I c o u l d w i n i t .
Well, maybe not the race, but I could win my age group anyway I decided.I'm so fast on paper. This is how it works:
SWIM: take fastest 100 yard time from the past month and subtract 5 seconds. Multiply by 3 for projected swimming time.
BIKE: take the fastest pace you've seen for 1 second or more on something that is not obviously downhill (slight downhills are fair game). Add one mile per hour, because you're going to try hard. Decide that this will be your average speed. Do math and figure out projected split. Decide you will have the fastest bike split of the day. Pat yourself on the back in advance.
RUN: Take the fastest pace that you have used for speedwork in the past 6 years. Subtract 5 seconds. Multiply by 3.1 miles (because the course could never, ever be long, despite what the map says). Convince self that you are about to PR.
TRANSITIONS: There are no transitions in paper triathlons.
I also spent the week checking weather.com every 10 minutes. The forecast called for thunderstorms and temperatures in the mid-50s in West Bumfuck, MA on Sunday morning. I didn't want to believe it. I hoped against all hopes for a sunny day, even when I checked the weather at 6:00 am on race morning and it still said thunderstorms starting simultaneously with the race. Damn. Still, I drove the hour and a half out to West Bumfuck anyway, hoping that the shitty weather would deter the fast people rather than the slow folks.
On the drive over it poured the whole time. At times it was raining so hard that if it weren't for their taillights, I wouldn't be able to see the car in front of me. It was the kind of rain that if you're standing in it, you would swear it was raining up. God, I hope the experienced and fast people decided to stay in bed for this shit, I thought. I was beginning to doubt my generous pre-race math. Against all predictions, however, the rain had petered out by the time I got to the venue, although it was still cold (about 50), clammy, and cloudy. I was quite dismayed to see the transition area filled with people. Those jerks decided to show up!
After checking in and having the most satisfying pee of the week, I got marked. They put my number on my arms and legs, but no age on my calves. What the hell! Now I would have no idea who I was racing against. I went back to transition, set up, and took my bike out for a quick spin. When I got back someone had taken my spot on the rack with a muddy, clunky-lookin' old 10-speed with ultra-thick tires. That bitch! I am DEFINITELY going to make a sign to hang on the rack for next time:
THIS SPOT IS TAKEN. OUT RIDING THE COURSE. BE BACK SOON, SO BACK THE FUCK OFF, BITCH!
I had to kick a backpack out of the way to find space for my bike, and then took off for a quick run to warm up. I was NOT feeling fast. Finally, I went inside and did a short warmup in the pool. Talk about feeling like a fish in a bowl! As the hundred fifty or so participants came in along with their families, friends, and coaches, there was nothing anyone could do but stand around and stare at the twenty or so people warming up. Finally, people looked like they were lining up, and I got out.
Then I realized the first problem with fuzzy prerace math. The swim would be 2 lengths of each of the six lanes of the pool with swimmers set off at 20 second intervals. The swimmers were lined up by number, which was decided by swimming seed time. I was number 23. I am NOT a top tenth percentile swimmer. I do not swim within 20 seconds of a top tenth percentile swimmer. I turned to numbers 22, 24, 25, and 26 around me, "Were you guys a little... optimistic... about your seed times?"
"Oh yeah, everyone is," said 21. Then people started admitting what they actually were going to swim.
"I said I would do a 4:15, but I'll probably come in at more like 4:22," said 22.
"I said I would do a 4:20, but I'll probably do about a 4:25," said 24.
"I said I'd do a 4:20, but I might do a 4:30," said 25.
"Ummmm, I said I would do a 4:15, but I did some 300s on Wednesday and I was holding more like a 4:45..." said dipshit number 23: ME. Just to be safe, I told numbers 24 and 25 just to tap my toes if they needed to pass. They demurred. "No, I mean it, REALLY," I said. Now I was getting nervous and feeling like a real dipshit. Then, just when I thought I couldn't feel like more of a tool, I realized that my goggles were on upside-down.
Then I heard number 1 talking to the race official, "There must be some kind of mistake! I am definitely NOT going to be the fastest swimmer. Can't I move back or something?" I felt better knowing that I wasn't the only one who got busted for inflating my swim split when I registered.
Then I realized the first problem with fuzzy prerace math. The swim would be 2 lengths of each of the six lanes of the pool with swimmers set off at 20 second intervals. The swimmers were lined up by number, which was decided by swimming seed time. I was number 23. I am NOT a top tenth percentile swimmer. I do not swim within 20 seconds of a top tenth percentile swimmer. I turned to numbers 22, 24, 25, and 26 around me, "Were you guys a little... optimistic... about your seed times?"
"Oh yeah, everyone is," said 21. Then people started admitting what they actually were going to swim.
"I said I would do a 4:15, but I'll probably come in at more like 4:22," said 22.
"I said I would do a 4:20, but I'll probably do about a 4:25," said 24.
"I said I'd do a 4:20, but I might do a 4:30," said 25.
"Ummmm, I said I would do a 4:15, but I did some 300s on Wednesday and I was holding more like a 4:45..." said dipshit number 23: ME. Just to be safe, I told numbers 24 and 25 just to tap my toes if they needed to pass. They demurred. "No, I mean it, REALLY," I said. Now I was getting nervous and feeling like a real dipshit. Then, just when I thought I couldn't feel like more of a tool, I realized that my goggles were on upside-down.
Then I heard number 1 talking to the race official, "There must be some kind of mistake! I am definitely NOT going to be the fastest swimmer. Can't I move back or something?" I felt better knowing that I wasn't the only one who got busted for inflating my swim split when I registered.
The Swim
Goals: Don't get caught by 24. Don't get stuck in the lane lines.
Strategy: Go balls out.
"5... 4... 3... 2... 1..." Splash. I started swimming as fast as I could. Don't get caught in the first 100, Claire! I thought. I hit the other side, and turned around. I passed 24 just past the half way point. When I got to the wall I tried to duck under the lane and then flip. I got stuck in the lane line. Fuck. I started breathing every stroke, something I never, ever, ever do. It made it feel like I was getting nowhere, but at least this way I could keep an eye on 24. I managed to stay a length ahead of him. Next time I had to switch lanes, I forgot which way hadn't worked the last time and tried to duck under it again. I got caught again. I managed to keep 24 about a length behind me again. Next time I had to switch lanes, I flipped first, and came up right under the line, getting caught in it again. In this 50 number 24 made up about 3 yards on me. I went even harder. This time, when I had to go under the lane line, it worked. Twenty-four was still about 10 yards behind me when I came in to the final lane change and almost lost my cap on the lane line. The final 50 I really went balls out, and managed to get out of the pool without 24 catching me! I did it!
I looked at my watch as I ran out the door and saw a number that might have been 4:42. I don't know how long it took me to get out of the pool and run to the door, but let's say... 4 seconds. So I swam a 4:38, 1:33 per 100. That's good for me, but a far cry from the 4:15 I'd predicted. But 24 was behind me, so who cared!
Official stats: Time: 4:48, 2/6 AG (33%), 25/141 Overall (18% -like I said, not top tenth percentile).
Strategy: Go balls out.
"5... 4... 3... 2... 1..." Splash. I started swimming as fast as I could. Don't get caught in the first 100, Claire! I thought. I hit the other side, and turned around. I passed 24 just past the half way point. When I got to the wall I tried to duck under the lane and then flip. I got stuck in the lane line. Fuck. I started breathing every stroke, something I never, ever, ever do. It made it feel like I was getting nowhere, but at least this way I could keep an eye on 24. I managed to stay a length ahead of him. Next time I had to switch lanes, I forgot which way hadn't worked the last time and tried to duck under it again. I got caught again. I managed to keep 24 about a length behind me again. Next time I had to switch lanes, I flipped first, and came up right under the line, getting caught in it again. In this 50 number 24 made up about 3 yards on me. I went even harder. This time, when I had to go under the lane line, it worked. Twenty-four was still about 10 yards behind me when I came in to the final lane change and almost lost my cap on the lane line. The final 50 I really went balls out, and managed to get out of the pool without 24 catching me! I did it!
I looked at my watch as I ran out the door and saw a number that might have been 4:42. I don't know how long it took me to get out of the pool and run to the door, but let's say... 4 seconds. So I swam a 4:38, 1:33 per 100. That's good for me, but a far cry from the 4:15 I'd predicted. But 24 was behind me, so who cared!
Official stats: Time: 4:48, 2/6 AG (33%), 25/141 Overall (18% -like I said, not top tenth percentile).
T1
I forgot to take off my cap and goggles till I got to my spot. Oops. No socks, cycling shoes on. Take what feels like forever finding the sleeves of my long-sleeved zip-up jersey. Take even longer getting the zipper to work. Garmin on. Helmet on. GO, GO, GOGOGO!
My time: No clue. It's figured into bike time.
Strategy: Go balls out.
I did my usual un-cool full stop to mount my bike, then it felt like forever to get clipped in. Then I started my garmin, thought it didn't start and hit start again. A mile later, I realized that I'd stopped it, but the first 10 seconds of the bike I was going 19.5 mph, I can tell you that. I have data for everything after that.
I kept up a pace that had me heaving for the first 3 miles of the bike before I settled into a rhythm. I lost sight of number 24 and was in no-man's land forever. Well 24 was a dude anyway, I could let him go.
Bike splits per mile... for the miles that it was on.
I only got passed by 2 people during the bike. The first guy in an aero helmet and disk wheels passed me in the first couple of miles. Yeah, you go disk wheels guy, I thought. It's obviously WAY more important to you that you look cool at this race than me. The second guy passed me in a full club kit near the end. He probably thought he was pretty cool too. That's okay. I passed about 5 people myself, including 2 chicks, so it was all good. Plus, with individual starts like this, you never know what slowpokes you never catch up to.
The day before I had practiced the shoeless dismount on my trainer in my house, so I wasted several seconds undoing the velcrow, then several more pulling my feet out of the shoes. However, when I approached the dismount line, I remembered that I STILL can't swing my leg over the wheel behind me, and still had to do a very unsexy full-stop dismount. Damn.
My Garmin average speed (for the 8 miles it was on) was 19.1 mph, but before that stupid last mile with the shoes, I was holding an average speed of 20.3. Stupid shoes.
The elevation profile is misleading. There was no more than 140' of difference between the highest and lowest points.
Official stats: Total time: 27:24 (including transition), 19.7 mph (actually, faster, but who's counting), 1st AG, 2/69 all women (3%), 18th overall (13%).
If I do some CSI work here comparing the results page to my Garmin, I think that it was 1:18.
My time: No clue. It's figured into bike time.
The Bike
Goals: Keep up with 24. Keep average pace above 19.5 mph (preferrably more like 23 mph).Strategy: Go balls out.
I did my usual un-cool full stop to mount my bike, then it felt like forever to get clipped in. Then I started my garmin, thought it didn't start and hit start again. A mile later, I realized that I'd stopped it, but the first 10 seconds of the bike I was going 19.5 mph, I can tell you that. I have data for everything after that.
I kept up a pace that had me heaving for the first 3 miles of the bike before I settled into a rhythm. I lost sight of number 24 and was in no-man's land forever. Well 24 was a dude anyway, I could let him go.
Bike splits per mile... for the miles that it was on.The day before I had practiced the shoeless dismount on my trainer in my house, so I wasted several seconds undoing the velcrow, then several more pulling my feet out of the shoes. However, when I approached the dismount line, I remembered that I STILL can't swing my leg over the wheel behind me, and still had to do a very unsexy full-stop dismount. Damn.
My Garmin average speed (for the 8 miles it was on) was 19.1 mph, but before that stupid last mile with the shoes, I was holding an average speed of 20.3. Stupid shoes.
The elevation profile is misleading. There was no more than 140' of difference between the highest and lowest points.Official stats: Total time: 27:24 (including transition), 19.7 mph (actually, faster, but who's counting), 1st AG, 2/69 all women (3%), 18th overall (13%).
T2
I got denied the bliss of empty bike racks due to the staggered start, but there was no time to worry about that now. I racked the bike, chucked the helmet, took FOREVER getting my shoes tied (I have lace locks, but didn't have any laces short enough to use 'em), and ran off. Then I realized I forgot my water and ran back. Ok, this time for REAL, off I go.If I do some CSI work here comparing the results page to my Garmin, I think that it was 1:18.
The Run
Goals: Run fast.
Strategy: Go balls out.
Misleading again. There's only about 60' of elevation change from the highest to lowest points.
The legs felt stiff, but I just ran as fast as I could anyway. I didn't know how realistic it was, but I set my watch to beep every time I went over an 8:30 mile. It felt like I was running on 2 peg legs for about half a mile, but I managed to keep my watch quiet. Bikers were coming in and leaving as I set out for the run, and the volunteers seemed more concerned with them than with runners. Luckily there was a dude in front of me who got instructions, because neither of the cops or the volunteer at the first intersection deigned to tell me which way to go.
At .7 miles I caught up with the guy in front of me. "You're looking great," he said.
"You too," I gasped over my shoulder.
"This is my first one, I don't know if I'm going to make it," he said.
"You'll do great, just have fun," I called as I ran away. Just as long as you say behind me, I thought. Then I was all by myself. For a few seconds I caught sight of the runners coming the other way before I had to turn. I ran for 2 miles all by myself, passing bored-looking volunteers holding flags limply at their hips at every intersection. A couple of times I had to call out, "IS IT THIS WAY?!"
I couldn't believe how fast I was running. I only ever run my speed workouts at an 8:30 mile, but every time I looked at my Garmin I was holding under 8 minute miles... or most of the times anyway. This was fabulous! With half a mile to go I saw the only runner that passed me as we made the final turn back up towards transition. "This is the final stretch!" he said to me as he passed. "We're almost there!" We are NOT almost there! I've been up and down this road already 8 times already today (driving in, twice during bike warmup, twice during run warmup, then twice during the bike and once already on the run). We still have a fucking WAYS to go! Still, I tried to pick it up. I hit the 5k mark in 24:24, only 21 seconds short of a decade-old PR.
As I came in to the finishing area I couldn't tell where to go. Bikers were still coming in and out, as well as runners leaving transition. The more attentive cops and volunteers were watching the cyclists, the others were wrapped up in conversations or their own thoughts. "HEY! WHERE DO I GO?!" I asked. No one answered. I kept running past transition and past the finish line, which was roped off from this angle. I ran towards the guy with the megaphone, but there were a couple of cops with their backs to me in my way. "HEY, WATCH OUT!" I yelled.
They didn't even turn, so I had to run around them. Finally, when I was mere inches from the megaphone guy he stuck his horn in my ear and told me to take a sharp turn. I pulled a U-turn around a cone, up a curb, and into the finishing chute. I could see how U-turn, cone, and final sprint could make for a very embarrassing stumble. Luckily, I avoided disaster and stayed upright, and crossed the line in (what I would later find out was) 58:38. My run time (minus transition, according to Garmin) was 3.2 miles in 25:07.
There's actually only about 2 seconds' difference between the fastest and slowest miles.
Official stats: Total time: 26:25 (including transition), 7:50 min/mi (NOT including transitions), 1st AG (I know, I don't believe it either), 27th overall (19%).
Strategy: Go balls out.
Misleading again. There's only about 60' of elevation change from the highest to lowest points.The legs felt stiff, but I just ran as fast as I could anyway. I didn't know how realistic it was, but I set my watch to beep every time I went over an 8:30 mile. It felt like I was running on 2 peg legs for about half a mile, but I managed to keep my watch quiet. Bikers were coming in and leaving as I set out for the run, and the volunteers seemed more concerned with them than with runners. Luckily there was a dude in front of me who got instructions, because neither of the cops or the volunteer at the first intersection deigned to tell me which way to go.
At .7 miles I caught up with the guy in front of me. "You're looking great," he said.
"You too," I gasped over my shoulder.
"This is my first one, I don't know if I'm going to make it," he said.
"You'll do great, just have fun," I called as I ran away. Just as long as you say behind me, I thought. Then I was all by myself. For a few seconds I caught sight of the runners coming the other way before I had to turn. I ran for 2 miles all by myself, passing bored-looking volunteers holding flags limply at their hips at every intersection. A couple of times I had to call out, "IS IT THIS WAY?!"
I couldn't believe how fast I was running. I only ever run my speed workouts at an 8:30 mile, but every time I looked at my Garmin I was holding under 8 minute miles... or most of the times anyway. This was fabulous! With half a mile to go I saw the only runner that passed me as we made the final turn back up towards transition. "This is the final stretch!" he said to me as he passed. "We're almost there!" We are NOT almost there! I've been up and down this road already 8 times already today (driving in, twice during bike warmup, twice during run warmup, then twice during the bike and once already on the run). We still have a fucking WAYS to go! Still, I tried to pick it up. I hit the 5k mark in 24:24, only 21 seconds short of a decade-old PR.
As I came in to the finishing area I couldn't tell where to go. Bikers were still coming in and out, as well as runners leaving transition. The more attentive cops and volunteers were watching the cyclists, the others were wrapped up in conversations or their own thoughts. "HEY! WHERE DO I GO?!" I asked. No one answered. I kept running past transition and past the finish line, which was roped off from this angle. I ran towards the guy with the megaphone, but there were a couple of cops with their backs to me in my way. "HEY, WATCH OUT!" I yelled.
They didn't even turn, so I had to run around them. Finally, when I was mere inches from the megaphone guy he stuck his horn in my ear and told me to take a sharp turn. I pulled a U-turn around a cone, up a curb, and into the finishing chute. I could see how U-turn, cone, and final sprint could make for a very embarrassing stumble. Luckily, I avoided disaster and stayed upright, and crossed the line in (what I would later find out was) 58:38. My run time (minus transition, according to Garmin) was 3.2 miles in 25:07.There's actually only about 2 seconds' difference between the fastest and slowest miles.Official stats: Total time: 26:25 (including transition), 7:50 min/mi (NOT including transitions), 1st AG (I know, I don't believe it either), 27th overall (19%).
Chrissie: Everything I hate about triathletes (and college students)
When I crossed the line I had no idea what my time was. I'd forgotten to stop my regular watch, Garmin had missed a few minutes on the bike, and I didn't know how far behind the race clock I was. Whatever, I was happy with my race, and there was nothing I could do now to change the results, so I might as well chill out. I resigned myself to cleaning up and waiting for the results to be posted. I packed up my stuff, shoved it in the car, and then went in to take a shower. When I got into the locker room I realized that I'd forgotten my towel in the car. "Fuck it," I said and got ready to shower without one, but another girl in the locker room lent me a spare towel in exchange for some conditioner. Meet Chrissie (names have been changed to protect my own ass).
When I got out of the shower (I shower like a dude – in 2 minutes or less) I asked Chrissie how her race went. She said that she'd had an off week and went into way too much information about having a stomach ache all week, having her bike seat malfunction in the middle of a ride yesterday, then getting picked up by a good Samaritan in a truck... The story went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on... and on... and on... She dropped detail after detail about a coach and about 2 hour rides that I think were supposed to impress me, but the rest was the most whiny, cynical rant about the most benign inconveniences. Finally I got a word in edgewise, trying to change the subject back to the race so I could congratulate her and get out of there. "So, what was your time today?"
"57 something," she said.
"Uh oh, how old are you?" I asked.
"Twenty-two and..."
I interrupted her, "Well, I'm not quite sure what my time was, but I hope it was one second faster than yours," I said, smiling. "Congratulations and good luck!" I said, scuttling out of there. She followed me, complaining about one thing or another. I tried to find something to pleasant to talk about, something that we could both agree on. "Were you at the marathon last weekend?" I asked.
"No, I was at the track and field champs." She paused to let her another point of astounding athletic accomplishment sink in.
I didn't bite. "Oh man, running through Wellesley was the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me in my life!" I said. This was about her, this was about me, this was a happy subject. Hopefully we could talk about this.
"Yeah, I ran the marathon last year," she said. Oh, is that what this was? A competition? She had to one-up me in any event I'd ever participated in? I resolved not to play. I had decided NOT to wear my supersexxxy jacket to this race and scorned those who had for wearing merchandise from a race that far outranked this one (biiiiig faux pas). Once we got outside I made some excuse about being hungry and escaped to the food table before going to check the results.
I found my name and was pissed to see that I was in the 25-29 category. I'm 24 for another week and a half, goddammit! I thought that in the US your age group was decided by age on race day. Then I looked at the name right before mine, Chrissie SomethingSomething. Damn, the bitch had beat me, but since we weren't in the same age group it didn't matter. I went over and found her and congratulated her on winning. "Yeah, it turns out they put me in the 25-29 age group, so we both won!" I said.
Did she congratulate me? No. Did she even act like she hadn't expected to win? Nope. Matter-of-factly she said, "Age group is decided by your age on December 31 of that year. That's the USAT rule and since this is a USAT sanctioned race..." and on, and on, and on with WAY too much information that I already knew anyway. "It really sucks for me. I really get shafted because my birthday is December 10th and..."
"It sucks for 364 other people too," I cut her off. "Whatever, it's all arbitrary anyway." I was the one who had just aged up, not her, goddammit!
We went up to get a better look at the results together. I was most interested in my bike split, since that was the one I hadn't seen myself, but no one's bike splits were posted. Oh well.
To kill time I went off to wake up Angry and tell him the good news. Mid-conversation, as I was talking, Chrissie came up and said, "The bike splits are up, I got 27:00". Yeah, whatever, the grown-ups are talking now, I thought, and pretended like I hadn't heard her. When I'd hung up, she turned up again and I had to apologize for ignoring her. I hate apologizing when I'm not sorry. "Well, there's no way I'm going up to that results table now!" I said, looking at the swarm of a couple of dozen triathletes crowded around the card table with two 8 1.2 x 11 sheets on it. "I'll just wait and check when I get home." I busted out my cell phone and calculated for her based on her time that she was going about 19mph.
"Well, I think I was going above 20 mph," she said. "Because I looked down a bunch of times and I was going like 20 and even over that for awhile."
"Ah," I said. I wanted to point out that it's easy to see a big number when you never look on the uphills and always look down when the road is going slightly downhill and you're pedaling at top speed. Hell, that's how I'd calculated my generous goal speed, but I wasn't out there telling anyone about it or trying to pass it off as fact. I didn't bother to tell her that I'd looked down and seen the same numbers.
"Maybe you did about the same time. But I was going really fast," she said. "So I don't know, maybe your time was slower."
"Ah," I said. I wanted to point out that I'd only come in 20 seconds behind her, and so my bike split, if slower was negligibly so. I hate boasting, but nothing bugs me more than people who are bragging about times that I've beat. She clearly wanted me to be impressed with her amazing cycling abilities, and her gaping 20 second lead on me. All I could think about was all the time I wasted unstrapping the stupid shoes, or running back to get my water bottle. If only I'd known...
... I beat her bike split by a minute and 12 seconds! I swam 19 seconds faster than her too.
Now I was severely annoyed by Chrissie, but stuck in conversation with her. Thankfully, the conversation turned away from how fast she was and on to her life in general. She talked at me for a quarter of an hour about how she hates Boston (she's from Marin, CA – again, this was supposed to impress me; I didn't mention that I'd lived in California too), she wished she'd gone to Berkley where there are boys instead of Wellesley (an all girls' school), how she wanted to be an EMT rather than a history major but her parents forced her, how global warming was a crock, how much she hated all her liberal classmates who would grow up to be conservatives like her one day when they saw the light, and how mature she was so it's a good thing her boyfriend was 30. I felt like I was being lectured. I felt like I was being implicitly included in some young Republican group against my will. I wished we could go back to talking about how fast she was. I wanted to scream, "I BELIEVE WE SHOULD GIVE AMNESTY TO ALL ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS, I'M PRO-CHOICE, I'M A LESBIAN, I THINK YOU'RE AN IDIOT, AND I BIKE FASTER THAN YOU!"
Instead, the awards ceremony started and we had to be quiet. Thank god. First they announced that the same group would be putting on a new half ironman this June. "So if any of you want to attempt your first half ironman..." the announcer woman was saying.
"I'll attempt my first half ironman in Napa Valley in July, when the weather's sure to be beautiful," grumbled Chrissie. The message was clear: I was supposed to be impressed that she was training for a half ironman. I wanted to point out that I was doing the same race, but DOUBLE the distance, and I'd already done half ironmans, but I held my tongue.
As they called out the different age group winners in the order that they'd finished, it was clear that Chrissie was waiting to find out she'd come in first overall... then second... then third... after fourth, she stopped counting. Turns out she was fifth overall. I was sixth. I shouldn't have gone back for that water bottle, 20 fucking seconds! When they called up the winner of the 0-19 age group in a slower time than hers she said, "I wish I were in the 0-19 category, they never have ANYONE." What? Winning her own age group wasn't enough?
"Yeah, well you had your chance, but you missed it," I said.
"But I wasn't a triathlete back then," she said.
"My point exactly," I said and turned back to the awards.
Finally they called up Christine to accept her medal. The woman who I'd asked to take my picture asked, "Do you want a picture of her too?"
"Her? I don't even KNOW her," I said. Then it was my turn. Unfortunately the picture didn't come out.
Sexy medal, huh?
And finally Chrissie was gone. No race has nearly as many Chrissies as a triathlon. Runners are not this boastful, cyclists do not brag this much, swimmers are not so conceited. Everyone who owns a pair of tri shorts and has completed one race thinks they're a fucking guru. Everyone who's finished 2 sprints and an olympic thinks they're a fucking coach. All anyone ever talks about in transition before AND after the race is how fast they are, even if results have already been posted and the evidence says otherwise. Is doing 8 or more training sessions a week automatically supposed to give you a carte blanche for boasting? I mean, yeah, we're all winners for finishing and blah, blah, blah. But to brag about how fast you are, that's quite another category, and if you have to tell people that you're in that club, then you're probably not. And everyone gets so pissed about each other's boasting about each mediocre time, that THEY feel that THEY have to work their PRs and impressive race credentials into the conversation, even if they're less than stellar.
Just for the record you are not fast until you can do one or more of the following:
Swim 100 yards in under 1:10 and/or an ironman in under 55 minutes
Bike 40km on rolling terrain in 23 mph or more and/or bike 100 miles in 5 hours or less
Run 5k in 21 minutes or less and/or qualify for Boston
NO ONE WHO GOES MY SPEED OR SLOWER IS EVER ALLOWED TO CALL THEMSELVES FAST UNLESS THEY DON'T HAVE USE OF ALL THEIR LIMBS!
Rant over. But you can bet on one thing, if I ever see Chrissie again at a race, you can bet I won't be conceding 20 seconds next time around.
When I crossed the line I had no idea what my time was. I'd forgotten to stop my regular watch, Garmin had missed a few minutes on the bike, and I didn't know how far behind the race clock I was. Whatever, I was happy with my race, and there was nothing I could do now to change the results, so I might as well chill out. I resigned myself to cleaning up and waiting for the results to be posted. I packed up my stuff, shoved it in the car, and then went in to take a shower. When I got into the locker room I realized that I'd forgotten my towel in the car. "Fuck it," I said and got ready to shower without one, but another girl in the locker room lent me a spare towel in exchange for some conditioner. Meet Chrissie (names have been changed to protect my own ass).
When I got out of the shower (I shower like a dude – in 2 minutes or less) I asked Chrissie how her race went. She said that she'd had an off week and went into way too much information about having a stomach ache all week, having her bike seat malfunction in the middle of a ride yesterday, then getting picked up by a good Samaritan in a truck... The story went on, and on, and on, and on, and on, and on... and on... and on... She dropped detail after detail about a coach and about 2 hour rides that I think were supposed to impress me, but the rest was the most whiny, cynical rant about the most benign inconveniences. Finally I got a word in edgewise, trying to change the subject back to the race so I could congratulate her and get out of there. "So, what was your time today?"
"57 something," she said.
"Uh oh, how old are you?" I asked.
"Twenty-two and..."
I interrupted her, "Well, I'm not quite sure what my time was, but I hope it was one second faster than yours," I said, smiling. "Congratulations and good luck!" I said, scuttling out of there. She followed me, complaining about one thing or another. I tried to find something to pleasant to talk about, something that we could both agree on. "Were you at the marathon last weekend?" I asked.
"No, I was at the track and field champs." She paused to let her another point of astounding athletic accomplishment sink in.
I didn't bite. "Oh man, running through Wellesley was the most exciting thing that's ever happened to me in my life!" I said. This was about her, this was about me, this was a happy subject. Hopefully we could talk about this.
"Yeah, I ran the marathon last year," she said. Oh, is that what this was? A competition? She had to one-up me in any event I'd ever participated in? I resolved not to play. I had decided NOT to wear my supersexxxy jacket to this race and scorned those who had for wearing merchandise from a race that far outranked this one (biiiiig faux pas). Once we got outside I made some excuse about being hungry and escaped to the food table before going to check the results.
I found my name and was pissed to see that I was in the 25-29 category. I'm 24 for another week and a half, goddammit! I thought that in the US your age group was decided by age on race day. Then I looked at the name right before mine, Chrissie SomethingSomething. Damn, the bitch had beat me, but since we weren't in the same age group it didn't matter. I went over and found her and congratulated her on winning. "Yeah, it turns out they put me in the 25-29 age group, so we both won!" I said.
Did she congratulate me? No. Did she even act like she hadn't expected to win? Nope. Matter-of-factly she said, "Age group is decided by your age on December 31 of that year. That's the USAT rule and since this is a USAT sanctioned race..." and on, and on, and on with WAY too much information that I already knew anyway. "It really sucks for me. I really get shafted because my birthday is December 10th and..."
"It sucks for 364 other people too," I cut her off. "Whatever, it's all arbitrary anyway." I was the one who had just aged up, not her, goddammit!
We went up to get a better look at the results together. I was most interested in my bike split, since that was the one I hadn't seen myself, but no one's bike splits were posted. Oh well.
To kill time I went off to wake up Angry and tell him the good news. Mid-conversation, as I was talking, Chrissie came up and said, "The bike splits are up, I got 27:00". Yeah, whatever, the grown-ups are talking now, I thought, and pretended like I hadn't heard her. When I'd hung up, she turned up again and I had to apologize for ignoring her. I hate apologizing when I'm not sorry. "Well, there's no way I'm going up to that results table now!" I said, looking at the swarm of a couple of dozen triathletes crowded around the card table with two 8 1.2 x 11 sheets on it. "I'll just wait and check when I get home." I busted out my cell phone and calculated for her based on her time that she was going about 19mph.
"Well, I think I was going above 20 mph," she said. "Because I looked down a bunch of times and I was going like 20 and even over that for awhile."
"Ah," I said. I wanted to point out that it's easy to see a big number when you never look on the uphills and always look down when the road is going slightly downhill and you're pedaling at top speed. Hell, that's how I'd calculated my generous goal speed, but I wasn't out there telling anyone about it or trying to pass it off as fact. I didn't bother to tell her that I'd looked down and seen the same numbers.
"Maybe you did about the same time. But I was going really fast," she said. "So I don't know, maybe your time was slower."
"Ah," I said. I wanted to point out that I'd only come in 20 seconds behind her, and so my bike split, if slower was negligibly so. I hate boasting, but nothing bugs me more than people who are bragging about times that I've beat. She clearly wanted me to be impressed with her amazing cycling abilities, and her gaping 20 second lead on me. All I could think about was all the time I wasted unstrapping the stupid shoes, or running back to get my water bottle. If only I'd known...
... I beat her bike split by a minute and 12 seconds! I swam 19 seconds faster than her too.
Now I was severely annoyed by Chrissie, but stuck in conversation with her. Thankfully, the conversation turned away from how fast she was and on to her life in general. She talked at me for a quarter of an hour about how she hates Boston (she's from Marin, CA – again, this was supposed to impress me; I didn't mention that I'd lived in California too), she wished she'd gone to Berkley where there are boys instead of Wellesley (an all girls' school), how she wanted to be an EMT rather than a history major but her parents forced her, how global warming was a crock, how much she hated all her liberal classmates who would grow up to be conservatives like her one day when they saw the light, and how mature she was so it's a good thing her boyfriend was 30. I felt like I was being lectured. I felt like I was being implicitly included in some young Republican group against my will. I wished we could go back to talking about how fast she was. I wanted to scream, "I BELIEVE WE SHOULD GIVE AMNESTY TO ALL ILLEGAL IMMIGRANTS, I'M PRO-CHOICE, I'M A LESBIAN, I THINK YOU'RE AN IDIOT, AND I BIKE FASTER THAN YOU!"
Instead, the awards ceremony started and we had to be quiet. Thank god. First they announced that the same group would be putting on a new half ironman this June. "So if any of you want to attempt your first half ironman..." the announcer woman was saying.
"I'll attempt my first half ironman in Napa Valley in July, when the weather's sure to be beautiful," grumbled Chrissie. The message was clear: I was supposed to be impressed that she was training for a half ironman. I wanted to point out that I was doing the same race, but DOUBLE the distance, and I'd already done half ironmans, but I held my tongue.
As they called out the different age group winners in the order that they'd finished, it was clear that Chrissie was waiting to find out she'd come in first overall... then second... then third... after fourth, she stopped counting. Turns out she was fifth overall. I was sixth. I shouldn't have gone back for that water bottle, 20 fucking seconds! When they called up the winner of the 0-19 age group in a slower time than hers she said, "I wish I were in the 0-19 category, they never have ANYONE." What? Winning her own age group wasn't enough?
"Yeah, well you had your chance, but you missed it," I said.
"But I wasn't a triathlete back then," she said.
"My point exactly," I said and turned back to the awards.
Finally they called up Christine to accept her medal. The woman who I'd asked to take my picture asked, "Do you want a picture of her too?"
"Her? I don't even KNOW her," I said. Then it was my turn. Unfortunately the picture didn't come out.
Sexy medal, huh?Just for the record you are not fast until you can do one or more of the following:Swim 100 yards in under 1:10 and/or an ironman in under 55 minutes
Bike 40km on rolling terrain in 23 mph or more and/or bike 100 miles in 5 hours or less
Run 5k in 21 minutes or less and/or qualify for Boston
NO ONE WHO GOES MY SPEED OR SLOWER IS EVER ALLOWED TO CALL THEMSELVES FAST UNLESS THEY DON'T HAVE USE OF ALL THEIR LIMBS!
Rant over. But you can bet on one thing, if I ever see Chrissie again at a race, you can bet I won't be conceding 20 seconds next time around.
