Showdown!

IntroductionLobsterman promised an exciting who's who of my training buddies, all in one day, in the same place, doing the same race. It was the showdown I'd been waiting for all summer. I will do my best, but I'll warn you now that this will not be a short race report. Sorry. First, let's introduce the cast of characters:

Mary, aka Iron Matron: Most of you know her. If you don't know her, you should go read her blog and get to know her. She's blazing fast, and the only one that I knew I didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of beating to a bloody pulp.

From left to right: Michelle, Alison (hey, if I had abs like that I would never put on a shirt either!), me, and Anne (who does not ALWAYS have crazy Einstein hair like that!)

Alison, aka the best swim buddy in the whole, wide world. If you've been stalking me on my training log, you may have heard of Alison. We swim at almost exactly the same speed but in adjacent lanes, so every freestyle set turns into a race. At first it was just about raw speed, but then pacing and tactics worked their way in, and there's always an exciting sprint finish. No one looks better in a bikini than Alison, and she'll charm your swim cap off, but swimming back and forth across the pool she will set a blistering pace and she will not let go. Alison completes me as a swimmer, and any swimming gains I've made this year are from trying to beat her to the wall.

Michelle, training partner and accidental running coach. I told you guys about her that day she made me run so hard I pissed myself, then she made me keep running. Michelle is a fast runner and a strong cyclist. She can tear up hills like a woman possessed, and makes me see stars trying to keep up with her.

As Margaret Cho says, in every group of friends there's the sweet one, there's the smart one, and then there's the ho. "Look around. Which one are you?!" If Alison's the sweet one, and Michelle with her PhD from MIT is the smart one, then that only leaves me and Anne to be the ho. In this case, let's define "ho" as "cut-throat bitch".

And then there's Anne. Anne appeared in my life at the beginning of the summer at our regular Friday morning open water swims in sewage-infested water. She was one of Michelle's co-workers and a friend of Alison's from the outside world. I painted a mental target on her forehead the first day when she violated two of my major pet peeves:
1. She tried to turn our good-natured, everybody-swim-to-the-buoy-and-wait-because-we're-all-friends-here swim into a race. At each buoy she would comment on who got there in what order and how far apart. Strange, because at the time she was usually turning up last.
2. Michelle introduced me and mentioned that I had just gotten back the week before from riding from San Francisco to LA. I refuse to brag, but I believe that when a third party mentions my impressive and astounding feats of strength and daring, that all should nearly faint in the sheer blazing glory of my awesomeness and superhuman achievements. Anne did not do this. Anne said, "Oh, I'm training for the Pan-Mass challenge". Like it's the same thing?! The Pan-Mass Challenge is 192 miles over 2 days, LifeCycle is 550 over 7 days. Pan-Mass goes across Massachusetts, an iiiiitty-bitty little state, LifeCycle crosses half of California, a great, big state the size of Italy. Which is not to say that the Pan-Mass challenge isn't a great achievement. It's just that, well, I'm better and everyone should bow before me.

And things with Anne progressed. One day she was talking about a work friend of hers, "He's a really good cyclist," she said. "You couldn't keep up with him..." How dare you?! I thought. You've NEVER seen me ride hard, because I'm waiting for your sorry ass all the time! But the real moment when I really set her in my crosshairs was on a regular Tuesday night ride. There's one hill in town, and we were riding up the shallow back side of it. I'm riding along, twiddling my thumbs and enjoying the company when Anne rides by me singing:
"One way, or another, I'm gonna get you,
"I'm gonna pass you, pass you, pass you, pass you..."
"Aw no she di'in't!" I said to Michelle, who I think was riding next to me. Then louder, "don't you piss me off, Anne, or I'll lay the hurt on you!" I then clicked up about 4 gears and rode to the top of the hill as hard as I possibly could.
"I'll get you on the downhill!" she yelled after me. So I waited for her. At the top of the hill I softpedaled for about a minute until she caught up. And then I went. She never caught me on the downhill. It lead to a whole downhill war, though. For weeks we were trying to set speed records down that hill: 40 mph, then 40.9, 41, and I finally called an end to it when I hit 42.

Anne wasn't a very talented runner, either. She'd never been a runner and was coming back from back surgery. She routinely held about 10-minute miles. Then she signed up for a 4-mile race an Michelle advised that she "run like she stole something". That's all Anne needed. Overnight she dropped over a minute and a half off her average pace. She ran that 4-miler in about 8:25 miles and hasn't slowed down since.

It was infuriating, not only had her run made tremendous progress, but also her swim was back up to where it had been back in her competitive swimming days. When she got a wetsuit, she became untouchable in the Friday morning sewage swims. And every time she got to a buoy faster than someone who used to be ahead of her, she commented on it, "Wow! I must be getting faster, Denise used to be so far ahead of me, and now I have to wait for her for a whole minute!" Every time I hit a major benchmark in my training, she seemed to have surpassed it on the same day. Eventually I stopped updating people on my progress, but I would still come home from a good workout only to find an email in my inbox that I'd been outdone yet again.

This. Was. War!

I'm an extremely competitive person, and I'd finally met my match. I cut off the shit talking entirely, but I started telling EVERYONE around me about how this chick needed a big ol' slice of humble pie, and I wanted to be the one that shoved it down her throat. I don't usually talk about my races outside my blog, but I told people at work about my war. I told my parents. I told the guys at the bike shop. I told what ever friends I have that AREN'T associated with work or the bike shop. Every workout I tried to find another way to get just a little bit faster so that I could beat Anne to within an inch of her life at lobsterman.

Pre-Race

Mary came and picked me up Friday night and we had dinner and drove up to her parents' place in Maine, where we would spend the night. We talked about the usual things that girls talk about when they get together: which cake recipe was best, lipstick and nail polish shades, the joys of childbirth and motherhood, the latest issue of Redbook, which presidential candidate was more of a hunk... You know, the usual. I hope I don't embarrass myself or Mary by saying this, but she really is such an inspiration. Every time I talk to her, she says things that leave me thinking for weeks afterwards. I believe she and I see the world through a similar lens, and she somehow she knows exactly what to say and how to say it to make me see things in a totally different light. She is such a fierce competitor, such an amazing runner, such an impressive athlete, and I can learn (and have learned) so much from her. So if I link to her all the time in my blog, it's not because I'm in love with her (well, not really), it's just that the things she says are always on my mind. It was great to get so much one-on-one time with someone so much wiser and faster than I am and peel back even more of the layers of what makes such a driven, successful woman. Also, she won my everlasting admiration for using the word "scuttlebutt" in a sentence.

After a shitty night's sleep (which was not entirely due to the grandfather clock outside my room that chimed every 15 minutes, I promise!), I woke up, showered, and got my stuff ready. I had wanted to put my hair in 2 braids, since the ear flaps on my new aero helmet have a tendency to make my hair fall in my face and look like shit, but I forgot a brush. I did the best I could to braid it with my fingers, but it was not holding up to drying. Before we got to the start I must have bitched about my hair about 10 times. "Would you shut UP about your damned hair already?!" Mary finally yelled. "If you don't I'm going to tell everyone in the blogosphere that all you could talk about was how worried you were about your damned hair!" But I beat you to it, Mary! Now they know.

Putting our two heads together we managed to find the race site early enough to get good parking, I changed my hairstyle for the third time that morning. We went to registration to pick up our numbers. When the volunteer heard my 4-syllable last name, and Mary's hyphenated last name she said, "What would happen if you guys had children who had to have all those last names?!"
"I'm pretty sure we couldn't have children," I said. What a weird thing to say. Then I left Mary to go set up transition.

I had a bit of trouble figuring out how the numbering on the racks was supposed to go, and as I was moving my stuff from one rack to another, this stocky little troll of a man came up to me. "First of all, your bike is facing the wrong way. 313 goes here."
"But I AM number 313."
"But your bike is facing the wrong way." He pointed out which way my bike should be hanging on the rack and picked up my helmet condescendingly like I'd just tried to pull a fast one on him, and that I'd have to get up pret-ty early in the morning to outsmart this cat. "Second of all, you can't ride in this helmet."
"What?! What's wrong with it?!"
"It hasn't been approved by the WXYZLMNOP." He looked inside the helmet, and then put on an ah-ha!, just as I suspected expression. "Yep, no sticker. I bet you didn't buy this in the US."
"No, I bought it from a UK-based online store. I don't have another helmet. What happens if I ride in that one?"
"Then you'll get DQed."
"Well, I don't mind if I get a DQ next to my name, just as long as I can see my splits." But alas, he didn't think that I would even get that.
By this time Michelle had come over and was staring at the guy with me, stupefied. "Why don't we go down and talk to the expo people," she suggested. All the helmets up for sale were too big, so I settled on the cheapest one, a giant castle to sit high atop my head, and we snipped off the yards and yards of extra strap that hung off the clip when I'd adjusted it. The helmet-seller guys were sympathetic, I'd love to give them a plug, but I wasn't actually paying attention to the company name.

I was ripshit about the whole ordeal, but then I saw a guy walking into transition with the same helmet. "...But I rode 112 miles with this thing and didn't die..." he was saying. Turns out he'd paid more than twice as much for his than I had for mine in Austria the week before, and they'd promised him in that he could use it in the US. Tough luck all around, but at least I didn't have to worry about my hair anymore.

Anne and Alison turned up, I went for a very brief ride to make sure my bike was in the right gear, and then Michelle, Anne and I went on a short warm-up run. Anne had her garmin on her wrist even for our 1-mile warm-up jog, and thank god she never got satellite reception, because I would have killed her if she'd insisted we run an impressive 8:15 pace for our warm-up jog just because she couldn't stand to see a slow number on her screen. Then everyone suited up and went down to the water. "We've swum in colder," I said to Michelle, who swam with me on my birthday when the sewage was about 55º. I waded in up to my waist, just enough so that I could relieve myself. Mistake. I had the feeling that it never really drained properly, and I was standing around on dry land with a urine-filled wetsuit while 5 waves left in front of me.

Standing around with Michelle, Alison, and Anne, and Mary and Ange only a few feet away I started to get nervous. Really nervous. I hugged Alison and begged her not to make me swim alone. I grabbed Michelle's hand and held on for dear life. I... wished Anne luck, and meant it. Every time I looked at Anne's face I got nervous again. What if she won?! She'd made up some song about "I'm going to drop you in the swim," and I already had a fire lit under my ass, which just made me more nervous. But eventually all the women over 30 had to leave, and I was left all alone in my green cap as Alison, Anne, Michelle, and Mary all started without me.

The Swim

The water felt way colder at the swim start than in the warm-up area. According to the race organizers, it was 61º. They set us off, and I found myself in relative calm right away. In fact, I felt alone. I checked over both shoulders, and there were people on both sides, so I wasn't off-course, but there just wasn't anyone around me. What usually happens is that the "real" swimmers pull ahead in one pack, and the "fake" swimmers (triathlon-only swimmers) form their own pack with a widening gap on the first one, with all the non-swimmers trailing behind. I'm almost always at the front of the pack of "fake" swimmers, and this was no exception. In no time flat, I had no one over either shoulder to gauge off of, and I zigzagged quite a bit before we finally caught up with the tail end of the wave in front of us and I was able to follow a line again without looking up every third stroke.

I used my I move for no one! strategy, and just swam on ahead, no matter who was in front of me. I'm beginning to find that after one punch, most people are gone anyway. I had trouble finding the second buoy, but at least I was warmed up now. I started checking in with myself every couple of seconds thinking, "What could I be doing right now to go faster," and then really focusing on pulling the water hard or keeping my head down. In the final stretch I imagined that it was one of those days that I had to make up a bodylength on Alison in just 25 yards. I swam like hell. By the end of the swim I'd passed a few of the jackrabbits in my wave who had gone out too fast, but I was disappointed to note that they were all men. My hard swim had come at a price though, I had a sharp pain around my left kidney, and I was really drained running into transition. I got out in the middle of a big clump of slower people from waves before me, and wasn't very aggressive about pushing them out of my way.

Swim time: 19:32, which may have been short, or there may have been a current, or I may have been Michael Phelps.
Pace: 1:11/100 yd or 1:18/100m, I AM Michael Phelps.
Swim Rank: 72/458 Overall, 16%
Time compared to Anne: 1 minute, 22 seconds slower

T1

"Way to go, Claire!" I heard from a couple of racks away. There was Alison, smiling at me.
"I missed you so much out there!" I yelled. Yes! One down! I thought.

Couldn't get my wetsuit off. Socks, garmin, shoes, fuck, this is taking forever. I ran out of transition, mounted just feet behind Alison, and wished her luck as I rode by. She was gone before I even hit paved road.
T1 time: 2:10
Time compared to Anne: 13 seconds faster, now down 1 minute, 9 seconds.

The Bike

The course starts riding up a mile-long, slow hill. Passing people is easy at the beginning of the bike, since most people go so slow that it looks like they're about to tip over, but I didn't feel like I had my legs yet. Then, up ahead, there was a woman in all black, charging up the thing and passing people like they were standing still. Michelle! I rode as hard as I could and caught her right at the crest of the hill. "Don't you dare let me catch you braking, Michelle!" I yelled as I came up behind her.
Tchssssssss went her brakes. "What? Like that?!" she yelled over her shoulder. She cheered me on as I rode away. Damn, I thought, I was hoping I'd pass her later so she could catch up and pace me on the run.

I rode hard up the hills, but actually didn't ride as hard as I might have liked. I felt like my legs were running out of gas before my lungs were running out of air. (There were several hills reaching from 7-10% grades). Still, no women passed me on the bike. I attacked the hills and made sure to keep pedaling on the downhills. It seemed like every time I came into a turn I was stuck behind someone who couldn't corner to save their life and would have to come to a near dead halt to be able to get around them. Seconds wasted. I can't wait till I'm old and get to leave in the earlier waves. Every race I've done this summer I've had to push my way through shitty swimmers and crappy bikers from earlier waves through the whole race.

I was trucking along, checking out every woman and trying to find Anne. In race time she was only about a minute ahead of me, but in reality it was 3 more than that since she'd left in an earlier wave. I wasn't used to seeing her ass, I wouldn't know how to spot it. Good thing she's white and pasty as a ghost. I passed one pale girl, and almost yelled something, but as I went past her I saw there weren't enough freckles. This wasn't Anne. Finally, at about mile 13 I found her. I reeled her in, and as I passed her I yelled, "Get out of the way, Anne!" She cheered and I meant to yell something encouraging back, but she was already gone when I thought of something to say. To hear her tell it, she could see me for awhile afterwards, but that was a relatively flat stretch of road with no turns in it. I was gone.

Around mile 18 a couple of guys passed me with aero helmets and race wheels, and then when they were by me, they slowed down. It was one of those things where I had to actively slow down to get out of the draft zone. I surged and passed them back, dusting one of them, but the other came back again and slowed me down again. I laid off a minute, trying to figure out how to pass him. It would have taken a tremendous effort to get by him (and he would have made me work for it in 15-seconds bursts all the way to the end), but I had to consciously slow down to not go into the draft zone. I wound up lurking behind him for the rest of the ride, not having enough to make a move, but frustrated that I couldn't ride at my own pace. I fucking hate guys who do that, I hope he grows man boobs as karma. I rode the last 5 miles considerably easier that I wanted to, and lost over half a mile per hour off my average speed in the last 10 miles (which were predominantly downhill).

For the whole second half I thought I'd be passing Mary at any minute, but I never found her. Turns out she'd had a low-speed crash and still managed to hold me off. I shudder to think of what her bike split would have looked like if she hadn't fallen and dropped her chain.

Bike time: 1:09:23
Pace: 21.5 mph
Bike Rank: 67/458 overall, 14%, 4th woman overall
Time compared to Anne: 6 minutes, 16 seconds faster, now up by 5:07

T2

I ran through the sopping wet grass in my socks and my feet were waterlogged before I even crossed the mats. Don't they usually have carpet at these things?! As I ran past the racks I saw Mary, "Hey there, purdy girl!" I yelled. Damn, she's going to beat me by HOURS, I thought. She gave me a bemused dirty look.

I couldn't seem to get my shoes on. I grabbed my visor, race belt, and water bottle to put in place as I ran and looked around. Where the hell do I leave from?! I spun around for a couple of seconds trying to figure out which way to go, and then dashed out. Mom and Dad were standing at the exit and cheered for me. Mom looked happy to see I was still alive, and Dad tried to take a picture. They declined to tell me that I'd put on my number upside-down. As I crossed the mats I heard them calling out Mary's name over the PA system. I wouldn't see her again until the end as she would go on to run about 10 minutes into me.

T2 time: 1:19
Time compared to Anne: 50 seconds faster, now up by 5:57

The Sad, Sad Story of the Run

It wasn't that I rode too hard. It wasn't that my legs were tired. It was the hills. I did not feel "in the zone" for one single second of that run. In fact, I felt like shit from beginning to end. There was the matter of that mile-long hill to climb out of transition where I started breathing like an asthmatic, and I just never recovered. I was wheezing and coughing the whole, entire time. The run was gnarley hilly, and about half way up each one my legs would just... give out. I felt like I was actually lifting weights, with that second-to-last rep feeling in my legs that just wouldn't pass, even as the hills laid off. I kept asking myself, What can I do right now to go faster? and my only answer was, Just don't walk. Whatever you do, don't walk.

Women passed me, men passed me. I didn't even want to look. It was too demoralizing to be passed so easily by so many people while I plodded along at my pathetic whatever-I-was-running, wheezing like a fat girl in gym class. I pulled my visor down so that I wouldn't have to see the people coming back in the other direction, and I tried to give myself tunnel vision so I wouldn't notice the people passing me. Still, I noticed enough girls who looked under 30 to know that I wasn't going to place. You cannot imagine how much I hated my life for those 54 minutes and 54 seconds of it. I felt so sorry for myself, and there seemed to be nothing I could do to ease my suffering. And if I dug deep, intensifying my suffering wasn't getting me there any faster.

I hit the turn-around and started back in the other direction. It felt like I'd been climbing the whole first 5k's, so this MUST all be down hill. But there were so many hills on the way back too. Michelle passed in the other direction and cheered for me, then Alison went by and cheered for me. I didn't even react. I was busy dying. On the last hill, a steep motherfucker, I walked. It was probably only for about 5 seconds, but I still walked. And the blood flowed back into my legs, and for 5 seconds I felt better. Then I went back to running and feeling like I was inches from death. In retrospect, I don't think my decision to take my bento box off my bike was a good one. I burned between 1,500 and 2,000 calories this morning, and only had about 12 oz of Accelerade on the bike and about 8 oz on the run. I have never seen pee so dark as I saw in the restaurant bathroom a couple of hours later.

Accumulated pace. Even though the second half was more downhill, I still slowed down.

I ran down the 1-mile hill into transition, still wheezing, still being passed, and not giving a rat's ass about it. We had to run a full lap around transition, and at the 6-mile mark, everyone started sprinting. Pat Benatar's Hit Me with Your Best Shot (thanks to Damon for correcting my error) came on the PA, which was one of my war songs that I would listen to get myself psyched up before a "Beat Anne into the ground" workout and I tried to sprint, but soon it was clear that I'd puke if I tried. I didn't want to lose a minute just because I was tossing my cookies under a tree 1/10 of a mile from the finish. In fact, just the thought of accelerating smacked me with a wave of nausea. I actually slowed down in the final stretch. As I rounded the last corner and came in to the finish line, I was wondering if I was going to have to stop and yack before I got there. Mom and Dad were on the other side of the barrier smiling and waving. "I'm gonna puke!" I yelled.
Mom laughed. Mom's an easy laugher. "No, I'm serious!" I said, and slowed down more.

And I finished. Somehow, I did not puke.

Run time: 54:54
Pace: 8:51 min/mi (not as slow as it felt, considering the hills)
Run Rank: 284/458 Overall, 62%
Time compared to Anne: 2 minutes, 20 seconds slower
Overall time: 2:27:15
Rank: 139/458 Overall (30%), 5/23 Age Group (22%), 23/158 women (15%)
Time compared to Anne: 3 minutes, 38 seconds faster

Afterward

When I came out the other side I saw Mary, who had finished 10 minutes before and interrupted her conversation to have someone to commiserate with. She hugged me, even though I was all sweaty and gross, and it felt good to hug someone after what I'd been through, even though she was so sweaty and gross too. One by one Anne came in, then Michelle (who had had horrible stomach issues on the run), and then Alison. As we walked down to the water to soak our tired legs, we shared war stories. "I'm interested to see how I stacked up to your friend," I said. "Several months ago you told me I couldn't keep up with him and I got all pissed. I'm curious to see if it's true." In fact, I rode 15 seconds faster than he did. It's not much, but enough.
"I said that?!" said Anne. "I can't believe you passed me at mile 13." (she was the one that noticed the mile, not me) "I was hoping I could keep you off until at least the end. I couldn't even stay with you for a second. You don't ride like that when you ride with us."
"No," I said. "Of course not."
She stopped and she just looked at me. There was a glimmer of understanding in her eye. FINALLY! After all these long months of suffering through her heckling and haranguing every time I rode with the group she finally realized that, on the bike anyway, she may have been racing every training day, but I wasn't. And then, just for a second, I saw it. For just a moment she nearly fainted in the sheer blazing glory of my superhuman strength and awesome power. My overall win hadn't been too stellar. She'd swum and run faster than I did, but I think she might have gotten a tiny, itty bitty taste of that humble pie. She'd underestimated me, and the first commandment of Clairedom is that you do not underestimate a Claire!

I'd achieved my main race goals of 1) beating Anne, and 2) breaking 2:30, but as time went by I got madder and madder, and madder, and madder. I could have ridden harder. Only about a minute and 20 seconds separated me from the fastest female bike split of the day. It had been a very competitive field, but just as always, I'd fallen in the top 15% overall of the swim and bike, and plummeted to around 60% in the run. Whatever I may want to say here, I've said in other race reports 100 times, but FUCKIN'-A! I'm SO SICK of being such a shitty runner!

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.