Let me tell you about the next maneater on “The Crocodile Hunter”, inhabiting the cold waters of Galena, IL. The Devilish Quintana Roo.
The water was nowhere near the alleged 60 degrees. But I sucked it up, and got the guy next to me to zip up my wetsuit. He has a little trouble, but gets it ok. (This will be important in a minute). I get out of the water and wait for the gun. When I hit the water, it actually triggered my mammalian diving reflex, which I learned about in med school. My throat closed up, I watched my heart rate drop. Crazy. I swam the first 200 yds with my head OUT of the water because I couldn’t get a good breath. Scary. But, whatever. My ice cream headache went away shortly and i started swimming like a human being.
Coming out of the water, I’m a little dizzier than usual, and I’m trying to pull down my zipper. It is stuck. I trot towards T1, still messing with it. Stuck. I get into T1 and ask for help. Race guy: “If you get any help, you will be disqualified”.
Now I am on the ground near my bike, rolling around like a trout, trying to get out of my suit like I am goddamn harry houdini. Not happening. I become convinced that my wetsuit is trying to eat me alive. I don’t want to die like this!
8 minutes go by.
Yes, I timed it.
Some newbie guy comes up to me as I am about to chew my way out, “I’ll help you out of that if you pull down my shirt in the back”. Race guy turns around and starts whistling. I take this as consent because he feels so sorry for me.
Deal.
New Guy grabs my zipper and yanks. Hard. It comes down, and tears open the back of my brand new desoto skin suit. “Dude, your shirt was stuck in the zipper.” I didn’t care at this point. I was so happy I could have kissed him.
Rest of my race went as expected…decent bike ride given how hilly it was, okay run given how miserable heartbreak hill was, but the moral of the story is this : Do not underestimate the hungry jaws of the Quintana Roo.
Time in T1: Almost 10 minutes. That has got to be some sort of record.
Philbert