Triathletes who can swim are called “fish.” In Waterville Valley, where the Black Fly Triathlons are held, we were all like fish. The mountain walls encircling the small town made me feel like I was at the bottom of a giant green fish bowl.
The sensation adds to what is already an immersive experience. Black Fly has quickly become one of my favorite tris. With 3 races in 3 days—a stage race featuring a Friday night cycling Time Trial, a Saturday modified-olympic distance race, and a Sunday sprint—your weekend is literally consumed by racing.

More than that, the town is consumed. As you drive into the fish bowl on the one road into town, a sign reads “Welcome to Waterville Valley – Population 324.” I can’t think of any other race where the number of racers outnumber the local population.
The transition area and start/finish lines for all 3 races are near the town square, which is surrounded by the area’s lodging. Everyone who is there seems to be there for the race and they’re all staying in the same place.
For races, you literally roll out of bed and walk to transition. Porta potty lines are long? No problem, my room was just as close. After the race on Sunday, I went back to my room to shower and watch the Tour de France. I kept the window open so that I could hear the announcer when the awards ceremony started.
In terms of the actual races, I finished 3rd overall for the 3 day-long competition. I came into the race confident in my cycling, but unsure of my running. I’ve been doing a lot of riding on my road bike with local roadies and I felt like I was riding well. By contrast, I’ve only been running 20 miles or so per week with virtually no speedwork. As it turned out, my run legs almost seemed better.
In the TT, I wound up 4th overall, 1st age. As I came down the start ramp, I got the speed up fast—red-lining almost instantly. The course heads down before coming back up and I was balls to the wall the whole way. I was definitely disappointed to finish 4th. I lost a fair amount of time to the top 3 and I’m not sure where I left it. Maybe I paid for the lack of time in the TT saddle? Or maybe the other riders were just uber-studs?
Saturday was a similar story. In the Olympic distance race, I was 5th overall, 1st age. A lot of athletes skipped the wetsuit for the roughly 400 meter swim. I think of my Xterra Vendetta as a secret weapon, so there was no way I was leaving it off.
The race is a time trial start, and I was the 37th athlete in the water with athletes going off every 5 seconds. The swim was great. I got around a few huge groups and got on the bike with only about 15 people in front of me on the course. I could tell early that it was hard to turn over the big gears I’m used to pushing. I tried to compensate by rolling easier gears and keeping the cadence up.
It was a good, but not great ride. That little bit of extra pop just didn’t seem to be there. Still, I had caught a lot of riders. Going into transition, a volunteer told me there were only 2 athletes in front of me. As it turned out, they were comfortably in front of me. I didn’t see them until the run course folded over. At that point, I was already almost 5 minutes behind the leaders and both were moving at a dead sprint. They finished the hilly 5 mile course in 27 minutes. Maybe I can get there, but for now I was honestly pretty excited with my 30:31.
The race moved me into 3rd overall in the 3 day competition with a pretty big cushion to fourth and an equally large gap to 2nd. Other than feeling like my bikesplit was a minute or two slower than I expected, I was pretty happy with my race and position.
Sunday was a different story. Holy crap. Talk about heavy legs. I swear I was racing through JELLO. I got a massage after Saturday’s race. The masseuse told me, “You’re muscles are so tight, there’s no way you’re going to be able to race tomorrow.” I told him bullocks. I thought I felt fine.

My posture at the end of 3 days of racing says it all . . . everything hurt
Even waking up the next day, I thought I was ok. My legs were sore, but I thought they’d loosen up as soon as I got going. Instead, things went wrong from the start. As soon as I hit the water, my breath was gone. A few years ago, asthma was a real problem for me in cold water swims. I got in the habit of always getting in the water before starts to give myself a chance to acclimate. I should have done that this weekend. It’s a scary feeling to be stuck in a lake fighting for air, but I’ve learned to just not panic. I kept moving, but I had to stay easy to regulate my breathing.
I knew my swim was worse because there were a lot more athletes in front of me than there were the day before. Still, my breathing felt good and I felt ready to start reeling people in. Things seemed to start well on the bike, and I told myself I was going to go for it, leave it all on the course. Maybe I did, but honestly, I thought there would be more to leave.
About 5 miles in, I just couldn’t turn my legs over. I noticed the gears I was riding weren’t nearly as big as the ones from the day before and that day I felt like I was spinning. More than anything, I just felt like I couldn’t get my Heartrate up. My legs just couldn’t turn over.
The run was the same story. While my legs hurt, I really wasn’t suffering much because I couldn’t suffer. I literally couldn’t push my legs hard enough to get my heartrate up. The 4th and 5th place athletes in the stage race were both able to make up time on me, but fortunately I had a large enough cushion from Friday and Saturday to retain third overall.
On the whole, an amazing experience. Thanks for reading.
Bart