PRE-RACE MUSINGS
As I pulled into the makeshift parking lot in the middle of an open field the night before the race, it hit me: I was finally getting the chance to compete again. All of the waiting and anticipation during the near two-year stretch without a single triathlon unraveled at once and the excitement became irrepressible. Unfortunately, my state of elation was short-lived, for it only took one more moment before I realized {"Holy sh*t!"} that I would soon be competing again. Anticipation turned into unease; elation turned into apprehension; excitement turned into uncertainty. Was I ready for this? Being but a sprint, I knew that I was physically capable of completing it, but was I physically capable of competing it??
'Tis a blessing and a curse, as most competitive people have personally experienced, that finishing or completing the task at hand usually isn't enough to achieve that feeling of complete fulfillment. No, this feeling comes from something more -- whether it be a victory, a personal best, a lesson learned, or even the fact of knowing that you left every bit "out there," this "something more" must be present in order to feel a real sense of achievement. While this constant push for "something more" is an asset if used as an added means for motivation, it can also lead to a build-up of self-imposed pressure and disappointment if not kept in check. Although I try to keep a rational eye on this personal push during competition, I admittedly can be pretty tough on myself. As I looked around at the hundreds of other athletes at packet pick-up, the insecurities poured in; how was I going to compete with the super-fit, super-tan, super-powered human beings?! Even in the dark, there was no question as to whether or not I was surrounded by some very fine athletes.
I walked through the assembly line of stations to obtain my race number, swim cap, swag bag, and everything else I needed for the race and headed back to my car. Because my drivers' seat typically acts as my bed the night before most competitions (I'd rather spend the $60-$100 hotel fee on tri gear), I decided to head to the nearest hotel to find a good spot to park. I've found over the years that hotel parking lots work the best in terms of accessibility and safety, so I pulled into a very "ritzy-looking" Ramada Inn (I always "stay" at the best hotels!) and tucked into a spot between two vehicles with bike racks and tri stickers; I tend to trust other athletes and figured I wouldn't be messed with or ratted on if discovered mid-slumber. After doing the routine teeth-brushing, contact-removing, and face-washing (via water from my Sigg), I set my alarms (breakfast at 2:30am, waking at 4:45am), grabbed my travel pillow and blanket, pulled the lever on my seat, flattened out as best as possible, and turned in for my pre-race snooze.
Upon waking to my second alarm, I realized that although I was a long-time veteran of changing in cars, changing into the ever-so-tight tri uniform was going to pose a bit more of a challenge (especially if I wanted to practice discretion in the early-morning glow). Fortunately there was a 24-hour Walmart open -- (probably the only scenario that would lead me to use that line) -- with a very large bathroom stall that sufficed. After a swift dress-change, it was time to head back to Apple Canyon Lake, the starting point of the race.
Apple Canyon Lake is settled approximately 15 miles outside of Galena in a deep valley between small cliffs and surrounding bluffs. It is an extremely beautiful area in terms of natural features, including a constant stream of monstrous hills. Because the Galena Triathlon is a point-to-point tri, I had to drop off my bike in Transition 1 before taking the rest of my gear to Transition 2, which was located 17 hilly miles away. I drove behind the wall-to-wall traffic for what seemed like almost an hour, set up my T2 station, and hopped on a shuttle back 17 miles to T1. If I could change one thing about this (otherwise wonderful) race, it would include a more efficient way of dropping, transporting, and stowing gear and participants pre-race; a few racers weren't able to make the 35-mile round-trip jaunt before their wave began, which was unfortunate to witness. It's easy to blame such a situation on time management, but with so many people trying to travel very small roads in such a short period of time, there are bound to be some unlucky stragglers.
When I finally made it back to the lake, I opened up my new wetsuit bag, pulled out my brand new TYR Cat 5 Hurricane (made possible by gearandtraining.com), and began the oh-so uncomfortable "dance" into the "pants;" I'd feel somewhat foolish during this process if I weren't surrounded by hundreds of others also attempting to complete the dance with impossible grace. Once in, I had just enough time to spare to test out the water temperature (a balmy 57 degrees) and perform a few pre-race warm-up exercises. Before I knew it, the crowd-assisting countdown to the start of the first wave was on, and my nerves were about as stable as my dog's nerves during a thunderstorm. Despite a 3-minute wait between each wave, Wave 10 quickly arrived and I found myself standing on water's edge alongside a crowd of other nervous 25-to-29-year-old females. I looked to my right and spotted the race clock -- only 20 seconds to go until I would once again be able to call myself a competing triathlete. 15 seconds.....10 seconds........5 seconds..........the horn. Time to rock and roll.
THE SWIM AND TRANSITION 1
I knew the swim would be the toughest of the three disciplines in the tri, for it had only been three months since I'd begun to learn how to do the front crawl with some actual technique. When my wave ran into the water I immediately fell to the back of the pack; I felt like I was swimming all-out, and yet all of these people were flyng by me! Fortunately the first 200 meters didn't determine the overall outcome and I managed to pass up most of my wave (with the help of my new speedy wetsuit) by the time the swim was over. I exited the water third and felt relieved that my swim wasn't completely pitiful -- just a slow starter, I guess.
I rushed out of the water trying to utilize my foot speed to my advantage in transition. Because the transition area was set up on top of a gravel-laden parking lot, most of the racers had sandals laid out at the top of the beach to slip on before running to their station. I was proud of myself for remembering to do this until I attempted to run in my ridiculously non-athletic pair of sandals I'd chosen to bring; they slipped off my feet as soon as I'd slipped them on. Instead of going back for them, I internally spoke some variation of "screw it" and ran across the gravel as fast as my feet would allow. I would later regret this decision as the lost and found crew informed me that no sandals of my description were turned in. Ahhh. We had a good run.
To my surprise, the wetsuit was easier to get out of than I had expected. I did, however, make a few rookie mistakes (being my rookie year, I thought I was entitled) that added on a fairly significant amount of time in transition. Looking back, what turned out to be a 2:30 transition could have easily been about a 1:00 transition. Thankfully I am quite good at learning from my mistakes (at least in this area) and I will be sure to avoid any repeats in the future.
THE BIKE AND TRANSITION 2
I hopped onto the back of my decade-old Look road bike (the new Cervélo I had ordered through Gear & Training hadn't arrived yet) and proceeded up the steep incline out of the valley. By the time I reached the top, my heart rate was rearing to go. Over the following 17 mile stretch I had one strategy: Go HARD. I knew my body could handle a good pounding for the relatively short distance of the race. Looking back, I probably pushed it a bit too hard on the long uphills, but I still felt strong by the end. The clouds opened up and rain began to pour down about midway through the race. I had a close call on a slick patch of road while I was cruising at top speed down one of the giants, but I managed to maintain enough control to avoid wipeout -- luck was on my side with that one.
My confidence continued to grow throughout the race as I passed person after person without plateau. Better yet (I must admit), all of these people happened to be men; being in the first wave of women after all of the men took off was a nice motivator. I love to compete with women, but there's something very satisfying about passing a dude from time to time. ;) The only female I passed was within the first mile and I knew that the only one ahead of me was in the process of getting her PRO card. With this knowledge in mind, I knew I'd place well in my age group, barring any unforseen accidents on the rest of the bike or miseries in the run. After 50 minutes of climbing and descending, I reached the last downhill and decided to grind it out, just for "good measure." (Something I have since learned not to do -- need to bring the heart rate dowwwwn.)
I entered Transition 2 as the second female in, which was more fun than I'd like to admit. The crowd, it seems, tends to cheer louder and harder for lone females amongst a sea of guys. Once I found my station, the process of getting into my running gear went a bit faster. The only hold-up arose when I couldn't get my feet into my pre-tied old cross country race flats; I still hadn't purchased tri shoes, so racing flats were my only option against my heav(ier) trainers. As soon as they were on, I was off. Although pretty stiff from all of the hard climbing, I forced my legs to get out of the transition area fast.
THE RUN
The run started with a long downhill that helped to loosen the limbs up a degree. The giant hill that followed, however, didn't provide the same favor. As I inched my way up the monster, I passed a man who appeared to be struggling as I was. I felt compelled to say something to him, so I managed an airy "Is this hill for real?" before continuing the grind. The first mile of the run ran parallel to the end of the bike course, so I was able to see all of the bikers coming in. I knew I was a decent distance ahead of the next woman in my age group, but I began to notice the first women from the 30-34 and 35-39 age groups coming in. Because I had a 3-to-6 minute headstart on these women, I knew I'd have to pull off a strong run if I wanted to beat them in the overall placings.
Like the bike course, there didn't seem to be a stretch of flat on the entire run. I decided to try to push the downhills while maintaining form and using my arms on the uphills. Even though I never got to the point where I felt like a "real" runner, I was content with the 6:50 pace on the 4.3-mile hilly course. Plus, I felt good about the number of positive comments I received from the males I passed; I got a negative vibe from a few of them, but most of the guys were very supportive and told me to "keep it up" and "go after it." My only regret in the run was not knowing exactly where the finish was located in relation to the rest of the course; I usually have a pretty strong last mile with my kick in races, but the finish line crept up on me when I came around a corner and I hadn't even begun to open it up. I hate finishing races with anything left in the tank, so this frustration got to me in particular. Again, another mistake to add to the collection, but all important experiences to becoming a better triathlete. Excited for big things ahead -- I can feel it.
RESULTS
700m swim -- 9:47
17 mile bike -- 53:13
4.3 mile run -- 29:25
TOTAL TIME -- 1:36:33
1st/49 Age Group
6th/~200 Overall Female
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