Officially a Sourdough Triathlon Finisher!

I made it to the finish line with a time of 5:48.   

Finishing the 1/2 Half Ironman Sourdough Triathlon

 The first two laps of the swim weren't much fun as everyone was kicking and scrapping to get into their spot, but eventually I fell into a nice comfortable pace through the rest of the swim and through the bike (no flat tires - thankfully!). At mile 8 of the run, I started really feeling the pain, but forced myself into mentally thinking of it as just another morning run in the middle of winter in Palmer, Alaska, and carried on in my own way of dealing with difficult situations.

Our Campsite on the Steese Highway
at the Triathlon Starting Area

 The night before Bryant and I were sitting around in the camp chairs and he was telling about some recent footage he had seen on ESPN about an Ironman triathlete. Bryant jokingly said, "If you're not puking, bleeding, or soiling yourself at the end of this race, obviously your not trying hard enough." We laughed about that situation for awhile and I said that if I reach Mile 11 without those symptoms, I will kick it in to the next level. Mile 11 did come around in my race and I wasn't experiencing any of those symptoms, so I felt obligated to make a conscience effort to pick up the pace to the next level.  Luckily, I made it to the finish line before I reached that point.  I guess that gives me something to shoot for in the future! 

I ended up 2nd place in the Master's Division.

Loreto to La Paz

Sol Searching anchored near Los Gatos

I few pictures from our recent trip to the Baja travelling from Loreto to La Paz and back.  I haven't had time to upload a Picasa album, but here are some I like.

Sunset at anchor near La Paz

Isla San Francisco view from the top

Us - Enjoying a sunset on San Francisco



Am I a Sourdough?

Back when the gold miners were pouring into Alaska in the 1900's those who lived in the state long enough to toughen themselves to its remote location, wilderness, and inclement weather considered themselves Sourdoughs.  It was sort of a status symbol among Old Timers to be called a Sourdough as opposed to a measly, know nothing Cheechako, a newcomer to the Last Frontier.  Even today, especially in politics, you'll hear people flaunt "a lifetime Alaskan" or "lived in Alaska for 35 years" like that in itself will swing the vote in their direction.

Even though I've lived up here for 18 1/2 years skiing, snowmachining, boating, fishing, biking, camping, hiking, building cabins, etc., I've never spent a lot of energy concerning myself as to whether I was a Sourdough or a Cheeckako, until this past winter. Seeing as I was whipping myself into decent shape, I decided to do a Half Ironman triathlon (1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run) and after exploring options, I concluded the amply named Sourdough Triathlon in Fairbanks, AK was the race that worked.  It was a cheap entry fee, convenient as it the only one of this length in the state, and I liked the name, Sourdough Triathlon.  Little did I realize its name would haunt me.  About a month ago, I ended up with two flat tires in the pouring rain because I crossed the road and hit a pothole, while avoiding some dogs that I was afraid off.   As I was sitting under a big cottonwood changing out my tires and whining about the rain, cold, big mean dogs, I couldn't help but ask myself, "Am I a Sourdough?"

I went over to a friend's house to practice swimming
in a cold lake and taking the wetsuit off.

Whether I'm a Sourdough Triathlete, I guess I'll find that out on Saturday and in the meantime, I'm crossing my fingers for no mean dogs or flat tires!