Rev 3 Portland 70.3 Race Recap (or “I Totally Meant to Eat Pavement, I Swear”)

I signed up for Rev 3’s inaugural Portland 70.3 race way back in December along with about a thousand of my TN Multisports teammates. We were all pretty excited to try a non-Ironman branded race that was close to home, and Rev 3 had a reputation of being a challenging series…until they were forced to switch the venue at the last minute due to permit issues. Poop. Instead of a challenging course taking place in downtown Portland, we were treated to a flat, boring course out at Blue Lake Park, where a bunch of triathlons are already held each year. Most everyone’s reactions to the change: My reaction: Some of my teammates who are racing Ironman Canada next month were bummed because they wanted Rev 3 to be a challenging training race to help prepare for the big one in August. I, on the other hand, have had a season plagued with injury so news of the course change had little impact on me since I’d long given up on kicking ass this year and was instead trying to focus on having fun instead of beating myself up over factors I can’t control. I was more bummed that the race was less convenient to get to since our hotel would have been right in front of the old transition area, but oh well, shit happens. Week of the Race Naturally, leading up to the race I developed a last-minute hamstring injury because my body hates me, so before we left to drive down to Portland, I popped into see our team’s sports medicine doc for some last-minute TLC. (Yes, I know that’s a picture of my thigh, not my hamstring, but I wasn’t exactly limber enough to turn around and snap photos of the back of my leg when I was told to turn over for Round 2…wait, that sounds kind of dirty. It was a rape-free treatment, I swear.) The only other thing I could do for my hamstring all weekend was to alternate straddling a heating pad and a bag of ice like I was trying to hatch an egg and hope for the best. Day Before the Race On Saturday Jas and I woke up and headed to Blue Lake Park to meet with our teammates. As we drove by the transition area, I gawked at it and exclaimed, “Uh, that’s just for the pros, right?” I was mistaken. Apparently about 800-900 people dropped out or deferred their registration to next year when they found out about the venue change, leaving less than 500 people to race on Sunday. The transition area and registration set up was super dinky, giving this whole race a “small town” vibe. I felt like I was doing the Olympic distance Apple Capital race in Wenatchee instead of a fancy schmancy half Ironman. Even better was that my team’s 31 athletes represented over 5% of the race, so there was going to be a lot of blue and yellow out there on the course. Speaking of the team, we met them at the swim start, which is a lovely 0.5 miles away from the transition area across the street from the park. As we drove past numerous large parking lots and huge grassy areas, I kept sarcastically thinking, “If only Blue Lake Park had a spot big enough for transition!” Why they set up the actual transition area so far away from the swim is beyond me. Since the lake was roped off for pre-race swimming, all we could muster was a sad 30ish meter looping swim along the rope. I pulled on my Zoot suit and received an odd compliment from...
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Dear K-Swiss: What the Hell Happened to Your Korean K-Onas?

I sent this email to K-Swiss in hopes that they’ll respond and help an Asian out: Dear K-Swiss, I’m a big fan of your products — I have numerous pairs of K-Swiss shoes and my triathlon team (TN Multisports) receives a nice discount on some K-Swiss merchandise. However, I’ve got a bit of a bone to pick with you. Last August I was in Penticton to race Ironman Canada, and while I was there I saw a K-Swiss display that featured a number of pairs of K-Ona S shoes. One of the pairs featured a glorious design incorporating the Korean flag. They were pretty awesome, but you already know that because why else would you turn a less-than-awesome design into a shoe? That would be crazy talk, which would lead to someone getting their ass fired (maybe that’s why Kenny Powers is in charge now). Unfortunately, since my mind was focused on the race at hand, I didn’t buy them at the time, a decision I ended up regretting because I can’t find these effers anywhere — not on your site, not on the Internet…it’s as if they never existed. But I know they exist because I took a picture of them: I want these shoes on my feet, damnit. I tried to fill the void by buying a different pair of K-Ona S shoes (these bad boys), but my royal blues are no match for that glorious Korean flag. Being half Korean, I gotta represent out there with my stumpy Asian legs and supreme crappiness in the water. I really want a pair of the K-Swiss K-Ona S Korean flag shoes. You guys have Australia, Japan, Germany, USA, and Brazil, but like Christopher Walken and his cowbell, I gotta have my Korean kicks. Are they available at all? If so, can you hook a half Asian sista up with a pair (women’s size 8.5)? Thank you, Rebecca Kelley (aka the “Mediocre Athlete”) P.S. Why don’t you offer awesome Korean swag like this in women’s sizes? I love this shirt but would look absurd in a men’s size small. Show Koreans some love,...
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The Strangest Shoes I’ve Seen in a While

…okay, they’re not as strange as the Seinfeld strength shoe, but they’re not too far off. Anyway, when I raced the Mount Rainier duathlon in May, I won a free pair of Scott running shoes (not because I won my age group, but because they always give out random free stuff to the athletes and I just happened to get lucky). I only had a few pairs to choose from, but one shoe, the T2, stood out because it was described as the “ultimate triathlete shoe.” I wasn’t really planning on racing in them but figured they’d be worth a try because to me they looked similar to my Zoot racing flats that are in sore need of replacement. So I ordered a pair and promptly forgot about them… …until the FedEx dude knocked on my door today and dropped off a package for me. Oh right, my free shoes! Yaay, free shoes free shoes free shoes. Who doesn’t love getting a new pair of kicks? I unwrapped the package, opened the box…and my brow furrowed. What’s this thingy in the back of the shoe? Is that Velcro? What happens when I — HOLY SHIT THIS SHOE IS INSANE. Here’s a video of a low-level Bond villain explaining how they work, plus some pics of my shoes: The gist of it is that you can pull the entire back of the shoe away from the rest and slip your foot in quickly, then pull the back strap up to tighten it into place and secure it with Velcro. It’s odd, to say the least. I gotta admit though, as weird as these shoes are, they’re actually pretty comfy. The T2 was designed to be super light and come with a few drainage holes and a forefoot strike design. I don’t know if I’ll ever actually race in these (I’ve run into a plethora of running injuries lately and don’t want to risk another one), nor am I sure about how fast you can actually get into them (I’d probably get bungled up trying to tighten them, plus I always thought the Zoot racing flats were plenty fast to get into), but they seem fine for spectating or just hanging around. Plus they were free, so suck...
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My Own Worst Enemy

My Own Worst Enemy
Most of my posts on Mediocre Athlete contain self-deprecating comments and faux-negativity about my workouts or my races. I do it for the lulz, but the truth is that nobody is harder on me than myself. At the end of the day, I am my own worst enemy, an exceptionally tough critic. I’m sure a lot of you feel the same way; after all, a big reason you train for a race, no matter the distance, is to push yourself outside your comfort zone to see what you’re truly made of. For me though, I often push myself so hard that it can end up being detrimental. I’m like my own overbearing Asian mother (“Why you no run faster during race? And how come you not doctor?”). Ever since I had a taste of my first half Ironman three years ago, a big goal for me is to go sub-6 hours. I feel that it’s something I can easily accomplish. Each year I’ve continued to improve and become more familiar and comfortable with the sport. After four half Ironman races thus far, however, my personal best is a 6:29 from 2010’s hellishly windy Boise 70.3. I know that everyone was much slower that day, that I couldn’t control the weather, that I would have cycled much faster if conditions were better, that I actually placed decently in my age group. But I was focused on that time goal like Gollum’s fixation on that seemingly innocent little ring, so I couldn’t help but feel slightly disappointed. Then Ironman Canada came and went and I had a race that exceeded my expectations. I would have gladly traded in every bad race or training workout that year for the day I ended up having, and after my biggest race of the season I was at an all-time high. I had just done an Ironman, for schmuck’s sake — I could do anything. No, I could crush anything. I was going to do a marathon and I was going to kill it. I was going to do a bunch of 70.3s next year and they’d all be under 6 hours. Hell, I’d be creeping up on 5:30s. I’d improve across the board and make this sport my bitch. Nothing was going to stop me. And then, amid my marathon training, I developed Achilles tendinitis. At first it developed as a slight tightness and ache at the beginning of my runs. Then, with each step I’d take, the tightness would last a little longer. Eventually the pain kept me company throughout my entire run, but I’d stubbornly soldier on because I wasn’t going to let a little stiffness bring me down. I had just done an Ironman, damnit, and now I was going to blow my old marathon time out of the water. That marathon never happened for me. I had to stop running completely, and as frustrating as it was to be told by my coach to eat a $140 entry fee (fucking Rock ‘n Roll and their wallet-rapingly high costs) and not race, I knew I had made the smart decision when I couldn’t even run twenty feet to cheer for Jason as he passed by without having my Achilles seize up. And so, instead of conquering a marathon and posting a 20-minute PR, I stayed off my feet and cycled through the winter. It would be five months before I’d run again. I feared that I’d be starting at the very beginning and would be as bad as I was when I first begun running years ago. The thought of losing all my running fitness had nagged at me throughout those...
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