IRONMAN Texas 2019

by

I am an IRONMAN.

Back in July I really had every intention of updating this blog more often but training got in the way. As it turns out, Ironman training it takes an inordinate amount of time; however, all that time and effort actually paid off and today I am an IRONMAN. What follows is a fairly long and detailed account of everything that transpired that weekend because I don’t ever want to forget it. So you have been warned, dear reader, and I won’t judge you if you decide to stop reading half way through it.

Race week is not usually stressful physically but mentally because it is all about logistics: final bike check, packing (triathletes carry a lot of gear), traveling, checking in, attending all the briefings, and a hundred other little things. Even choosing which team t-shirts you want to wear during the weekend becomes an important decision. Usually having a checklist helps and, being a pilot, I had two. One week before the race I had all my gear and nutrition ready and I was feeling good because I had done a lot of planning. All contingencies had been accounted for and nothing could go wrong. But one thing I had not planned for was having to look for a hotel room four days before the race. I had made reservations since way back in October and I had chosen one of the hotels recommended by the organization. It wasn’t the closest option but it wasn’t terribly expensive and I figured there had to be transportation to the event. However, on Wednesday certain circumstances changed and we needed to find a room right in The Woodlands. As fate would have it, after a few phone calls we found a room at the Marriott for Friday and Saturday. This was the official hotel for the race and if it had been any closer, the athletes would have had to run through the lobby. Call it luck, expensive luck but luck nonetheless; and can you really put a price tag on the peace of mind of knowing that your wife and kids are going to be okay while you punish your body for over 12 hours? Besides, being so close so the race location made things like finding parking a lot easier. All in all that turned out to be a great decision.

We traveled to The Woodlands on Thursday and the only thing I regret is not arriving in time for the Pro panel. Her royal highness, Ms. Daniela Ryf, was there and my girls are big fans of her since I told them the story of how she won Kona last year. But then again, we weren’t really trying to get there for the Pro panel; we were on a family trip and it was probably more important to stop at Buc-ee’s.

Athlete check-in was actually very exciting. About two months before the race I got it in my head that I wanted to race with bib 1998 to honor my Air Force Academy class. Our nickname is the Dominators and that’s what I intended to do: dominate IMTX. With that in mind, I emailed the race organizers with my request and they answered that they would try to accommodate it. Imagine my surprise when the bib numbers were published and I had been given my choice. Of course that also added pressure because now I also had to make my classmates proud. I picked up my bib, transition bags and timing chip; and attended the briefings. Meanwhile the girls walked through the Ironman village and found a tent where they were giving away free beef jerky samples. Long story short, we are now buying our beef jerky online from our newfound friends in Wisconsin. The other highlight of check-in was picking up the orange bracelet that first-timers wear. I looked it often during the race. After check-in we made our way back to our hotel to get the transition bags ready. Even though I had already decided what I was going to put in them, it took a lot longer than I expected because I second-guessed myself on a few items. In the end I put more stuff than I should have and I am sure that slowed me down during transition. I should have listened to my sister when she told me to keep it simple, stupid.

Travel Day and Athlete Check-In

On Friday we checked out of the hotel and made our way to North Shore Park where the swim start area was located. Friday morning is reserved for swim practice so it is an opportunity for athletes to get acquainted with the water conditions. In the case of Lake Woodlands this is actually important because the water is the color of iced tea. It helps to know you won’t be able to see anything past your nose and should expect more grabbing, slapping, pushing, pulling, shoving, and getting kicked in the face than usual. I also took the time to choose the landmarks I would use for sighting/navigation on Saturday. This is one of the few things I can probably do decently in triathlon as it is not much different than flying under visual flying rules. In fact, after I got out of the water, I started talking to a couple of guys who were discussing how they couldn’t really see the buoys because they were too small. I told them I wasn’t going to look for them; instead I was going to aim for a big white house on the edge of the lake on the outbound leg and just to the right of a big crane that was visible behind the bridge on the inbound leg. They seemed to like that idea.

After swim practice we went back to the transition area to drop off the transition bags and check in my beloved Hammerhead (yes, my bike is named after a shark). This was also a good time to explore the swim exit to plan my transition strategy. Experienced triathletes who are racing for time try to minimize the time they spend in transition so they can move on to the bike course. I am not an experienced triathlete so my transition strategy amounted to not falling on my butt on my way out of the water and making sure I put my cycling shoes on the right feet. We then checked into the Marriott and spent the afternoon relaxing by the pool. Before dinner Anama put on my Irontats because I am a rookie triathlete and that’s just the sort of thing we do to try and look more professional; and then we walked along the waterway to do some recon of the run course. The plan was to be in bed by 8 PM since my wake up call was at 3:30 AM, and while we actually managed to turn off the lights right at 8, I probably didn’t get more than a couple hours of sleep. Pre-race anxiety will do that to you.

Pre-race Festivities

On Saturday I got up and started getting ready for the race. Emotions were running high but I tried to keep them under control. I ate breakfast as I got dressed because pre-race nutrition is one of those things that can make or break your race before it even starts and my sister had already expressed concern about my meals. She wasn’t wrong; I probably didn’t eat enough carbs on Thursday but I think I did okay on Friday. Then I said good bye to Anama and the girls and walked to Transition to bring Hammerhead’s tires up to race pressure and do a final check of my transition bags. And that’s when things got real: Anama and the girls had left notes of encouragement in both bags. I didn’t read them as they were meant to help me during the race but just knowing that my girls had taken the time to write notes and sneak them in the bags that I had packed, unpacked and repacked three times made my eyes well up. I still don’t know how they did it and they won’t tell me. Around 5 AM I joined the gaggle as everyone was walking to the swim start which was about a mile away. For most of the walk I was next to a twenty-something athlete and his grandfather who asked him about his race goals. He answered very confidently that he was trying to swim in under an hour, bike under five and run a sub-three. Very impressive, I thought. I didn’t catch his name but I really hope he made it because that’s Kona territory. My own goals were a little different: finish with a heart beat and most limbs still attached. I almost didn’t succeed.

Race Morning

The view from the bridge overlooking the lake was pretty amazing. It was still dark and the water looked very serene, the proverbial calm before the storm. The shore was something else. All the athletes were getting ready and their sherpas were helping them get in their wetsuits and taking pictures. Some were stretching and warming up but entirely too many of them -myself included- decided that it was a good time for a final bathroom break. Luckily that only took 20 minutes. By then Anama and the girls had arrived with these big posters they had made. Another surprise. I can neither confirm nor deny that my eyes welled up again and at that point I knew I was in for a very emotional race. I warmed up as my coach and Paragon team honcho, Mark Saroni, had recommended and finally put on my wetsuit. We took a few more pictures as a family and finally we heard the cannon. IRONMAN Texas 2019 had officially started.

Let’s Get This Party Going!

Based on my speed in the pool, I had estimated my swim time to be around 1:30 hours so I didn’t know whether to line up in the 1:20-1:30 or the 1:30-1:40 group. In the end I figured that it was probably better to be one of the faster swimmers in the 1:30-1:40 group as there would be less interaction (meaning having someone grab your feet as you try your best to get out of their way) with the other athletes. With rolling start procedures in place it took about 10 minutes to finally get in the water. By then I could see the pros already turning into the canal for their final leg of the swim but I had other things in mind: after a year of waiting, my race had finally begun. Any other day I probably would have been scared but as I was too excited. This was graduation and I was only too eager to get in the water. As I started swimming, I did my best to locate the buoys but it was hard because the sun was just coming up from our left and that’s my breathing side so I intuitively reverted to the landmarks I had chosen the day before. On the outbound leg I didn’t have any major issues. It took me about 10 minutes to get into a comfortable pace and my sighting was okay. One thing that surprised me is that in spite of the large number of swimmers, the water wasn’t too choppy, not anymore than a busy day at the pool.

After the turn my shoulders started getting a little tired but not too bad. Then about 45 minutes into the swim, I ran straight into the guy who was ahead of me. I don’t mean that I caught up to him; I mean I literally swam head first into his back because he had stopped suddenly. I stopped to see if I could go around him but he was freaking out and yelling that he couldn’t see the buoys. I tried to calm him down by pointing out the cranes over the bridge and telling him to aim to the right of them. He thanked me for the tip and resumed swimming, and all I could think was “dude, I’m the rookie here. I’m probably not the best person to ask for directions in the middle of the lake”. I also hope I didn’t hurt his back because that was a hard hit.

After turning into the canal I relaxed as the realization came that the part I feared the most, the swim, was almost over. However, I relaxed a little too soon as I ended swimming too far to the right of the canal and hit the wall pretty hard with my right hand. Lesson learned: don’t get distracted in the water. Finally as I was getting close to the exit, I spotted Anama and the girls in the crowd so I did what any sensible person would do: I stopped, waved, and blew kisses at them. Like I said: this was a graduation, a celebration for all of us. And then, as I made the final turn toward the exit, I felt it: a cramp on my right hamstring. Uh oh.

Yes, I wave at the camera even when I’m swimming

In the end my swim time was almost exactly what I had predicted: 1:33, so I was very happy with it. After getting out of the water and taking off my wetsuit with the help of the strippers (not as fun as it sounds), I ran up the ramp, grabbed my bag and went into the changing tent. There I read the notes the girls had left me and got ready for the bike. It was a painfully slow transition by any reasonable standard but I really wasn’t in a rush. To me it was more important to make sure I had everything I needed and that I was hydrated. I even took the time to rub some chamois cream on my nether parts to avoid chaffing on the bike. Finally I headed out, got my bike and headed to the mount line. Anama and the girls were already there so again I slowed down to wave at them before moving on to the longest part of the race.

The Swim is Done. Let’s Ride.

The start of the bike course through The Woodlands was very uneventful. I was mostly keeping an eye on my heart rate which was somewhere in the 150s when I wanted it to be in the 140s. I don’t have a power meter so I use my heart rate to pace myself. The first 20 miles or so were spent through neighborhood streets before making our way to the Hardy Toll Road. And that’s where my amazing sherpas gave me the next surprise: they were waiting for me just before the first aid station. How they beat me to it, I’ll never know. Or rather, I know how they got there but I am still surprised because a lot of roads were closed and traffic was almost at a stand-still. I slowed down a little to blow kisses at them and then took some Gatorade at the aid station. Once on the Hardy, The first thing on my mind was to look out for the pros. IRONMAN is one of the few sporting events where you actually get to share the course with them and watch them race each other. Think of it as front row tickets to the main event, only you are on a bike and they really want you to not get in their way. The first pro I recognized was Andrew Starykowicz and he looked every bit like a man on a mission. I was probably pushing 23 mph and Starky just left me standing there. A few minutes later I saw Daniela Ryf and Jocelyn McCauley and they were right on top of each other, which by IRONMAN rules means six bike lengths apart. It was actually pretty easy to know they were approaching me because they had an entourage of motorcycles and cameras. Mentally I checked “getting lapped by Daniela Ryf” off my list of accomplishments and started focusing back on my race which was starting to go off script.

The first surprise of the day

At that point in the race I had to deal with three things. The first was a strong headwind from the south. It wasn’t unexpected because I had been keeping an eye on the weather forecast but that didn’t make it any easier. So I just put my head down and kept pedaling. Now the thing about the Hardy is that it is a very long, straight, and boring stretch of highway without much to see in terms of a landscape, just concrete to the left and concrete to the right. It is just you and your thoughts so it’s important to keep them in check because it is easy to wonder off into dark places which must be avoided at all costs in endurance racing. But then other things started occupying my mind. Before I got to the turnaround point near mile 40, my stomach started feeling funny and I couldn’t figure out why. I had my own nutrition which I have been using for about six months and I had really been staying on top of my hydration. I figured the temperature and the humidity were going to be higher than what I am used to so I had chugged a bottle of Gatorade between each aid station to keep up with fluid and electrolyte loss. Now let’s think about that: I had chugged a bottle of Gatorade between each aid station which was about twice my normal intake. And then it hit me. My sugar consumption had been way too high. No wonder I was feeling sick. I had done exactly what I warn my kids not to do on Halloween. The lesson? Stick to the plan you practiced for six months.

I did some quick mental math and decided to modify my nutrition to adjust for all that sugar. I also decided to not take any more Gatorade and drink only water. My electrolytes, of which I already had plenty, would have to come from my gels. That turned out to be a good plan of action but I effectively had to ride for some four hours just trying not to vomit. The other thing that kept me busy was the cramp I felt when I finished the swim. Every so often I would put my hand on my hamstring to see how bad the pain was. There was definitely discomfort but I figured I had six hours to massage it back to health so I did. Other than that, I had some neck and shoulder fatigue at the three hour mark so I got off the aero bars and rode on the hoods for about 20 minutes to give them a rest. That wasn’t entirely unexpected because I had experienced the same thing during my long training rides and I knew how to deal with it. Luckily no other issues came up on the bike course.

Triathlon is not exactly a spectator-friendly event and IRONMAN races are even less so. In the days leading up to the race, Anama and I had discussed many times where she and the girls would be at different times throughout the day. I was of the opinion that during the bike they should stay in The Woodlands and find other activities to do. Anama was having none of it and made up her mind to be at the turnaround point where athletes started the second loop on the bike. That was at about mile 60 and it just so happened that there was an aid station there. So imagine my surprise when I approached it and saw my girls handing out water and bananas to the athletes. They didn’t just show up at the turnaround, they actually talked their way into the aid station and volunteered there for about two hours. As I wrote above, I was having some race troubles and keeping my spirits high was getting harder but there’s something about being surprised by your family and taking water from your kids (legally, too) that puts a big smile on your face and kicks your motivation into high gear. That was a big moment for me and it made all the difference in the world.

Anama and the girls at the aid station on mile 60

The other remarkable thing that happened on the bike was mile 88. I know the actual mile because I actually looked at my Garmin so I would always remember it. I was about 5 hours into my ride and I remembered the notes that the girls had left for me in the transition bag. Then I started thinking about how incredibly lucky I was to be racing an IRONMAN and emotions got the best of me. One of the great things about endurance sports is that you spend a lot of time with yourself so you think about a lot of things. For instance, I had written in mind maybe a hundred times how I would thank all the people that made this possible. At mile 88 I started thinking about my family and how much I owed them. I know the training had been hard on them for many reasons. For one, I had been a pain to deal with the last two weeks before the race. There was also the huge time commitment that is implied in an endeavor like this one. Back in December I had to make adjustments to my schedule after Martina asked me to please be home on Thursday nights which was usually swimming practice with my team. Then I remembered seeing them at the turnaround point and, as tears rolled down my face, I thanked the Lord for having blessed me with such a wonderful family. Yes, there is crying in triathlon. I made some mental promises to them and I asked for a miracle that I believe God granted me. I am now in the process of fulfilling those promises which I hope are permanent outcomes of this project.

It may seem that I did not enjoy the bike or that I was suffering throughout the ride but that’s not the case at all. Yes, I was having some trouble and things were not going according to plan but I managed my race successfully. I overcame the early digestive problems and my leg cramps were going away. But more than anything I was having good time. My sister Luisa and my teammate Emi both emphasized that I should keep my spirits high, smile, and enjoy the day; and they were right. I smiled a lot. There isn’t a single picture where I am not smiling at the camera. I also kept thinking about my classmates, especially my friend Susie (a cancer survivor who recently climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro), my friend Chip and his 500-mile ride just a couple of months ago, my sister Luisa who removed the mental tare I had about IRONMAN, and maybe ten other people whose stories inspired me to keep pedaling. Sure enough it was a very emotional ride but more than anything I was just happy and excited to be there fulfilling my dream. And as I mentioned earlier, I keep looking at my orange bracelet which says “I will become one” to remind me of why I was there. See, before starting the race I had already made the decision that I was going to finish it. I would not have toed the line if I had had any doubts but a lot can happen during 12 hours of racing and some problems don’t become obvious until you are past the 6- or 8-hour mark. How you deal with those issues mentally and spiritually is what makes an IRONMAN.

IMTX 2019 Bike Course

My bike split was just over 6 hours which was almost exactly what I was expecting. As I approached the dismount line my spirits were high and my legs weren’t too tired but, as soon as I stepped off the bike I felt something very familiar and completely undesirable: my runner’s knee. Also known as IT band syndrome, runner’s knee has been a recurring problem for me over the years. However, and quite mysteriously, it never appeared during IRONMAN training, not even during my 20-mile runs or my long bricks. In my mind I had accepted that swimming and cycling had somehow fixed whatever caused it and I couldn’t be happier. But during my taper runs I had felt it acting up and I had already decided to run with a knee brace. Usually the brace buys me at least 10 miles before the discomfort starts except this time it began the second I unclipped from the bike. Right then and there I knew and accepted that I was in for a very long and painful run. Time to put my game face on.

The end of the bike leg

Transition 2 was another slow affair as I was mostly concerned with how I would manage the pain for the next, oh 26.2 miles. As I ran to grab my bag, I was going through its contents in my head. I knew I had some Tylenol that I was going to take and Ben-gay to rub on my knee to try and delay the pain as much as possible. I also had my knee brace which I hoped would help me though deep down I knew it wouldn’t. As I put on my running shoes and ate an energy bar, I read the other notes that Anama and the girls had left for me and with a new dose of encouragement, I set off to become an IRONMAN. The race was on.

The first few miles of the run were about as tough as I expected. My legs felt fine, or about as fine as they could be after riding a century, and my runner’s knee was just a mild inconvenience at that point. I just wanted to get through the first ten minutes so I could settle into my pace. The atmosphere on that side of the course was okay. There weren’t that many people and only a few teams had set up their tents in that area. There was little shade but the sun wasn’t too bad. At the aid stations I was mostly taking fluids and putting lots of ice down my tri-suit to stay cool. They also had wet sponges that provided a lot of relief. My knee brace wasn’t doing much and it actually kept coming loose which was a big distraction. Just about every other minute I had to readjust it. Then, at around mile 6, I came across Steve Soileau.

As my runner’s knee was getting progressively worse, I was looking for other things to keep my mind occupied so it was a welcome surprise to see someone running with a rugby ball. He was about 200 yards ahead of me when I first spotted him so I decided to catch up and ask him the story behind the ball. It’s not everyday you see someone running with a rugby ball let alone at IRONMAN. Steve then told me a story that made my eyes well up. He had lost his son, who was a rugby player, in a car crash recently. The ball was his son’s and ever since then he carried it with him. He had trained with the ball and was racing IRONMAN with it to promote rugby and their local club. Right then and there all my race troubles seemed so very small and my knee pain went away for a few minutes. We only ran together for about a mile but Steve’s story resonated with me the rest of the race. To this day I still tell his story to as many people as I can.

After meeting Steve I finally reached the back side of the course which ran along the canal. The atmosphere there was something else entirely. All the families were cheering for their loved ones, the local tri clubs were playing music, and you could feel the energy in the air. I made it a point to high-five as many little kids as I could. It made them happy and it kept my mind off the pain that was developing on my knee. Then, as I ran past our hotel, but on the other side of the canal, I heard Anama and the girls screaming my name. It was another one of those shots of energy that I needed to keep my spirits high. I had studied the run course so I knew that meant I would be seeing them in about 10 minutes. In the meantime I enjoyed running past the much ballyhooed Hippie Hollow which lived up to its reputation as one of the most energetic areas of the course. Those guys know how to party.

Near the end of the first loop, I finally made it to Anama and the girls and of course I stopped and kissed them. Really who cares about a minute or two when you’re racing for over 12 hours? Stopping to say hi to your family in the middle of IRONMAN is priceless. After all this had been a family project for the better part of a year and it was finally ending. It was also another shot of positive energy timed perfectly. Anama ran next to me for about a minute and I got a chance to tell her about the knee. I tried to downplay it but really there was no hiding it as you could plainly see in my gait that something was wrong with my left leg. Eventually she headed back to the girls and I set off to deal with the second loop of the marathon.

IMTX first loop of the marathon

The second loop was fairly uneventful. I had accepted that I had to deal with the pain as best as I could. The start was actually pretty cool because team Moxie was playing music very loudly -as they do- and I made it a point to run-dance as much as I could. Farther down the course other teams were following suit and had their speakers on. I remember dancing to the music stylings of Selena (both Quintanilla and Gómez), Madonna, Metallica, and Justin Bieber among others. Now I am not exactly a Bieber fan but 10 hours into an IRONMAN with a bum knee even his music sounds good. Remember I said there are problems that only develop deep into the race? Yeah, that’s one: your music taste goes down the drain. Then again it’s not like you get to pick what plays next so you make the best of it and use any excuse to distract your mind. All in all, my spirits were still high. Yes, my knee was giving me trouble but my pace was steady and just a tad slower than I wanted. And I kept reminding myself that I was racing an IRONMAN! I mean, how could I not be excited! As I ran past the lake I remember thinking “I can’t believe I was swimming there this morning!”. The whole scene was very surreal. At that point I also decided that I was going to stop for my special needs bag. In it I had Alleve which I hoped would help with the increasing pain. It didn’t.

My nutrition was really going off script though. I didn’t want to ingest any more gels so I took some pretzels at the aid stations in addition to water. I also took some BASE salt, which I had never used, and decided to give it a try. By that I mean I downed an entire vial in one go which is way too much. Not surprisingly my stomach protested and at the next station I was ready to down some flat coke, which I had also never tried before under race conditions. The trick worked as my stomach eventually calmed down. I was relieved; I really didn’t need any more distractions.

As I made my way through the back side of the course I started paying more attention to my surroundings to keep my mind away from the pain on my knee. I remember admiring the houses by the lake and reading the signs that team Valhalla had left for its members. Once I reached the canal again, I just tried to enjoy myself and feed off the energy of the crowd which was incredible. I was past the half way point of the marathon. I could see the finish line. By then my knee was in severe pain but I wasn’t about to stop. No way, no how.

After about 18 miles I reached Anama and the girls for the second time and of course I stopped again. I hugged and kissed them knowing that the next time I’d see them would be at the end of this adventure. Talk about a shot of energy! After all of those long months of training and preparation, it all boiled down to the last 9 or so few miles. Anama again ran next to me for a minute or so and we took a couple of selfies because we live in 2019 and that’s what we do. So off I went, one more loop. I could hack it.

The end of the second loop – just 9 miles to go

Those last few miles were one of the toughest tests I’ve had to endure. They would have been hard either way because I had been beating my body to its limits for 11 hours but by then the knee pain was an 11 on a 10-point scale. I believe the technical term is please-cut-off-my-leg excruciating pain. Running by team Moxie, the lake, and the other team tents helped as I was able to mentally check out for a few seconds and smile but the truth was the pain was becoming unbearable. My strategy for dealing with the race became really simple: jump from aid station to aid station, take water, pour ice down my tri-suit, eat something, and go. Here I also need to point out that throughout the whole ordeal I had been readjusting my knee brace every 5-10 minutes because it kept slipping off which was extremely annoying. Usually at the aid stations I only had to slow down a little and maybe walk a few steps to drink water and eat pretzels. Then I grabbed another cup of water and actually splashed it on my face because temperature control becomes very important. The other thing that I learned is that running with a bunch of ice down by your private parts is not as uncomfortable as it sounds. You get used to it.

With 7 miles to go, however, a new and unexpected thing happened. I don’t actually know if this is scientifically true but I think that because my left leg wasn’t doing its part, my right leg was working overtime. The end result was that I developed cramps on my right quad, hamstring, and hip. And they were hurting. I remember looking down at my legs and seeing them shake uncontrollably like jell-o, the left from knee pain and the right from cramps. Mysteriously, though, my pace was still strong and right about what I was expecting. At mile 20, though, I actually had to stop at the aid station. Bad mistake. When I tried to run again, those first three steps induced the second worst pain I’ve ever felt (the first was when I was run over by a boat but that’s another story). At that point I knew that if I stopped again, my leg would seize and I wouldn’t be able to finish. Thus, I decided that I would simply not stop for the rest of the race. I would forgo hydration and/or nutrition but I could not stop. I could walk briskly but not stop. I also thought about those long training days and imagined where I would be with 6 miles to go. It helped. I knew exactly how to pace myself.

Once I reached the canal for the third and final time, I knew I was going to make it. I kept high-fiving all the little kids and enjoying the music. As I approached the hotel across the canal I was wondering if I would hear Anama and the girls again. I didn’t have high hopes because I knew they were making their way to the finish line but then something wonderful happened: I heard someone yell “isn’t that Pablo?” It turned out that the family that had been next to Anama spotted me and started cheering for me. I don’t know who they are but here, in these lines, I want to acknowledge them and let them know that at that point in the race they gave me the last shot of energy I needed. For that, I can’t thank them enough.

Once I reached the mile 25 marker my emotions took the best of me. I could not stop smiling and I kept telling everyone that I was done. Now I know there are two occasions when I love everyone: when I’m drunk and I finish an IRONMAN. The final aid station had a bell you could ring if you were on the last loop and heading for the chute. I rang that sucker with all the strength I had. And as I reached the mile 26 marker, I started crying again. I was done. Our family project was over. I had overcome the fear of racing an IRONMAN. I thought about my sister Luisa, my brother-in-law Felipe, and my dear friend Augusto who were the catalysts of this adventure. I thought about the long training days and the swimming sessions of the past year. I thought about my teammates who I knew had been keeping an eye on me that day. To you, Team Paragon, I am forever in debt. And as I entered the chute, I zipped up my tri-suit (because you have to look good for the pictures), wiped the tears off my face, and soaked it all in. I saw Anama and the girls one more time and took two seconds to prepare to cross the finish line. Finally Mike Reilly called my name and I became an IRONMAN. My race time was 12 hours, 22 minutes and 41 seconds.

IMTX in the books

Writing this account has taken far longer than I expected and many things have happened since then. I hope I will write about them soon. But know, dear reader, that I have made good on my promises of mile 88 and that our family came out stronger. IRONMAN Texas was important to me. It was something I needed to do for perhaps selfish reasons but I hope in my heart that the lessons learned will benefit our family for a long time. I also hope that my daughters learned from my example that hard work pays off. But yeah, that feeling was worth every second of every minute that I spent in training over the last few months. I am an IRONMAN.

The end

Graduation

by

Today I am a triathlete. It took about 6 months since I decided to start training and today I can finally call myself a triathlete as I have officially completed a triathlon.

It actually happened a week ago at the Kerrville Sprint Triathlon. It wasn’t my first choice as I had originally had planned to compete in the Tri for Old Glory Olympic Triathlon in July but my leg decided that we would sit on the bench for that one. I had also set my sights on the New Orleans 70.3 three weeks from now but that will have to wait too. But it doesn’t matter; I finally got it done and it was a special day to be sure.

For starters, last Saturday was my daughter Martina’s 6th birthday and she graciously agreed to let me race on her special day. It was a great honor and it gave me extra motivation since I promised she could have my first triathlon medal. As it turned out, I needed that reminder at some point during the race but I will get to that in a minute. Overall, the race went well. I hit almost exactly the time I set for myself and I was able to pinpoint the areas where I need to focus more. It was a tremendous learning experience all the way from registration to the end of the race and I really can’t wait to do it again.

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Celebrating Martina’s birthday

The swim was predictably the hardest part of the race. It wasn’t hard physically but mentally. In training I am more than used to swimming the race distance which was 500 meters so I knew that I could do it, but about half way through I started getting anxious. See, it’s one thing to swim in a 25-yard pool where you know exactly how many lengths you have swum, but that doesn’t necessarily translate to open water. Half the time I would raise my head to look for the buoy and I couldn’t exactly tell if it was far or close. But that was when I could actually see the buoy because most of the time I couldn’t even see it and at some point I could swear I was swimming in the opposite direction. As it turned out, I ended up swimming longer than I needed – 87 meters more according to Strava. I also learned that I pull to the left which is odd because in the pool I tend to pull to the right. Something else to work on. Finally, wearing dark goggles in low light conditions was a really bad idea.

After surviving the swim, I headed to T1 where I spent about five minutes when three would have sufficed. It was painfully slow as I had not practiced and I made the poor decision to wear compression socks for the bike and the run. As it turns out, for short races socks are not even needed but I didn’t know that. To be honest, though, I wasn’t really worried about my time during transitions. I simply assumed I would be slow and it would be part of the learning experience.

The bike leg of the race was actually a lot of fun; well, if you don’t count the first five minutes. See, the night before the race it had rained a little so the roads were somewhat wet and slippery. About five minutes into the bike, I misjudged my entry into a turn and came in a little too hot. I tapped my brakes slightly but as I entered the turn, I felt the rear tire slide and knew I was done. The tire caught again and for a brief second I thought I had avoided a fall but alas, I was wrong. The next thing I knew, my bike was going one way and I was going the other, sliding ever so gracefully on the pavement. In case you’re wondering, my first thought was “I hope I didn’t rip my brand-new tri suit”. My second thought was “Ouch!”. And here’s a fun fact: when you crash, your heart rate spikes. I got up as fast as I could, cursing myself, and walked over to the bike which, somehow, ended up on the sidewalk. I gave it a quick inspection and after deciding that she was good to go, hopped back on and got on with my race. It was here that the extra motivation kicked in. I had landed on my elbow and hip and had what in cycling parlance is known as road rash, but I had promised Martina that I would race hard for her. So for the next 45 minutes or so I pedaled as fast as I could but was very careful on just about every turn. I ended up averaging 20 mph which is a lot faster than I usually ride. I guess I am not too slow on the bike but I don’t expect to maintain that speed over a full Ironman. T2 was not too bad either though I certainly could have done better. I spent almost a full minute putting on my race belt; don’t ask why.

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Anatomy of a crash: speed goes to zero, heart rate spikes

The run was also very enjoyable. It was a short 5K that I knew I could do. What I was worried about was actually my leg. Up until then I had not gone over three miles since I had been cleared by the doctor and I definitely did not want to injure myself. I can’t run nearly as fast as I did before the injury but I did a lot better than I expected. In the end I finished the race in 1:32:00. It was two minutes slower than my goal but all things considered, I think it’s okay to call it a win. And we still had one more event to go. After the Sprint race, I ran the Kids Fun Run with Cami and Tina. Both of them have run that distance before so, full of confidence, they just took off and finished in nearly identical times. It was very cool to see them push their limits and enjoy the race.

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Racing together with my girls

The final highlight of the weekend was to meet many of the members of my triathlon club, Paragon Training. Head coach Mark Saroni was there to give us pointers and he won the Quarter race on Sunday by something like 15 minutes. The man is a beast. Some of the others I knew only by name from the team’s Facebook page so it was great to finally shake their hand and race with them. I am now convinced that joining Paragon was one of the best decisions I’ve made in my journey to IMTX.

Finally, I want to thank Anama and the girls for joining me on this trip. I know they probably had as many doubts as I did about the whole triathlon experience and, to be honest, being a spectator at endurance events is not easy. However, they soldiered on and met me at the finish line with a smile and even put up with the heavy rain after the event. May this be the first of many to come.

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Graduation

Wake-up Call

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The hardest part of Ironman training is probably not what you think. As a newcomer to triathlon and the Ironman experience, I thought the swim would be the hardest part of my training. It wasn’t just my lack of technique, endurance, speed, buoyancy, and grace that worried me. Devoid of any discernible style known to the swimming community, I knew an anvil stood a better chance of finishing the swim leg of Ironman than me, but that wasn’t it. Swimming just seemed incompatible with my lifestyle and I didn’t know where to fit it into my schedule. However, that turned out to be one of the simplest problems to solve. Instead, I have come to realize that the hardest part of my training happens at 4:30 AM when my alarm clock goes off.

I have always been an early riser. That doesn’t mean I like waking up early. It means that for various reasons I have always had to wake up early. When I was in school, our wake-up call happened at around 5-5:30 AM. Classes started at 7 AM and the bus ride to school sometimes took well over half an hour. I remember distinctly sitting on the curb, freezing cold in the dark waiting for the bus to pick us up. It wasn’t fun and I simply accepted it as part of life. The weekends were slightly different but we still didn’t get much of a break because we had karate training in the morning. In the ninth and tenth grades I had military training at 6 AM on Saturdays. Try being a 14-year-old with a bed time of 9 PM on a Friday (Spoiler: no, I never went to bed at 9 PM on a Friday and it showed during training on Saturdays). Then I decided to go to college at the Air Force Academy and let me tell you, they really don’t like it when you sleep in late. Even on the weekends I had to get out of bed very early because I was either learning or teaching other cadets how to fly gliders. Karate, military training and soaring were all wonderful experiences and I am extremely grateful that I got to do them, but the part of the price was the early wake-up call.

A common phrase among triathletes is “I can’t, I have to be up at 4 AM” and this is really the crux of the problem. Triathlon requires discipline and discipline comes in many shapes and sizes. You have to follow a training plan and schedule and that requires some discipline. You have to follow a nutrition plan and that requires a different type of discipline. And, if you are like most of the triathletes I know, you have to wake up early. People like me have families, jobs, and other responsibilities that usually are one of the excuses we make to avoid getting involved in the sport. We just don’t have time, right? After training for about 6 months now I can unequivocally say that this is just not true. The time is there and it always has been, but you have to find it. And it just so happens that some of that time can be found well before dawn. It means that changes have to be made to your daily schedule and you probably will also need to go to bed earlier than you were used to. It means you will sometimes ride or run in the dark, and it will probably be a little cold. That’s when you have to really dig deep for your motivation: how bad do you want it? Once you are out of bed and get some inertia going, everything becomes a little easier and you get on with your training; it is just those first few minutes that get to me. I know I can dig deep during a particularly challenging run or swim and get it done. But getting started, that’s always the test.

There is also something that I’ve started calling the Society of Early Morning Training. Those are the people I come across before dawn. Some are jogging, some are riding their bikes, some are simply walking, and I can tell some are really pushing their limits. And we all wave at each other. It’s support from strangers bound only by the fact that we happened to share the same road very early in the morning. Some of them I  know by name, even if I have never talked to them, because they always show up in my Strava flybys. It may not seem like much but to me that simple act of saying hi is important  because I know they probably also struggled to get their shoes on earlier that day. We all have goals that we are trying to accomplish and part of the price to reach them is that we are out and about before the sun is up.

I am not going to pretend that my record is perfect. There have been many mornings when I have simply decided that I could not get up. The training still got done but it usually meant having to rearrange my entire schedule for the day. But the the early wake-up call has gotten easier and I have to come accept it as part of the triathlete life. I may not enjoy it but it serves me a reminder of the goals I have and the little things I am doing to get there. So off to bed I go.

The Swim

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Injury update: So I got shin splints. At first I was worried that the injury in my leg would be a stress fracture but the bone scan showed it is shin splints. Now, I have not had those in over 20 years, and I am still not sure sure why or how I got them, but I suppose it’s better than a stress fracture. So now I have a walking boot that I have to wear for the next four weeks. I can still swim and ride my bike (though I am not allowed to get off the saddle) and I might be able to start running sometime in September. My goal is to do the Kerrville sprint triathlon on September 29 so we’ll see how that goes.

So far swimming has been the hardest part of transitioning to triathlon. As a kid I didn’t have much formal training. My dad taught me to swim when I was seven or eight years old in exchange for a pair of goggles. I still remember him teaching me to float, move my arms, and turn my head to breath. It took the better part of a day and I ended up learning the basics (and getting said goggles) but that was about it: good enough for a social swimming pool. Fast forward ten years and my next encounter with swimming lessons was as a cadet at the United States Air Force Academy. As part of the curriculum, during freshman year (formally called fourth degree year) all cadets learn the basic strokes and also water survival. Somehow, the water survival part actually stuck because a few years later I saved my dad from drowning in a river in Colombia. I wasn’t a strong swimmer but it was one of those situations when your training comes back to you and you act instinctively. I am sure it wasn’t a textbook rescue but my dad is alive and well so I must have done something right.

Now, twenty-odd years later I have had to learn how to swim again because, as I found out, my technique was really bad. I started swimming one day at the local school district aquatic center because I figured it would be a matter of building endurance more than anything else. I mean, how bad could my form be, right? Wrong. While I still remembered some of the things I learned at Air Force and tried to apply them in my early swims, it became apparent to me that I was much slower than just about everyone else around me. Most of the other swimmers are considerably older than me so it was really humbling to discover just how slow I was. Looking at other people’s lap times on Strava didn’t help either. Additionally, I was also getting very tired after just a few hundred yards, and here I was thinking I could swim almost two and a half miles. Classes, I needed classes.

I started researching swimming classes and learned about the Master Swimmers program. These are lessons for adults usually taught very early in the morning. One of my coworkers had attended them for a year during his Ironman training so it seemed like a good idea. However, none of the programs I found really fit my schedule. It was then that I discovered Mark Saroni (my coach) and Paragon Training (my team). I want to write about Mark and Paragon separately so suffice it to say the guy is an absolute badass and a great coach, and Paragon really feels like a family even though I’ve only been with them for 3 months. Around May I started swimming with Mark twice a week and yes, my technique was really bad. It was so bad I actually had to use two pull buoys tied together to help me hold my feet up. Since then my technique has improved quite a bit, as revealed by my lap times which are slowly getting better.

At first, it was very hard for me to relax in the pool. One of my biggest problems was my breathing. Aside from the fact that I tend to raise my head when I breath (which causes my legs to drop and act as an anchor), I just kept holding my breath for as long as I could before taking my next breath. Half the time I found myself more worried about not drowning than actually maintaining proper form. And let’s be honest: swimming in a pool is a little boring. You are staring at this blue line beneath you and every so often you turn around and count another lap. Many times I lost count after 20 or so laps so I am not even sure my early times are accurate and they may in fact be slower than I think they were. But I had a breakthrough last week. I was finally able to control my breathing and let my mind go. For the first time I was able to swim non-stop for close to an hour without feeling panic or anxiety. And I actually enjoyed it.

IMTX is still a few months away but it was important to me to reach this milestone. I needed to gain confidence in the water and now I actually believe I can do this. I have a ton of work to do to improve my technique but now I can actually focus on that instead of trying not to drown. I am still slow but now I am consistently slow over long distances. I call that a win.

Road to Ironman Texas

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I will be racing Ironman Texas on April 27, 2019.

There, I said it.

I start documenting my road to IMTX 2019 with all sorts of doubts in my mind. In theory, I have been training for four months. In reality, I am writing this as I nurse a foot injury that has kept me from running for the last 10 weeks. I went to see a sports doctor yesterday morning and he ordered a bone scan which I promptly got yesterday afternoon. Now, I am not a radiologist but my shin lit up like a Christmas tree in the images I saw and I’m afraid I will be diagnosed with a stress fracture. As a newcomer to the sport of triathlon, training for Ironman is hard enough without the looming prospect of an injury but those are the circumstances I am facing and will overcome because make no mistake: I will be racing Ironman Texas on April 27, 2019.

Why am I doing this? I suppose everyone who ever attempted to do a full distance triathlon was just looking for a challenge. In my case, I was always in awe of the distances involved: 2.4 miles in the water followed by 112 miles on the bike followed by a full 26.2-mile marathon. I mean, running a marathon is quite an accomplishment on its own but these people were running it after a 112-mile bike ride. That just seemed well outside of my personal limits. I am not a strong swimmer by any stretch of the imagination and I have not ridden a bike in about 20 years. And then there’s my love-hate relationship with the run. See, I think I can run and I like doing it but for some reason I have developed runner’s knee and can’t run without a brace. Instead for the last 12 years I lifted weights as running took a secondary role in my life. Then, my sister went and did IM Cartagena 70.3, which was pretty bad-ass, and she followed it with IM Los Cabos. And then my brother-in-law raced IM Lima 70.3 so all of the sudden it seemed feasible: maybe I could do it. So here I am, after many years of thinking about it, finally having the guts to go and race a full Ironman.

Documenting my road to IMTX is important to me. I think it will help keep me focused and maybe one day, when my daughters are older, they will take the time to read it and realize that it is never too late to do anything and that discipline and hard work can take you far in life.

As of today, I have 39 weeks to be ready. I don’t know if that is enough but it will have to be. As I mentioned earlier, I have been kind of training for about 4 months. It hasn’t been the most structured of programs, especially because the leg injury threw me off course, but it has been fun and challenging. For a newbie I think I have made progress and there’s no doubt in my mind that I can be ready on April 27. Well, maybe there’s a little doubt. Okay, maybe I am terrified. In reality I am extremely anxious and I feel I should be running on a bike in the pool because 39 weeks is not nearly enough time.

And with that confession, I am off to bed because as triathletes like to say: I have to be up at 4 AM.

 

Atentado al Presidente

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Hay emergencias para las que no se puede entrenar. Este es un principio fundamental de la aviación. Los pilotos pasamos una gran parte del tiempo estudiando y practicando procedimientos de emergencia con la esperanza de que nunca tengamos que ponerlos en práctica, pero sabiendo que estaremos preparados en caso de que esas situaciones se presenten. Muchos de estos procedimientos están consignados en el manual de vuelo del avión donde podemos encontrar una lista de las situaciones críticas más comunes y la forma aprobada de resolverlas. Pero, como es de esperar, el manual no contempla todos los escenarios que se pueden presentar en un ambiente tan complejo como es la operación de un avión. Para compensar esa carencia, durante nuestro entrenamiento los instructores nos presentan otras emergencias que no se encuentran en el manual, ya sea porque no son muy frecuentes o porque son muy complejas y resultan de la combinación de factores que no siempre se pueden prever. Algunas emergencias son tan críticas que tienen procedimientos que debemos memorizar y realizar de manera automática; para otras, hay suficiente tiempo de leer el manual y realizar los pasos de la lista de chequeo uno por uno. Tanto entrenamiento también tiene otro propósito: desarrollar criterio, para que cuando encontremos situaciones nuevas sepamos afrontarlas y sortearlas de manera exitosa. Un ejemplo de ello fue el acuatizaje perfecto del US Airways 1549 que muchos conocemos por la película “Sully”. En ese caso, el avión perdió la potencia en sus dos motores justo después de despegar debido a impactos con pájaros, y el piloto, el capitán Chesley Sullenberger, tuvo que tomar la decisión de poner su aeronave y sus 155 ocupantes en las aguas gélidas del Hudson. Ningún tipo de entrenamiento lo hubiera podido preparar para esa eventualidad y fue su criterio, formado tras varias décadas de experiencia, el que les salvó la vida a todos sus pasajeros.

El 12 de febrero de 1997, la Selección Colombia de fútbol debía enfrentar a la Selección Argentina en el estadio Metropolitano, en un partido por la clasificación al Mundial de Francia 98. Era un partido importante porque Colombia y Argentina no se enfrentaban por eliminatoria mundialista desde aquel recordado 5-0 en el estadio Monumental, casi cuatro años antes. Las expectativas eran altas.

Por la importancia del partido, el presidente de Colombia, Ernesto Samper Pizano, decidió viajar a Barranquilla para apoyar a la Selección y llevó consigo una comitiva que incluía políticos, periodistas y personalidades de la farándula. Sin embargo, el avión que usó no era el Fokker F-28 FAC 0001, tradicionalmente asignado a funciones de transporte presidencial, sino el Boeing 707 FAC 1201, también conocido como Zeus dentro de la Fuerza Aérea. El FAC 1201 era un avión muy versátil que cumplía misiones muy diversas. Por su gran tamaño era usado para transporte de carga; por su alcance, para transporte presidencial a destinos internacionales; y por su velocidad y carga de combustible había sido modificado para reabastecer en vuelo a los aviones supersónicos de combate de la FAC. Fue gracias a esta última misión, la de tanquero, que adquirió el sobrenombre Zeus.

Mirage 5 de la FAC reciben combustible del FAC 1201. El piloto de Zeus era el CR. Bueno

El vuelo procedió sin inconvenientes hasta la llegada a Barranquilla. Fue ahí donde algo completamente inusual ocurrió. Después de contactar a la torre de control del Ernesto Cortissoz, el FAC 1201 recibió prioridad para el aterrizaje, como era de esperarse, ya que el presidente era uno de los pasajeros. El comandante de la aeronave era el coronel Jaime Bueno quien, en ese momento, era el piloto más experimentado de la Fuerza Aérea Colombiana, con más de 12.500 horas de vuelo en más de diez tipos de aeronaves diferentes. Dada la importancia de la comitiva bajo su responsabilidad, el CR. Bueno decidió realizar el aterrizaje él mismo en vez de delegarlo a su copiloto. Todo parecía proceder normalmente, con buena visibilidad y el avión ya enfrentado a la pista, cuando de pronto Bueno vio algo inesperado por primera vez en sus casi treinta años como piloto: una columna de humo y tierra apareció repentinamente en frente del avión. Instintivamente el coronel supo que debía tomar acción evasiva.

El CR. Bueno había empezado a volar el FAC 1201 una década antes y conocía su avión mejor que nadie. En 1987 fue parte de la tripulación que llevó al presidente Virgilio Barco a Corea del Sur. Ese viaje fue tristemente célebre porque el presidente se enfermó al llegar a Seúl y tuvo que ser intervenido quirúrgicamente debido a una diverticulitis. En 1991, el FAC 1201 fue modificado en Israel para darle la capacidad de reabastecer de combustible en vuelo a los cazas de combate de la FAC. Bueno hizo parte de la tripulación inicial que recibió el avión y fue entrenada para tal propósito. Luego, en 1994, el coronel comandó hábilmente el FAC 1201 durante el desfile aéreo en conmemoración de los 75 años de la Fuerza Aérea. En una demostración sin precedentes en Colombia, Zeus sobrevoló la Avenida 68 frente a las tribunas establecidas en el parque Simón Bolívar de Bogotá, a una altura de 900 pies, con un Kfir y un Mirage 5 conectados a las mangueras de repostaje.

Para los eventos de aquel 12 de febrero, Zeus y sus pasajeros no podían estar en mejores manos.

FAC 1201 poco después de la conversión a tanquero

Estando a un par de kilómetros de la pista y alistándose para tocar tierra, Bueno notó una explosión justo en frente de su avión. La señal inequívoca de peligro fue la columna de humo y tierra que se elevó desde el suelo y por la que pronto pasarían si no actuaba. “¡Sobrepaso!” anunció por el radio solo a la tripulación e instintivamente movió hacia adelante las palancas de potencia haciendo rugir los motores. Al mismo tiempo inició un viraje escarpado hacia la derecha sabiendo perfectamente que este no era el procedimiento estándar y que debía ser muy cuidadoso con los controles. El ruido y el giro agresivo sorprendieron a la comitiva presidencial que esperaba con ansias llegar al partido. Mientras tanto en la cabina, la tripulación terminaba de realizar el procedimiento de aterrizaje frustrado. Luego, cuando consideró que ya estaban fuera de peligro, Bueno informó a la torre de control que se devolvía hacia el VOR ya que había decido abortar el aterrizaje. El VOR es, en términos coloquiales, el punto de entrada al aeropuerto sobre el que se reportan los aviones para iniciar la aproximación final. También le notificó a la torre el motivo de su decisión: consideraba que una bomba acaba de detonar cerca de la cabecera de la pista con el objetivo de derribar la aeronave y acabar con la vida del presidente.

Una de las fases críticas de un vuelo es la aproximación. Cuando el avión ya está enfrentado a la pista, va volando a una velocidad muy inferior a la de crucero, con baja potencia, y en una configuración “sucia”; es decir, con el tren de aterrizaje abajo y sus flaps desplegados. Esto hace que presente una gran resistencia al viento y que su respuesta a los comandos del piloto sea lenta y tosca. Es la diferencia entre manejar un Porsche y un camión, pero es necesario ensuciarlo para poder mantenerlo en el aire a tan baja velocidad. En estas condiciones el piloto debe controlar su avión con mucha pericia ya que, por debajo de cierta velocidad, el avión puede entrar en pérdida y desplomarse. A baja altura no hay mucho tiempo para corregir errores así que cualquier movimiento se debe realizar de manera coordinada para evitar accidentes.

En un sobrepaso, tradicionalmente se le pone toda la potencia disponible al avión, se suben parcialmente los flaps y se eleva un poco la nariz para no seguir descendiendo. Luego se guarda el tren de aterrizaje y se eleva más la nariz para volver a ascender. Finalmente se terminan de subir los flaps mientras se gana altura. Preferiblemente se debe mantener el curso y evitar los virajes. Sin embargo, en el caso en cuestión, el coronel optó por realizar un viraje agresivo con su avión sucio para evitar la columna de humo, rocas y metralla que se alzaba enfrente suyo. Mantener el curso no era opción si quería preservar la integridad de la aeronave, la tripulación y la comitiva. Y es por esto que ese día el presidente no pudo estar en mejores manos. Con profundo conocimiento de los límites de su 707 y sus casi treinta años de experiencia, el coronel reconoció el peligro, mantuvo el control de su avión y resolvió la situación mientras realizaba una maniobra de por sí riesgosa.

Una vez superada la emergencia, el CR. Bueno llevó al FAC 1201 hacia el VOR de Barranquilla y allá le informó al jefe de seguridad del presidente lo que había visto, enfatizando que él creía que habían sido víctimas de un atentado contra la vida del mandatario. El jefe de seguridad le informó a Samper en privado el motivo del aterrizaje frustrado y se comunicó con las autoridades para que aseguraran la zona. Había que tomar decisiones y el presidente resolvió que, a pesar de lo que había ocurrido, el viaje debía proseguir. Durante la siguiente hora se desplegó un operativo en tierra con el objetivo de garantizar la seguridad del presidente y su comitiva. Su asistencia al partido era importante y la opinión pública aún no sabía nada sobre la explosión. Su presencia en el estadio era necesaria para mantener la calma. Durante la inspección inicial, las autoridades encontraron un cráter cerca de la cabecera de la pista. El presentimiento inicial del coronel había sido correcto y alguien había tratado de derribar el avión durante su aproximación final al Ernesto Cortissoz. Una vez las autoridades determinaron que no había más explosivos en inmediaciones de la pista, Bueno inició el procedimiento de aproximación y aterrizaje nuevamente, más alerta que nunca, ya que no se podía descartar un segundo atentado. Esta vez la aeronave aterrizó sin problema; Samper tomó la caravana presidencial que estaba informada sobre los hechos del día, y se dirigió con su comitiva hacia el estadio Metropolitano. Fueron momentos muy tensos ya que existía la posibilidad de que se realizaran otros intentos de acabar con la vida del presidente. Una vez terminado el partido, Samper regresó al aeropuerto junto a sus invitados y abordó el 707 de la FAC con rumbo a Bogotá. El vuelo se efectuó sin ningún problema.

Foto del cráter que dejó la bomba en cercanía a la pista 05 del aeropuerto Ernesto Cortissoz

En las horas que siguieron a la detonación, las autoridades determinaron con certeza que, en efecto, una bomba cargada con metralla, tornillos, tuercas y clavos había estallado a pocos metros de la pista. El objetivo era derribar el avión que transportaba al presidente de Colombia ya que los motores hubieran podido ingerir alguna de las partes metálicas que volaron impulsadas por la explosión. Esto los hubiera destruido casi instantáneamente. También es posible que la metralla hubiera perforado las superficies de control dejando al piloto sin posibilidad de guiar la aeronave durante el aterrizaje, lo que hubiera resultado en un impacto fatal contra la pista. Inicialmente algunos reportes de las autoridades militares indicaron que la vida de Samper no había estado en riesgo, pero la evidencia luego reveló que un error de sincronización evitó la destrucción del avión. Si la bomba hubiera explotado unos segundos después, o si el coronel no hubiera decidido abortar el aterrizaje y alejar su aeronave de aquella nube de polvo, es posible que Samper se hubiera convertido en el primer mandatario en ser asesinado en vuelo.

Carta del presidente Samper al comandante de la FAC exaltando la labor del CR. Bueno el día del atentado

Las consecuencias de los hechos de ese día fueron muy diversas. En el partido, Argentina se llevó la victoria con un remate de Claudio López desde fuera del área. Faryd Mondragón pensó que el balón iba a salir y se quedó viendo como entraba pegado a su palo izquierdo sentenciando el 1-0 final (#GraciasFaryd). Colombia y Argentina finalmente clasificaron al Mundial, pero Colombia no superó la fase de grupos mientras que Argentina se quedó en cuartos de final en un partido contra la selección holandesa. El presidente Samper logró terminar uno de los mandatos más cuestionados en la historia de Colombia y hasta la semana pasada se desempeñó como secretario general de UNASUR. Como resultado de las investigaciones, dos personas fueron arrestadas en conexión con el atentado, pero luego fueron dejadas en libertad cuando se determinó que eran inocentes. Finalmente, el CR. Bueno, quién con su habilidad y experiencia salvó la vida del presidente, su tripulación y la comitiva presidencial, se retiró del servicio activo en 1999 y voló por 15 años más como piloto para Líneas Aéreas Suramericanas, hasta el 2015.

El CR. Bueno en la cabina de un 727 de Líneas Aéreas Suramericanas

Hay emergencias para las que el entrenamiento nos prepara, pero el valor real de ese entrenamiento no es el de ayudarnos a resolver situaciones muy puntuales sino el de formar el criterio del piloto. En esa mañana de 1997 fue el criterio de un piloto experimentado, apoyado en su pericia y conocimiento de la aeronave, el que evitó una tragedia que hubiera podido cambiar el curso de la historia política de Colombia en el siglo XXI. Ese piloto es mi papá.

En contra de la avioneta

by Uncategorized

Si me siguen en twitter (@PabsNYC) sabrán que una de mis cruzadas fútiles es erradicar el uso de la palabra avioneta. Las otras son los Crocs y la piña en la comida de sal pero esas no vienen al caso. No estoy solo en esa batalla; muchos compañeros de la comunidad aeronáutica también se oponen al uso de esa palabra y existen razones de peso para ello.

Casi siempre el primer argumento que me dan es que la palabra avioneta está avalada por la Real Academia Española y me dan un enlace a su definición en el diccionario. Pareciera que eso fuera suficiente para determinar la idoneidad del uso de una palabra pero no lo es. La Real Academia avala muchas palabras y en eso tienen razón: la palabra avioneta existe y puede ser usada. Si no lo fuera entonces no podría yo escribir  una frase tan certera como “su epitafio dice ‘Fue fusilado por decir avioneta'”. Sin embargo, que una palabra exista y que su uso sea apropiado son dos cosas diferentes. Un ejemplo es la palabra antisísmico que se usa para referirse a las construcciones que están diseñadas para soportar las cargas de un movimiento telúrico. Esto es incorrecto porque nada es antisísmico; es decir, nada puede evitar un sismo, o al menos no en la actualidad. La palabra correcta entonces es sismoresistente. Pasa lo mismo con la palabra avioneta: existe pero no debe ser usada, nunca, bajo ninguna circunstancia.

Otra razón que me han dado para justificar el uso de ese término grotesco es semántica y va más o menos así: una camioneta es un camión pequeño entonces una avioneta es un avión pequeño. Siguiendo esa lógica entonces una carro pequeño como un Smart sería una carreta, o un patín pequeño sería una patineta. Ninguna de esas cosas es cierta, luego podemos sacar con confianza la palabra avioneta de nuestro vocabulario para referirnos a los aviones ligeros.

Una de mis reservas más grandes con el uso de esa palabra es que realmente no describe un objeto. Se supone que una avioneta es un avión pequeño, pero ¿qué tan pequeño debe ser el avión? ¿Es un Cessna 172 una avioneta? ¿Un F-16? ¿Un DC-3? ¿Un Embraer 190? ¿Cuántos motores debe tener una avioneta? Porque el Cri-Cri tiene dos.

Parece haber consenso en que un monomotor de instrucción es una avioneta pero también lo he leído para referirse a aviones mucho más grandes y complejos. Tal vez es una de esas cosas que no se puede definir sino que uno la reconoce cuando la ve pero eso tampoco justifica que la usen para referirse a aviones de transporte. Y no es que no exista una diferencia entre aviones de diferentes tamaños porque claramente la hay. En aviación el límite está dado por el peso (menos de 12,500 lbs), número de sillas (menos de 9 sin incluir la tripulación), y que su operación no incluya maniobras acrobáticas. Incluso en años recientes se ha creado una nueva categoría para la aviación deportiva y esos aviones son aun más pequeños con un peso máximo de 1,430 lbs y un solo motor. Pero en ningún lugar de las regulaciones aeronáuticas se habla de avionetas porque el término no es lo suficientemente específico.

Finalmente, la principal razón por la que me opongo a su uso es que casi siempre es despectivo. En los medios usan la palabra solo para describir accidentes entonces se ha generalizado la idea de que los aviones ligeros son muy peligrosos. Hay evidencia de esto: en días recientes El Tiempo publicó un tweet en el que reportaban el accidente de una avioneta que resultó ser un 727. En cambio cuando el Solar Impulse realizó su famoso vuelo alrededor del mundo usando solo energía solar, todos los medios lo describieron como un avión. El sesgo es bastante claro e injusto y el caso del Solar Impulse demuestra que sí nos podemos referir a todos esos bellos aparatos como aviones.

En conclusión, no vuelvan a decir avioneta. No es necesario. Y si lo dicen cerca a alguien que trabaje en aviación pueden esperar una respuesta parecida a la que me dieron la única vez que lo hice en un taller de mantenimiento en Guaymaral: “ingeniero, ¿dónde le ve las tetas?”