Brutal Triathlon in Clermont

The Florida Challenge Triathlon was far tougher than I expected. I was better prepared for this race than any event in my life, but the hills and heat tore the heart out of my performance. By the time I reached T2, I was badly dehydrated and in semi-shock from an encounter with a small alligator.
The swim was in the 88-degree, tea-colored water of Lake Minneola. No wind, no waves, complete boredom. The nightmare started exited T1, when I had to mount my bike and climb an immediate slope up to right turn to exit Clermont.
Within 10 miles, I was surfing up and down hills for which I don’t even own gears. I also have little experience shifting my front derailleur, leading to an unfortunate incident whereby I over-shifted, dropped the chain off the big ring, rolled onto the soft shoulder, and flipped over the aerobars and into the ditch. I found myself under a tree, so I relaxed for a few moments, enjoying the only shade I would experience all day.
Two hours later, I was finally nearing the end of the bike leg. I was celebrating a rare piece of level asphalt by stretching across my aerobars. I swerved to barely miss a piece of tire rubber and almost crapped myself when the “tire rubber” whirled around and hissed at me. I was 50 feet past the animal before I realized that I almost clipped a gator. A dull shriek cut the air as I crested the next hill. Hopefully, the rider behind me didn’t actually hit the little critter.
The Florida Challenge bike course is not for time trial bikes. Unique among Sunshine State triathlons, this course is nearly vertical. My Garmin GPS later told me that I rode over 5000 feet of elevation, and I felt every inch.
The heat was taking a toll by mile 50. I was able to fill my aerobottle four times, thanks to the great volunteers manning the aid stations. One result of the heat was swollen feet. The sharp pain finally overwhelmed me and I stopped and peeled off my socks in a driveway, laying them across a mailbox while I got readjusted on my bike. Just as I was ready to roll, I dropped my bike bottle, and had to start all over. I was a mile down the road, entering Clermont, when I realized that my nasty socks were still drying on the mailbox.
Things seemed to be going reasonably well as I entered T2, except when I racked my bike the rear wheel slipped off and clattered to the ground. I suppose the good news is that it didn’t slip off when I was careening down a hill at 50+ mph.
The heat struck as I launched into the half marathon. The course is a 6-mile, 2-loop jaunt with no shade. I felt fine for the first two miles, right up to the point, 30 feet shy of the Clermont cheerleaders aid station, when all the fluid in my stomach decided to revisit the outside world. “Ewwwww!” sang out a chorus of young voices. Staring down, I learned that Orange and Lime Gatorade mix to create a brown swirl. This epiphany motivated my stomach to hurl the rest of it’s contents onto the ground, to another chorus of young, feminine squeals.
The next ten miles passed in a haze of heat and misery, but I was able to cross the finish line and muster enough energy to pack my gear and point my truck back towards distant Tampa. My only real complaint was that after all the miles of discomfort, the race organizers ran out of large t-shirts, forcing me to accept a finisher’s shirt which is more of a mini-dress than a shirt. When I finally arrived home, my girls begged to go on a bike ride.