coffee.  Sunrise roll-out. Nick and Sarah are on a tea kick...no good.  'B' and Nick stage right.  Lucky baby, proud dad.  Post ride after work mid week. 4,000ft to 9,500ft. Not bad California.  Mountain shuffling  Psyched. Until next time. Your pal, Andrew