From XL to XTERRA…to Tagaman

When I rolled into the transition area, I felt like I was being aided by an Indy pit crew. Two people grabbed my bike, one directed me to a chair, and another offered me fluids. All I needed was for someone to run a squeegee over my sunglasses to complete the picture.

As I ripped off my bike shoes and reached into my transition bag for my running shoes and my black visor from last volleyball season at the Pacific Islands Club, my sponsor Kathryn Barry was there to give me a little encouragement. She gave me a bottle of PowerAde to help me get going, while local sports anchor Bob Coldeen teased fellow competitor Mike Johnson.

“C’mon Mike, Brad is right there with ya’ and he only started a couple of weeks ago,” said Bob.

I laughed as I slipped on my right shoe, but Mike got up and took off. I thanked everyone for helping out and started out on the run course as well. Unlike Mike, I wasn’t in any particular hurry. I still had to convince my legs that running was a good idea after a 36-mile bike race.

Actually, my gams were feeling pretty good as I made my way up Micro Beach Road and made the right toward the long run to Oleai Bar and Grill, and I knew that as long as I kept picking ‘em up and putting ‘em down that I would be satisfied with my finish. When I got to the corner I saw John there with a group of people cheering everyone on. It was great to see him out there, and I remember thinking ‘Yeah, he’s got the bug” with a smile. Rather than just hoot and holler, the big guy started running alongside of me. He asked how I was feeling and gave me a little pep talk before circling back to lend support for the rest of the field. That was awesome.

I continued south with a little added spring in my step, and when I was getting close to Bobby Cadillac’s I saw eventual women’s champion Jamie Whitmore heading my way. I cheered her on as she began the final stretch to the finish, and started to think about how good it was going to feel when I was there too.

About the time that the reality sank in that I still had about 14 of the 15 kilometers left to go, I started to hear the faint sound of music. The closer I got to DFS, the louder it became. There was no chance that the tunes were coming from a car because it was getting way too loud—and that’s when I saw the biggest aid station on the course.

Pacific Development, Inc. had a booming sound system, a DJ, and a huge number of volunteers handing out sponges soaked in cold water, ice cold bottled water, cups of ice, and sports drink.

I couldn’t help to dance past to the tune of the Commodores’ Brick House. I was feeling “mighty mighty” as I high-stepped through their “Funk Aid” station, and for a moment I forgot all about the run.

I couldn’t believe how great it was, and neither could anyone else because PDI was later voted as the best aid station by the race day participants.

I passed by the Saipan Tribune, Romey’s shop: Saipan Bike Pro, 13 Fishermen Memorial, and continued south along Beach Road all the while waging an inner battle. The forces of walking and running were each trying to recruit me to side with their cause, and the prospect of walking for a while seemed more attractive the further I went. About the time I was at my most sympathetic to the walking cause, I came upon another aid station.

Their cheers and support was enough to keep me jogging along, and that was pretty much how the whole run course played out. There was no way to stop and walk for a bit because there were so many people along the way clapping, whistling, and cheering that I would have felt like I was letting them down—especially when I made it down to the Quartermaster Tank and saw my co-workers from the Tribune there handing out hydration as well.

Jayvee, Marconi, Mark, Shan, Agnes, Liberty, and John were there in the meeting before all of the training for a triathlon was just an idea, and there they were taking part in it. From there on out there was absolutely no way to stop because it was so close to the turn around that they would have wondered why it took so much time to run to OBG’s and back.

I ran to the turn around where I was greeted by the folks from Microl Toyota. I thanked them for volunteering, took a cup of water, and began returning to the American Memorial Park.

It wasn’t easy, but I just focused on my pace and continued jogging. I clapped for everyone that was still heading south, and the miles melted away beneath my feet. It was not easy, but the trip back seemed to go by a lot quicker than the run out there. The closer I got to Garapan, the more I started to think about the finish, the extra loop through the park, and how I wish I didn’t have to do the loop. I even thought about Rosie Ruiz, and how much easier it would have been to just come out of the crowd to do the last half mile of the race. I had already come too far for any of that, and was going to earn my finish.

The Tagaman turned into the Taga-tease when I turned toward the finish because about 150 meters before the line was a turnoff that sent the runners through the park, out to the Smiling Cove Marina, down to the Army Reserve station, and back to road to the tape. I begrudgingly went off and did all three, but I started to get a good feeling when I made the turn at the Reserve station.

From there I could see the top of the Dai-Ichi Hotel Saipan Beach, and even though it looked far away, I knew that I didn’t have to run all the way there to finish because the Hyatt was a heck of a lot closer. With that, I picked up the pace. The clumsy clomps of my feet were the only sounds in my head, as I became more focused on the finish.

With a more confident stride I crossed the curb that separated the paved road from the sidewalk and re-entered the park. The pace quickened as I passed the flag circle, and I felt a chill when I realized that I was just a right turn and a straight-away to the finish line.

Planning a cross-over turn, my right foot was the first to return to the surface of Micro Beach Road in front of the DPS fire station, followed by my left—each step faster than its predecessor.

Huffing and puffing I built up a head of steam and was on target for the finish line. I could hear people cheering but there was no way to acknowledge them with a smile because everything I had was being channeled into my legs and my lungs—and then to my smile.

What started out as just a little hint of happiness had completely run amok across my face when I was 50 meters out. With only a handful of strides remaining, my smile had become gotten too big that my eyes were forced to squint, and as I crossed the finish line I raised my arms and let loose my barbaric yawp because I finished the Tagaman.