Shimano Shifter with the Computer Chip

Last year, Japanese engineers from Shimano visited France to test a prototype derailleur that shifts gears using computer chips.  They tested these shifters on pro cyclists.

Mechanics of gear shifting has stayed the same for quite some time.

But don't expect people to run and buy one.  They cost around $5,500 -- a lot more than most bikes.

My First Half Iron

I awoke at 4:30 AM Sunday morning ready to take on the day. But this day would not be too kind to me at the outset.

In fact my training regimen for no other running competition or marathon comes close to the physical and mental demands of what I've experienced the last two months of my life.

Yes, only two months because I really haven't trained hard or hardly at all this summer.

Thanks to my wrist surgery in July at the National Naval Medical Center in Bethesda. Thanks to my 2 week trip to Europe in August. Thanks to starting my Executive MBA at George Washington. Thanks to blogging, real estate, and everything else that's important in my life or perhaps not but tugs on it anyway.

And life goes on. As long as I make it. As long as I don't go down hard. As long as my bike makes it there and back in one piece. And as long as I finish -- that's what matters. After all, this being my first Half Iron, there was no goal to strive for but to just finish, but finish respectfully, of course.

Bright eyed and Bushy tailed as the sun breaks over the horizon on the golden Cancun Beach of Punta Nizuc.

So I awoke and took a bite, a bit of breakfast in my room, wondering if what I was stuffing down my throat was sufficient nutrition to take me 70.3 miles in this blistering heat and baking Mexican sun where mosquitoes as large as small birds bit viciously and swarms of sand gnats consumed you the rest of the day.

Waiting in line to use the potta potty -- but wait, there's a whole ocean ahead and a whole day to waste.

(Note to those participating next year: You don't have to wait in line -- go straight to Wet N Wild and use the restrooms there.)

Waiting patiently for the start of the buzzer. Notice that there is a red cap in our mix. Some racers apparently missed their group but started with                   


The Swim

Actually I felt just about everything I ate just 2 1/2 hours before almost immediately after I jumped into the warm 79 degree bath water.  The eggs, the everything bagel, the raisins -- it all came out coaxed by my jittery nerves, hoping the guy behind me wouldn't taste any of it.

The swim was a nice beach start in Punta Nizuc adjacent to Wet and Wild Park.  Though you are just under a mile away from the main Hotel Strip, you get the look and feel that you are in a secluded location.  The water is calm and protected and the shoreline is rugged.  At the edge of the breakwater, a small patch of lush jungle gives you the impression you are somewhere far, far away.

You can see the back of my head (center) as I plunge into the warm, crystal-clear Caribbean.

There was about 2-3 minutes time in between each wave. My wave started at 7:13.

I was in the back of the pack in my age group but on the outside edge.

As soon as the whistle sounded, I took my time to wade in the water, seaweed and scum in the bottom got all churned up and made the water muddy and ranky.

I pushed through and after about 40 feet of wading, it was finally deep enough for me to start swimming.

Once the water started clearing up, I could see bottom, but I could also see the several other swimmers all around me -- yes, my age group was one of the largest one in the competition, and the crowded start made me feel like I was actually back home in the Metro heading to the Navy Yard before a Nationals game.

Before long, the pack started to thin out -- probably because of my slow swimming technique as the heat of the pack started to peel away.

That's when I felt it -- breakfast and everything -- a huge front of a cramp like a fast moving storm swept through me completely and relentlessly.  And then I let it go.

By then I had made it to the first turn buoy.

From the corner of my eye, I could see one guy clutching at the buoy and then for a fleeting moment the same thought crossed my mind. This is the perfect time for me to stop, take a breather and perhaps even wave my hands up in the air for dear life.

I am quitting now. Soon this Ironman would be history and I would spend the rest of the time in Cancun just lying on Playa Azul, drinking a tropical pina colada and dissolving all my pain and frustration while I stared listlessly at the open sea.

Goal Setting and Warning Signs

Participating in my first Ironman 70.3 (Half Ironman) was a challenging and rewarding experience for me. The reason I chose to participate in this event was because I wanted to see how far I could push myself--both mentally and physically while still have fun doing it. Cancun, Mexico, provided the perfect balance of a challenging terrain and plenty of recreational activities (compared to somewhere else in the continental US). I knew I would have fun on the beach and that the local scenery would provide an additional element of retreat.

I have never swum, biked, and ran a total of 70.3 miles altogether. Thus, I did not set any specific, firm goals for finishing within a certain time. However, since there are 70.3 miles to travel on both land and sea, finishing under seven hours is a reasonable and respectable goal to reach (In DC, I am barely able to travel the five miles between home and work in under an hour).

With any major sporting event or life in general, it is necessary to set some goals. Setting measurable goals helps us to know how well we're doing. That way we can adjust our speed and RPMs and monitor our heart rate to avoid overworking ourselves while we maintain a good pace.

The Destructive Pursuit of Idealized Goals

When setting goals for the race, I decided to apply the warning signs that are described in D.C. Kayes' research on the dangers of “idealized goals.”[1] Dr. Kayes believes that most leaders (including athletes) can become too easily seduced by the promise of goal setting. Most are unaware of the many limitations and pitfalls to setting goals. Recognizing the warning signs is an important first step in avoiding the destructive pursuit of idealized goals.

The Six Warning Signs

First, I do not want my goal to be too narrowly defined. I met many people in the race who strived very hard to achieve their goal of qualifying for the World Championship Ironman in November.

Cancun Ironman would only issue 75 World Championship entries to the top finishers in each age group. Instead of setting my eyes on one very narrow and ambitious goal, I have broadened my aim to include the following objectives:

1) Enjoy the event -- I would enjoy the swim in the crystal clear water and admire the idyllic scenery during the bike and the run.

2) Learn from the event -- Learn tips from my mistakes and from others so that I can avoid making the same errors in the future.

3) Enjoy Cancun -- Take time before and after the race to see some of the sights of Cancun and to relax on the beach by the hotel.

4) Have a good personal race -- Feel satisfied and content about my performance, meet my personal objectives and accomplishments during the race.

5) Finish the race --This goal is important because the trip to Cancun was a large investment in time and expense. However, finishing the race is not as important as learning and enjoying the experience, especially if I want to continue racing in the future.

So, I was not consumed with finishing within a specific time. Time is relative and my wellbeing is more important; I want to avoid pushing myself so hard and be able to heed any physical warning signs for me to slow down.

The second warning sign is setting an Idealized Future. One of my goals is to finish and to finish with a respectable time. It would be a tremendous honor to qualify for the World Championship in November 2009 and something I would be greatly proud of. After all, I have never won any sporting event in my life, much less an international event filled with the world's top contenders.

However, placing in my age group would not be the ideal outcome for me. I have already expended a lot of time training for this event, and I will not have the time to train for another Ironman 70.3 in two months..

I also have tremendous responsibilities at home, work and school. So if I were to miraculously win one of the 75 slots for the World Championship (one which I would not turn down), it would be a burden rather than a blessing. Taking on a World Championship at this point in my life could negatively affect my other personal and professional goals.

Also since this is my first competition, I need to sit back and evaluate how I should approach the next event -- a process that will take time to study and time to incorporate lessons learned to my next training regimen.

The third warning sign is to associate the Goal of completing the Ironman withDestiny.

I cannot dedicate the majority of my time and energy to this competition since I have a life to maintain and responsibilities to keep. If that means less training equating to lesser performance, then at least I have maintained balance in my work and life.

Additionally, if during the race I am in severe pain, have injured myself, or the weather is unbearably hot, I will likely drop out rather than to push myself to a dangerous extreme.

My destiny is what I'm able to make of the event not how I perform in the event.

The Fourth Warning Sign is Public Expectation. Since I am blogging about my first Ironman 70.3 and have informed many people--including my professor-- that I will be missing class, if for some reason I fail to complete the event or perhaps get injured, this could be perceived by many people and my Executive MBA class as shameful failure to achieve a goal.

However, I will not let this public expectation affect my performance or my outlook on this event. I have decided to blog about my first Ironman 70.3 and to tell my story honestly whether I finish the race or not.

The fifth warning sign is Goal Driven Justification. Completing the Ironman 70.3 is not that important to me if doing so would result in any injury during the race. If I fall off my bike, if I run into mechanical difficulties, or if I hurt myself, I will elect to drop out of the event as opposed to making the situation worse. I will do everything I can to keep from seriously injuring myself. I have to run the Marine Corps Marathon in October and running with injuries may result in greater harm in the long run.

Finally, the sixth warning sign Face Saving Behavior. If I have a bad experience with the Ironman in Cancun, I have no problem accepting my fate that this type of a competition is not for me. This is contrary to some leaders who may stubbornly continue to pursue their goals despite meeting resistance or failure. I am realistic about my status as a "weekend athlete." Completing a Ironman 70.3 or a full Ironman is not the "be all and end all" in my life.

Lessons Learned:

It is imperative that I share my thoughts and reflection during the race. I learned that the best way to stay motivated and strong was to focus on the sacrifices of other people especially those that were close to me.

During the bike ride, I drew strength from two of my fellow Sailors who gave their lives in Iraq and Afghanistan. The first is Cmdr Phil Murphy-Sweet who in 2007 was killed as a result of enemy fire near Baghdad. Phil was 42, precisely the same age I am today. I knew Phil since he was 18 – we went to school together in San Diego. The second war hero and close shipmate is Lt Florence Choe. I worked with Flo at the Bethesda Naval Hospital. Just this March she and a fellow Sailor was running along a well-worn path on the outskirts of Forward Operating Base Shaheen in Afghanistan when an Afghan soldier turned insurgent shot her. Flo left behind a husband in the Navy and a 3-year old daughter.

These sacrifices kept me going. These sacrifices kept me strong.

Conclusion:

I have decided to apply Dr. Kayes’ six warning signs to the Ironman 70.3 competition in Cancun. In doing so, I believe I experienced a more satisfying, fulfilling and successful event.

And if there is a future for me to participate in more Ironman events, then approaching the race with these pitfalls in mind will ensure better lessons-learned and takeaways that I can incorporate in my future training regimen. Focusing on these lessons as well as the sacrifices of my friends who gave their lives for our country sustained me during my race, something I want to continue to hone.

---

[1] Kayes, D.C., (2005). The Destructive Pursuit of Idealized Goals. Organizational Dynamics, 34, pp. 391-401

I saw all the jelly fish and all the sea creatures that lived in the bottom -- the bottom I could make out clearly even at 15 feet.

The swim to the last turn buoy continued to challenge me.

Still I pushed on. At this point, I could feel the cramping starting to subside and then amazingly I started to find my stroke.

I was feeling good now and no longer had thoughts of giving up.

And then I could see the last yellow buoy before the turn back to shore. Big as life and not too far away. Certainly I could reach it.

By now, I was feeling comfortable, and even feeling good when I started passing swimmers. And then I started seeing pink caps. These were the female racers that started several minutes after my age group. They were upon me now and then I started feeling slow... too slow, comfortably slow to be racing in a triathlon.

And then the lovely burn in my arms and legs. My mind cries out, I had to drown it out.

" Persist, Insist, Resist," I yelled under my breath.

No surrender, I had to find my stroke.

Breathing


I tried to breathe normally every other cycle, alternating the sides for breathing.  But before long, I was running out of breath and resorted to breathing every cycle.

And soon after several minutes of shutting my eyes (save for a few glimpses to ensure that I was going the right path) and closing my mind to the pain the strain, I found myself stroking the homestretch skimming the last .6 miles towards the final buoy.

By now, I could see shallow water, some parts of it seemed shallow enough for me to touch on a tip toe. I didn't know for sure, but it felt good to know that the bottom was there, just in case I needed it.

Then I hit something or someone hit me. It was an errant swimmer, swimming far off course, going diagonal until we collided: arm to leg, leg to arm.

It was good to know that someone was around me -- a good reference point to remind me that I wasn't far from home nor far from the reach of others.

More Strokes Ahead

After some mind games, I decided to push on. Perhaps it was mostly to save face, but whatever the reason for my sudden urge to perpetuate, it worked.

I pasted all the jelly fish and all the sea creatures that lived in the bottom -- the bottom I could make out clearly even at 15 feet.

The swim to the last turn buoy continued to challenge me.

Still I pushed on. At this point, I could feel the cramping starting to subside and then amazingly I started to find my stroke.

I was feeling good now and no longer had thoughts of giving up.

And then I could see the last yellow buoy before the turn back to shore. Big as life and not too far away. Certainly I could reach it.

By now, I was feeling comfortable, and even feeling good when I started passing swimmers. And then I started seeing pink caps. These were the female racers that started several minutes after my age group. They were upon me now and then I started feeling slow... too slow, comfortably slow to be racing in a triathlon.

And then the lovely burn in my arms and legs. My mind cries out, I had to drown it out.

" Persist, Insist, Resist," I yelled under my breath.

No surrender, I had to find my stroke.

And soon after several minutes of shutting my eyes (save for a few glimpses to ensure that I was going the right path) and closing my mind to the pain the strain, I found myself stroking the homestretch skimming the last .6 miles towards the final buoy.

By now, I could see shallow water, some parts of it seemed shallow enough for me to touch on a tip toe. I didn't know for sure, but it felt good to know that the bottom was there, just in case I needed it.

Then I hit something or someone hit me. It was an errant swimmer, swimming far off course, going diagonal until we collided: arm to leg, leg to arm.

It was good to know that someone was around me -- a good reference point to remind me that I wasn't far from home nor far from the reach of others.

The Longest Transition

I was cramping but glad to be on solid beach

I rejoiced when I hit sand -- rejoiced so loud that I could hear myself singing softly.

Then the 250 meter run from the beach to Transition. The run along the beach and then through Wet N Wild park.

Almost made it seem like this particular run was another event in the race.

Yes, Swim, Run, Bike Run.

On the way, my personal photographer was waiting for me. She gave me a quick stand up interview (See YouTube video).

She tried to keep up with me, but I wanted to push ahead now that I was on solid ground.

At Transition, I caught my breath and took a few minutes to ensure my drinks and food was all strapped on. After all, what was a few minutes compared to several hours.

Then I was off on a 56-mile journey through the long, windy streets of the Yucatan peninsular.

The Longest Ride

A lot of people say that the Bike is where you make the most amount of time. After all, the swim is the swim, the run is just a shuffle, so the bike is where you can work the hardest and gain crucial minutes.

I started the run along the scenic 4-lane highway to Merida taking it easy, crazy easy. I had to restrain myself from pushing too hard. Had to force myself not to go over 90 RPMs, 120 BPM. But no, I had to work off my cramp on my left leg and I still had a long ways to go.

The Lost Bottle

I popped a gel as I rolled along, took a couple sips of Gatorade. Then as I hit my first bump, my aerobar water bottle took a jump and became road litter. It would be a huge loss but I did not consider stopping to recover and lose valuable time. Plus I didn't want to cause an accident.

Even with all the extensive preps, I had forgotten the simplest things and that was to strap it down with a rubber band so the bottle took a ride all by itself.

It was unfortunate, because I wanted to stay in the aero position while drinking instead of having to situp and reach behind the grab the bottle.

I kept thinking of this like the stinging reminder that I had left my cliff shots at home even after the UPS man had delivered a whole boxful of them.

But despite my forgetfulness and failure to plan properly, I had to focus on the task ahead.

I had to play the hand that was dealt and for the rest of the 55 miles remaining, I rode without an aero-bottle and that was that.

So how was the remaining 55 miles?

Cruisin' along sometime after I lost my bottle

The Long Road Ahead

Treacherous and utterly monotonous. Actually the entire run was flat and smooth on a sparkling new 4-lane highway.

The dense beautiful Mayan jungles flanked both sides of the highway with dense clusters of mangrove trees standing shoulder to shoulder with iguanas and other spiny-tailed lizards scouring to and fro for vegetation.

The thought of ancient civilizations and Mayan pyramids appeared vividly in my mind. I was hoping to catch a glimpse, but unfortunately, no ruins -- just thick Mayan forestry and lots of it with an occasional Mexican cantina serving hot, juicy carne asadas.

Yes, it was natural and yes it was spectacularly special, but all 56 miles of it, eventually it all blended together and each treacherous mile resembled the one before that eventually I began to lose track of where I was and where I needed to go.

I knew I had to do two loops. Knew that there was water, gatorade and powerbars at the turnaround points and knew that I had to focus and conserve energy otherwise I would lose valuable time.

The Pile Ups

And most of all, knew to be careful, especially careful to avoid drafting and to avoid colliding with other bikers which could be dangerous at worst, a race-ender at best.

During the course, there were several bad collisions resulting in bloody road rashes and banged up bikes. I had traveled too far to come to Cancun to get into an accident and not make it all the way. And I wanted to return with bike intact.

After the race, one lady told me a story about a huge boa constrictor crossing the highway, hissing at passing bikes, some stopping, some skirting by.

I was glad I was way back in the pack to experience such a disturbance.

The Strange Noise

And then as I was beginning to speed up and to fire in all cylinders, I started hearing this mysterious click, click, click on my rear derailleur. 



I looked down, shifted gears up and down, even stopped the bike to check it out but could not figure out the cause of this strange noise.
I was sure, whatever the cause, it was not affecting my speed or performance, but only my concentration.

With that strange noise, I instinctively started to slow down, could not focus on my stroke or staying aero.

And then it got to the point that I simply hated it. Wondered if my bike was going to hold the remaining 40 something plus miles.

Wondered why I was riding a brand new bike and wondered why I had paid so much money for it.

It got to the point that folks started passing me and not just folks but women -- the women who had started several minutes after me on the swim -- slowly but surely, I was losing time.


Shimanos

I was very surprised since my Shimanos are top-of-the-line, reliable and have a firm hold on the market in high-end components.  A guy I met at the hotel also told me that Shimano makes fishing tackle.  I'm not surprised.  My Shimanos shift smoothly and precisely on time and even under where high load conditions.  Some people swear by their SRAM -- for now, I'll put money on my Shims.  Wonder why Shimano didn't decide to just build the entire bike. 
Then I realized that if Shimano went ahead and did that, bike manufacturers like Specialized may decide to return the favor by building the components.  By doing this way, there is good collaboration and trust, nothing like good Guanxi between the East and the West.


The Adrenalin Booster

But then I saw it -- it wasn't a snake or a dead raccoon. It was the half way point, a large sign that read "Mile 28."

I took the bottles of Gatorade and handed them my empty ones.

Then I started speeding up: 85...95 RPMs. I was hitting a high gear, and believe it or not, I was passing people.

Guys, Gals, -- everyone.

I maintained this pace for the remaining of the race and before long I was heading home with a steady stroke and a good pace.

During the race, I thought about my friend Florence Choe who was shot and killed while running in Afghanistan in March of this year.

LT Florence Choe was shot and killed while jogging in a well-worn path in the outskirts of Forward Operating Base Shaheen on March 27 along with colleague Francis Joiner.

Whenever I encountered a difficult time running or biking, I thought about Florence and the sacrifices she made while serving her country.

I didn't think much else about anything. My mind wanted to just go blank. Didn't want to think about homework or the chores I had to do back home. Just my form, my breathing and my friends. And together, they got me to the finish line.

Thank you for your service Flo and thank you to all who have given their lives for our country and for freedom.

Pretty soon, I had passed the last turnpoint and I was all the highway towards the Cancun strip.

Within minutes I could make out the silhouette of the Kamikaze the gargantuan water slide that towered over the park.

And then the brakes squealed not because I was going too fast but for joy. I declipped and dismounted and with bike in hand, raced into Transition.


I looked around and saw a sea of bikes and knew that I was behind and needed a strong run to catch up and finish with respect.

The Brutal Run

Gearing up for my Run

At the final transition, I met my photographer friend who gave me a quick interview on my impressions of the race.

This took up valuable time but it was invaluable to capture these reflections on the run and in real time. After all what was the downside of losing several minutes when I could savor and appreciate these indelible thoughts indefinitely.

At transition, as I did throughout my bike ride, I debated on what shoes to wear -- my fast Brooks flats or my reliable Brooks Axioms. But since the soles of my feet were hurting at the exact spot where I had clipped, I decided on the Axioms. At least there was plenty of cushion to keep my soles from getting blisters, not something I wanted to endure during a Half Marathon.

Then I took off at a shuffle, a very slow pace at first to work out the painful kinks in my quads and calves. Gradually, I started picking up speed until I was at my regular marathon pace.

I was glad to be off the bike and even gladder to not be choking in water, but I did not appreciate the fact that it was hot, sticky, sweaty humid, but lucky for me the sky soon started turning gray then ominously dark before it pumped out a dragon-like roar and I as well as many of the struggling runners around me all welcomed that roar with glee.

The run took us over Kululcan Boulevard, the thin strip of land between the Caribbean Sea and the Nichupte Lagoon (where we did our swim).

The run, also was nice and flat and provided us with pleasant views of the waterfront, condos, high-rise hotels and golf courses. Unlike the bike, it was a nice chance to get a different scenery and to see people cheering for us along the course.

There were water stops at each KM and I took ample advantage of them by dousing myself with agua frio.

But I stayed away from the Gatorade and Power bars. During the bike, my stomach had taken a beating and could not handle anything sweet or chewy for now.

It seemed forever but soon I was at the turnaround point. I was satisfied with the fact that I was heading back towards the Finish Line, though this would just be the end of the first loop.

This is where something seemed wrong -- the last mile seemed to take eternity -- Longer than 10 mins. I knew I wasn't running that slow.

The First (Wrong) Finish

And then at the turnaround point, the appropriate signage was lacking or missing. Or maybe I was in such a daze, I didn't notice it at all. I asked a fellow runner where the turnaround point was, but he just avoided me. It could be the language problem or perhaps he was just too deeply focused on finishing.

So I kept on running at a decent speed, running until someone or something would stand in my way to interrupt my progress. Run until I passed the VIP Grandstand and crossed the Finish Line with exhilaration and composure.

I ran towards the Mariachi Band and volunteers handing out medals.

That's when I realized that I had indeed run too far, too wrong.

My first crossing of the Finish Line

I was frantic. As much as I wanted the race to end now and start my celebrations, I needed desperately to get back on the course and finish the remaining 6.6 miles, in the rain and in style.

But oh no, since I was out of bounds, would I be disqualified? The thought of coming this far this long and not complete because of a technicality strained my mind.

So after speaking with an official, I quickly hurdled over the barricade and after running through a maze of barriers, I finally found my way back to the course where I continued to hit my stride.

And that's when things started to get interesting.

The Second Swim

The overcast clouds had darkened to a menacing shade of black. Now I started feeling drops of rain softly striking my face which was welcomed at first.

But then the storm rolled in not like a Wet N Wild water slide but like a giant roller coaster.

So strong that it almost blew my sun visor off. So strong that I had zip my Trisuit completely up to avoid it becoming a jibsail on a catamaran on a running tact.

So strong that I could now start whispering the lyrics of the old Bob Seger favorite: "Against the Wind" as I tucked down and pushed through this thick blanket that wanted to wrap me up and tie me down.

And it didn't just rain, it poured the entire Caribbean Sea on me and my fellow runners to the point that my shoes squished at every stride and I could just drink the rain drops coming off my visor to quench my thirst -- with the fog of the run and the fog of the rain, visibility had taken a toll.

The roadway was not ready to take on this drenching downpour to the point that parts of the course was flooded with ankle high water. Still I pushed through, more likely waded through.

It was insane -- the rain, the headwinds. But now it didn't matter. I was in such a state of pain and I just wanted it all to tame.

With 1 mile remain, I glanced quickly at my watch. Then it occurred to me, I had 7 minutes left to make it in by 7 hours.

No, this was impossible. I started picking up my pace, but I knew that I couldn't run this fast even on a good day, even if I was being chased for dear life.

But still I pushed, passing runners upon runners who wondered what's the fuss. Perhaps there was a mistake, there was still a chance to go under 7.

As I turned the corner past the signs, past the crowds and the canopies, I unwittingly glanced up at the clock and came face to face with the truth.

The clock read over 7 hours. While passing the Grandstand and raising my hands in V-signs, I quickly did the math in my head. Even adjusting for my chip start it would be close -- a couple minute close to make it in under the Magic Seven.

The Extra Mile

And the Verdict: I did not make it under Seven.

But by now, I felt victorious just to finish.

When I rode back to the hotel, I found out that the race organizers had seriously miscalculated the run course. We had all run 24 Kms instead of 21 -- nearly 1.5 extra miles.

I was upset to hear this bit of news at first. How could they put us through this unnecessary pain and mental torture.

My official crossing of the Finish Line

But then I rejoiced. I immediately realized that if I factored in the extra 1.5 miles, I would have completed my first half Iron in just under 7 hours.

6 hours, 31 minutes and 32 seconds to be exact.

Would I do this again, you're darn straight. Would I one day tackle a full Ironman -- ask me this next week when I'm all recovered.

But yes, that is my goal, one day, but who's setting goals?

RUNIN Cancun's Airport

Lessons Learned.

When you arrive in Cancun, Mexico, you will be given an immigration form.  The Immigration officials will stamp your passport and take your paperwork.  They will then return the bottom section of the immigration form.  Whatever you do, do not lose that piece of paper.  Although, Customs will likely not tell you this, you will need to present this form when you leave the country.  If you lose it (like me), you will have to pay a hefty fine and go through a lot of hassle at the airport.  I almost missed my flight.

After this part, you have to walk through a barrage of timeshare salesmen who will try to sell you all types of vacation packages.  Chances are you will find a lot better deals at the hotel or somewhere else.

One thing to consider taking with you -- mosquito spray.  I don't know the malaria situation in Cancun.  But after the rainy season, the mosquitoes are just vicious in the evenings and early mornings --- they were horrendous when prepping for the triathlon.

On The Beach

If you come to Cancun for the Ironman 70.3, I recommend staying through Monday. You have to take time to enjoy the sights and to recover -- and what's a better way than to sit out on the beach and just relax.

I could not get enough of the beautiful crystal-clear and choppy Caribbean water. Here I'm thinking of next year's competition.

Surf is up and I'm all alone first thing in the morning (In Cancun you can start swimming at 0630 and the sun is already hot by 0700'ish)

The view of the exclusive beach directly outside the Condesa Hotel

I'm working hard with my MacBook on the beach outside the Condesa Fiesta Americana. The hotel provides WiFi that is as fast as a jetski, even out on the beach -- but at a steep price, and worth every penny.

Enjoyed watching Parasailing. I just preferred to lie on the beach -- An Ironman was enough excitement for the day.