By Mike Candy

We all knew it would be hot. We have had reports in the days leading to our departure of 35 plus degrees and 80% plus humidity. Advised training strategies involve swimming without wetsuits, drinking on the bike and drinking on the run. Friends who had competed in Cancun previously simply said, go for the party because you won’t be able to race in the heat. We all adopted our strategies to get used to the heat – I wore all of my clothes and drove around in the car with the heater on 30 degrees for the three weeks before I left. In the final week I took my cycle trainer into the pool and melted in to a puddle in the heat of the mid day sun in front of the tall glass windows. I cycled and ran in all of my winter gear and a weatherproof layer over the top – I even raced in it, to the disbelief of other participants.

All the same, we hit Cancun after a marathon flight of 21 hours and major problems with every connection. We were 10 hours behind schedule having stopped for an unscheduled 2 hours in Mexico City. We were 30 people and 25 bikes at 1am on Saturday morning in the sweltering heat, and our transport was nowhere to be seen. An hour later our bus arrived and we began the traditional argument with the bus driver about how much luggage we were able to take on board the bus. The bikes filled the external luggage compartments, and the leftover bikes and all the suitcases were unceremoniously piled in the seats that were not occupied by weary travelers. As we boarded we noticed that the bus felt like a fridge – we were starting to acclimatise.

Mercifully the hotel was ready for us with all our rooms pre-allocated. A smooth trip through the lobby to collect the map and keys and off to the elevator before the bellboys latched on to us. Keys into the slots, air conditioning on full blast, a quick check to make sure all the bike wheels were OK and then off to sleep under a single sheet with the aid of a sleeping pill.

The next morning dawned clear and blue, and hot. We emerged from our rooms to discover that we had been transported to a new world – an amazing resort with a freshwater pool in the centre, white beaches, blue blue sea, blue sky, and people everywhere with almost no clothes on. Breakfast from the Restaurant or buffet was on until 11.30 am, lunch till 5 p.m., and dinner till 11 p.m. Drinks were available all day and night – all free unless you had a hankering for Moet and Chandon, which would be available at half price!

Cancun was constructed in the 1970’s as a tourist spot to eclipse Acapulco, and was targeted unashamedly at the US tourist market. The literature led us to believe that almost nothing existed here before they built the city, and looking at it we could believe it. As a result, however, the real Mexican influence was very diluted and the food was relatively bland and typical of tourist traps the world over. My attempt to get a real hot spicy meal resulted in a bowl of pickled jalapeno peppers that were hot, but not very exciting on their own. Local people provided the labour, and they appeared to make a reasonable living from their work. The locals were inevitably short and of Spanish mixed origin, with the occasional Mayan features showing through. We were told that crimes against tourists were unknown in Cancun as the locals were very aware that their livelihoods depended on the flow of the tourist dollar. An as you will find the world over, they set out to separate you from your hard earned pesos in the usual legal ways. Prices were inevitably in US dollars, and it cost to get your photo taken, to have your bag carried, and even your tour guide asked for a tip to assist him to raise his family. The usual Mexican tourist icons were inevitably overpriced and lacking in quality, sombreros, ponchos, hammocks, puppets and cigars were all there, and expensive.

We assembled our bikes and braved the Cancun traffic, sauntering up the cycle/run track that paralleled the Zona Hoteleria highway. On to the main road and the usual chaos reigned until we got our lefts and rights reversed, and stopping at the right place under the lights. They have no markings on the roads, so you have to guess until you get it right. The cars were great, leaving us heaps of room, and waiting while we messed around in the middle of the intersection trying to sort out where to go. We found the cycle course and let rip where we could. It was hard and fast, but with lots of broken glass, and even a missing manhole cover for two days. And it was hot, the sweat was evaporating, but is was coming from places you would never think sweated. We had to drink furiously, 1 litre every 20 km to keep up with it. We cruised back with the traffic at a leisurely 38km per hour, looking forward to race day.

Back at the resort it was time to try that water. We had been told that we had to wear caps, and were only allowed to swim in the roped off section, about 20m by 40 m. Needless to say we were sure we could look after ourselves outside the ropes, and proceeded to swim towards the marina, and up past the boats moored there. The water was so warm, like having a bath, and very salty, and it gave us great buoyancy. We thought we were doing well until we were waved back to our roped off bit by an agitated looking guard. We contemplated swimming across the channel to the swim course, but the tidal rip out of the lagoon was looking a little daunting, so we settled for watching the volleyball – particularly the lass in the g-string. (Some people have no shame!) All in all, the sea was warm, the water was buoyant and there were not too many things biting us, and we generally felt good about the swim, except for the bit about the crocodiles, but I think they were joking!

Running was a different story, talk about sweat. It was more like an exercise in drinking on the move – a mouthful every few hundred metres and on again. How was I ever going to run 10 km at mid day in this? My 600m sprints felt like endurance events, and the 3-minute repeats just lasted interminably. All in all it was not a good feeling with the run, but it was too late, race day was drawing near.

The two days before our race day were stormy and cooler as the tail end of a hurricane brushed over us. The huge Mexican flag that flew over transition was shredded on the first night and did not reappear for the next two days. The temperature didn’t get to 30 and the sea was rough. We were confident that we could handle the sea conditions, and that we would have an advantage over other swimmers.

Race day dawned fine and clear, and calm, and hot. I stuck to my morning regime, breakfast at 8.30, not too much, but enough to last me well past lunchtime. The older age groups and the women and juniors would be on their way by now. As I left for transition I heard that Terrenzo had won his race – he was World Junior Triathlon and Duathlon Champ now – an excellent season for him. We had to be out of transition 40 minutes before our race started, and I wanted to be sure I had time to cover all eventualities, particularly a tire change. I had pumped my tires to full pressure the day before when I took them to transition, and I was worried that they wouldn’t hold. I had never pumped my tires to 170 psi before and wasn’t sure if the tires would hold. At $100 each I hoped they would! We were required to remove everything from the transition that we were not racing with, so I had one last look and packed my bags for storage. I had enough time to quickly catch a few of he NZ women on their last lap, looking OK, but I knew it must be tough.

Down to the start line for a quick check, everything was as we had thought from the day before. The warmup swim was more of a cool down, and a chance to relieve the bladder one last time, before the wait for the start. We were corralled for 15 minutes in the sun before marshalling to the start pontoon. The younger men and women had gone in 3 waves at 5 minute intervals ahead of us, and we were the last of the age groupers to go at 11.25 am. We had about 120 in our wave, and about 100m of start pontoon to fit in to, so there was plenty of room. It was a deepwater start and we had to hold the pontoon with one hand, so we were hanging from the pontoon with one hand and trying to get to our watches with the other. As the hooter went we hit our watches and dropped into the water, and then started frantically swimming.

Because we were so spaced out there was none of the usual struggle and punch as we battled for the best line. We were required to round the first buoy, and the route that we took to get there was not defined. I was to the left of the guiding buoys on the start line, and swum inside the course until I reached the first buoy. I couldn’t see anyone else around me until I had nearly reached the buoy, when a line of swimmers appeared out to my left and cut right across in front of me. I worked round the marker in the mayhem, and hooked onto a pair of feet that seemed to be swimming well, and proceded to reel a few swimmers in. The second buoy was better as the swimmers seemed to be giving it a wide berth, so I cut in and around it. On the third leg we swam over a shallow shoal, maybe only 3 feet deep in water. The current on this bit was pushing the weed underneath us towards our feet, so it was a slower leg. We were catching the tail enders from the previous wave by now as we rounded the second to last buoy and headed for home. Stretching out I felt good with plenty of strength and breath. Up the beach and on to the transition bridge over the road I realised I had swum hard as my arms and lats were aching. Its always a bit disappointing after a good swim to emerge and see half the bikes in your rack are gone, but the ride makes up for it as you reel in cyclist after cyclist.

The cycle down to the circuit was a tail wind screamer at 55 km per hour, then a sharp left hand bend. The course was basically flat with a few low rises, but had six 180 degree turns per lap. On the correct line it was possible to pick up 100m on riders in front of you, but so few riders were using the full width of the road that the glass was thickest there. It was a case of picking the best line and avoiding the glass, and keeping your fingers crossed. In training I had got a flat tire, and the culprit turned out to be a sunglasses screw imbedded right in the middle of the tread. The crosswind for the three circuits was more of a help for me as the disc acted like a sail. I lost count of the number of cyclists that I passed, this time making sure that the ones I passed stayed passed. One or two took a bit of dropping, but a bit of weaving over the road saw them give up the chase. At each circuit there was a drink stop where a dozen children held sachets of water out for us to grab. The problem was, at 40 km per hour it was almost impossible to catch the sachets, and I didn’t want to slow down. I did back off on the pace from the 30km mark because the run was now getting close. It was now the hottest part of the day and the sun was beating down on us.

The run was a 2 lap out and back l shaped course, and thankfully the organisers had water stations every 500 m, and we needed it. Before I got to each stop I had a dry aching throat and the feeling of heating up was becoming unbearable. I felt my running was like a painfully slow plod, and yet I was reeling in a few runners. Unfortunately I was also being passed by a few as well. The water I was tipping over my head was running into my shoes, and adding considerably to the weight of the shoes, not to mention the blisters. I was trying to calculate my pace, and comparing this pace to my race pace trials – they seemed a world different, and I thought I was running about 6 minute kms. I am sure that the km markers were not correctly spaced as some kilometers felt unbearably long and others mercifully short. The run up into the wind was hot, but at the turnaround the head wind became a tail wind, and I was running in a hot fug with no ventilation. Even the water was starting to have no effect. At the 2 hour mark I had 2.5km to run, and I tried to set a pace to get there in 10 minutes or less, but the best I could manage was 11 minutes. The run up the finishing lane was with a feeling of profound relief that I was still conscious and that I had finished. Then things started to hurt, all the usual muscles, and the blisters on the feet and toes and the bits that rubbed, and the toenail that is even now going black. That afternoon the sunburn made its presence felt, back, shoulders, and the bits around the race suit that hadn’t seen the sun before.

I gathered up my gear, handed in my timing chip and started the foot trip back to the hotel under the watchful supervision of Warren and Cindy. Into the shower, down for some lunch and then off to bed for a sleep and to catch up with my roommate. That was it for another year.

And would I go back and race there again? Definitely yes. The location alone is like paradise, even if it is a little Americanised, and although the climate is a challenge for racing, it is possible to prepare for it. The climate has the same effect on everyone, and what allows you to do better than the next competitor is your ability to formulate your race strategy and stick to it.

Mike