חלום
My Dream Triathlon Matt Mahoney I was standing on the Russian side of the Bering Strait with 60 hardy souls awaiting the start of the First Annual Trans-Alaskan Triathlon. As the gun went off in the freezing Autumn air, we dove into the 28 degree water for the 59 mile swim to Alaska. We battled iceburgs, walruses, killer whales, and 12 foot seas. Full length drysuits were allowed, but I wore only grease hoping for a quick transition after my 48 hour swim. I hopped on my mountain bike, loaded down with food and camping gear for the 6000 mile out and back ride to the North Pole. As I was carrying my bike over the steep cliffs of the Brooks Range, navigating by starlight in the 24 hour darkness of the polar winter, looking for the next air-dropped aid station, a draft marshal came alongside in a snowmobile. "I'm not drafting, am I?", I asked. "No, you're legal. The next competitor is 400 miles ahead, already on the polar ice cap. You're in fifth place". "Oh? I thought there were about 15 bikes ahead of me after the swim". "Four guys dropped out with frostbite. Two fell into ice crevices. One was mauled by a polar bear. And the rest were lost in the last blizzard". After the bike, I put on my snowshoes and 50 pound pack. The run followed the Iditarod trail, then veered off along the crest of the Alaskan Range to finish at Mt. McKinley, the highest point in North America. I was only a few hundred miles from the finish when I had to work my way up a 1000 foot sheer rock wall. It had taken two days of hammering spikes into the granite, inching my way up. Climbing over the top, I discovered an even higher wall looming overhead, and a volunteer calling out splits. "1874 miles in 237 days, 15 hours, 22 minutes, 15, 16, 17...". He handed me a cup of water, frozen solid in the minus 105 degree wind chill. At last, I could see the finish. As I gasped for breath in the rarefied air at 20,000 feet, my frostbitten hands clawing over the rocks fighting the 80 MPH winds, I could see the tape was not broken! I struggled furiously. Closer, closer, almost there... BZZZ! The alarm. Time to get up and run the Trash Dash 5K. I looked at the outdoor thermometer and cursed. "76 degrees and not even sunrise yet! When are we ever going to get some decent weather?"
My Dream Triathlon Matt Mahoney I was standing on the Russian side of the Bering Strait with 60 hardy souls awaiting the start of the First Annual Trans-Alaskan Triathlon. As the gun went off in the freezing Autumn air, we dove into the 28 degree water for the 59 mile swim to Alaska. We battled iceburgs, walruses, killer whales, and 12 foot seas. Full length drysuits were allowed, but I wore only grease hoping for a quick transition after my 48 hour swim. I hopped on my mountain bike, loaded down with food and camping gear for the 6000 mile out and back ride to the North Pole. As I was carrying my bike over the steep cliffs of the Brooks Range, navigating by starlight in the 24 hour darkness of the polar winter, looking for the next air-dropped aid station, a draft marshal came alongside in a snowmobile. "I'm not drafting, am I?", I asked. "No, you're legal. The next competitor is 400 miles ahead, already on the polar ice cap. You're in fifth place". "Oh? I thought there were about 15 bikes ahead of me after the swim". "Four guys dropped out with frostbite. Two fell into ice crevices. One was mauled by a polar bear. And the rest were lost in the last blizzard". After the bike, I put on my snowshoes and 50 pound pack. The run followed the Iditarod trail, then veered off along the crest of the Alaskan Range to finish at Mt. McKinley, the highest point in North America. I was only a few hundred miles from the finish when I had to work my way up a 1000 foot sheer rock wall. It had taken two days of hammering spikes into the granite, inching my way up. Climbing over the top, I discovered an even higher wall looming overhead, and a volunteer calling out splits. "1874 miles in 237 days, 15 hours, 22 minutes, 15, 16, 17...". He handed me a cup of water, frozen solid in the minus 105 degree wind chill. At last, I could see the finish. As I gasped for breath in the rarefied air at 20,000 feet, my frostbitten hands clawing over the rocks fighting the 80 MPH winds, I could see the tape was not broken! I struggled furiously. Closer, closer, almost there... BZZZ! The alarm. Time to get up and run the Trash Dash 5K. I looked at the outdoor thermometer and cursed. "76 degrees and not even sunrise yet! When are we ever going to get some decent weather?"