In my final stages of sleep this morning I was swallowed by the triathlon equivalent of oversleeping a test in college. I woke up in cold sweat and a state of panic before focusing on breath to bring my heart rate down.
For some reason, I was dreaming about Rev 3 Knoxville, which is still two months away. I didn’t oversleep the race, but after finishing the swim staggered into transition to the realization that I forgot my bike in the hotel room.
Madness surrounded me and I was the guy standing in everyone’s way with his hands in the air. No one seemed to care about my dilemma or even think about offering me their bike.
But I was determined to save my race and dug through my bag, grabbed the hotel key and sprinted out of the parking garage.
Next thing I know, I’m running barefoot through downtown Knoxville in my wetsuit with guys in pick-up trucks calling me out-of-water-white-trash. I kept my eyes on the road and screamed, “Tell me something I don’t know!” They all laughed with no teeth.
As I got to the revolving front door, a woman in a wheel chair squeezed in ahead of me. I waited patiently as the spinning glass spilled me into hotel lobby. I bypassed the elevator and ran up stairs to the fourth floor but my room key didn’t work. I flagged down a maid who approached with caution then hesitantly let me in.
The race clock was ticking and it took thirty five minutes to get to my bike. Sweat poured from my body as I sat on the bed and wondered if I would wind up with two T1 splits. I held my tire pump, looked at my bike, then stared out the window with the realization that my race was over. All those training hours for naught.
I casually stripped my wetsuit, reclined onto the bed then drifted back to sleep with my first DNF.