Escaping Alcatraz

I felt like I was a marine on a mission equipped with a parachute jumping from a military plane, as the race coordinator yelled “Go, go, go!”

In my sleeveless wetsuit, without any time to think, I jumped from the boat named, “The San Francisco Belle” with 1600 prisoners of triathlon.

Feet from “The Rock,” while I’m drifting in the Pacific Ocean, I see the Golden Gate Bridge to my right, the Bay Bridge to my left, and the city of San Francisco in front of me.

Clear skies as the race started at 8AM on June 4, 2006, but before triathletes could swim to shore: fog.

At the pre-race meeting, competitors were advised to swim toward various landmarks: the “twin towers,” then the antenna, then Fort Mason, then the Exploratorium Dome, and, finally, the Accenture swim exit just right of the Marina.

Rough waters? Yes. Cold waters? 55-degrees. Sharks? In the 46-minutes that I was swimming, I didn’t see any.

On my road bike, covering the first corner out of transition, I realized “Oh, no! I’ve got a flat tire.” I wasn’t even a mile into the 18-mile bike, and I had my first flat tire in my five-year triathlon racing history. “I can handle this. I just swam from Alcatraz.”

Calmly, I took my tools off my bike seat and grabbed another tube. Like a surgeon, I took off my rear wheel, and exchanged the punctured tube with a new tube. Precious minutes later, the crowd that had watched me while I repaired my bike, cheered for me as I mounted again.

I managed a distance of just a few more bike lengths, and to my dismay, I lay down my bike unintentionally. “Oh, no!”

My handlebar was bent. My right shoulder had road rash. My ankle and knuckles were bleeding. “I’m ok.” With the crowd still watching, I got on my bike. “Let me try this again.”

Down hills traversed around various ledges or were mapped with abrupt sharp turns onto other streets. In addition, the roads needed some work. Braking was absolutely necessary. The real beauty of the bike course was the ascents. There were a variety of short steep climbs, and long gradual climbs with the most breathtaking views.

Next was the run in this three-discipline sport. After about two-miles of flat land, there was a stretch of hills. The only problem was that with this out-and-back course, there were too many participants in the same area at the same time. Slowly, athletes made their way single-file up the stairways to the Golden Gate Bridge, winding through single-track dirt trail, until the descent to reach Baker Beach. Running on soft sand was the prelude to the sand ladder.

Soon enough, I crossed the finish line on Marina Boulevard. I escaped Alcatraz and then some.

The thing with escaping is that for all the planning and preparation, there are still going to be factors you didn’t anticipate and a chance you might get caught.

I planned and prepared, and I was challenged. Yet, still, I was caught … finishing the race. It’s not so bad to be a prisoner of triathlon.