My body is torn and broken. My feet and legs ache from the miles of hiking the past few days. With bulging blisters on my feet, tears in the tendons and fascia on my foot, and aching knees and muscles, I will rest today in the comfort and warmth of my home.

These past few days I left the comfort of this environment for a grueling four day, three night backpacking trip on the Appalachian Trail near Blacksburg. I set out with a goal I could not quite grasp. Forever my philosophy with backpacking has been simple, hike slow and keep the destination underfoot. If the goal was to get somewhere by a certain point, I felt I was doing it wrong. But for this past adventure, I would meld my competitive attitude in triathlon to backpacking. I was going to try to hike over 100 miles in 72 hours. With a thirty pound pack on my back, I would attempt to cover a distance that previously took me a week or more. I totally underestimated the feat. I understood the pain I would endure but no matter how much you could have warned me about the challenges I would face, I would have underestimated the adventure.

The trip began near Buena Vista with a 25 mile stretch to hike south of the James River. Soon into the hike, the sun set. With a pair of headlamps around my neck, like a jockey exchanging goggles, I rotated their use as the other would dim. Through the hours of night hiking I began to process what I was doing. Paranoia soon set in with the darkness becoming ever thicker. On the mountain ridges with lights from towns and houses, I did not feel alone. I felt a human presence with the faint sounds of traffic in the valleys. But following along creeks in valleys, I realized my solitude. I had not seen anyone since my parents left me at the trailhead. I was utterly alone. Frequently, I saw footprints and scat from the familiar black bear. I realized a bear was here, reinforcing to myself the past tense despite the obvious steam rising from the droppings. I knew that the ratio of bears to humans leaned overwhelmingly in their favor. I have always thought of bears as innocent creatures, recognizing they are much less threatening than a human encountered in the middle of the woods. But despite my recognition as the animal as a fearful, harmless one, I understood and respected their power. I would hear rustling up the trail and clap my hands or click my poles together to avoid startling what was up ahead. A few strides later I would identify the creature as a deer or a wild turkey. I would remind myself of the process to handle an aggressive bear while still trying to remember that this is the east coast where we have friendly bears. I would remind myself that an animal over twice my size who charged me this month two years ago was harmless.

I wanted to stop hiking nearly ten miles from my destination. I was psyching myself out. The night was eerie, with the rustle of large ruffed grouse flying past my head like jet fighters not helping with my nerves. In the crunch of the deep leaves covering the trail, my ears could tune the world out, but with sight limited to the distance of my headlamp, the identity of shadows were only guesses. I would see objects towering over the landscape with frightening mangled claws. As I came closer I recognized the power of a fallen tree had simply ripped the soil and gnarly roots from the earth.

At camp, in the thickest darkness of the new moon, I fell asleep quickly. In the early morning, I was up again to begin hiking. I had no time to stop for a meal, realizing any moment I was not moving should be invested urinating, picking up water, or sleeping. I ate as I walked. For breakfast: toaster pastries and fruit snacks. Thirty-six miles lay ahead of me and my destination for the second night. But halfway through the day’s hike, the pain in my feet became overwhelming and the exhaustion took over me. I unrolled my sleeping pad and was asleep within seconds. I woke just before dusk with many, many more miles to hike.

I opened up my first aid kit to attain some much needed pick up. My first aid kit for such an adventure consists of five things: one large bandage, six alcohol wipes, duct tape, super glue (instead of stitches), and caffeine pills.

However, several hours after the beneficial effects of the caffeine wore off, the diuretic effect caught up to me. I found myself on top of a mountain, nearly nine miles from the nearest water source with only a couple sips left in my bottle. I wanted to sleep and rest. My legs were giving out on me. In my delusional state, I saw and heard water everywhere. In the sparkling glimmer of spider eyes, droplets of water would scurry over and under leaves. I wanted to eat them. I wanted to crunch down on a spider to see if their eyes were as thirst quenching as they looked. In the rustle of leaves I would hear streams. And then, sometimes in dead silence, I would hear a waterfall. I heard two voices, two campers who were sure to have water. But when I stopped hiking to listen again, there was no one. I considered leaving the trail to hike into the valley, but in the vastness of the national forest, I knew the risk was not worth the reward.

After hours of torturing dehydration, I knelt down to the ground in agony and frustration. From there, with pack still on, I fell to the ground. With my face on the damp soil, I felt some satisfaction. I wanted to lay there till someone came and found me. In the insanely hot humid weather for late November, I was ready to give up. But my headlamp shined on a beautiful sight. A rock inches away from my headlamp glistened with moist droplets from the dew forming. With no hesitation, I licked the rock to moisten my tongue and with just enough energy resulting from a wet tongue, I was able to rise and see a patch of wet moss. I pulled the moss from the ground and squeezed the muddy droplets into my mouth.

With mud streaming across my cheeks, I had enough energy to make it into the valley. Once there I lay with my head in the spring, sipping its power straight from the source. I filled up my bottle and drank it in one swig. I wanted to stay there all night but as soon as I felt the energizing power of one source of water, cool rain began to fall. One source would keep me alive but without shelter, the other would threaten to kill me. I needed to continue. I know it may seem a simple solution, that I should not have taken the caffeine. However, I recognize that I would have only traded dehydration for dangerous mental fatigue and exhaustion.

After a few hours of rest, I rose to attempt the mileage again the following day. But when I stood from my sleeping bag, my knees buckled underneath me and I fell back down. The soreness was overwhelming and crippling. My feet ached and my muscles cramped. Usually one would find synonymity in dull, aching to persistence as sharp, stabbing is synonymous to temporary. However, in the many hours I had been in the woods thus far, the pain I experienced was stabbing and persistent. It seemed unreal that so much pain and agony could come for such a long time but I managed to rise and continue my journey. My legs warmed and the sharp pains became more of a nuisance that inhibition of my stride. That warmth came and went and by mid afternoon I was once again walking with the stride of a chimpanzee.

I know it seems crazy, I did have an option to leave or slow down. There were road crossings and I very easily could have been off that trail and away from the torturous pain. But I came out here for that, to be humbled and experience something I had never done before and for that, I continued.

Late in the afternoon, the hiking was slow enough that a break seemed essential. I unrolled my sleeping pad on a ridgeline at dusk, fully aware of the demonic clouds looming overhead threatening to open on me. I set my watch to wake me in a couple hours but the pouring rain beat my alarm. In a frenzy I packed in less than two minutes and was back to hiking. A few miles later, the exhaustion and pain once again became too overwhelming to continue. Earlier, in just 48 hours of being on the trail, I had hit the 80 mile mark of my trip. But now I was breaking. I could walk no further at this pace. I found a boulder with an overhang, a dry flat space beneath it where I would sleep. I could hear the bats whine within the complex of rocks and I knew they probably were not the only residents. Despite the threat, my hesitation was brief and short lived and camp was established. I was asleep within minutes.

I woke several hours later within a misty cloud and planned to get out of the woods. My trip was supposed to be a day longer but was becoming too dangerous to continue alone. My exhaustion was sure to lead me to some poor decisions and in my solitude, any mistake would be amplified. Eighteen miles lay between me and escape. I hiked rapidly, only stopping once for water. I hiked along a slippery cliff face of which the cloud concealed the bottom. My strides were not straight but with extra caution I managed to traverse the section of trail with no mistake.

However, exhaustion overcame me once more and took me to the ground for one last nap. When I woke, only four and a half miles were left in this epic adventure. I quickly made it to the road and with my thumb out, was immediately offered a ride. He dropped me off just down the mountain at the end of a road that led straight into downtown Blacksburg. With such luck with the first hitch, I was sure I would be back in Blacksburg within the hour.

Hours later though, I still stood watching car after car drive past me. One guy even felt the urge to flick me off. I thought it a brilliant culmination of my trip. I wanted to live in the lowest pit possible for this trip and I had managed. I was surviving on minimal rations of food and water. I stood in the misting rain for hours, waiting for a favor from a fellow human. I understood that sometimes people do not feel safe or cannot give hitch hikers rides. It can be unsafe for elderly or the weak to risk the threat of a hostile passenger. Or they may only be going a mile down the road and correctly anticipate I want to go further. Or they may already have a passenger or groceries filling the other seat. I understand and I never criticize anyone who does not pick me up because I know there are reasons. Sometimes people just don’t want to stop, and I understand that too. It is a favor mandating thanks and gratitude from myself, not an obligation. I do not expect anyone to pick me up.

But I thought it incredible the assumptions this man made about me because I was standing on the side of the road with my thumb out. He probably assumed I was a bum, a traveler mooching off hard working people for a simpler, easier life. He made wild assumptions about who I was based on what he saw but could not be more wrong. He has several options of how to act as a passerby. Many people will wave to me and I’ll wave back. I understand their attempt to reconcile their inability or disinterest in picking me up. It is amazing how much power a simple wave had for me standing out in the cold, misting rain, wondering what my options were with all my friends back home for Thanksgiving. It was very refreshing for people to engage in the simple activity of lifting their palm from the steering wheel, totally unnecessary, but so meaningful and something I was so thankful for.

Some people do nothing. Whether avoiding looking at me to avoid the awkward confrontation or guilt or simply just to keep their eyes on the road, I am unsure. But this guy, a middle age man, took the effort to roll down his passenger window as he drove by me to flick me off. I was disgusted and torn, not because his assumption that I was worthy of the bird was right but because of the reality that he made the assumption. Just two days before a holiday of gratitude, love, and thanks, he flicked me off for reasons I am ultimately unsure of.

With my hitch hiking failing, I was preparing to set up camp on the side of the road to try again the next day. But three hours after I had begun my attempts, a man named Donny, in his haste, peeled off the side of the road and yelled for me to get in. I threw my pack in the bed of his truck and slid into the passenger seat. I was a broken man and Donny, despite receiving continuing thanks throughout the 30 minute drive, could not understand enough how much the ride meant to me. He dropped me off at the entrance to my neighborhood and I wished him a happy Thanksgiving.

I walked down my road with a gimp stride, swinging my left leg underneath me to move it forward. I smiled and laughed with the overwhelming happiness to be home and safe. After showering and getting some much needed nourishment, I lay down on my couch to enjoy a movie. My goal had become simple and clear, to suffer and be humbled. I accomplished that. The past four days were some of the most difficult of my life. No one could have adequately warned me of that. But in my exhaustion, I lived. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I will not take any of the comfort for granted.

“Evenings were peaceful, smoke settling in the quiet air to soften the dusk, lights twinkling on the ridge we would camp on tomorrow, clouds dimming the outline of our pass for the day after. Growing excitement lured my thoughts again and again to the West Ridge…There was loneliness, too, as the sun set, but only rarely now did doubts return. Then I felt sinkingly as if my whole life lay behind me. Once on the mountain, I knew (or trusted) that this was to give way to total absorption with the task at hand. But at times I wondered if I had not come a long way only to find that what I really sought was something I had left behind” -Thomas F. Hornbein, Everest: The West Ridge

Just the beginning for Cobb?

By: Andy Thompson/Times-Dispatch Columnist

When the Sport distance XTERRA off-road triathlon was over last Sunday, Grayson Cobb may have been the only person surprised that he took the top spot on the podium.

“I told him he was going to win it,” Mike Harlow said. “I was pretty confident.”

Harlow, owner of Endorphin Fitness, is Cobb’s coach and training partner. He’s worked with the recent Collegiate High grad for three years on honing his triathlon skills.

Before the race, Cobb wasn’t so sure. He entered the race only the Wednesday beforehand after Harlow convinced him to give it a shot.

“I really didn’t think I stood a chance,” said the rising freshman at Virginia Tech. “I just wanted to go out and have some fun.”

That quickly changed as the race unfolded. He was fifth out of the 500-meter swim. He left the transition to the 19K mountain bike ride in second and overtook the leader soon thereafter. Knowing the 7K run would be his strongest leg, the former cross country and track runner figured he had the race in the bag. But he had forgotten that a second wave of athletes entered the water two minutes after him. Someone could finish after Cobb and still beat his time.

“I wasn’t thinking about the second wave at the time,” he said. “The thought hadn’t crossed my mind for the whole race, and when I crossed the finish line, my dad suggested it to me. I was pretty nervous.”

Cobb ended up sweating out a 14-second victory over Ryan Trebour.

As impressive as Cobb’s victory was, it’s likely a prelude to successes to come.

“To be quite honest, Grayson has more potential than any kid I’ve ever coached,” Harlow said. “We’ve done [fitness] tests on him, and he’s right up there with the pros. Even beyond that, he’s just the strongest mental athlete that I know of.

“He’s one of those 1 percenters that will race better than he trains, and he trains hard. If he decides he wants to go pro and race with the best in the country, I think he has every possibility to do that.”

It doesn’t take long talking to Cobb to see what Harlow means. He may have the potential to be a world-class triathlete, but it isn’t his talent that makes him unusual. What makes him exceptional, especially considering he just graduated from high school, are statements like these: “I live such a life of pleasure with my nice house. I’m not a starving child. The ability to overcome the pain that is there [during training and races], I love having to do that, and the ability to do that is a skill that everyone should have to learn.

“If other people are going to have pain forced upon them, I just feel like it’s something that humans should learn. We should learn to embrace it instead of wanting to get rid of it.”

Embracing pain is what successful endurance athletes do every day. Few figure that out in high school. Cobb has. Put that together with his obvious talent and you’ve got the makings of a special athlete.

At the beginning of this season, I had no idea what would come of it. I had the goal of attaining my professional license but as I watch more and more professional racing and come closer and closer to achieving that goal, I recognize how in over my head I would be. I don’t want to rush this goal. It still remains top on the list but I want to be ready for the transition and I am content with finishing this season as a content amateur rather than an inexperienced elite.

I finished the season with five wins and three more podium finishes, two course records, as Virginia Triathlon Series Champion, and as an All-American. I achieved my primary goal to continue improving each year with a five minute personal record on the Giant Acorn course and several other personal records.

In May I returned to the site of my first triathlon, Angels Race in Lynchburg, Virginia. The goal was to rediscover what it was that attracted me so much to this sport and with the insanely fun and supportive atmosphere in Lynchburg, I found what I was looking for. Even out on the rural 15 mile bike course, there were people out cheering at eight in the morning. I raced to a course record by over two minutes and a personal record of 10 minutes over the race five years earlier.

Two weeks later I ventured to Lake Anna to battle head to head with Ben Bartlett, a race that even five months later, still ranks as one of the most fun this season. Ben and I duked it out for essentially the entire race for me to barely squeeze out a victory with a sub-5 minute last mile. At Colonial Beach Triathlon a few weeks later I would repeat another close race with catching the leader in the last quarter mile to win by a mere seven seconds.

However, my streak of six wins for six races in Virginia would end with a hard thump with a DNF at Rockett’s Landing Triathlon in Richmond. In the weeks following I worked to clean up the mess of such a hard fall to attempt to recover for Age Group Nationals in Vermont. As a tune-up I raced Luray Sprint Triathlon and faced one of the fastest amateurs in the nation who would take me down after having raced to a win in the Olympic distance race the day before.

The next week I once again crumbled under the pressure of a National Championships, a trend that has become all too familiar for me. However, I was able to travel back to Vermont, a state I have not visited since I walked through it almost two years ago on my southbound trip on the Appalachian Trail.

With another month break to shake off the poor performance, I mustered the last bits of matches from a box that was becoming more and more empty. I lit another match at Naylor’s Beach Triathlon last weekend that burned out with six miles still left to race. However, this past weekend at Giant Acorn Triathlon I managed to set some personal records and race to a result that I can be proud to enter the off season with.

I am recognizing more and more how much this sport means to me. I am seeing how many metaphors and relationships it has to my life. Sure I spend only a couple hours with the sport each day, but in the time away from training and racing, triathlon does not leave me. I love this sport, I love the competition, and I love the community.

However, late in the season I saw some sides to this sport that I have not seen before. The cheating that I saw used to defeat me managed to bring me down in more ways than just in placings. I was broken. I didn’t want to have anything to do with the sport. I saw people who were willing to sacrifice their integrity for a win. However, I saw some aspects of myself and others that I would not have witnessed. I was faced with a difficult situation. I stood my ground and told people exactly what I thought and publicized the facts. While I maybe came off as frustrated at having being beaten, I know that I am not and have never been a sore loser. I know what happened and I believe the penalties are evidence for the reality. While people will always be critical of my honesty, I will not let my hard work be crapped on by unfair racing. Earlier in the year I commented in a post on how content I am losing to tough, respectable, and fair competitors such as Michael Harlow, Ryan Peterson, Matias Palavecino, Clayton Petty, Ben Bartlett, Justin Riddle, Adam Otstot, et cetera and I think I have upheld that all season.

It makes me sick the attacks against me as an athlete that I have received because I called someone out on unfair play. It seems that some people are so quick to abandon the Grayson they have always known if I say one thing critical. I have never been in this situation before where my words and actions are so analyzed. As an age grouper, you can say whatever idiotic, egotistical crap you want. But the second you hold a banner above your head, people are waiting like hyenas to jump on the slightest slip of the tongue.

Last week, I waited all week for an apology from the man who used my effort against me. But on Thursday night, four days after the race, the half-butt apology seemed more like an attempt to reconcile a truce before the battle that would ensue on Saturday. I never want to have enemies but it seems in me shedding light on the truth I have upset some people.

This weekend, despite a continuation of the drafting from last weekend, I am content with how the race turned out. I was beaten on my best day by enough of a margin that I think the benefit from the rule breaking was not substantial enough. However, the rules are rules and that margin would have for sure been smaller. So how much smaller, who knows. But we would know for sure had the rules been followed. That is a race I want to see. In all honesty the drafting simply helps me to recognize my need to stray away from my dependency on my cycling ability. My coach and I have really all but abandoned training on the bike for over a year now and focused on swimming and running. Last winter, for four months I biked maybe a total of 150 miles. This year I’ll probably do the same and invest my time on the sports which still hold me back.

While I did see such a low point in the sport, in just a week, I think I may have witnessed its redemption. Triathlon is not just a sport. It is a lifestyle. It is an incorruptible representation of the greatness of humanity. Each of us can attain speeds and performances that we never thought possible. Through pushing these barriers, we dig within ourselves and find a god-like essence that we may not have known existed. We can show this power through our racing and although all these adaptations can all be explained through biological science, there are still things about it that can never and will never be understood.

We each will bury ourselves to depths of pain and suffering to race people who we will later congratulate and shake hands with and laugh with. We treat each other like mortal enemies out on the course but the second we cross that finish line, we are all friends. There is no logical reason for digging ourselves to such pain. We like to base our lives off facts and realities, leaving the unexplainable to religion and yet we got out every day to defy our body’s will.

I didn’t quite realize the power of the sport until this year when I heard the respect and acknowledgments from the volunteers at the race. They have so much respect for triathletes and I honestly believe that they make the sport what it is. Saturday, as puked streamed out of my mouth in my masochistic quest to catch my competitor, five girls volunteering for the race, manned a turn on the bike course and waved their flags in rhythmic fashion while cheering to all the cyclists to signify the turn. Despite the raging pain throughout my body, I couldn’t help but laugh. I loved it. Later I would hear the praise of a volunteer who struggled, just as I do, to express why it is so amazing what triathletes do out on that course.

With each passing year, I love this sport so much more and I am so excited for next year. This was the first year that the burn out did not come on full throttle. Instead, I finished the season with a sort of tear-jerking reflection on such a fun season and the fun adventures I have had with my friends and teammates. With the cold having already hit Blacksburg hard, I am excited about turning on my go-to trainer movie, Wall-E, for the thousandth time and hopping on the bike. Preparation for Nationals starts next week. I am looking forward to seeing everyone at the early season races next spring. Look for Virginia Tech Triathlon in the top-5 at Collegiate Nationals next year.

“I don’t know man, I’ll just give it a shot,” I responded as I wiped the puke from my lips. The race hadn’t even begun and I had already lost my breakfast and all my fluids. At the time I thought I was about to have the worst race of my life. I had no idea I was in fact about to break down some barriers in triathlon that when I was a kid, I had never thought possible.

In the cool October temperatures, I treaded water next to a man who I knew would be tough competition. I hoped to come out of the swim with him to seal a strong race. After 200 meters, however, he had already put a body length on me and would end up swimming away to a minute gap before the 1500 was over. The lead pack of swimmers split and in the choppy water, my weakness for my limited range of conditions for a strong swim was revealed. I ended up in the second pack with several of my teammates from Tech that I would see every time I’d turn to breathe. It was a comfortable pack to be in, all of us being supportive of each other. Typically in swimming packs everyone is fighting but obviously as teammates it was a truce, a mutual desire to end the swim the soonest.

When I exited the water, my two main competitors had over a minute on me. I went out on the chilly two-loop bike leg hammering. I reeled in several athletes as my body rejected all the fluids I consumed. Puke streamed from my mouth just minutes after I would take sips of gatorade from my bottle. I kept trying to consume but my body kept repeating the cycle. Fortunately the extremely cool temperatures meant this illness seemingly didn’t effect my performance whatsoever.

On the second loop of the bike I really put the hammer down. I had worked my way back to second place overall and built a gap on a runner who I knew would surely threaten to chase me down on the third leg.

When I came off the bike the puking stopped and the real race began. Clay Petty from Navy, having not let me even catch him on the bike, with a strong 10k would race to the win for sure. But another athlete was going to come after me from behind. And even with me dropping sub-5:40 miles for the first 5k, faster than I have ever run in an olympic triathlon 10k, he caught me and would race away to a second place finish.

I can’t complain about my third place finish. While I was extremely excited about a 1 next to my name from last year’s race, that win was in a race that was nowhere near as competitive as this year’s race. Last year I raced to a win with a time that was five minutes slower than my time this year on the same course. I swam two minutes faster, biked the same split, and ran three minutes faster. I am so excited to finish the season off with a breakthrough race and despite the much needed couple weeks of down time, I am ready to begin some hard training to continue the improvement at Collegiate Nationals next year. Having raced to an Olympic distance personal record of 1:58:57, I am psyched to improve on that.

I am still very frustrated with the bending of the rules that continues to happen in these end of the season races. Earlier this year I was caught up in a miserable collection of allegations for activities on the bike that I will never forget. It is an awful feeling to be accused of racing an unfair race and not a situation I ever want to be in. I ended up receiving a DNF for heat exhaustion that would surely have led me to the hospital had I continued. However, I cannot say that the decision to not finish that race did not also have something to do with the embarrassment of trying to use tactics to beat my opponents instead of my body.

At the finish line, I was so excited for the best race of my life and so excited that my opponents had beat me with a fair race. Congratulations were genuine and I was and still am content with my placement. However, later in the day, rumors became truth and I heard that out on the course there were some more position violations that went unseen by the officials. While these violations in all honesty probably do not affect the outcome of the race, it still hurts to not know for sure. It is also tough to know that the remorse felt from competitors who clearly defied the rules last weekend did not translate to an extreme sensitivity to them.

It is a triple threat to draft on the bike. The athlete gets benefit of a faster bike split, and saved energy from a faster run split, and the opponent wastes energy trying to drop the cheater. Tactically, it is a great idea to draft. Morally, the story is different. Every competitive triathlete will recognize this huge benefit at some point. Some in that will respect the benefit and need for the rules, others will recognize the benefit of breaking them.

I refuse to let this ruin the excitement for the sport because I know that in reality the outcome of this race probably would not have changed.

Today I raced Luray Sprint Triathlon just outside the small town of Luray, Virginia. While my main goal was as preparation for Nationals in six days, a triathlon is a triathlon. I drove up there last night, enduring frightening thunderstorms and battering rain that slowed I-81 traffic to a crawl. But on Route 211 I drove alone in the darkness with my buddy Paulo in the backseat watching a spectacle of seemingly random beautiful fireworks explode over the hilltops. It turns out there was a festival in Luray but to me it was a relieving signal in the midst of the darkness of the Shenandoah mountains. My directions took me an odd way, on an access road in the National Park. In second gear I rolled down the steep gravel hill, waiting for a curious black bear to come out to greet me.

But sure enough I came off the deserted road and there was the race site, with probably over a hundred other people who had intentions of camping out. Paulo had slept the entire trip from Blacksburg in addition to being in a kennel earlier in the day so he was full of energy while I was about to collapse from exhaustion. I took him for a brief walk in the light drizzle and returned to establish some semblance of a livable environment in the trunk of my car. I set up my sleeping pad next to Paulo’s bed and we hunkered down to endure what ranks as one of the worst nights of my life.

Sore from having jumped off a 40 foot cliff and having tubed behind a 700HP 28 foot hoss of a boat in the Tennessee river the day before, I rolled around on my sleeping pad for hours before I finally got the first bit of sleep. Paulo was wide awake, and tried to pass the time by licking, sneezing, hacking, standing up, laying down, standing up, laying down, and repeating. In the sauna that Paulo and I created with our damp coats, I had to open the windows to get release the steam. I traded the steamy air for rain drops to my face.

I woke to the bitter sweet sound of a street sweeper cleaning the roads. Two years ago on this course I sealed the slowest bike split with a flat tire and six miles of barefoot walking on baking hot asphalt to finish the 41k bike leg in the Olympic distance race. I was extremely excited at the reduced risk of a repeat flat, but I was wide awake a mere four hours after my first bit of shut eye, and an hour and a half before I needed to be up.

Still, I turned underneath my transition towel (I forgot my sleeping bag) for another hour before I inspired myself to get ready. Even with the convenience of sleeping fifty meters from my bike rack, I was still one of the last ones out of the transition areas as they shouted “Transition’s closed, everybody out!”

With Lake Arrowhead at a borderline wetsuit legal 77 degrees, I decided to prep for swimming in the frigid Lake Champlain next weekend by donning the neoprene I hadn’t worn in months. I felt extremely strong on the swim but became a little overheated in my wetsuit. I came out in third, just meters behind the first place swimmer, my teammate Dylan Morgan. With one of my best performance yet on the leg that once kept me out of contention, I managed to lose valuable seconds to my opponents in transition and had to fight hard to pull myself back into the race.

Beginning the bike leg, with my heart threatening to beat out of my chest, I heard the announcer call out, “There’s Matias, our winner from yesterday’s Olympic distance race.” You’re kidding me. I couldn’t believe this guy was out here to do it all over again just 24 hours later.

I had heard stories about him destroying the second place guy by almost 6 minutes yesterday. Despite the fact that he was fatigued, and I was rested, I knew he was still a huge threat when I heard his name called. With barely enough time to strap into my bike shoes, I was on the first and probably biggest hill of the course. I took the left turn to look up the road and see Matias had nearly caught my teammate already. It was now or never. He was going to crush it from here on and if I didn’t jump on the pain train with him, I was going to be out of contention for the win less than a quarter into the race.

I hammered up the hill, cranking on the pedals, out of the saddle the entire way up the half mile climb. On the descent I tucked aero with my palms on my forearm rests, elbows tucked in, and coasted at over 40 miles per hour. I repeated this process until I caught him. When I caught him, I had no energy to make the pass and attempt to ride away. I knew I couldn’t just ride by and away with the race. This guy was a competitor and he would fight me despite his sore legs and tired body. I sat twenty meters behind him for a third of the bike leg, watching him turn around and look at me, startled to see anyone with him.

He pressed hard up the hills in attempt to get rid of his tail, but mile after mile, I was feeling better and better. He turned his head around frequently and I figured it made him nervous with me being there. I knew of a false flat on the back stretch of the course that is demoralizing to any cyclist. It looks like a totally flat road but pushing above 20 m.p.h. is nearly impossible. When he slowed down at the beginning of the road, I jumped and tried to ride away from him. After a mile of hammering near my limit, I looked back to see I had only gained 100 meters on him, less than ten seconds. I continued to push but another mile later, he was back with me.

I knew this race was going to come down to the run, but I figured he would have one last go on the final climb before transition. Expecting him, I kept the pace high and the pressure on him. It was then that the race really began. He, just as I had predicted, began his pass. However, I expected him to jump hard and try to surprise me. Instead, I heard the whir of his wheels slowly crank up to me. I slipped out a friendly, -we have been together for nearly an hour- kind of salutation, the first acknowledgment of each other the entire race. “Great job man,” I said as he rode up to me.

But before the congratulations was returned, looks were exchanged that I will probably never forget. It was kind of an edging me on look, like a let’s do this, kind of look. He stared me in the eyes, and I returned the gaze, equally curious as to who this guy was. He probably, just as I did, expected to have the race in the bag just by showing up. But each of us was surprised, a great surprise, by a real hardcore, well rounded competitor. All I had seen up till now was his back. But when he looked at me, and I at him, we were scanning for weakness, asking if the other was really up for the battle. After what seemed like an eternity, he responded with a polite “you too man,” and jumped again, but I responded with equal power.

We rode into transition together to cheers from hundreds of spectators. Out of transition I took back the lead that I wanted to hold till the end. But he responded and quickly caught me. At the first hill, he surged in attempt to end the race. I dropped off the pace a little to a few feet behind him, having full confidence in my ability to run downhill fast. My confidence was well worth the savings in energy. I gained the few feet and caught him and we repeated this yo-yo for each hill on the first half of the run. But at the turn around, he popped out with enough demoralizing speed that I fell off pace. I either couldn’t or didn’t want to match it. Either way, he wins. Either way, I lost to a guy who raced to a course record on a prestigiously difficult course yesterday only to race again today. He took the small gap and turned it into a big one, cruising to his second victory in two days. Today I don’t have a victory story. Matias does. After this weekend he has two of them. I’d be lying if I said I’m happy with second. But for today, I must be content.

I crossed the finish line in second with my teammate from Endorphin Fitness, Dylan Morgan, rounding out the podium for third place overall. Matias now holds the course record for both Luray triathlons, while I hold the third fastest time ever for the sprint. Returning to my introduction, I managed to set the new bike course record with pushing a mere 220 watts. To translate, your average fit male could probably push that for the same amount of time. So what made the difference for me? Why was it that a fairly average wattage could be outstanding? First off strategy played a key role. I hammered the uphills, coasted in an aero tuck on the downhills, and took the turns at speed. But mostly the reason I can go fast with such a low power is because I’m so freaking tiny. So continue with the short jokes and watch my grin stretch from ear to ear. I love short jokes.

Today, for the first time ever, I received a bold DNF next to my name. I denied every hint of fatigue my body showed me. Rockett’s was my third triathlon in two weeks, having just completed Colonial Beach triathlon a mere 14 days earlier. I told myself, this time is different. I would win 3sports without digging deep into the well to be able to recover and race hard again the next weekend.

But that wasn’t the case. Before the race I was receiving cheers from my friends. People tell me, you’ve got him today, referring to what was hopefully going to be an epic showdown between me and my coach Michael. They tell me to crush it, and after the past few days of hesitation, and doubts running through my mind, it all cleared half an hour before the start. I told myself I was going to do it. I was ready for it and psyched to have a killer race.

When I jumped into the 92 degree water, I knew the swim would be the worst part with the heat. It was nearly ten degrees warmer than the air and felt like bath water. If I could make it through the swim without overheating, I would cruise on the bike to once again battle the heat later on the run.

When the gun went off I found myself keeping up with the fastest guys. I was in fourth for my wave for the majority of the swim. But towards the end I could feel myself overheating. My entire body hurt. The water, which before felt warm, now felt scalding. It was sucking every bit of energy from my body. I lost my draft on my teammate and lost twenty seconds on him in the last 200 meters.

When I came out onto the dock I instantly assessed the horrible feeling plaguing me. I had attained an extremely high body temperature on the leg of the race that is supposed to be refreshing. Instantly, we were required to run up a long flight of stairs. I realized the heat had zapped all my energy. I did what I could to salvage a fast T1 but with a heart rate of 198, the highest I have seen all year, in any training or race, my body simply was not responding to my desire.

Out on the bike my legs weren’t like the pistons I had last weekend that led me to a 26+ m.p.h. bike leg. My heart was spiked and my legs burned. I touched my chest and felt the heat radiating like hot asphalt in the midday sun. I unzipped my suit to release some of the heat but it was ineffective. Unwilling to abandon my goal, I hydrated and continued pounding out whatever energy I had on the pedals. By mile 10 I had caught Michael and I was in 3rd place overall. The first two guys were out of reach and had won the race, but third was still up for grabs and I knew I had to pull away from Michael to get a gap on him before the run or else 3rd would be his.

But with a strong surge, he still managed to keep me in sight, and before I knew it he was back up near me, pushing the same speed. My legs were shot. Everything burned and I had almost drank all my fluids by mile 20.

I entered T2 and with the fastest T2 split of the day, kicked out on the run with a ten second lead over Michael, a lead that would quickly dwindle. At a half mile in, Michael caught and passed me. I didn’t even have the energy to surge and keep with him. His pace was lightning fast and he was racing away to a strong third place finish. My goals quickly changed. I wanted to salvage a run and stay strong. But at a little over a mile onto the run, I knew something was not right. Today wasn’t like the fatigue I’ve had in races before. It was much, much worse. I couldn’t run in a straight line to save me. My legs were giving out on me, and soon came a throbbing, pounding headache like no pain I’ve ever felt before in a race.

I thought for sure I had hydrated enough, having drank over forty ounces since the start of the race. Soon into the run, I could tell my body was shutting down. I was in over my head and having run myself to a situation of unconsciousness in one of my first triathlons, I knew that the ground was not where I wanted to end up today. At the second aid station, I made the decision to end my race. My goal was not to end up in the hospital, and I knew that was where I was headed. As an athlete, I wanted to test my body 100% to ensure that I would not regret this decision. I did not want to sit for half an hour and realize I could have recovered on the run, I could have pulled it together and finished strong. I know my body extremely well after 50+ triathlons in my six years of racing. I could have bailed with confidence, knowing I was risking my health, at the end of the swim, but I knew I may regret not giving it a shot. So I did, and I have no regrets about my decision to stop.

For the rest of the day I recovered but not without hour long spells of agonizing pain. I would go from sofa, to seat, and then to the floor, trying to find a comfortable position where my body didn’t writhe with pain. I couldn’t eat for hours, the thought of food making me feel the same illness that led me to the vomiting I had post-race. And finally, hours and hours later, hunched down on the floor, I finally felt the urge to urinate. I recognized this was a good sign, and prayed for it to be clear. But it was then that I recognized that the massive quantities I drank were no where near enough. I was severely dehydrated despite the liters and liters forced down my throat by the EMT’s after the race.

I would have treasured a strong finish at this race more than any of my wins this season. With Adam Otstot and Ben Winterroth both having phenomenal races, a third place to those two would have been an amazing achievement in my triathlon career. But it was not to be today. I am proud of my decision to bail today. I am not proud of my decision to race last weekend. That is where this all stemmed from and hopefully I won’t ever make this mistake again.

For now I’ll clean up the mess of this last race and take a few days away from the sport. I am already feeling the yearning to race again though. I know it sounds silly. It could have caused the end of me today, but it’s what I love to do. Its programmed into me.

Today I remembered what it was like to lose and I think I realized why people do not often have winning streaks like I did. I’m so excited about what I did these past few months. It was a huge combination of factors, the foremost being training, but tactics in the race and then an enormous amount of luck played a big role as well. But when I won that frequently, I forgot what it was like to lose. But that is not what caused my failure today. My failure today came from my greed. I was demanding more and more out of my body so my desire to win could be satisfied. Today my body retaliated. I’ll give it a break and then come out to fight strong again. In a month is Nationals and I know I’ll be ready.

But the test to find out how second place would feel after going nearly 10 months without feeling it, I thought would rest on the result of the Colonial Beach triathlon last weekend. With a $1400 prize purse, the race was sure to attract the top competition. So when I toed the starting line on Sunday and didn’t recognize any of my top competitors, I acknowledged the high probability that a wild card had entered the race.

With one of the best swims of my life, I came out of the water in fourth, my highest placing in this leg in any triathlon I have ever done. I had only to count three guys before I would be in the lead. But that came with difficulty. These guys were quick. It took five miles to pull back the first one. And at ten miles, having ridden with a guy the same distance ahead of me to this point, I put the hammer down to reel him in quickly before the turn-around. I didn’t want to race alone.

But there was still one man left and just before the turn-around, with a lead of over two minutes, I saw Justin Riddle of King George, Virginia fly by in the opposite direction. I didn’t know who he was at the time but when I saw the enormous gap I began contemplating the thought of crossing the finish line in second. It seemed I was unable to ride away from the guy who I had just caught so instead of wasting my energy on the bike trying to pull away from him, I sat up and let him pass me again. We took turns setting the pace, obviously staying out of the draft zone in the process. But instead of fighting for first, I was accepting a near guaranteed second place, something I have never done before. I wanted to save my energy to make sure I could beat this guy on the run.

But when we rolled into T2 and the guy made an amateur move, I figured he probably wasn’t too much of a threat. I turned back at the mile mark to look down the dead straight road the run course headed out on and couldn’t even see the guy. I had done it right and come out with a second place. But there was still another goal in mind, break two hours for an olympic distance triathlon, something not many people have ever done. Most olympic distance tri’s will be won with a time over 2 hours.

At the turn around it was the same story as on the bike leg. Justin Riddle still had a monstrous lead on me. I once again contented myself with second place. But I looked down at my watch. I needed to run sub-19 for this last 5k to break two hours. My race wasn’t over yet. If I could not achieve one goal, I would at least battle for the other one. 6:08 for the fourth mile. 6:04 for the fifth mile.

But then I looked up ahead. There he was, just maybe 30 seconds up the road with a mile left to go. With the ninety-degree heat wearing on me, I had to make a decision. Did I want to bury myself that badly? Or did I want to just cruise across the finish line in second place? While the answer seems obvious now, when I was in that much pain, it took a little extra something to swing the vote in favor of more pain.

I kept hearing the cheers, “You’ve got him!”, “Looking strong!”, “Go get him buddy!”, “You’re running way faster than he is, get him!”. At one point someone saw me turn around and look behind me to check to make sure no one was doing the same surprise attack to me. I heard someone yell, “Don’t turn around, no one’s back there for a mile! Get the guy in front of you!”

People sitting out on their front porches could tell the difference in Riddle’s stride and mine. They saw that the gap had diminished since I ran by their houses the first time. “Get him! You got him!” I could see them shuffling, getting excited that the man who led the race from the gun might get chased down.

But I didn’t know. You hear all kinds of cheers out there. You can’t ever trust them. I just knew I felt crappy, and in a race, you always think the other guy feels great. But today, just as it is typically, he didn’t. At a half mile to go, I saw him turn around and look right at me. I thought the only way to win the race would be with a surprise. He had literally been by himself this entire race, and now I’m here chasing him down. I know that whenever I am in that situation, if I see the guy, the race is over. Its how I pulled out a win in Bumpass, Virginia last fall when a student at the Naval Academy nearly chased me down. So when he saw me I thought of course he would kick and I wouldn’t be able to catch him.

But the gap continued to diminish. And before I knew it, Riddle was just ahead of me. My dad, probably 300 meters from the finish sees how close it is and cheers “Get him Grayson! Get him!” And with dropping the pace down to just above 4 minute/mile I sprinted past him with 100 meters to go. I turned into the finishing chute, and with a quick turn of my head, I saw there would be no battle and I took the win. I swung my arms and shouted with excitement. It was the closest race of my life, a win by a mere 7 seconds in a race taking 1:59:40, to add to the 12 second win at Kinetic and the 8 second win at Giant Acorn.

Ever since I started this sport, Justin has been known as one of the best in Virginia. I had never beaten him. But with a huge effort for the last 5k, I pulled it off. With two-hundred dollars to take home, I had continued my streak to make it five for five, and broken two hours for an olympic distance triathlon. We’ll see if my Virginia Tech teammates hold me to my statement that I’d consider doing a half-ironman once I broke that time goal.

To the drivers who try to get a point across and nearly run me over. Please remember, I am somebody’s son. Know that running over me will not “teach me a lesson”. It will only put you in jail and make for a very unhappy mom and dad. If you think I shouldn’t be on the roads, please write a letter to a politician in your area, or vote for the guy who advocates additional bike lanes. Trust me, I hate riding on busy roads just as much, if not more than you hate me riding on them.

Also remember, I am riding in thin spandex, not leather. I am on a machine that weighs less than your cat. And I frequently ride at deadly speeds. It hurts really bad when I hit the ground.

I am allowed by law to ride on these roads. I am a driver as well. However, that is not how I want you to think of it. I want you drivers who think it is okay to nearly run me off the road to understand, this is my passion. I love doing this, just as you may love eating, or playing soccer, or playing with your dog. And I understand that there are frequently people who like to make everyone else miserable with their pessimism, you know who you are (you give small tips, frequently like to complain, criticize people who are laughing or having fun, etc.). But there are very few murderers in this world. So unless you are a miserable person who also wants to kill somebody, then please just slow down when you drive past me. I don’t even ask for more room, just simply slow down so if you hit me you won’t kill me.

Less than a year later it set in on the left knee. After months of physical therapy and minimal running, I asked my phsyical therapist what would happen if I just ran through it. She responded, “It may get worse, extremely inflamed. The pain would be unbearable. I don’t recommend it”

“Is there any possible way that it could react by strengthening and then inflammation would subside?” I responded.

“Maybe. If you can withstand the excruciating pain.” I threw in the towel and ran through it. I experienced some of the most painful running of my life but in no more than two weeks time, with nearly hourly use of the foam roller and ice massage, the inflammation was subsiding.

Then I sprained my ankle. I tore multiple ligaments in my ankle. When I came back to running 6 weeks later, my form was so uneven that I fractured my right tibia.

Then hamstring tears. And of course the hundreds and hundreds of blisters, torn flesh, deep lacerations, road rash, missing toenails. I ran head first into a tree mountain biking, tore another hole in my ear and received a cut on my face that left a scar that’ll always make my beard look funny.

Then came mono. Then came the doctor telling me I might have lymphoma and the surgery to remove the tumors. Fortunately my life was made a lot easier when the test came back negative.

But the biggest hurdle that has ever hit me was burnout and the resulting depression in 2008. I didn’t want to look at a bike, step inside a pool house, or touch my running shoes. I hated everything about endurance sports. I had too much. I needed a break. An extended hike would fix that.

Then plantar fasciitis in my right foot. Then a broken thumb and pins in my hand to accompany it.

Earlier this year a rolled ankle to tear the ligaments in my left ankle and balance out my royally screwed up ankles and keep me out from running for six weeks. Third time on crutches in four years time.

Second degree burns with swollen blisters covering my back from a seven hour ride.

Currently, a stress reaction in my second metatarsal and a quarter size hole missing from the skin of a very delicate area that experiences a little too much chaffing sometimes.

It has not been an easy ride. These are not excuses. These are hurdles I reflect on to remind myself that I can make it past the next one. I love my sport and while I hate the injuries that accompany it, I will bear through them and come out on the other side stronger.

Despite the length of this list, I’ve not had it that bad. But you, remind yourself that. No excuses, rarely do any of us have it that bad. Everyone has speed bumps, some people have larger ones than others. But the guy who wins is never the one who doesn’t get injured. The guy who wins is the one who carries his momentum, who keeps plugging, and comes out a stronger athlete than before.

Here is an article about a real setback:

Runner puts dream on hold for those of an ill friend

But now I see he was right, but not in how he meant it. He claimed it was a genetic immortality, that they were born with it. I was looking through my book, Jonathan Livingston Seagull today and I read, “there is more to life than eating, or fighting, or power…there is such a thing as perfection, and…our purpose for living is to find that perfection and show it forth.”

The COO of my team Endorphin Fitness, Molly Frazee, sent out  an email a couple days ago stating her amazement at all the athletes’ commitment. I’ll spare trying to rephrase her letter because I wouldn’t do it justice. She wrote, “It’s amazing what an inspiration all of you are for doing what you do every day; the commitment you make to the sport, the mental strength you all possess, and the determination you all have to see how far and how fast you can go.  As someone who is constantly surrounded by people like you, I sometimes take for granted that this is not the norm.  The general public resigns themselves to mediocrity and laziness, but not one of you does that – not this team.  You are all remarkable in so many ways and it’s thrilling to watch how far you all have come. “

This guy I argued with could have the genetic makeup that could outrace Lance Armstrong. But he’ll never know that because he, as Molly eloquently put it, has “resign(ed) himself to mediocrity.” No one is born a professional athlete. No one knows what their genetic makeup truly is. While you may look at all unintimidating 5’6″ of me and count me out of the race, what lies on the inside is a motor. But that motor is not what makes me the athlete who I am, just as with any other athlete who refuses to admit their limitations.

The real motor is just that, not accepting what we are supposed to be capable of doing. As Molly said, “the mental strength you all possess, and the determination you all have to see how far and how fast you can go,” is what makes an athlete amazing. While she has been surrounded by endurance athletics for several years, she definitely has a better grasp on the amazing feats of every athlete than the man I argued with. He looks at a professional cyclists wattage, is amazed, and cannot see the strength in anything less. I look at a girl who, at 17 years old sets her mind on an impossible goal, or a 50 year old woman to attack a half marathon despite knowing the consequences of such a beating, completes it despite the overwhelming difficult of the monumental task, and I am equally amazed.

While we all work for our own extremely respectable goals, mine is speed. It is not about fitness like so many who will never understand may think it is. It is all about speed. And when the man I argued with stated, ” You and I… could train and suffer and feel pain all we like and never obtain to that level.” As you can imagine, nothing gets me going more than someone telling me what I can’t do. My coach Michael has always supported my desire to be the best. And he’ll never give me a reality check because that would only make me want it more. However, the reason I do this is not to show others that I can. I do hope that some receive some inspiration and excitement from watching a good race, but the real reason I do this is to show myself that I can.

“You will begin to touch heaven, Jonathan, in the moment that you touch perfect speed.”

It is empowering to go fast. It is my battle, my goal. I’ll dig myself into massive pits of pain nearly every single day for this goal. It is absolute freedom, that is to go fast. That is immortality right there. It is not that we will live forever in this state. It is attaining a greater understanding that we are eternal, that we are immortal. It is in that time that faith is not necessary. Because we can feel it, we know it exists. And while there are many ways to essentially feel God, to feel existence, the IS, I, as well as most every other endurance athlete, do it by tapping into inner strength, reservoirs of power and freedom that I cannot explain by any other way than associating the term God. And in this overcoming of pain and achieving of absolute speed, I am eternal; I am immortal.

So try telling me what I can and can’t do. You don’t know the results of my physiological testing. The data tells me that it is not impossible. But even without that information, my confidence and faith would be enough. So good luck to the man I argued with for settling for a life of eternally being second place.