World's Toughest

When I woke up the Thursday before the World's Toughest Half and realized that I didn't even own a pair of tri shorts anymore it really hit me that I hadn't been a triathlete for quite some time. I hadn't even walked into a transition area since I lay in a heap at the Ironman Cozumel finish line almost 18 months ago, and before that I hadn't followed a triathlon through to the run phase (although I'd done a bunch of aquabikes) for another year or more. Now that I found myself mixing among tri-geeks again I bristled a bit, but it was more like coming home. As much as I griped and complained about how much the event cost and how much shit I had to pack, triathlons are familiar and tactically simple compared to some of the odd stunts I've gotten into since.

I signed up for this triathlon in part because it fell on a weekend when I had nothing better to do, and in part because I wanted to stalk a fellow blogger, Gretchen whose trail photos and stories I've been eating my liver over for years. Since Auburn is only an hour from where Gretchen lives in Truckee, it seemed like a great chance to track (stalk) her down and meet the legend behind the screen. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

In the week before the race I was experiencing a new sensation that has begun since my drunken hiatus from training last summer and fall: feeling tired. Now that I work about 12 hours a day running, demonstrating, and putting weights away, as well as a minimum of 3 spin classes and a boot camp class a week, I just don't get time "off." By my estimate, I probably do at least 100 squats a day, 50 deadlifts, a football field of farmer carries, 40 sets of stairs, and dozens of miles of walking before it even gets time for me to make the decision whether to do my own training or not. Sometimes it just catches up, and this week was one of those weeks where my hamstrings were tight, my butt was out of juice, my quads felt creaky, my core was achy, and my back needed some serious cracking. Also, this week I got another year older. Coincidence? Maybe not.

Now that my excuses are out of the way, I turned up in Auburn just as I was for the race expo not entirely sure what I was getting myself into. I hadn't been able to find an elevation profile on the event website, so I pulled a few guys over at the expo to explain what the climbing would be like. "Well if you've been out of it for as long as you say you have, you sure picked a doozy to start," a SMOFo told me as we walked back to the parking lot together (we were best buddies from the time we met, of course). "But this is only the World's Toughest Half because the other halves are so flat."

"Oh," I said. "I thought that they got the name because hadn't been copyrighted yet." I mean what did they do, go and check out every half ironman distance race in the whole wide world?! Based on a complete lack of evidence either way, I had decided that the race's name was an exaggeration. Still, it didn't bode well that I saw more drop bars in the parking lot than I saw bullhorns. I have done hilly triathlons before and even at those I felt like the only one with clip-on bars. But here some of the riders hadn't even bothered with the aero bars at all. Gulp.

Then I went to drop my running stuff down at T2, which was separated from T1 by about 7 miles (I hate it when they do that! The logistics are such a nightmare for a single person.) All my chores done for the day, I went to check into the hotel and scare up some dinner and breakfast for the next morning. I'd forgotten to bring a breakfast that met with my standards, and with no fridge, no silverware, and no plates or bowls, I was at a loss for what to have for breakfast before the race. I wandered around the upscale supermarket for half an hour before I finally located a breakfast burrito which I purchased and took home to have half for dinner and half for breakfast.

Once I bit into this "burrito", I found it to be was THE WORST BREAKFAST BURRITO EVER ASSEMBLED. It was made with what might have been a microwaved egg back in the mid-90's but now was just some yellow plastic, a slice of cheddar cheese from the sandwich bar, and some nasty white starchy rice that was so overcooked that it was the size of mature maggots. The second half of this culinary aberration found its way to my tummy at 4 o'clock on race morning, 2 1/2 hours before the start and sat there undigested until after the swim. I drove to the start, did my whole getting ready for the start thing, and then made my way down to the water with a few minutes to go.

They were shoving everyone into the water for a "mandatory warm-up," but I knew better than to go in past my ankles. It was a good thing too, because one of the buoys kept drifting off course and they had to start the race 5 minutes late so that they could re-set it. By the time the second wave (my wave) went off 10 minutes after they cleared the water, all the people who had "warmed up" were shivering and their lips were blue. I on the other hand was nice and toasty warm in my pee-filled wetsuit.

My swim training has been spotty at best, so I really, really, really didn't mean to take it out too fast. But I just got so frustrated by all the feet in my face in the washing machine that somehow I wound up out of breath and feeling queezy by the first turn buoy (of which there were six, three per lap for two laps). After that, "too much breakfast" said in a queasy voice pretty much sums up my whole swim experience.

By the second lap I had slowed down considerably and was still wondering whether I would need to take my face out of the water to puke or if it was possible to just puke right down into the water. I came around the second turn buoy, pointed toward the third and started swimming, and then I could see... THE BOTTOM! If you don't know, THE BOTTOM is where The Monster lives, and I really, really don't want to see that shit. I couldn't see THE BOTTOM on the last lap. What gives? I could see THE BOTTOM the whole way to the last turn buoy (the one that had been drifting at the start), and I certainly didn't remember that buoy being so close to the edge of the water the last time I passed by here. As I passed, I could see a kayaker holding on to the corner of the buoy so that it wouldn't float out of the water and onto the rocks altogether. Great. So now the swim course was long and me trying to hold down breakfast all this time.

As I aimed back toward the swim exit, I looked up and saw a paddleboarder next to me. Now what was he doing there? Was I swimming off course (I'd been doing a lot of that today too)? I breathed over my other shoulder to see what I could see over there and SPLASH! The lead sprint swimmer who was just passing me kicked a huge wave right down my throat. Now I really felt like I was going to puke. I cruised into the finish, and about 100 yards away I looked up to see where I was going and... 50 orange caps were coming right at me! As we were coming in, we had to cross through the "mini tri" competitors who were just setting out for their swim.

When I finally hit solid ground, I stood up and I walked. I had stepped on my foot funny and it really hurt, but that wasn't really why I was walking. I walked slowly up that chute until I was quite sure that that nasty excuse for a breakfast burrito would stay in my stomach where it belonged. Then I slowly puttered into transition to put on my helmet, sunglasses, socks, and shoes. Then I looked around to see if there was any other way I could put off riding. When I saw there was none, I took my bike and jogged toward the bike exit.

I mounted my bike and began to ride away. We began a roughly 10-mile, 2000 foot rolling climb right out of transition. Before we were even out of earshot of the transition area, one of the guys riding near me veered off to the right, hit the curb, and turned his right side into hamburger meat on the concrete and grass. There hadn't been anything in the road, he hadn't been in his aero bars, he hadn't been reaching for anything, there were no errant bunnies crossing the road to avoid, the road was relatively straight, we'd been moving at about 8 mph up the hill, and there were spectators who didn't seem to recognize him sitting about 3 feet from where he ate shit. So there was no reason to cut close to that particular spot on the side of the road. What's with triathletes and bike handling?

The SMOFos at the start had warned me that the hardest climb on the course was the climb out of the swim, but for some reason the difficulty still annoyed me even though I knew it was coming. It wasn't the hardest climb I'd ever done, or even the hardest climb I'd done in the past month, but in the first 7 miles it lurched up some 1000 feet, then topped it off with another 400 over the next 3 miles or so. The grades maxed out at about 12%, which was enough to have me breathing hard and push my heartrate into the high 180's. I felt like I was breathing through tissue and my aero set-up felt uncomfortable underneath me. Then this girl in a Cal skinsuit rode by me like I was standing still and I had no energy or desire to follow her. What was wrong with me?

I took a moment to beat myself up before I realized that I hadn't trained for this race. I had no right to get pissed about results unless I'd done some specific preparation for this race, or even this sport. I also realized that even if I chased someone down on the bike, it would all be over once we started running. Forget it! After that I just tried to enjoy myself and ride only exactly as hard as I had to and no harder. Make no mistake, there was no 'phoning in' this race. The total elevation gain in the first 30 miles was some 2000 feet (more like 3500 with all the crinkling up and down), and when it was time to go downhill it was usually too fast to even pedal. And while I'm complaining about the elevation, of the 2000' elevation gain, we only got to give about 1000 of it back because the finish was some 1000' higher than the start. So in short, even though I was dragging my feet, I was earning my lunch!

Right from the very beginning I felt a deep, not quite stabbing pain above the top of my illium (the big wing-like muscle in my pelvis). It was a familiar old feeling that I had always assumed was caused by yoga because I stopped doing yoga regularly around the time I stopped doing a lot of tri riding which was right around the time that the pain went away. It felt like I needed to twist and crack my back, or like someone was sticking a dull knife right into the spot above the bone, and the pain started radiating down my leg to my hamstring, putting a hitch in my pedal stroke. It started immediately on one side, and by the halfway point it was there on both sides. Was this what old guys meant when they said their backs were tight? Whenever I could, I stood up and tried to move my hips around, but by the time I drifted into transition my back was so tight that I could hardly move.

I hung my bike up and looked forlornly at my stuff in the grass. How was I going to reach it? Slowly but surly I got on my shoes and visor, tied my shoes deliberately (yes, I'd decided to skip lace locks) then grabbed a bottle and my race belt. Before waddling off I gave my back a quick twist and got a very unsatisfying crack, but my traps cramped up int he process. Fantastic. Now I would be running like Frankenstein rather than like a pirate with two peg legs.

I tottered out of transition and onto a flat little footpath through the woods. The run was a 3-lap course that broke down into 3 distinct sections:

• Section 1: Flat 1-mile on a narrow foot path next to a man-made canal where the only thing to worry about was not getting so out of it that you tripped or just simply drifted into the canal.
• Section 2: 1.5 miles downhill (roughly 400') on a mostly gravel path, plus a short, steep jaunt down another footpath through the grass.
• Section 3: Run back up the way you came, then skip the path next to the canal and instead turn toward the finish, run a loop around (and through) the transition area, and back out for the next loop.

It took most of the first loop for my back to loosen up. I only made the mistake of looking at my GPS once. When I was at about a 10:37-minute-mile on a flat road and had no hope of picking it up, I decided not to look at my pace anymore. I wanted to walk, but I realized that I was so knotted up and tired that walking wouldn't really feel any better and would just drag the whole process out. I just wanted to be done at this point. Right from the very first lap all I could think about was how great it would feel to lie down in the grass at the end.

During the first lap, before my back had loosened up and I could move a little more freely (if not more quickly) I put it out there to any magical or all-powerful entity out there in the universe that I know I have the physical strength to finish this, but if he/she/it would give me the mental strength to do it without too much fussing, that would be pretty fucking fantastic. Whether it was God, the Flying Spaghetti Monster, Mother Earth, the Universe, Allah, or the awesome power of my own determination that answered my prayers, it worked. When I started running, I felt on the edge of despair like I usually do at mile 23 of a marathon. By the last mile of the first loop, my discomfort and abjection had dropped back to about mile 22 of a marathon and just kind of sat there right at the point just before shit gets really bad.

A few chicks passed me on the run, but it was hard to tell how many because of the multiple-loop course. Maybe it was because I had gotten off the bike later than I used to, and maybe it was because of all the hills, but I didn't get trounced as thoroughly as I usually do in the run. Or so I thought. Ignorance is bliss.

By the final loop I was losing it pretty bad. I was hungry, my everything hurt, and I was beginning to lose track of what I was doing. My fantasies about lunch and lying down in the grass were feeling more and more real and I would snap out of it and realize I was still on this stupid hill that really wasn't pretty enough to be worth all this. Although I felt just as horrible at the beginning as at the end, now that I look back my pace had dropped from roughly 9-minute miles on the first loop, to 10-minute miles on the second loop and 11-minute miles on the third loop. Shit was going all bad and I had no idea.

"And here comes Claire [and then he pronounced my last name right] from Pacifica coming in to the finish!" the announcer said as I wandered down the finishing chute. I tried to put my hands above my head at the finish line, but more to stretch my back and open my lungs than out of triumph. A volunteer handed me a bottle and a medal still in its plastic packaging and I spotted a stool.

"Can I just sit down for a bit?" I asked. By degrees I lowered myself to the stool and sat there drinking water and being glad that it was done for several long minutes before I drifted out of the finishers' area. It took me a long, long time to get changed into regular clothes in the bathrooms, then I tried to scare up some food from the post-race buffet. Chipotle was making tacos, which meant just a little bit of cheese and a tortilla filled with pico de gallo for me (no shredded animal, thank you very much). Looking back, I think it was just lack of nutrition that kept me feeling like hell (I was dealing with some nausea again by the second half of the run), but right now I was preoccupied with another problem: my car was 7 miles away and that's where my wallet was. Until I got my wallet, I couldn't buy anything more than a tortilla filled with pico de gallo.

I got directions back to the car from a bunch of locals while their buddy threw up strawberries and tacos into the grass next to us, and then I got on my bike again with all my stuff in a side-loaded duffel on my back, and started back toward the car thinking the whole time about how fucked-up this was. My crotch hurt. Once I got back to the car, there was no way that I would have the energy to drive another hour north to see Gretchen and still be able to stay awake for the ride home. Fail!

Overall I did solidly average. I finished second in my age group, but there were only 4 women in my division. I finished 12th woman overall, but there were only about 39 women in the race. I finished 80th out of 160 overall. Overall I was 60th on the swim, 67th on the bike, and 96th on the run. It was nothing to brag about, but for once I was pretty darned proud to have finished. It hadn't been easy, and although I had a basic level of fitness in all three sports, triathlon is more than just a swim, a bike, and a run strung together. It hadn't gone as smoothly as I'd hoped, but I finished without mentally checking out and walking. So that was something.

The next day everything was sore. My back, my traps, my delts, my hamstrings, my glutes and even my SCM (that muscle in your neck that sticks out when you stick out your bottom teeth). Now I really, really, really need to take some recovery time before the AIDS ride and my 200 miler the following week. Will I do another one? Maybe some other time, but not for awhile.

A Race Report all about PEE

(Hopefully more pictures and edits coming soon)

It's enough to make you sick: The Patriot Half Ironman, the day after the 4th of July in Freetown, MA. I was really excited for this race about this time last week. Then, on Friday (the day before the race) I went out with a couple of the folks from Masters to do a swim/bike brick-ish. We kept pushing our ride back later and later to try to wait out the rain. Finally we rode to Walden pond in the wet, but not the rain. Our luck didn't hold out though, and it started pouring while we were swimming and continued to pour the whole way home. It's not like it's the first time I'd ever been caught in the rain, nor did we have any disasters or mishaps, but it was a taste of the weather that was supposed to last throughout the weekend. It was enough to put me over the edge into a nasty funk about how it's rained every day for like 3 weeks, and how people are not supposed to live in such inhospitable climates. That night the famous Iron Bob Almighty rolled up from Connecticut, and he was so excited about his first race as an elite (the race offered an "open" division, where anyone could race for the prize purse, even without a pro card), that I got all wrapped up in his race and almost forgot that I was racing too.

We woke up with plenty of time to drive the hour down to the race, but first there was the matter of finding coffee at 5:00 in the morning. Then we missed the exit twice because we were too busy talking to pay attention to the road. By the time we finally rolled up to the race site, it was about 6:15, and the race was slated to start at 7:00. And, predictably, I had to pee. Bad. Like REAL bad. Since we'd taken Bobb-O's car down, my hands had been free to pour coffee down my throat to my heart's content, with the predictable result of half a liter of diuretics. By the way, this will be a theme in this post, so be prepared. I left Bobby spewing some hateful gangster rap along with his nano by himself in the parking lot and scooted towards where the nearest rest room was likely to be.

I sure had to pee, but I figured it would make more sense to check in and dump my stuff in transition before getting on the porta-potty line. But there was a line about 30 yards long for registration, and it was not moving very quickly. I was doing the peepee dance in line so badly, that one guy took pity on me and offered to watch my bike while I ran into the john. (Bobby had checked in the day before on his way up to my house, so I couldn't ask him to hold my stuff). I ran and got in the line that was about 5 people deep and started waiting, and waiting, and waiting. There were only 2 stalls, and I'm telling you, each person was in there for several MINUTES. Finally, when I'd been there for around 10 minutes, was about 4th back in line and no one had come out for 4 or 5 minutes I had to give up and go back to the registration line. Registration was not the most efficient process in the world. Then, I guess I was wearing my invisible cap because I couldn't get the attention of any of the body markers, then when I finally got to transition some girl's shit was in my spot. I couldn't wait around to ask her to move it, so I just plunked my front wheel right in the middle of her setup and ran off to stand in ANOTHER long line and wait for 500 people to poop before finally getting some relief. I've said it before and I'll say it again, taking a shit when there is a line behind you is extremely rude. Learn to think ahead and do it at home, or eat more fiber!

When I got back from the porta-potties the girl across the rack from me was back. "You need to put your bike facing the other way," she said.
"You're going to have to move your stuff," I told her.
"The bikes are supposed to alternate directions," she insisted.
"Right, I understand that, but your stuff is right under my slot, you can't take up all the space you want," I came back. The bitchiness was escalating without either of us actually acting on moving our stuff.
She went back into an explanation of how to hang my saddle from the rack going in the other direction, and I started moving it just to make my point that I wasn't stupid, I understand how to rack a bike, but she doesn't understand about sharing space with others. Of course she was totally, right, there WAS more space when I flipped my bike around. And she did move her stuff over a little bit just to prove that I was the bitch here, not her. Once the problem was solved, it really wasn't that big a deal at all.
"Sorry," I said. "I'm just a little bit frazzled. We got here late, and I really had to go to the bathroom when I dropped my stuff off."
"Don't worry, just keep breathing," she reminded me. Incredible as it may seem, I never actually really got a look at her face either during our altercation or afterwards as I was frantically scrambling to set up my stuff before they closed transition. As I made my way down towards the swim I felt more and more awful about being such a bitch, and tried to find her to apologize. But she looked like any generic triathlete girl, and now that everyone was in wetsuits and swim caps and goggles, there was no telling one girl from the next. Hell, Bobby was down there in the water somewhere getting ready to start, and I couldn't even tell HIM from any of the other 15 or so people around him.

I looked around me and didn't see Anne, a swimming buddy who was doing the Aquabike, but there was a strikingly beautiful girl standing next to me. She was tall, dark and slender with thick, wavy dark hair and striking features (well, I was stricken anyway). She was holding a cap in her hands that was the same color as mine. "Do you know when our wave starts?" I asked. I didn't give a rat's ass about when our wave started, I was too busy being jealous of that glossy wetsuit of hers that got to snuggle up into places I could only dream about. She had long, professionally manicured nails painted red, white, and blue (matching toes and fingers), the kind of fashion that doesn't bode well for the likes of me getting into her wetsuit, but it was still nice to talk to her. So I got to spend several minutes talking to the most beautiful girl at the race and her man friend (who I think really was a friend) before I started getting uncomfortable being around such a pretty girl and went to wish Anne luck.

The Swim: 1.2 miles

Minutes later they called us down to the water, and it occurred to me to get nervous about something other than talking to a pretty girl. We started in knee-deep water and I decided maybe I should pee again, but I couldn't bring myself to do it if I wasn't submerged. All the women under 40 were in my wave, which was a substantial number, and the start was pretty chaotic. I got one kick to the face and tangled in a bunch of arms and legs before I finally got some breathing room around the first buoy. It was a rectangular course with 3 buoys to a side (the corner ones being shared, of course), at it was nice having the intermediate buoys to sight off of.

I'm better than most about swimming in a straight line, but I was still surprised to see that I continued to pass people long after people of different speeds tend to sort themselves out. Either people were swimming way off course, or they were pooping out quickly. Either way, I couldn't find any good toes, and settled for watching another girl off to the inside who seemed to be swimming pretty straight and at my speed. I took the turn buoy wide and she cut in and I lost her for a minute. Aw hell no! I thought, and sped up to catch her. We were now getting into the butt end of the pack in front of us, and I wanted to keep a decent swimmer in my sights. When I found her again I hopped on her toes, but I kept hitting her feet. I didn't want to annoy her into doing something to make me lose my pace bunny, so I moved along next to her again. When we rounded the second turn buoy, this time I took it to the inside and she took it wide and started to drop back behind me.

I had been trying to relax enough to pee since the second buoy, and I decided that since my pace bunny was dropping back, this would be a good chance to hold back a bit myself and concentrate on more urgent needs. I really wanted to pee before I got on the bike and it would be much harder and grosser to do. When relaxing and thinking wet thoughts didn't work, I tried forcing it. No dice. I pee in my wetsuit all the time, what gives?!

All this was going through my head when we passed the last buoy. My pace bunny and I were just passing one of the stragglers from 2 waves in front of ours when suddenly she disappeared. I don't know if she took a second to look for a better way around this guy, if I picked up the pace, or what, but she was suddenly all gone. I think that probably The Monster that lives in open water ate her. As I swam in to the beach I could only see 2 or 3 yellow caps in front of me. I reasoned that they probably weren't both in my age group. I guess I'll never know what place I came in on the swim, because a lot of girls' swim times are missing (including mine), but as for the times that WERE registered on the swim, I was roughly third out of the water in my wave, putting me somewhere at 35th out of 343 overall (but who knows).

Swim time: 32:43 (1:31/100)
Swim rank: 1/12 AG (35th-ish OA, 10%)

T1

I wasn't feeling dizzy, which I was kind of surprised about and kind of sorry about. I would have liked the excuse to stagger into transition as slowly as I damned well pleased, but as it was I had to run (plodding is more like it) to my spot at the far side of transition. I remember having trouble finding my zipper string and then almost forgetting to take off my cap and goggles. When I got in there were tons of bikes still there, but I took particular satisfaction in the fact that the girl across the rack from me wasn't in yet.

I put on a sock and then realized that I hadn't taken my wetsuit off yet. That being done I put on my shoes and socks, plunked on my helmet and sunglasses (which I needed to protect my eyes from the rain that had started falling when we were in the water), and ran back across transition towards the "Bike Out" exit. Shortly before the mount line I decided that it would be better to put my Garmin (which was hanging from my handlebars) on my wrist now rather than try to manage it on the bike, so I took a second right there in the chute to do that, then got on my bike and went.

T1 time: (roughly) 2:55

The Bike, 58 miles

I love riding my bike. They should invent a sport where you just have to ride your bike and nothing else. And in groups so you don't have to worry about drafting penalties. I could ride my bike all day long. I knew that there weren't going to be a lot of women in front of me, and if there were that they would be the good ones, so I just settled down and rode however felt good. There was this one woman that I kept passing and who kept passing me back for the first 20 miles or so. The first few times we passed each other we didn't so much as grunt at each other. I was just as happy to sit in front of her or behind her, since we seemed to be of similar abilities, and powering past her in 15 seconds or less was way more energy than I was willing to expend. But every once in awhile I would gain enough momentum to get into the draft zone and have to either pass her or brake. The fourth or fifth time we met I rolled past her, and she had her game face on. I guess I was wearing my invisible cap again. I will not be ignored! "See you in a few," I said as I went by, meaning that I knew it wouldn't be long before she came back around. Her game face cracked into a smile and we congratulated each other on how well we were doing. Actually, looking at the results, it looks like she was probably my pace bunny on the swim as well. I guess The Monster had spit her back out after all. Now we were BFFs and ready to take on the rest of the field. We hopped back and forth for awhile longer before a stocky girl with flowers on her ass powered by and my buddy went off after her and I held back. It was too early to go chasing after people.

It looks more rolling than it is. The total elevation range is about 150 feet.

The course was rolling with relatively few turns and mostly over nice pavement. There was one stretch of about a mile that looked like it had been bombed out thrice over, but for the most part it wasn't bad. The roads were slick in the first half hour or so, but they started to dry out as time wore on. Some of the volunteers were pretty apathetic, but since there were 2 for every intersection (one to warn you a few hundred feet out, and one at the intersection itself to wave you through), all went pretty well. The only time I had to brake before the end was when a cop was waving me through an intersection and a big assed truck went in front of me instead. The only other time I was risking life and limb was on the bombed-out stretch of road.

There were 2 aid stations on the 28-mile loop, so I got to practice a bottle pick-up 4 times throughout the day. I'd never done one before! I'm not sure how much you're supposed to slow down at the aid stations, so I skipped that part. I seemed to do okay going through at about 18 mph. I would scream out what I wanted as I was coming close, aim like I was going to hit the volunteer that I wanted to give me liquids, and hold out my hand. And then, THWACK! I would have the bottle in my hand and just have to hold on tight to make sure I didn't drop it. I didn't. Not even once. I don't know how the volunteers' wrists felt at the end of the day, but I was pretty proud of myself. It was a good thing they were out there, too, because not only did I run out of blocks and gels (for the first time ever), but I also lost a bottle. I had just swallowed a Gu, and was trying to wash the disgusting mess down with some water. I held the bottle away from my mouth while I swallowed a mouthful, and that's when my knee hit the bottle, the bottle hit the handlebar and then hit the pavement. Immediately I thought of Iron Matron and her penalty for littering at Mooseman. I looked around and no one was around, so I just left the evidence in the road and kept pedaling.

Around the beginning of the first loop a guy in a black jersey starts hovering around. He was too fast to drop, but not fast enough to drop me. I got the distinct impression that he just wouldn't let me by because I was a chick. He rolled by me on the war zone road and said, "Zis is a deeficult rrroad, eezn't it?" in a French accent. Since he couldn't get rid of me, now he wanted someone to talk to.

I made a little bit of conversation, but he was slowing down, so I pulled ahead of him. Each time we passed we would exchange a little snippit of information before I would have to take the initiative to either power ahead or drop back. Finally I said to him, in the nicest and clearest way I possibly could, "I'm not strong enough to pass you, but I have to slow down to stay behind you. I really don't want a drafting penalty, so why don't you just go on ahead without me." He didn't get the hint, but eventually he did figure out that I wasn't really in the mood to talk. I think he finally wound up pulling ahead of me.

For the entire second bike loop and most of the first I had been trying to pee on my bike, but there simply weren't any descents long enough to relax on. I came close a couple of times, but just couldn't seem to get it out. I tried drinking all the liquids I could (another down side to losing that water bottle). I even tried pushing again, but it wasn't working. Six months ago I couldn't help but pee in my pants, and now that I wanted to, I couldn't make myself do it. Finally, about 5 miles from the end, I gave up.

On the first loop I didn't see too many women, and was only passed by my BFF and the stocky girl with flowers on her ass, but by the end of the first loop I started to pass some women. Two stand out for different reasons. First I came up behind a chick dressed all in pink. As I rode up behind her I saw that something was wrong with her pink outfit: not only was it pink, it was a DRESS! She was not only wearing one of those obnoxious skort bike short things, but had a matching top that ALSO came down low and flared out like a skirt. Words cannot express how obnoxious this outfit was. When I came up beside her I got a load of her bike: a nice time trial design, but the whole thing down to the handlebar tape was a powdery pink. I wanted to push her over as I went by, just because she looked so stupid. The second chick of note was wearing nothing but a high-cut bathing suit. She had a really nice ass and looked like a serious triathlete, so I was proud to have passed her. About 10 miles from the end I finally caught up with my BFF again. I sat about 10 bike lengths behind her for a good long time, not wanting to waste any extra energy. Finally gravity favored me for a few minutes and rolled up along beside her on a hill.
"I don't..." gasp "...have enough..." gasp "...to pass you..." gasp "but I just wanted..." gasp "to say hi!" I said.
"Oh THERE you are!" she said. She looked happy to see me. We chatted for a bit longer than we probably should have, and when it became clear that she wasn't going to pull back ahead, I pushed ahead of her. I fully expected to see her at any second, but she never came around again. In fact, that happened a lot at the end of the ride. I would sprint past a girl expecting her to be right on my tail and pass me back in a minute or two, but then I would never see her again. I would look over my shoulder for them, but they were gone. The only girl who was unaccounted for was the fat girl with the flowers on her ass, and perhaps people who started ahead of me or in different waves. But if they didn't physically pass me, I didn't much care about where they were.

At the bike turn-off there were about 50 people standing around cheering. I looked closely at all of them, but no one was doing anything but clapping. I didn't see an obvious break in the crowd either where I should pull off, so I just kept riding past a chick in orange with a whistle staring off at the road behind me. I realized too late that that was the turnoff. I must have been wearing my invisible cap again. "THANKS A LOT, GUYS!" I yelled as I pulled the wrong way around an island and a spectator held up the string of flags marking the bike turn-off so I could ride under it rather than turning around completely.
"Yeah, she's not paying any attention," the kindly observer said as I rode under the flags. For reasons that will be important later, let's estimate that I lost 31 seconds for this stupid-assed volunteer's mistake.

Bike time: 2:45:57 (21 mph)
Bike rank: 1/12 AG, 3rd of all women, (52nd OA, 15%)

T2

Thankfully, I didn't lose any places from my little detour, and executed a graceless but successful shoeless dismount and traipsed the long way across transition again to get my stuff. I was sad the bike was over. I just wanted to keep riding and riding forever. I'd probably ridden a little harder than I should have and I knew I would pay for it on the run. I hate running. I should have done the aquabike. All this was going through my head as I put on my running shoes, grabbed my visor and bottle, and plodded back over the mats. I couldn't remember which way my bike was SUPPOSED to be facing, because the girl across the rack was still out there, so I just hung it up by my brakes and figured that she could deal with it. My friend Frenchie gave me an energetic salutation as he passed me on the way out. Now, of all times, he was going to leave me?! I would need a friend so badly now!

T2 time: 1:28
T2 rank: 3/12

The Run, 13.1 miles

My legs felt wrecked, but I seemed to be running pretty well. My first three mile splits were in 8:25, 8:27, and 8:41. Contrary to popular belief, I DO do speed work, and nearly every running session I've done over the past 2 months has been some kind of speed work. It seemed to be paying off. I knew I was taking it out too fast, but I couldn't feel my legs, so how could I possibly be hurting myself? I never did feel like I got my running legs back at any point in the race. I felt like they went from being cement off the bike, to stone tired without having a single good step in between. I felt like I'd gained 40 lb since this morning.

I was conscious right from the very beginning that 13.1 miles was about 13 miles farther than I wanted to be running right now. Usually half marathons don't really register as "far", although I know they are, but in my head this one was enormous. It wasn't that my body quit working so much as my mind was finished. That's what happens when they put the most unpleasant part at the end. Running is stupid. As was to be expected people started passing me on the run at an alarming rate. There was nothing I could do about it, since I was running better than I ever had in my life, but it still sucked. Running is stupid. One chick passed me, and once I saw the number on her calf, I didn't care. My BFF bike buddy passed me and I cheered her on. They came on slow at first, only about 2 people passed me per minute for the first couple of miles (and barely any women), and then more and more of them started coming. I was not in the mood for this. Running is the stupidest sport in the whole, wide world.

Meanwhile, I still had to pee. It wasn't an emergency, but still. At one point I coughed, and then remembered that the coughing was what lead to all the problems when I was trying to run with the flu: every time I coughed, I would pee my pants a bit. I figured it was going to rain any minute, so I was going to get soaking wet anyway. So I coughed again, and I peed my pants. Yes, I wet myself and I'm admitting to it. I did it on purpose. And I'm not ashamed of it. And now I'm telling you about it. It stayed in my shorts for an uncomfortable half second or so before it didn't seep, but gushed down my leg. Then I coughed again and let a little more go. And a third time, until I felt like I'd dealt with the situation to my satisfaction. Now my shoes were soaked, but they say that wet feet leads to athlete's foot, but the ammonia in urine helps prevent it. And anyway, they were forecasting rain, so I was all set, right? It never rained.

A very, very short time after I wet myself ON PURPOSE like a badass (read: kindergartener), I heard footsteps over my shoulder and a chick came up behind me. Had she been checking out my calf this whole time as I had urine running down my leg?! She passed me without putting forth any effort whatsoever and I got a chance to check out her calf. It said "29". "Oh man!" I whined as she went by.
"I know, I'm sorry," she said over her shoulder. "No one's happy to see me!" What did that mean?! Are there other women in the 25-29 age group right behind us?!

Around mile 4, I started noticing that there were a LOT of uphills on this course. In fact, it seemed like we were ALWAYS going uphill. (I would show you a profile, but I messed up the buttons on my garmin and it won't come out.) I was slowing down. My watch was set to beep when I was going slower than 9:05 per mile, and it was yelling at me almost constantly. More and more people were passing me (although more slowly), and more and more of them were women. I wanted to scream, "I'm SICK and fucking TIRED of being passed! Why don't you all slow the fuck down and run WITH me! I'm a nice person!" I didn't pass a single person on that run. Not one. There was one guy who I got close to who looked like hell, but even he got away. Running is stupid.

Around mile 5 I started walking all the aid stations, drinking something at each one and eating either a banana or a pretzel. I knew I was pretty near the edge, but I was NOT going to eat a gel. That would certainly make me puke. I tried to eat the pretzels while running, but I kept inhaling crumbs. One photographer got a shot of me right when I was choking on a pretzel. "Aw, come on! Not while I'm eating!" I yelled, out loud. Compared to the bike volunteers, the run volunteers were great. There was an aid station at every mile, and there were 3 volunteers at each one handing out food and drinks. They were all over 60, and as it turns out, they were raising money for a food pantry. For each volunteer their organization got, the race would donate $25 to their soup kitchen. They managed to raise over $1,000! Bobby and I wound up sitting with a bunch of them at lunch after the race, and they were all extremely nice and very supportive and appreciative of what WE were doing. They made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Don't get me wrong. I was miserable and hurting, but I didn't want to walk. My body wasn't tired enough to do that, I just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. That's why all the hills and getting passed were waring me down so much: because the hills meant that it would take longer before I could quit running, and the passing was reminding me that those lucky shits are going to be finished sooner than I am! What I needed now was a nice, gradual 10-mile downhill. Actually, the miles were ticking away quickly, and before I knew it I was half way there. Pretty soon I was at 10 miles, but still, the last 3 miles was almost too much to bear in my mind. With each woman that passed me I thought, At least I have the swim and the bike. I hate this. I should have done the aquabike. Running is stupid. It's so frustrating to do well on the first 2 disciplines just to give up dozens of places at the end. I was actually in SECOND PLACE OVERALL of the women before we started running. Now look at me! Then, in the 12th mile we came around a bend and there in front of us was the meanest looking hill of the day. It was only about 6% grade and only lasted about .15 miles, but I almost cried when I saw it.

Finally I was at the turn-off and in the long stretch back to transition. I don't know how, but somehow it looked like I was going to break 2 hours! I don't know where I got it from, but somehow I managed to run that last quarter mile in under an 8:00 mile. As I was running down the path I yelled out to some spectators, "IS THERE ANYONE BEHIND ME?!"
"NO!"
"YESSSSSSSSSSS!" I said, and relaxed. I was going to do the best I could to enjoy the end of this motherfucking race! I just barely slid in under the 2:00 mark finishing in 1:59:41 for a total time of 5:22:44.

Run time: 1:59:41 (9:08/mi)
Run rank: 7/12 AG, (146th OA, 42%) That's right, I was first in my AG for the swim and the bike, and didn't even make it into the top HALF on the run!

Post Race

For the time being I didn't know what my finishing time was and I didn't care. They gave me a water bottle wrapped in a cool, wet towel (what a great idea!) and I started squirreling away all the food I could find in the finish. I let a volunteer take off my chip without telling her it was covered in pee, got my finisher's medal, and made my way back to transition. On the way I saw the results that had been posted so far, and saw that Bobby had finished in a blazing 5:03:36. He wouldn't be taking home a check, but he DID PR. I would have to wait till later to find out whether my time was good enough to finally realize my dream of beating ONE of Bobby's past times from ever in his life, or to see who had had a faster bike split (the only discipline we're comparable at). Lucky for you, I now know the answers and you don't have to wait like I did. My bike split was a heartbraking 41 seconds slower than his (see references to a truck nearly running me over, and a volunteer sending me off course above). A quick check of last year's results for the same race reveal that I was only 30 seconds short of his time last year. Given, last year the bike course was 2 miles longer and the run had an extra .5 miles, but still... 30 seconds!!! I'm so close I can taste it!

The fabulous chafing on my neck from the zipper on my new 2xU tri top.

I dumped whatever was not absolutely essential in transition and made my way back to the lake to "cool off my legs" (rinse off the pee). As I was walking up I saw the hot girl and her friend taking off their shoes to go in the lake as well. She was so stiff it took her almost a full minute to get her shoes off. "Wow, watching you do that makes me feel SO much better about how horrible I feel!" I said. Plus I got a great view of her butt. We talked about the race and they agreed that it was harder than it looked. "I did a much better time at Timberman last year, and that course is HILLY!" the man friend said. So there you go, the course was hard.

I ran into my BFF bike lady who was eating lunch at a picnic table. "Hey, congratulations!" I said. "How'd you do?!"
She looked at me perplexed. "Thanks... do I know you??"
I put on the biggest 'I'm not crazy' smile I could muster and said, "I'm the bike girl!" Luckily I DID have the right person, and she was happy to see me again having put me back in context. No restraining orders were filed.

I suspected I might have gotten second in my age group, and Bob wanted to hear how he would have stacked up against his own age group, so we heaped our plates high with the free lunch provided by the race and sat down to listen. I was only sort of listening. When he got to my age group, I tuned in. I wanted to get another look at this 29-year-old chick and find out how much time she had put into me on the run. "And first place in the women's 25-29 category: Claire Badass Mofo!" He even pronounced my last name right (which is not really Badass Mofo).
"WHAT?!" I think Bobby had to push me to remind me to get up.
"You look surprised," the race director said as I went up to accept my plaque.
"I AM!" I said. Then I said something incoherent about thinking another chick had passed me.
"GO CLAIRE!!!!!!!" Screamed BFF bike lady as I walked back to my seat. She won her age group too, and I screamed back for her.
Bobby also would have won his age group. In fact I would have won his age group, which was disappointing for him, because somehow he hasn't managed to pull a podium all season. Goodness knows how with the times he's posting, but he took a gamble on competing elite, and that was ballsy.
The chick from the bike rack finished 20 minutes behind me, in case you were wondering. The chick that won came in 23 minutes ahead of me (after having less than a 1-minute lead on the bike), and the next chick in my age group was only 2.5 minutes behind me.

Overall time: 5:22:44
Overall rank: 1/12 AG, 13th woman out of ??? (82nd OA, 24%)

I could go on and on about how happy I was, how sore I was, how I swore I was going to quit triathlon for good, but that doesn't really matter. I really was regretting signing up for that second mountain running race the next day though. Man, all I wanted to do was sleep! Coming up next: how THAT one turned out.

Hairy Men, Girlie Men, but not a lot of Wo-Men

You know how they tell you never to try out something new on race day? I don't follow directions well. The Hairy Man triathlon was not only my first long race of the season, it was my first race longer than sprint distance in 3 years, and it was my first long race since I got a "real" job and have enough money to buy things like wetsuits and a decent bike and all that other stuff you thought you couldn't live without. So today I was going to try ALL KINDS of new stuff on race day.

Rule Number 1: Always check out the race course before the race.
Check out the course? I'd only signed up for the damn thing 2 weeks ago. How was I going to check out the course? Anyway, it was all the way down by New York City. The only "checking out of the course" I did was studying the elevation profile the week before, like if I stared at it long enough, it would flatten out. The first time I saw the course was as I was racing it.

I went to bed on Friday night (my birthday) at 6:45 (oh yes, with me the party never stops). I then woke up at 2:15 a.m. in order to drive the 4 hours down to Harriman State Park, only 30 miles from New York City. The drive went without incident, and I was among the first to arrive shortly after registration opened at 7:00 am. I picked up my packet, got my hands (and only my hands) marked, and went to get my stuff from the car and set up in transition.

With a web site that boasted that "Harriman State Park's scenic beauty and hilly terrain will make you feel like you're in the Adirondacks," this course was clearly aimed at people preparing for Ironman Lake Placid. And you'd better believe that the ones that showed up early for the best bike racks were the geekiest and snobbiest ("Mdot") geeks of them all. As I set up my transition area all I could hear around me were conversations that went something like this, "Ironman, Ironman, Placid '04, Ironman, Kona, , Placid last year, Ironman, qualify at Placid, Ironman, Ironman, I'm so cool, Ironman, Look at how cool I am, Kona, Ironman, I'm fast, Ironman, Look at me! Look at me! Look at me!" Well, maybe those weren't the exact words, but that was the gist anyway. I tried not to make any eye contact as I unpacked my stuff and for once was SO glad that I wasn't one of the cool kids. I was the ONLY one who hadn't put my aero bars on my bike, I was one of the few that didn't have a "pointy helmet" (as Iron Matron calls them), and I think I was the only person not wearing some sort of official Ironman merchandise. If having all that stuff meant having the "I'm so cool, Look at me, Ironman, Ironman, Ironman!" conversation, then I was glad I wasn't part of the "in" crowd. Still, I dawdled as long as I could before pulling out my camelbak (yes, I decided to go for it for reasons I'll explain later).

I went to change, and when I got back more men had arrived that weren't part of the original "My Ironman's bigger than yours" pissing contest, who apparently didn't know I wasn't one of the cool kids. Well, maybe they did know, but they at least deigned to acknowledge my existance. "Do you always ride without aero bars, or is it just because this is a hilly course?" one of them asked. Sigh. There are 3 reasons I decided to ride without aero bars: 1: This course had so much climbing and the descents were so technical, that I couldn't imagine them ever being more than dead weight, 2: I have way more pure cycling events around this time of year, and I'm too lazy to put them on for one day, only to take them off the next, and 3) I still hadn't had them cut and fitted yet.

Do you guys remember how I drew a 6-pack on my stomach the other day... in permanent marker? Well, it hadn't come off yet... and I was planning on wearing just my tri shorts and a sports bra under my wetsuit. At some point I was going to have to expose my stomach! Since these guys all knew I wasn't one of the cool kids anyway and there seemed no way around it, I turned to the people around me and announced, "So the other day I was feeling kind of silly and drew a six-pack on myself. I tried to get it off... but it's in permanent marker so um... just in case you were wondering..." I explainted. I pulled off my shirt, and pulled my wetsuit up over my shoulders as fast as I could. Then I put on a million-year-old fleece jacket to wear until the start.

Rule Number 2: Always warm up before the race.
"Are you going to swim in your jacket?" one guy asked me.
"No, but I'm going to stay as warm as I can for as long as I can," I said. The water temperature was 54*. I know what that kind of temperature feels like because I'd been swimming in it just the day before. I knew that you know that you've "warmed up" when all your blood is shunted away from the skin and you can't feel your extremities anymore. In other words, you never warm up, you stay cold the whole damned time. Still, I couldn't believe how many people got into the water to "warm up" before the start, knowing full well that they were going to have to get out and stand still 5-10 minutes in the 50* air, soaking wet afterwards. Another quiet guy not wearing any merchandise and I stood on the beach and watched in disbelief as 2/3 of the field flopped around in the water. Very few actually swam, and one guy in a sleeveless suit just stood there splashing himself and screaming. These were the cool kids?!

The Swim

Thankfully I was in the first wave. I followed Bree Wee's advice and lined up close to the front, so that I could be swum over rather than having to swim over others. As I ran into the water I resisted the urge to scream, then the biting, kicking, punching and cutting off started. I don't mind touching other people in the beginning of the swim, what I can't stand is the people swimming diagonally in front of me. You're swimming along fine, you've found your line and a channel of open water to follow it, and then all of a sudden you're staring at someone's hip. Where's he going? And you have to either try to swim around them, or stop and wait for the light to change (i.e. for the person to swim by so the entire length of their body is no longer blocking your path).

It was a monstrously windy morning, and swimming out to the first of three buoys, we were swimming head-on into the current. I must have swallowed a gallon of water between other people's splashing and the chop from the wind. By the second buoy, though, things had quieted down enough for me to concentrate on peeing, and I had a glorious minute or two of warmth as my brand new wetsuit held in my warm urine. By the time I rounded the third buoy to head out for a second loop, I could only see one or two people around me. The one I kept seeing to my breathing side was the man with arms pink from the cold. Why the hell is he all the way over there? I thought. It didn't occur to me for several minutes that maybe I was swimming off course. I looked real close at the buoy, then back at the guy. No, it seems like I'm headed right for it. Maybe a little wide, but not off course. Once I rounded the next buoy I really felt all by myself. The Man with Pink Arms was gone, in front of me the nearest swimmer was about 10 yards off, and I had no idea who was behind me. What if I'm last? I began to wonder as I rounded the last buoy and headed down the last leg towards the finish. But how can that be, only 2 green caps (the second wave, 5 minutes behind) have passed me. Surely if I were last there would be more green caps around...

I noticed that I had a side stitch and abdominal cramps. That happens to me sometimes in open water races, it didn't seem like a good enough reason to slow down. I tried to focus on my catch, but all I could focus on was the irony of trying to focus on feeling like you're "grabbing the water" when you can't even feel your arms. Finally I came in to the beach, did a few duck dives, and it was time to stand up. Whoops! I pitched to one side as I reached back to find the zipper on my wetsuit. I was able to run (not walk or stagger) up the beach, but stopped and stepped deliberately into the foot washing station one foot at a time and then sloshed around there for a couple of seconds to give myself a moment to get my balance back, then I crossed the timing mat. As I was running towards transition a man yelled, "Second woman! That's great!" What? Second? Was he talking to me? The person in front of me was a dude, so he had to be talking to me. I looked at my watch and saw a time of 38 minutes and something seconds. That was slow, but whatever. What did that matter if I was the second out of the water?

Swim stats: 40:10 (at the mat), 2nd of 11 woman (down by 2:58 seconds), 67/99 overall.

T1

Rule Number 3: Always test out your equipment before race day.
As I ran up the beach peeling off the top half of my wetsuit, I remembered that I still had a 6-pack drawn on my tummy. So as I ran I held the wetsuit up over my stomach while the other hand pulled off my cap and goggles and other cap. And then here came the part I was most nervous about: taking off the wetsuit! I had practiced this a grand total of once the day before, taking my sweet ass time to walk up the beach and find a set of stairs to sit on. In transition I didn't have anything to sit on, so first I tried to take it off while standing up. If I couldn't stand up to walk, this definitely wasn't going to work, so I sat my ass down and did the rest of the transition from down on the pavement. The suit was tight and I was stiff from the cold and getting all the way down to the ground was a real chore. Man, this feels great! I could sit here all day, I thought as I gathered the strength to stand up. All around me I could hear the cool kids giving their excuses, "I think that was long." "Yeah, definitely long." "Waaaay long." I thought it was more likely that there was a current, but whatever, the cool crowd wanted everyone to know that their slow times were the course's fault. So, just so you're not confused: it was the course's fault.

T1 stats: 2:24, 2nd woman (now down by 2:07 seconds), 20/99 overall.

The Bike

When I got on my bike I couldn't feel my hands, or feet, or legs. It was like I was kind of wiggling my hips, and these dead bits of meat hanging from them were being smooshed down on the pedals. These dead pieces of meat were slower than I think my real legs could go. As feeling started to come back into my butt, I wished it would leave again. I tend to carry tension in my ass. Recently, I've been getting a stabbing sensation in my lower back that radiates down through my glutes and thighs that my yoga teacher thinks is sciatica. I think it's my yoga teacher's fault, but that's a different story. When my ass is tense, it tends to aggravate this pain, which makes my butt tense up even more and spasm painfully. In the swim my ass had tightened up in the cold and started to cramp up, and by the time I hit the hills on the bike, I had a very angry ass. My whole butt throbbed and wouldn't stop, in fact, it never did stop hurting the whole ride.

Rule Number 4: Thou shalt be aero at all times.
I thought that there was NO WAY that I would use aero bars on this course (and with my butt and back being in the state they were in, I probably never would have) and that I'd have a really strong bike compared to all those idiots on their heavy TT bikes. I thought that the idiots with disk wheels and thick triathlon frames like giant sails would be blown into the lake when the wind came at us crosswise at about 15 mph. But immediately I started hearing the whoosh, whoosh of expensive race wheels coming at me, and skinny guys in pointy helmets crouched low on their aero bars started passing me. Whatever, they're guys, just hold on to second and don't let any girls pass, I told myself. But after about 5 miles a chick passed me. We gave each other a good, long look as she went by, and I tried to take off after her, but the dead slabs of meat just wouldn't respond. I could see her back up ahead in the distance for a most of the first (of four) loops, but eventually she was gone.

All I could think about as all these people were passing me was how I knew they were coming up behind me thinking, 'Look at this idiot in the Camelbak. Fucking rookie.' I knew that the Camelbak wasn't the cool thing to do, but there were a couple of reasons I decided to use it. 1) They were serving Gatorade on the course. Gatorade gives me heart attacks. 2) There was only one aid station at the beginning/end of each loop (that we passed 3 times), and since temperatures were supposed to get into the mid-70's and sunny I knew that I was going to need more than 36 oz of liquid. Even if I remembered to drink the whole bottle each loop, I still wouldn't get enough to drink.

I knew that the course was hilly, with 1,500' of elevation gain/loss on each of the four laps, but this, this I was not expecting. For 10 miles of each loop there would be long stretches of easy-ish uphills, and downhills you wouldn't notice broken up by short, demoralizingly steep climbs. Then you would hit this 2-mile downhill that didn't have any hairpin turns, but would still be enough to make cautious descenders like Bob-O shit their pants. And then FSHOOM, you would swing around a U-turn and be at the bottom of a 2-mile 600 foot climb with an average gradient of about 8%. After the first time up, it had sucked all the pep out of my legs and fucked up my butt for life.

The first time I came up this climb I had a shitty climber in front of me. I was going faster than him, but not enough to pass. I had a hell of a time staying 3 bike lengths behind him, and wondered if you could even get a drafting penalty at 7 mph. On the third loop I came up behind one of the few people I would pass throughout the day. He was wearing one of those obnoxious neon yellow jerseys that blind you if you're riding behind them. I came up behind him going 7 mph to his 6. As I pulled up along side him, ready to pass easily in the 15-second window, he saw that I was a chick and surged. I had to drop back. I took a couple of minutes and decided that I definitely could not go his slow-ass pace, and made another move to pass. He surged again. The next time I clicked up a gear as I pulled up behind him, and he clicked up too until I had to drop back again. ASShole! I whispered. There were foot races between 90-year-old men that went at higher speeds than our little duel. FINALLY the road flattened out slightly for a little while and I clicked up a gear and rode as hard as I could. As I passed him he said, "Strong Woman" or "Fast Lady" or something stupid like that. "I've been trying to pass you for like a mile," I said. It was an admonishment and I hope he took it as such. Men who are comfortable in their manhood can get passed by a chick, especially one half their age. Jerk! Loser!

By the third lap the people from the Olympic distance race (who had started an hour and a half later) were all over the course and I got to pass some people. Coming up to one of the sickening grades in the middle a chick rolled past me and beamed a perfect smile at me. "Hi," she said as she rolled on ahead. I went fast enough to stay close for a few minutes and it was enough to make me want to get off my bike for good right then and there. Not only did she have the perfect smile, but her skin was perfectly tanned. Under that perfectly tanned skin, you could see perfectly tuned and defined calves working away at her pedals. Under her perfect race kit with the sponsor arching perfectly over the butt (for some reason only fast people seem to wear this design shorts... it makes your ass look SO much better...) I could tell that she had a Tour de France ass. I figured that she was either the first place woman lapping me or another woman coming up from behind to take me out of third place. Either way, it was enough to make me feel about * this big *. It wasn't till later that I figured out that she was probably doing the Olympic distance. But still...

Warning: If you are a dude, you should not read the following section. You should scroll down to where the red text ends.

Every muscle between my knees and my low back ached and burned. Plus, I had had really bad lower abdominal cramps all day. Oh my god, did I get my period? I wondered. I knew I was due, but it never comes when I'm swimming, and I figured that any kind of vigorous exercise would make it hold off until my body was under less stress. But still, whenever I stood up I could feel the breeze on my crotch and it felt like it might be... well, wet. I swam before this. I rationalized. I've been sweating. Your crotch is the one place protected from the wind and sun, so it's natural it would stay wet, I told myself. However, when I got in to transition, I knew I was wrong. I have a white saddle, and there, all over my brilliant, shiny white saddle were red-brown smears of dried blood. Fucking fabulous. Not only was I suffering from menstrual cramps and bleeding into my shorts, but if there's one time you don't want to be losing blood, it's a day like today.

If you're a guy and you've read this section anyway, despite my warning, and you're grossed out – grow up!

Then again, on the up side, I never had to pee on my bike. All the more reason to feel like the camelbak wasn't such a bad idea after all. Plowing through the fatter asses, crappier bikes, and boatloads of women in the Olympic field on my last lap made me feel a bit better, but there was no way to deny that I was TOAST. Some time in the last loop was when I reminded myself more sincerely than ever that I never, ever want to do Ironman Lake Placid. Ever. As I crested the monstrous hill on my fourth and final lap I felt like my legs were going to quit on me and I could just fall over and die (or at least sleep) at the side of the road. Then the photographer, who had been absent for the past 3 and a half hours appeared. You take my picture NOW?! I thought.

Rule Number 5: Do not attempt any new maneuvers that you have not practiced a thousand times.
Well, how about five or six times? I made the turn back to transition and pulled my feet out of my shoes. As I coasted closer to the dismount line I stiffly but successfully swung my right leg over my back wheel and let it hang next to my left. And then I figured something out that hadn't really come up in my practice: with all your weight on one side of the bike, your bike is undoubtedly going to start to curve to that side. I saw what was happening, realized I couldn't correct it, but still didn't hop off. I was going to wait till I was on the goddamned dismount line, dammit! I pretended like this was my plan all along as I continued to veer off to the left and a volunteer jumped back into a bush to get out of my way. Then I nimbly hopped off the shoe I was standing on a few feet to the left of the dismount line and continued running into transition. In the business, we call this "panache." Bike time: 3:31:29. (You think you could have done better, and maybe you could have, but not as well as you think. I mean it.)

Bike stats: 3:27:04, 4th woman (bike split down from 3rd by 3 seconds!), (now in 3rd, down by 3:51 from 2nd and 5:35 from 1st), 50/99 overall.

T2

Rule Number 5: What did we say about using new equipment on race day?
Once I got into T2 all I wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. I couldn't believe that I was actually going to go out there and run 13 more miles, half of which was straight up hill! Now I wished I hadn't bought those speed laces yesterday. ANYTHING to not have to start running so soon. Anyway, I didn't even know if they'd be tight enough, and I'd had to change my shoe choice at the last minute to accommodate the grommets. I could really use my more cushiony shoes right now. But then I saw another woman riding in from the bike course, and that shocked me out of my misery. I started running.

T2 stats: 1:19, fastest female T2 of the day!, (now in 3rd, down by 6:12 from 1st and 3:28 from second), 19/99 overall.

The Run

I hate my life, I hate my life, I hate my life, I thought as I waddled up the 1-mile hill out of transition before a 5-mile downhill. I was heaving like I was running really fast, but my body felt like it was stiff and dead and not moving. The run was an out-and-back, so I knew that I was going to finally get to see who was in front of me and what place I was in. I watched all the women going by in the other direction, but they all had yellow numbers, which meant they were doing the Olympic race. I passed a few women too, but they all had yellow numbers as well.

As I started to run down the hill I got a good look at everyone coming in the other direction, and I was surprised that I saw very few white numbers (half ironman distance), and NO women. Then, after 3.1 miles the Olympic people turned around and it was a long, lonely run to the bottom of the hill for us half iron folks. I could see runners off in the distance coming towards me in tight tank tops with skinny legs. Each one I thought was a girl, but each one, as they came closer, turned out to be a guy. I'd noticed this on the bike too, some of the guys I had to look at really close in the face to make sure they were actually skinny men with shaved legs rather than muscular women.

I had a sign that said "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!" pinned to my back, and everyone (all male) that passed me said, "Happy birthday!" The ones that were going slow enough to chat had enough time to tell me I was crazy before they ran on. Around mile 4 my legs started to feel good again and I started telling myself that I can do this. I'm doing great! Then, around mile 5, I heard a voice from behind me. "Why. The. HELL. would you decide to do this to yourself on your birthday?!" The voice was unmistakably female. We had some good-natured chat as she drifted ahead of me and I told her the least she could do for me on my birthday was stay behind me. I knew there was no way I could keep up. Here we go, this is when it starts, I thought. I knew I was going to lose several places on the run. But then no one else came. Around then I saw the first woman coming the other way. Damn! She's not that far ahead. About a mile maybe. I thought. I could SEE the turnaround point when I saw the next woman. She was wearing similar clothes to the woman who had passed me a few minutes before, and for a minute I thought they were the same person. Then the other woman came back up the hill right on her heels.

Then I hit the turnaround and started running up hill. Now I can see all the women gaining on me. I told myself that I would be happy with myself as long as I didn't walk, I couldn't control who showed up to the race. I knew I was a weak runner. I ran one mile, and then another. No one was behind me. I was already almost to mile 9 before I saw first chick that was behind me. Damn, I could WALK and still not give up my spot, I thought. I saw one chick ahead that looked like she was popping out of a bush. "Did you just go in the woods?!" I asked as I passed her. She said yes. "'Atta girl!!!" I cheered. I passed Mr. I'm Not Man Enough to Get Passed By a Chick who had his head tilted at some crazy angle and his lower lip flapping down around his knees. He looked like shit. I didn't tell him "good job" like I had everyone else.


But now I just wanted it to be over. My garmin was measuring a quarter mile less than the mile markers, but that was okay. It was going to be over that much sooner. The last 3 miles I started leap-frogging with a guy in a US Navy bike jersey. He was burping and I think he might have puked before I found him. He would run a few hundred yards, and then walk. Well I finally pulled ahead of Navy Guy in the last mile and ran back to transition (turns out he was doing the Olympic anyway). As I was rounding the last corner into the home stretch an ambulance pulled up wanting to cross the path. We did that thing where we both hesitated and stared at each other like, are you going to stop for me? He looked like he wasn't going to stop if he could help it. Oh my god, I can't believe this is happening NOW! I thought as I gave him a I'm going, so you're going to have to run my ass over or wait the fuck up look and dashed in front of him. I crossed the finish line in 6:18:41 with a big old smile on my face and no one even watching the finish line. (It was a pretty low-key affair.)

Run stats: 2:04:45, 4th woman, (down by 30:28 from 1st, 13:38 from 2nd, and 4:14 from 3rd), 67/99 run, 50/99 overall finish.

Post Race

After returning my chip and getting my finisher's medal I left the finishing area and saw three women sitting around a picnic table. They all looked like I felt: like we'd been hit by a truck. "You got fourth place!" One of them said as soon as I was near them. "So you won your age group!" There was a no double dipping rule in this race, so fourth place (first loser) MUST have won me something. They had just handed out trophies for overall winners, though. By the time they got to age group winners about half an hour later, it turned out my first place AG trophy had already been given to a chick in the top 3. So I got the second place trophy instead. Oh well, I hadn't been the first one in my age group anyway.

I stood around awhile stretching out, eating mountains of pizza, candy, and potato chips: whatever I could get my hands on. Back in their sweats, five of the giant tri-geeks from the beginning of the race sat around drinking beers and saying things like, "If I were in shape..." and "If I had the endurance I had last year..." There was only one tiny, little age group trophy on the table for the five of them. They treated me like I was invisible. "Yeah, this race is much harder than Placid," one of the masters stated, as if because he, the God had stated it, it were Truth. People ALWAYS say "such-and-such a race is easier than such-and-such other race that I DIDN'T just do". I didn't believe him.

As I packed up my stuff in transition, a group of people a few slots down wished me a happy birthday. "I saw you in T2," one of the guys said. "You must have had a really good bike split... or swim... or both." It didn't feel like it, but I did ride faster than 49 of the 99 people out there, maybe he was one of those 49. I'll take the compliments where I can get them. "Thanks," I said. "Hell of a course, though."

Epilogue

And how did I do compared to Chrissie? Well she won her age group, so I bet she feels pretty stoked about that (*cough ArrogantEntitledNewbie cough*), but she didn't place as highly overall (even though there were more women in the Olympic distance race). She slightly out-edged me compared to the overall winner, with the winning time being 94% of her time compared to my 92%. Now let's pretend we're racing:
Claire beats Chrissie out of the water by 5:11 (by dividing my swim split by 2). In T1 Chrissie makes up 26 seconds, diminishing my lead to only 4:45. Chrissie finishes her first 2 loops of the bike course a mere 6 seconds ahead of me (you can bet in real life I never would have let this happen), but I'm still a comfortable 4:39 in the lead. In T2 she makes up another 14 seconds, so heading out onto the run I still have a 4 minute, 25 second lead. If we take my fastest mile splits (hey, I had to ride longer than she did and my course was hillier, I get the benefit of the doubt), she edged me out by only 1 minute and 29 seconds (I NEVER would have let this happen in real life). The moral of the story? I need to get out and run even more, but I'm not as shitty a runner as she is a swimmer. And Chrissy is still less than HALF as badass as I am, by the way.

Once I'd stuffed my face and thanked the race director, I finally drifted back to my car to drive the 4 hours back home. I had to be home early, I had a century to ride in the morning.

Claire Badass Mofo, you are a Hairy Man!

One down, one to go. More details to come, but the short version of the story: I finished in 6:18: something. The course was even more challenging than expected, but I'm still happy with how it turned out. I came second out of the swim, got passed by ONE chick on the bike, and ONE chick on the run to come in a (distant) fourth overall.

I did not kill, or even see Chrissie. And yes, I will have more to say on the subject. In the meantime, I'm going to go to bed.

Who you calling No Wetsuit Girl?

This picture was supposed to say, "hey, where the hell did this thing come from?!" I kind of look like the movie poster for The Crow instead though.

Picture actually taken with my feet sticking straight up in the air. I guess these zebra stripes are supposed to make me swim faster?

But having a wetsuit presents a whole host of problems for my standard race plan. Since I've never had a wetsuit, I've always just done any race of any distance in the same ugly old trisuit. Now that I have many more fashionable options, I have no idea what my race plan should be. So I've decided to do something that I never do: ask for advice. I'm going to put my race plan up for the Hairy Man Half Ironman this weekend and leave it open for your advice and comments. Well, it's not really a race plan, but a list of anxieties. Perhaps I'll even be humble enough to take your advice rather than just smiling, thanking you, and ignoring every word that you say.

The Swim

Since a large percentage of my races this year will be in fresh water I went for the thinnest sleeveless wetsuit I could find. Now, with the weather being as cold as it's been, the water temperatures will probably be in the high 50's. That's fucking cold! I've swum in colder, but not recently. I'll definitely double up on caps, but what about my poor naked arms?! I'm wondering if the warmth benefits of a rash guard will offset the increased drag. I know, I know, suck it up.

Next, I've never put much thought into where I start on the swim. I usually look for the clump of people who look like they'll kick the least violently and line up with them. I've never really done anything strategic to have a good swim before (other than hitting harder than my neighbor), but it seems advantageous in such cold water to get out as quickly as possible. Any suggestions on where to line up in the swim?

T1

Here we come to my biggest fear about wetsuits: taking them off. The one time I ever wore a wetsuit, I discovered that it had turned into a giant suction cup once it got wet. It felt like it took me 5 minutes to get it off. This is not a discovery you want to make in a race. For about a year I have owned a pristine, new, unused tube of bodyglide. I have heard such things help with wetsuits. Where should I put the thickest layers of bodyglide to get the suit off? Should I put it on the suit as well as on the Claire? Any other tips?

And then comes the ubiquitous question: What am I going to wear?! I was thinking of just wearing my shorts and a sports bra under the wetsuit, then don the shirt later. Do people do this? Is that too naked? Should I invest in a pair of tri shorts now, or should I just wear a pair of bike shorts? (Tri shorts are another thing you don't need when you have a 1-piece trisuit). Should I ride in a running shirt, or run in a cyclist's jersey? I'm more inclined to wear a running shirt, since it would look sexier in the pictures. Sure, bike jerseys have pockets, but I would have to empty them anyway before I set out on the run. Should I wear a long-sleeved cyclist's jacket over a running shirt? If it rains (which they're predicting) should I change into a dry shirt every time I hit transition?

The bike

There's no use in using aero bars on this course, since there are 1,500 feet of elevation gain in each of the four laps. Thus, no chance for a drink bottle on the front of my bike. So do I risk dehydration by using hard-to-reach bottles on a technical course, or do I certainly look like a tool by using my camelbak but stay hydrated enough to pee on my bike? If I choose to use bottles, then there's the whole anxiety of learning how to grab a bottle from a volunteer. That makes me so nervous that I want to throw up. If I choose to use the geeky hydration pack, should I skip the bottles entirely (usually I have one of plain water that I practically never touch)? If I do bring one bottle, which cage do I keep it in?!

Should I waste time on gloves?

And as far as race tactics, any suggestions for how I should attack this bike portion? Go out hard and lay off? Go hard in the middle? Take it easy? Cheat and say I've done 4 laps when I've really only done three?

T2

Oh my god, this is my biggest fear of all... HOW DO I GET OFF THE FUCKING BIKE?! I've been practicing swinging my foot over the back of the bike, and it looks shaky, but I can kind of do that... but when I tried to actually get off the bike like that on Sunday, I almost smeared myself along the sidewalk. I just had time to call out to Mary, "I'm gonna DIIIIEEE!" before I executed THE most embarrassing dismount ever done in front of a crowd of triathletes. But then again, if I DO manage to do the shoeless dismount, I'll be the coolest kid ever and be able to pick up chicks for life.

The run

I'm going to run with a bottle like I always do, but should I carry anything else? Hat? '80s style headband?

Any suggestions for run tactics? Attack the downhills? Attack the uphills? Attack the last 2 miles? Attack other runners... with weapons? Go hard in the middle and hold on for the end? Cheat and turn around before the turnaround point?

As you can tell, I'm getting a bit nervous about the race. I'm not really worried about finishing, but I would like to have a really well-executed race so that I can come back here and rub Chrissie's face in it later...

Why couldn't I just live somewhere warm where you don't NEED wetsuits?!

Later: To explain why I won't be wearing my trisuit: it's ugly and it's a one piece. I discovered the hard way that this is not ideal for longer races to wear a garment that goes from shoulders to knees since it pretty much excludes any more conventional ways of going to the bathroom. I'm not against going weewee on the bike, but sometimes it's just... hard to relax if you know what I mean. A lot of time can be lost in porta-johns wrestling a built-in bra over one's hips. Plus, on a cool day the idea of having a dry shirt to put on in transition sounds really wise.

Cheap on ebay does NOT equal sexy.