I am glad that is over, but what an amazing day! Saturday was spent driving to Boulder to get race packets, doing last minute checking to ensure we have everything, and resting.
Up at 3 AM on Sunday. Fix a protein shake, make a couple peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, fill up water bottles and off we go. It’s about a 1.5 hour drive to Boulder and Steve had to get
there by 5 when the transition area opens to “get a good spot”. My main concern was getting a spot where I couldn’t possible lose my bike. After I get out of the reservoir, I want to be sure I
can remember where I parked my bike (have you ever lost your car in a parking lot? Picture a huge fenced off area with 1500 bikes in it…). I snagged a space close to the end of a row and quickly laid my brightly colored turtle beach towel on the ground to claim my space. My nerves were fully engaged, my stomach was wound tightly in knots, making me think that surely I was going to barf in my bike shoes as I set them up in the transition area. (And for Pete’s sake…. WHAT am I worried about anyway???)
It's bad enough getting older, but really, do they have to write your age in black, permanent ink for all to see??
Having plenty of time to spare after we set up our transition areas, we lounged in the car until race time. Steve’s wave went 2nd; my wave went 4th. I kept trying to get a spot in the back of the wave in the water, but somehow I kept getting pushed up front. Goggles on, wetsuit on, cap on and the gun went off. The first 100 yards was tough as I tried to find a spot away from all the legs, arms and elbows. I settled in to a rhythm and tried to sight the first buoy which was conveniently placed a really, really long way away. Every 4th stroke or so, I raised my head up, looked directly into the sun and tried to sight the 1st buoy. The feeling was similar to having your older sibling hold you down, pry open your eyes and make you look directly into the sun. After I rounded the first buoy, the rest were easy to sight and I had a good rhythm going. That is, until I reached the shore of the reservoir and tried to stand up; it was quite similar in appearance to a few nights in college after too much to drink. It took a few minutes to get my balance, start peeling off my wetsuit and stumble to the transition area.
T1: My T1 was 2:42 (2 minutes, 2 seconds) which gave me enough time to have a full breakfast, do a complete change of outfits, look around to see how many bikes in my row were already gone (not many!), have a glass of water, contemplate life, then get on my bike. It’s good to have opportunities for improvement next time! I remembered my helmet and sunglasses, but tried to put on my bike glove backwards. I felt good when the announcer said over the loud speaker as I was putting on my helmet “and now we’re just starting to see the purple caps come into the transition area”. I was a “purple cap” and I was well into my transition!
On to the dreaded bike course. The first 7 miles were tough. There is a challenging climb from mile 6 – 7 but I made it up the hill with my feet still clipped into the pedals. I even passed a couple of cyclists who were walking their bikes. After the monster hill, it was smooth sailing the rest of the ride; this was the most comfortable I’ve felt on my bike. My biking is nothing to brag about, however, and I was continually reminded of that with every “on your left” (etiquette for letting someone know you are passing) I heard along the route. And those were the ones passing slow enough to declare that. The really fast cyclist’s speed speaks for itself and they politely refrain from the verbal reminder that I am really slow.
T2: 1:20. Better than T1, but heavens, what took so long? All I had to do was change shoes and put on my new pink race belt skirt. By the way, I chose my lucky “Life is Good” visor for my head cover. I’ve worn this in almost every race I’ve done and it really should be thrown in the trash, but one can’t just part with a lucky hat.
About ½ mile into the run I realized I was still wearing my bike gloves (at least I remembered to take off my bike helmet!). The gloves came off and I tossed them to the side of the road; I wouldn’t want all the extra weight slowing me down!
It was hot by now, and the run just plain felt awful. I was hot, tired, and would have gladly reduced the run to 5k run rather than 10k. The first ½ was the longest 3 miles I can remember. Like a barn sour house though, I felt much better after I hit the ½ way point and picked up my step. That lasted about 12 seconds and I was back to slogging my way down the trail. All the visualization tricks, mental willpower, and deep breathing seemed to elude me as all I wanted to do at this point was vomit up the stupid gels I kept forcing down and lay down on a massage table and have someone pamper me. With about a mile to go, I spotted Steve along the trail, camera in hand, cheering me along. How cool is that to have my husband finish the race and come back to cheer me on! At this point, it was just a matter of focusing and moving my body to the finish line.
Running towards the finish line.
Crossing the finish line was awesome! It’s at this point when I know all the training, commitment and hard work was worth it. I was really happy with my time (3:23); while not someting competitive triathletes brag about, it exceeded what I thought I would be able to do.
If you want to look up the results, go here: http://www.myentryfee.com/results/RaceList.aspx?target=60 choose "Triathlon" in the Event Type, and type in Vaughan. You'll get Steve and my results. (You'll have to ask Steve about his race...)
For those less familiar with triathlons, here are some terms defined.
Transition area: The smallest space you can imagine where you rack your bike, lay out your bike shoes, running shoes, race number, put out food and put everything else out that you will need as you transition from swim to bike and then bike to run. Transition Time: time it takes to do your transitions.
T1 is when you exit the water, dizzy, off balance and disoriented, spit out lake water and try to run barefoot across the parking lot to get to your bike. Here, you have to find your bike in the maze of 1300 bikes, remember take off your swim cap and goggles, strip off your wet suit, then try to balance as you put socks on wet feet (the fast folks skip this step), put on your bike shoes (the top talented triathletes have their shoes clipped to their pedals and put their shoes on once they are on the bike. This is beyond my capabilities), stuff a gel in your mouth, put on your helmet and sunglasses. If you care to put any additional clothing on top of your bathing suit, you do that too. If you are still standing at this point, you grab your bike off the rack without dumping over the entire bike rack, (other triathletes get upset when they find their bike on top of their gear), run alongside your bike in those goofy bike shoes (click, click, click) to the bike mount area (you cannot mount your bike until this point). The pros can do T1 in less than 45 seconds.
T2 is the it takes to get from when you finish the bike portion, dismount your bike, enter the transition area, and take off your bike shoes (the pros will have taken their feet out of their shoes while the shoes remain clipped on the pedals), and put on your running shoes. The pros can do T2 in less than 30 seconds.
Wave: The participants are divided into age groups and start times are staggered by age groups. The old people get to go first so they can be humiliated by the youngsters as the young triathletes pass them. Crossing the finish line was awesome! It’s at this point when I know all the training, commitment and hard work was worth it. I was really happy with my time (3:23); while not someting competitive triathletes brag about, it exceeded what I thought I would be able to do.
