RR: Tough Day at the Races

Fairlee Great Triathlon
July 9, 2006, 8am
High: 89, Sunny, HOT

Swim: .75 mi
Bike: 17 mi (had been shortened from 24 due to road conditions)
Run: 5 mi

Tough Day at the Races (R rated)

Everything doesn’t always come together on race day. When that happens, it sucks. Big time. This was supposed to be my first near Olympic distance tri, so when they shortened the bike I was pretty disappointed. I would come to see what a blessing that was in short order, though. So, for now, this is my first sprint-plus.

I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to cry during this race. I think I was carrying around the baggage from the previous week (unhealthy parent). I had a feeling that was going to be a problem, but there really wasn’t anything I could do about it.

Friday, Jo and I drove two hours up to Fairlee to meet our friend Spence (who had kindly hosted us for a practice bike ride a few weeks before). She and a bunch of friends were also doing the race, and she had planned a pasta dinner. It was a great time, and good to log some familiar faces to see the next day.

Today dawns a beautiful day. Foggy at first, blue skies quickly burn through. Note to self: be anal about sunscreen. We get to transition without mishap and start to take notice of our surroundings. I’m feeling a bit disjointed and disorganized (this MIGHT have been due to the fact that I was packing during the Tour on Saturday…). I find my already packed bike rack. Uh… This is going to be interesting. With a little finagling, we all manage to get our bikes on and everything right as rain.

I get body marked, fight with the wetsuit and head down to the lake to check out the swim. Ugh. It looks LONG. We swim around a bit to warm up and head back to the beach for the rather long announcements about the new bike course (out and back, with a turnaround in a parking lot…. Sounds interesting, but I’m more concerned about the swim.).

Without further ado, the first swim wave starts. Then we start. Freaking people are FLYING. While I purposely started in the back of the pack, I am now the LAST swimmer by quite a bit. Ugh. Fine. My plan is to simply survive this long sucker. Just get to the first buoy. Then the second. Then the third. I get to the first buoy. That wasn’t so bad, I think.

Until wave 3 passes me. And then wave 4. I mean, I’m moving, aren’t I? I start to get frustrated. Why am I doing this? Why do I suck so bad? Why can’t I be faster? Is this ANOTHER wave? Am I going to be the last out of this damn milfoil infested lake? How could I ever even think about doing a longer race? I must have been out of my mind.

With every single one of these thoughts and the impending meltdown, I reign my emotions back in. It’s a constant tug of war: You suck. No you don’t. Yes you do! No you DON’T. I did take comfort in the fact that I was at least willing to fight with my psyche, but it made me nervous for the rest of the race. I already knew that I was on shaky ground, and judging from the massive amount of bike porn and crazy ppl riding the course the day before, it wasn’t going to get any easier on the old ego.

Finally I round the last buoy, and make it to the end. Freaking 33 minutes for a .75 mi swim? I don’t think so! My .5 mi swim (also long, I’m pretty sure!) was 18 min. So, let’s do some math: (all of this while getting started on the bike). Say each bit is 11 minutes, that would mean that my .5 mi swim time would be 22 minutes. I feel slightly better after that. I don’t think I could have been that far off pace.

I settle in on the bike. Aero most of the way. Things feel pretty good. Climb a hill, grab a gel, back in aero. My bike computer decides to play nice today and I am seeing speeds of 18, 19, and 20 mph on the flats. Hills aren’t sucking so much, but I’m getting passed like it’s nobody’s business. (All of the waves had been labeled as letters. I was in C wave, and getting passed by D, E, and F like I was standing still.) It’s my race. It’s my race.

I go down an 8% grade, turn around in a dinky parking lot, go over this massive lump in the road, and head BACK UP this hill. I keep telling myself it’s short, and I’m in the right gear. Good cadence. Yippy skippy.

I go a bunch more and then head up the last hill (which I had forgotten about, actually). Some lady passes me (again) and reads my mind…. She says what I was thinking, not out of breath, just like La la la, here we are on this fun hill, not even working hard. In my head (because I can’t currently talk), I think, Thanks Lady, I’ll yell something at your back when you’re bombing down the other side! (She had my same shoes –weird that happens every race- and we had a nice back and forth going.) I finally get my breath back and say, “Yeah, I forgot about it too!” She says (to my chagrin), “Yeah, but I have this cheater ring here (granny gear).” God bless her, she was trying to make me feel better. Me: “Erm, yeah so do I,” as I watch her fly away.

I crest the hill and go to shift into my middle ring. I thought I had it (it’s been working perfectly since I got the new derailleur on the front) until I hear that sickening “chink.” Eff. Get off the bike. Wizz. Wizz. Wizz. (Disc wheels going by.) Chain back on. Get back on bike. Try to shift again. CHINK. EFF. Damn it! Get off the bike. People passing me ask me if I’m okay. I’m frustrated. I get it back on. Go to clip in. Can’t. I take a deep breath, wait a minute and I manage it finally. Okay, here we go.

One more time..... CHINK!!!!! “Goddamnsonofabitchcocksuckingmotherfucking (hey I rhyme) pieceofshit BIKE!”

I’m pissed (Where, oh where, is my master of the obvious badge?). I’m beyond angry. It seems like 100 bikes have passed me now, and I was doing so well. I pretty much yank the chain back on, curse a few more times, and get back on angrily. I have more trouble clipping in, surprise, surprise. Finally I get going. I throw a small temper tantrum, and bomb down a hill going 28 mph in my first chain ring with a cadence of 1000 rpm. I realize that I’m wasting precious energy with this behavior, but this whole day has SUCKED. Finally, I shove my shifter hard and I hear and feel the m-effing chain catch the second chain ring. I go up one more. I’ve had it. Get this done.

I’m on the last road about 1.5 mi from the transition, zooming along when some old dude in a red car decides to not watch where he’s going. The volunteer is screaming at him, I’m yelling and trying to signal with my arm, and it’s just total mayhem. The volunteer tells me (very nicely) to go to the left (so the middle of the road), and screams at the driver to go right, but this car is speeding up and I can’t go because I’ll get hit. I finally get over, and I hear this (very hot) volunteer absolutely go off on the guy. Whew, that was close. (I don’t really blame the driver too much, as it was confusing… It was just very unnerving too…)

I zoom into T2 with my hair on fire and no place to rack my bike.

F$CK! I wrestle for a minute with the bikes and finally get it up there. At this point, I’ve so thoroughly had it, I’m thinking: “I need a coach. Now. I’m tired of being slow. I’m tired of racking my bike LAST. I’m tired of not getting food. I’m tired of getting swum over.” (That English isn’t right, but I don’t care.) And worse: I’m not having fun. The swim was slow and long, the bike sucked donkey balls, and I just saw my life flash in front of my eyes… twice!

I get my running shoes on, grab new glasses and get going on the beautiful run around the lake. I tell myself to enjoy this. It’s a beautiful day. Forget that you are racing. Forget about the swim and the bike. Forget that there is NO ONE around for seeming miles. Forget that thought that you will be last. Forget that you just saw someone with an ‘I’ on their leg pass you, and you just said: “I’s suck.” (Say it a few times, you’ll get it.)

I manage to enjoy the run, and I’m actually surprised at my run splits, given how I wasted energy and time with my outburst, and that I pretty much trashed my legs on the last couple of miles of the bike. I’m still pretty grumpy as I round the bend for the last .25 mi and I get a huge burst of speed as I cross the finish to the yells of my new and old friends.

Swim: 33:23
T1: 3:15
Bike: 1:03:01
T2: 2:43
Run: 51:54
Total: 2:34:18

Huge lessons learned:
Bad things:

I had not yet recovered from the previous very stressful week. I did go into this race with reduced expectations because of that, but I still found myself frustrated with my lack of skill compared to those around me.

It was probably a huge mistake (as usual) to compare myself to most of those around me, as this was one of the most tricked out races I’ve ever been to. I probably should have taken that into account.

It was useless to waste time in a temper tantrum. It didn’t make me feel any better (although I was briefly impressed with my rhyming skills.) Calm rules the day.

Nutrition was iffy. I had one gel on the entire course and about 2/3 of a bottle of Power Bar Endurance Formula. Probably should have finished the bottle and had a gel at the beginning of the run.

I forgot to have fun for a while there.


Good things:

I made it through the swim. I didn’t quit. And it was long. I don’t care what anyone says.

I made it through the bike with pretty decent speed. And, although I got angry, at least I didn’t weep.

I never ever broke down during the race, although I really wanted to. Somehow, I managed to mostly keep it together.

I realized that I really hate sucking, and that if it’s the day that’s sucking, life will go on. There will be more races.

(It didn’t rain!)

I remembered to have fun on the run.

I have great friends. Once again, Spence was a wonderful host, opening her home to us for much needed showers and food. Jo was awesome as usual, basically letting me just let go after the race. I needed that. Somehow we made it home, singing “I will survive” (how appropriate) and talking race strategies. That was more therapeutic than anything.