Sunday was another great day for me in San Francisco. We dove off a boat at 7am into the San Francisco Bay, turned our feet to the Alcatraz Prison and swam for shore. I lead for most of the swim, but as we came into the Marina I found myself behind some guys with much better lines. Out of the water fourth, I took off on the bike with some great company. John Kenny, Kyle Leto, Brian Fleischmann, and myself attacked the first hill like it was the deciding factor of the race, but at the top my legs were screaming at me. I looked around and everyone else was in just as much pain, so I pushed over the top and took a lead on the first quick decent by Big Beach. I never looked back, but at the first turn around I was about a minute ahead of Leto, and at the second it was closer to 90 seconds.

When I started the run nobody else was close to transition. I ran for a while before I saw Kyle and Brian come by me still riding, but I wanted to get in a good hard run, so I refused to back off. I pushed it hard enough that I didn’t even notice the Golden Gate Bridge looming in the foreground. It wasn’t until I ran though the small tunnel under the Golden Gate and hit the single track that I started to relax and really enjoy my surroundings. The Pacific ocean was misty with the morning sunlight just shining over the hill making the cliffs light up with glowing dew… It was quite a pleasant run until I dropped down onto Big Beach and realized that the new Tri-California course removed the 1 mile out-and-back section on the beach. With that extra mile in 2008 I had been able to run down to the hard packed sand and let my legs recover some from the hard decent. With the new course, you pop out onto the beach just a short distance from the bottom of the treacherous sand ladder, and there’s no time to run for hard pack. It’s about a minute of slogging through soft sand, which gets your already beaten-up legs to the point of furry, then up the “ladder” which is really just a big sand dune with some buried logs that help with traction. When I did this race in 2008 I had the fastest time up the sand ladder by 12 seconds. This time, I decided to go the slow methodical way - grabbing the ropes on the sides and alternating between walking and skipping my way up the dune. Through all the sand my K-Swiss Kruuz started to get some sand in them through the holes in the bottom (meant to drain water out of the shoes). I was worried, but when left the sand it drained from my shoes as quickly as it had entered. No harm done! At the top I started running again, and was glad for my conservative effort because the “top” of the sand ladder is really only half way up the final hill. As I turned onto the hard pack and continued up my mom was there telling me I had a three minute lead over Leto. At this point, I started smiling. I kept the pace fairly high, but chose to enjoy the last three miles: the Golden Gate, Crissy Field, the single track section and concrete stairs up and over the old bunkers. This is the most scenic and fun race in the world.

I surprised the announcer, who was not yet expecting me when I appeared in the finish chute. I was raising my arms and high five-ing spectators for 100 meters before the loud speaker announced that I was about to finish. So I took my time, smiled, high five-ed more of the crowd, took a bow, and then waited for four minutes to greet Kyle Leto and Steve Sexto (who had a great run) finishing in second and third respectively.

It was a tough race, a beautiful race, and a good indicator of my current fitness. Thanks coaches!!

This is my sister congratulating me after the race. See any family resemblance? Perhaps the smile, or the nose, or the way we squint into the sun? She says next year she’ll do the race - WATCH OUT!!

Me and my 9 month old nephew, Carter. He flew down from Seattle to watch me.

I was really worried about getting a good start to the swim in London yesterday. It seemed to me that the first 300m of the swim had the potential to make or break my race, and I was probably right. Unfortunately, I broke my race before the gun went off.

When the race officially started I was flying though the air. I have no idea what was going through my head, I just remember being so focused on getting out fast that when they said “take your marks” it didn’t occur to me that I should wait for a horn before diving whole heartedly into the Serpentine and sprinting for the first buoy. I clearly remember pushing off the dock and seeing everyone else holding back, thinking, “oh crap, that’s going to be a penalty”, then hearing the start horn just before I hit the water. It was only a fraction of a second, but it felt like I was suspended in time.

A false start is rewarded with a 15s penalty. There are times when it seems worthwhile to get the 1s advantage on the way to the first turn buoy, but 15 seconds is quite a while when you realize it only takes two seconds for a break to form out of the first transition

Knowing that I would have 15 extra seconds in transition I decided to push the swim extra hard. I lead for 500 meters, then realized I probably wouldn’t be able to hold that same pace for another 1000 meters. I hopped onto some feet in a tight front pack and relaxed. Swimming with the leaders is never hard once you’re there, and since we were swimming three or more across it was was like riding an escalator, the water just carried me.

In transition the official didn’t seem to expect me there so soon. I stopped and he didn’t start the watch. He looked flustered. I said, “go, c’mon, start the watch, I’m here.” He fumbled around for a moment then started the stop watch around his neck. It was probably four or five seconds after I had arrived and stopped moving, and he made sure to count all the way down to zero. The concentration of adrenaline running through my veins was so high that each second took an eternity. Between each number I felt like I could have swum an entire extra lap of the course, but I obediently stood there gaping at him, wondering if he was taunting me with the slow pace of my 15 second penalty.

The first lap of the bike I rode like Andy Schleck. I closed the nearly 20 seconds (due to the late start of the 15s penalty) in about 3 km. I was riding with Stuart Hayes, who is an excellent cyclist, but when I told him to pull through, he tried and failed. Looking back at my Garmin 705 / SRM power data, I can see that I was riding really really fast. It was four minutes until I caught the leaders. Stuart, who ended up in 8th at the end of the day, thanked me after the race, and complimented my bike strength, which is a small consolation after what happened right after I bridged up to the leaders.

At the end of the first 5km lap Alister Brownlee was riding like a chucklehead. He swerved onto someone’s wheel, took out Peter Croes front wheel, and knocked him to the ground. Peter was laying to the right of his bike. To the left were a bunch of cones and people. I knew I had nowhere to go, and had yet another slow motion moment as I tried to break, knowing that it wasn’t about preventing the crash so much as make it less painful when I hit the ground.

As far as crashes go, it was not bad. I have a few scrapes and bruised hip, but my frequent crashing has helped me learn to crash lightly. I got back up, fixed the chain, started riding hard again, then realized that I didn’t have another monster bridge in my legs. I had also lost my water bottle and was left with only strongly mixed Powerbar Endurance and gels. I waited for the chase pack and helped them to close the 40 seconds they had between them and the leaders. At that point I was in a pack of about 55 men, and things got sketchy on the narrow, poorly coned course. I stayed out of trouble and conserved energy. Every time I saw a familiar face I asked for some water, but all I got were more sugary drink mixes.

We came off the bike and I felt pretty good starting the run. I was sure this would be a good run for me, though with the quality of field I wasn’t sure what result that would provide. I ran right behind Matt Chrabot for the first mile, which is great for me since he normally goes out really fast, while I normally come back in the second 5 kilometers. After that I started feeling much worse. Over the second mile I slowed considerably and started dropping back. I was told by a spectator that I was in 48th place, just before two more people passed me. My stomach was cramping from all the sugar and the lack of fluids, and pretty soon I was struggling to breath. After a kilometer of shallow breathing and ascending pace I realized that my day was not going to get better. I saw Kevin Collington and one of the coaches at the turn around half way through the run and I stopped, explained that I couldn’t breath, then joined them on the other side of the fence.

The DNF never feels good. You have to question whether you could have continued, if it was worth finishing, what you could have done to avoid getting yourself to the point of dropping out. For me, it all goes back to my false start. Had I not done that I wouldn’t have been in a dangerous position when the crash happened (I don’t normally ride boxed in in the back of a pack), I wouldn’t have lost my bottle, I would have been helping the lead pack extend their lead, rather than the chase pack, and I probably would have had a decent run. That said, I didn’t have a lot of fight in me for this one. When my stomach and diaphragm tightened up and stopped me from breathing I felt happy to have an excuse. Perhaps it would have been different if I were running for 15th or 20th or even a 30th place finish, but making myself hurt that bad for a 50th place after everything else that had gone wrong… I just didn’t have the fight.

This is another video from the San Francisco Pan-America Cup. It shows the actual racing!

Not much else is going on here in London. We’re training in a 30.3m pool (33.3yards) which has made swim practice rather interesting: “Alright, 4×60.6 on a minute, followed by 4×90.9 on 1:15 right into a 363.6 on 5 minutes…” I’ve nearly died in training rides, and will likely stay on the trainer indoors the rest of the trip (except for the race of course), and the running here is littered with landmarks, statues, and plenty of other things to look at. It’s pretty fun.

Saturday was my second round of World Championship Series Triathlon. Bolstered with the confidence of someone able to swim ride and run alone for a draft-legal Pan-American Cup win a week earlier, I approached the start line with an undeniably brilliant race plan. I would swim to the front, drive the pace so as to string out the rest of the field, then ride away from the bunch in a small breakaway, and run to a finish that would make Slowtwitchers* raise their eyebrows in awe. Why would I even need a contingency plan for such a bold, and unbeatable strategy? I was so content and sure that my nerves before the race, normally quivering with anticipation, were calm as a sunflower in Kansas.

When reality sunk in I was three feet underwater near the first turn buoy. In an instant my thoughts had turned from the race to survival. I hadn’t had a dry breath in nearly 20 seconds and as 65 men swam over me I didn’t seem to have much of a chance at breathing again soon. I found myself near the back of the swim pack - a place I have very little experience with - and was quite unhappy about it. The clear water and non-combative attitudes I have experienced at the front of other big races seemed mythical in comparison to the brutal battering, blatant grabbing, and completely unnecessary aggression of the mid-pack swim.I would like very much to never be there again. A few days ago I was violently angry with the way people around me were swimming. It was unnecessary, it hurt, and it slowed down everyone involved. Now, I’ve just resolved that it’s worth swimming faster in the future. Easier said that done, but if I’m feeling off, I’ll have to remember Hamburg.

I exited the water with a small gap in front of me. I was with Mark Fretta from the USA, and Beavan Docherty of New Zealand, among others. We caught the group in front of us in a lap, then caught the leaders by the third lap. Yes, I was in the second chase group - without a contingency plan. Half way through the bike Mark Fretta was riding in front and slowing the pace. Nobody seemed to want to go around him and he looked as though he was expecting someone to break away. So I did. I got away and nobody followed. I was hoping someone would bridge up, but they just let me take the television cameras and go. I got lots of television time, but after a little more than a lap I was sucked back into a frenzy of counterattacks. A lap later Fretta took off on his own solo breakaway and I blocked for him as best I could. He quickly gained 30 seconds on us with a lap to go, then lost 10 seconds as the pack jockeyed for position.

I started the run a third of the way back in a pack of everyone. Within a lap I caught up to Mark, and lost contact with 45 men from my bike pack. Over the next lap I stopped being passed, and by the 5k I started bringing back some of the men who had blown a gasket in front of me. I finished in 41st place, and ran 32 minutes 42 seconds on the German Certified 10km run (they lengthened the course this year after being criticized for having a short run in previous years). I was 3 minutes slower than the winner, Javier Gomez.

Certainly I had hoped for a better finish. I had hoped for a career day, and I had hoped that I would run well below 32 minutes. I believe I’m capable of that, and I would love to prove it. Unfortunately, my day in Hamburg was not that day for me. If I use my swim as a barometer for my overall performance compared to my potential, then I was clearly having an off day. That said, I was bold on the bike, given my circumstances, and while it didn’t pay off, I’m glad I was willing to take the chance. It was fun to be in a solo break at a WCS race. Suicidal? Yes. But fun!

*Slowtwitchers, or STers are the community of people that follow and comment on, almost obsessively, the going-ons of the triathlon world through a community forum hosted at slowtwitch.com

This is a series of interviews from before and after Saturday’s ITU Pan-America Cup Triathlon courtesy of TriCal TV.

Not everything went right today, but the important stuff did.

The race started right on time, and Brian Fleischmann and I were lined up right along the far left side of the deep water start. I was hoping we would start early since they had us lined up in 14 degree water over two minutes before the gun (and since I was number one I had an extra two minutes in the water at least). For all my nervousness about a deep water start I discovered there was nothing to worry about. I pulled away from the line quickly and met up with Tommy Zafaras (also coached by Victor Plata) around 150m into the swim. He’s fast, so I stuck on his feet until the second buoy. At that point I started having trouble following his line, and I decided it was time to push the pace anyway. I took the lead (thought apparently I was swimming a line that looked like a seismometer reading) and never looked back.

I was first out the water, and was surprised that the group behind me was strung out and I didn’t recognize anyone. I started off on the bike slowly, putting on my shoes and hoping somebody would catch up to work with me. I didn’t want to let up too much because I figured if people had to work to get up to me it would weed out anyone without the firepower to do so. One guy finally caught up, though when he did and I tuned on the gas he lasted less than half the lap before falling back.

From there I turned the 25 seconds I had out the water on the main group into 45 seconds by the end of the 3rd lap, then gave up 15 seconds and finished my solo 40k bike ride about 30 seconds up on a group of 11 that had been working to catch me. I ran like I was being hunted, eleven wolves drooling for the taste of victory if they could catch me. After the first lap (of 3) I had 27 seconds left.

On the sidelines Victor was encouraging me, “you look better than all of those guys! You’re not giving up any time! You won’t give up any time!!” Next to him was my college friend Brandon Basso yelling, “Ben! You look like a runner!!!”

Both helped. I put my head down and a lap later I had 35 seconds over the next runner, but I could see that Steve Sexton had made a move and was running away from the rest of his pack. At the final turn around Steve had closed the gap back to 27 seconds, but with only 1500 meters to go I was starting to think about the finish. I had to snap myself back into the race twice in that final stretch, reminding myself to focus on the moment, “C’mon Ben!” I told myself. “It’s not over yet, endure it.”

And I did. I arrived at finish chute with time to spare, strutted up to the line and grabbing the ribbon with the pride of a lion. This is my first win in an ITU race. Heck, it’s my first win at a legitimate pro race! And I did it the hard way! Solo for 51 kilometers!! I don’t know if it was guts or stupidity (maybe both) but it worked. My parents were there to watch, Victor was there to watch, Tracy and Brandon and Christine and Kelly all made it out to watch me race… it was so exciting! I love having friends and family there for me, and it’s even better when I get to give them a show.

As for the little things: my bike showed up from Reno this morning (huh?) but the only way to get it before the race was to ask my parents to pick it up. Then I sliced my finger nearly to the bone on a metal part of the case. (after being charged both ways I’m realizing this case was a mistake. I’ll have to go back to my homemade no-charge bike case v2.0 - which really doesn’t get charged.) Later on I struggled to get out urine so long that Victor and my dad had yo pack the bike (I haven’t looked inside yet…), and by the time awards were given out my dad was waving his watch at me trying to cut my speech short. I had to ask my mom to drive like road warrior to the Oakland airport in order to get me there at 4:57 for a 5:45 flight back to Denver. I checked in within a minute of the cutoff time, then found a CO2 cartridge in my backpack and was given secondary screening because I gave it to TSA rather than chancing it through the bag scanner. I still made it to the gate, though it wasn’t until I took my seat I felt like the race was finally over. Woohoo!

So far my action packed weekend has been going as planned. Meaning, things have gone wrong and I’m dealing with them. The first thing to go wrong was that Southwest charged me $50 for my new homemade bike case that I was hoping to not be charged for. The lady at the counter pulled out a tape measure and showed a trainee how you measure a suitcase. It came out to 69 inches, 7 inches over and she wouldn’t budge. “It’s only 30 pounds, can’t you give me a few inches leeway for being under the weight limit by so much?” No dice. “I haven’t been charged for the case before, it was designed to be small enough to avoid fees.” No dice. “You can’t just give me a break this one time?” I flashed my pearly whites the cutest way I know how, but still: No dice.

From there I was forced to remember that Denver International has extremely long security lines. They twist around past exhibits and information signs like a ride at Disney. I was glad I had arrived with plenty of time to spare.

The extra time I had allowed before my flight also made me a little surprised when my bike didn’t make it to Oakland. Southwest is normally very good about baggage, in fact, this may be the first time in dozens of flights that I’ve had to file a claim with them. Here I found one downside to flying Southwest: other airlines reimburse baggage fees when the bags don’t show up, Southwest doesn’t. I wasn’t too worried It was a direct flight; one of many direct flights from Denver, and not the last one of the day. I figured it would show up later last night, but when I called yesterday evening, there was still no knowledge of where it was.

In the meantime, I drove to Tiburon and borrowed a bike from Ian Charles. It’s a Scott road bike that’s so light weight I almost hope my bike doesn’t make it. I mean, it’s a little small, and the crank length is off, and it’s always strange riding someone else’s bike, but still, it’s a really nice bike. I rode it around for an hour last night, and if I have to use it, it’ll do the trick.

The first non-bike related problem was when I found out the swim start is a deep water start. ITU races are not normally deep water starts, and the last time I did this race they had a pontoon for us to dive off. I’m not a fan of deep water starts because with this many guys they become unnecessarily rough. People will grab and jab at each other (hopefully unintentionally) and it’s starts like this that are the reason one should wear padded goggles in a race. And if that alone won’t make the swim rough, there’s only 250 meters until the first turn buoy, so we have about 70 men who will likely be 15 or 20 men wide at the first buoy all trying to make a 120 degree turn. That’s going to be rough.

Luckily, I’m start number “1″ so I get to pick my position on the start line first. I’m going for one of the sides. I really don’t want to be in the middle when all these guys start beating at the water trying to get a grip.

So with a crazy swim, and a bike that’s not mine, I’m thankful that the run is exactly as expected. I have my K-Swiss K-Ruuz to run in, and that’s really all I need for the last leg of the race.

This interview is reposted from the Zoom Performance website.

That’s part one.

And this is part two

A week after my season opener in Monterrey, Mexico, and armed with a far better strategic plan, I finished 10^th at the Ishigaki World Cup, held on the southernmost island of Japan. Ishigaki is an idyllic setting for triathlon, and it’s no wonder that this particular race is the oldest World Cup on the ITU circuit. And with 15 years of experience, the race organizers have gotten the details finely tuned.

The swim, a two-lapper in the fishing harbor (protected from the hammerheads by shark nets) set off at a surprisingly fast pace led by an Australian swimmer. For the second week in a row I was 4^th from the water and found myself in a small breakaway on the bike. Unlike in Monterrey, however, this group showed animosity towards each other from the start. Every time someone pulled, another person would attack. This led to a situation I can only think to call “dead fish”. When the first chase pack caught us the situation didn’t change at all. When the second chase pack caught us it became clear that one of the other athletes was planning to attack. When he did, I followed his lead and took off after him – dragging a Japanese athlete with me. When that Japanese athlete came by me and took a pull it became clear that he was not breakaway material. But when I started to come around him he showed that he was also not qualified to ride in a group - he turned to look back, and in doing so he turned his bars and took his bike clear across the road and into me. Because he was ahead of me at that point, when our bikes met it was a losing position for me. I leaned against him in hopes of saving myself, but my bike flipped forward and I rolled to the ground.

Standing in the road bleeding as I looked at my crooked handle bars, all that went through my head was anger that I had traveled way too far for my race to end like this. I began to walk my seemingly broken bicycle to the side of the road, when a spectator handed me the bottle that had been launched onto the sidewalk. I took it, but must have given her a strange look – I was confused as to why I would need my bottle back when clearly my race was over. The streets were lined with thousands of fans, and there seemed to be a consensus that I should suck it up and start pedaling again. I took the bottle, grabbed my chain to put it back on the chain rings, and mounted my bike to the thundering cheers of the crowd.

Within a lap I caught back on to the group, but I had missed my breakaway opportunity. I did my best to recover from the effort, and to ignore my swelling hip as we started what would prove to be among the most difficult run courses on the World Cup Circuit. I suffered a bad transition – a trend, which I have struggled to improve – and began the run with a small deficit. I sprinted up the bridge and nearly caught the leaders, but then proceeded to suffer through the next lap and half – being dropped from the first, then the second, and then the third running packs. Beginning the final lap I was in roughly 20^th position. I looked ahead and forced myself to focus on every individual step – to ignore the distance remaining and inch my way back to the group in front of me. Slowly I came back to the runners ahead, passed a few, and then a few more. In the final kilometer I passed a pack of 4 runners and never looked back. I emptied the proverbial tank and found myself crossing the line in 10^th. To give you an idea of how competitive these races are, I was 6 seconds behind 7^th, and 10 seconds ahead of 13^th. 40 seconds faster and I would have been on the podium, which is what I had hoped for. Still, tenth at a world cup is a very strong result, and one that has moved me from 100^th in the ITU rankings up to 57^th (my highest ranking to date), and much better than letting a bad cyclist hand me a DNF.

On Sunday, I raced my first triathlon of the season: the Monterrey World Cup in Mexico. I went into the race feeling strong, and I was determined to make something happen. I came away from the race having indeed made something happen, and having learned that sticking to my race plan with die-hard loyalty isn’t always the best choice.

Here’s how it went. I absolutely loved the swim, it was in a canal that was seemingly made for an ITU swim. I exited the water in 4th place, advanced to 3rd with a quick T1, and then hit the bike course with Andrew McCartney and Brian Fleishman. This was exactly what I wanted to happen: a breakaway! Brian and I dropped Andrew, then I went for (and won) the bike prime, then things sort of went south. Brian, Cameron Dye, and three other athletes caught me, but in our break of 6, only Brian, Cam and I were committed to the breakaway. Thus the effort was disorganized and uneven. I tried multiple times to drop the riders who weren’t taking pulls, but I was also trying not to kill my legs with too much sprinting, so all I managed was a very ineffective happy medium. We were nearly caught heading into the last lap of the bike, with only a 5 second gap, but I’d planned to be in the breakaway and I’d put so much work into it that I was determined to make it stick. I put everything I had into that last lap, and our gap went back up to 35 seconds as we came into T2.

My run was not what I’d hoped it would be, and the 35 second lead was not enough to make up for the damage I’d done to my legs over 40km of surges and stubbornness. On the plus side, “not what I’d hoped it would be” was still a 32:24 10k split, faster than I could have expected a year ago, after an average power on the bike that was over 20 watts higher than my previous best average. Not bad, and proof that I’m not just “feeling” strong. But those statistics are like winning workouts, they don’t mean anything unless you back them up with results. So, the corresponding minus side: I dropped from the front of the race back to 19th at the finish, one place behind Brian and a few ahead of Cam. The winner of the race? Joao Silva from Portugal, one of the athletes we had towed around the entire bike course.

I’m still pretty frustrated with my race, a little bit because of the breakaway dynamics, but mostly because I didn’t race a smart race. The only person that seemed to benefit from my strategy was Silva, who managed to win the race because of the time gap I created in those final laps - if only he were my teammate! So I did learn some good tactical lessons, and because they came on a very public World Cup stage, I’m pretty sure they are lessons that will stick with me. I hope they at least stick with me for a few more days, I’m racing the Ishigaki World Cup in Japan on Sunday!