Okay, now read my stuff.
Supersprint: 6th of 76 in men's 40-49 @ 38:36
Sprint: 7th of 114 in men's 45-49 @ 1:21:30
Olympic: 66th (!) of 248 in men's 45-49 @ 2:50:43 (!!!)
Yeah. Everything seemed to go well and according to plan until that little part in the last leg of the last race where you run in 92-degree heat without any shelter. They won't have the Triple Challenge results until Tuesday for some reason, and they don't seem to have splits, which would be worthless anyway given how spread out the race was and how big the 8,500-racer transition zone was (for example, unless I missed a timing mat somewhere, the swim split would include what must have been at least a half-K of running back to the transition zone).
Swims felt like they went fine. In the sprint and Olympic, I got to the start less than a minute before my wave jumped in. Sprint swim appeared to go fine but I felt awful, I think because I had to rush into my wetsuit and it was hung up and tight in the wrong places. Oly swim was fine. Supersprint swim I didn't bother with the wetsuit and felt fine. The whole swim was barely long enough to get wet, so the difference between a good and bad swim wouldn't have been especially huge anyway.
I think I went pretty fast on the bike in all three. My plan quickly became ride fast enough not to get passed without burying myself. I think maybe a half-dozen people passed me over the weekend and I passed all but one of them back. The road was just mayhem, packed all the way across with the full range of competence and speed and decency, and it was enough work dealing with the people in front of me that I didn't want to mess with people passing me as well, so I just kept the speed up. The supersprint course was just 10K -- and it was three laps of an out-and-back course! The Triple Challenge racers were the first wave off in the sprint Sunday morning, so all I had to deal with was a few faster swimmers, but even some of them managed to be a hazard all by themselves across two full lanes of highway. We were one of the final waves to go off in the Oly, and I think I lost most of my voice from screaming "on your right" (the rule was go slow on the left, pass on the right, which didn't help matters) at escalating levels of urgency as doofuses threatened to force me into the cars. Spent the Oly bike leg with a dragging brake, compliments of a mountain biker in the transition zone whose sense of spatial relations was as bad as his timing, but By God he learned you can get there late and fit that thing into the rack if you just push hard enough.
So there we go. Bring on Savageman, and we'll hope the temps stay in the 80s!