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.
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
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...
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.
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.
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.
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."
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.
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.
