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Ever try to find a needle in a haystack? Finding your bike among the other 2,000 look-alikes is quite the same. So, I�m running through the transition area, feet numb, head spinning, trying to recall which of the 70 rows I would find my bike. This transition area is about the size of a city block and inevitably, there are always a few poor souls that can�t remember where they parked. It might be easier if the sections were labeled �Mickey�, �Goofy� and �Timon� but our rows are simply numbered � and the first words I muttered upon exiting the water were �row�eighteen�. Pounding through a mile and a quarter of frozen seawater is enough to make the memory a little foggy and those whose parking spot eluded them couldn�t even remember to look at the cryptic markings on their arm � some sort of symbolic characters that would eventually be recognized as their race numbers � ah, the key to finding their bike. I repeated, �Eighteen?!� to one of the volunteers, and she pointed to the distant end of the maze. I estimate that I ran at least a quarter mile from where I exited the water to where I would find my bike and wondered if I would get credit for this distance later in the race � even double credit since I was in my wetsuit!

Found my bike right where I left it in �row�eighteen� and started on the task of stripping off the wetsuit � skinning the cat as my dad used to say when I was a kid. The trickiest part is finally getting the thing off your ankles without falling flat on your face (I chose the sit-down method). Put helmet and sunglasses on, then grab bike and head for the road. Once out of the transition area, life gets much simpler: it�s time to jump on the bike, slide your feet into the shoes that were clipped into the pedals before the race � then ask your legs to make a revolution, then another, and another and repeat over 15,000 times. This is the part of the race that I had been looking forward to! Getting on the bike and just riding- something I�ve spent hundreds of hours doing over the past two years.

I soon found myself out on the open road, away from the crowds, and I started to settle into a rhythm. A rhythm of repeating a motion over 15,000 times. A rhythm that can get so monotonous that your mind begins to wander, and I wondered if those poor souls back in transition had ever found their needle, er, bike in the haystack. As my mind drifted from the race, I wondered if anyone ever in the history of mankind has really needed to find a needle in a haystack. Think about it! In this day and age, if you lost a needle� in a haystack� most of us would just go to the cabinet above the washing machine, pull out the sewing kit, and grab another needle out of the little jar that holds two-dozen spare needles. I can�t think of a good reason to spend more than a few minutes trying to recover the lost needle. Maybe if you were down to your very last needle, and your life or livelihood depended on that needle (stuck on a desert island, and need to sew the sails for your escape raft), then most of us would be careful not to drop that needle while in the vicinity of any haystacks. If Mr. Butterfingers Castaway managed to commit the second worst �ruin your only hope of rescue faux-pas� by losing the needle into that large haystack that is inexplicably located below the area in which you are sewing� your only hope of rescue is to then light fire to it (move raft away from haystack first!), and hope that a passing ship notices your plight. This plan B will not work if you happened to commit the number one faux-pas of using the last match as a toothpick!

For that matter, anyone that actually manages to find a needle in a haystack has probably done it by accident?? Which means it stuck into their foot (or rump) as they were bouncing on top of this nuisance haystack. In that case, if queried about the complexity of finding a needle in a haystack, their reply, between bouts of tears, would simply be: �Apparently, it�s not that difficult! Now, can you help me stop the bleeding?!�

Unfortunately, such thoughts only occupy the space of about a half mile, and I still have over 50 miles to complete, so I start to focus on drinking, eating, and turning the pedals. I was keeping pace with most of the riders around me � occasionally passing a few and sometimes getting passed. The pace was a little faster than I had planned for � riding with a heart rate of 155 instead of 150. From my past training, I know that I can sustain a heart rate of 150 for more than three hours, but I was feeling very comfortable at 155 so I continued. I have a timer on my bike computer that beeps every ten minutes to remind me to drink, but I found that I was drinking more often. The race organizers place aid stations every 15 miles, but I still had plenty of fuel in my bottles, so I rode through the first station � gaining a few precious minutes on the riders that were stopping.

After about an hour of riding, the course turns away from the flat coast and heads inland to the rolling hills of Camp Pendleton � the U.S. Marine Corps base in Southern California. Along this part of the course, our friends and family gave way to uniformed service personnel who were shouting different forms of �encouragement�. Instead of �you can do it, honey!� I was being prodded on with shouts of, "Come on, Sears!" (name is on race number) catch that guy ahead of you!� and �you�re lagging! Keep pushing!� This was fun, and I even got a nice, loud �oorah� from a group of rambunctious Marines. Like I said, this section of the course is when the hills start to take their toll on the riders. As much as I don�t like hills, I tend to do pretty well on them and I started to pass a lot of guys. It felt great to pass a few riders that had passed me an hour before.

My water supply was getting low so I made my first stop at the next aid station. A quick fill of the water bottles, and some more electrolyte solution and I was on my way again. I had ridden this course before and knew the major climb was only about a mile ahead but I was feeling good and was ready to attack it. We came around a bend and we could see the hill looming ahead of us. The approach is on a bit of a downhill which makes the hill look much steeper than it really is, but at a 10% grade it still punishes the riders. With fresh legs, a hill like this can be fun! You simply keep the pedals turning as fast as you can to keep up your speed. The faster you are pedaling, the less force is required for each pedal stroke and your legs don�t work as hard � the downside of this is that your heart and lungs feel like they will explode! That�s on FRESH legs! On legs that have been going for over two hours, it�s nearly impossible to turn the pedals fast enough (keeping in mind that there is still a half-marathon on today�s to-do list) and the speed starts to fall. As the speed falls, each pedal stroke becomes more difficult and some of the riders try to stand-up and use their body weight to keep the pedals moving. I am painfully slow in my lowest gear and stand up for a few pedal strokes. That�s when I feel it! First a tiny twinge in one of my quads, then an all-out electric jolt in the other leg. I CAN�T BELIEVE IT! Cramping! Already! I�ve had cramping muscles before, but not this early. I can usually expect to cramp at about mile 70 or so, but I�m only at mile 30! I ride a lot more than 30 miles several days a week and have never cramped this soon.

My first worry is to get myself up this hill. When a muscle cramps, I�ve found that it�s best to throttle way back for a while and let the muscle rest. This is usually not a problem on a bike, as I can use other muscle groups to turn the pedals. But, on this hill, that means riding very slowly. After a few minutes of this I hear, �Hey Bones!� I look back and see one of my buddies from summer camp. �Oh, hey Monkey� (these are our summer camp nicknames). Monkey had started about fifteen minutes behind me, and I had not expected him to pass me until the run. My legs were a little rested, and I finished the hill while we chatted about cramping and how the heck he was going so fast! We were rewarded with a nice, long downhill, but as the other riders speed away, I could tell I was finished. I had very little energy left. I rested on the downhill, but when it was time to work again, I felt drained. Ah, the dreaded BONK! Ironically, my legs were no longer cramping, but there was just no energy. I had been eating energy gels and energy shakes, but one�s gut can only take in about 300-350 calories per hour while exercising (any more will result in �gut shutdown� � which, believe me, is not fun at all). Swimming and riding like this will burn about 700 calories per hour, so much of this energy needs to be taken in before the race. I started to think through my morning routine. I had calculated my required calories and should have been fine. Added up the 6 waffles, the two cliff bars, the half box of cereal and the high power shake�. Oh. My. Gosh! My shake! It was still sitting on the kitchen counter! I completely forgot to drink it this morning! This was a major problem. Most of my food was high glycemic index, quick energy food, but the shake is designed for sustained energy. This is the shake that has fueled almost every one of my long bike rides! And it is still sitting in my kitchen. This was one of the most important pieces of my nutritional plan. Not one to cry over spilled milk (or unconsumed shake�) I pressed on. One choice would have been to take a long break at the next food station � and do some major re-fueling, but I had a time goal of six hours that I was trying to beat.

For the 12 weeks of training, I had developed a time goal for this race based on the speeds that I was able to maintain. I wanted to aim for five and a half hours but felt that six hours was the longest that it should take me. In fact, this six hour barrier had become very important to me. Now, this six hour goal seemed like it might be a problem. I started to calculate my remaining mileage and figured that at my current pace, I could finish the bike with well over two hours for the run. Gone was the thought of a low five-hour finish, and I started to focus on what I could do to finish in six. I continued to eat as much as my stomach would allow, and rode as fast as I dare � still knowing that my legs would cramp if I went too hard. The last 20 miles were all about trying to conserve energy and my legs � it wasn�t fun seeing riders blaze by me, still full of strength, but I did pass a few guys who were worse off than me.

I had to keep in mind that a large variety of athletes compete in these races. Over 90% of us are just regular folks trying to get into shape, with a smaller percentage of �super athletes� that have a chance of winning. That�s what I like about this � most of us are in it for the fun, sun and exercise, just racing against ourselves. I got a big grin when I remembered just how lucky I was to be in this race in the first place, and all the health improvements that I have gained in getting here.

Well, like this chapter, it seemed like the bike leg would never end! I just kept pedaling, eating and drinking � in fact, I was drinking so much, that I needed to make frequent stops to �off-load� the extra fluid while carefully avoiding the race marshals for fear of a penalty! The end finally came, after just under three hours of riding. Approaching the transition area was exciting again as the cheers and encouragement got louder and louder. My bike computer told me that I had averaged 19 miles per hour, considerably slower than the 21 mph average I had maintained for the first half. I felt good, though, since I rode fairly easily during the last hour. My watch said I still had 2:20 to go, and my legs felt good as I was running my bike through the transition area � confidence was high!

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