How to wear the skin off your butt in 2 days

I woke up at 5:15 in the morning still on the couch where I'd fallen asleep watching CSI the night before (I am NOT happy with the way that CSI is deciding to commit suicide this season, by the way). My lower back was killing me and I had that generalized pain and fatigue all over that usually means that I worked hard enough the day before to take the day off (this happens very, very seldomly). But I wasn't going to take the day off today, I had a century to ride. I tried to put the thoughts of what the hell am I thinking out of my head, but Iron Matron's words, "I'm actually scared for you. If I actually had any kind of faith I'd pray for you!" kept coming back to me. What if this really is the time that I go too far? I wondered. What if I really can't finish this time? What if this is the time I finally do some real damage? I worried. In situations like this normally I say, "Fuck you, just WATCH me!" but come on, I'm not stupid. I know this is kind of crazy. But no, I missed races last year and never felt so rotten in my life. I was going to finish what I'd started. And if it didn't kill me, it would only make me stronger.

I had my usual breakfast of champions, plus a cupcake for good measure and went back out to the car. At least I didn't have to unpack my car last night or re-pack the car this morning. And no, I never DID wipe the blood off my saddle. Yep, I'm a total slob. Get over it, I have.

This ride had cost me $20, compared to the $225 that the half ironman the day before had cost me, and pulling into the parking lot there was already a marked difference in attitude. People were smiling and looked relaxed. Nobody was stealing crosswise glances at other people's bikes, and there were all kinds of bikes represented: nice bikes, shitty bikes, tri bikes, road bikes, hybrids, bikes with fenders and paniers (spelling?), even a single speed or two. There were fat people, old people, oodles of women, people with long hair, people with a lot of body hair, all things you wouldn't see at a competitive triathlon. I busted out my camelbak without so much as a look around to see who might be watching me and went to registration where they did not ask for a photo ID, they did not write anything on my body that I wouldn't be able to get off for a week, and they informed me that they were very sorry, but they were out of cue sheets. It was so laid back that the ride started while I was still in line for the portapotties, but it didn't really matter, hardly anyone left right away anyway.



I rode for a few miles in a group with an older couple, each of whom had Mdot tattoos on their ankles, but they didn't seem too interested in talking about their accomplishments and they were going pretty slow anyway, so I bridged up to a different group. Finally I found myself in a paceline that was going a comfortable pace and stuck around. I saw one chick in the group, and decided that if she could stay with this group, then I could too. And in the same pack I kept hearing this other woman's voice, but I would look around and couldn't see any chicks. Finally, after several miles I realized that the guy in the black and white race kit, bandana tied around his head under the helmet, and enormous reach out to the handlebars that made him look like he was throwing his bike in a final sprint – the guy who kept riding up and down the pace line on the outside and couldn't seem to pick a spot in the pack – I realized that he was a she. She was one of those middle-aged butch women who thinks she's an alpha male (if you hang out a lot with lesbians, you know the type), and kept alternating between either giving hollow encouragement that wasn't really necessary or narrating what was happening in the pack (also not necessary). Her kit was by some brand called Pro Bike Kit, which to me kind of seemed redundant like wearing a running singlet that said "Running Singlet" on the back, or a swimsuit that said "For Swimming" on the butt or something.

At one point I found myself near the front of the pack and being waved ahead. Now, I usually ride with all guys, and one of two things always happens when I take a pull: A) people realize that I'm not much to draft off of and send someone bigger and faster to the front, or B) I pull ahead feeling strong and look back after a few hundred yards to realize that no one followed me. Who wants to let a girl pull? So when I got waved to the front of this pack I figured that this was probably where I would either drop the group and move up to another pack, or ware myself out all alone off the front and then have to drop back in shame. To my surprise, when we reached a hill, people started pulling around me right away. I had pulled the group, and the group had stayed with me! Crazy. The alpha male rode up next to me, "Nice pull, kiddo," she said.
"Thanks," I said. "People don't usually let me pull since I don't give much of a draft."
"It's not about drafting, it's about being part of the group and sharing the work," she explained. What? I know that. I'm not saying I don't like to pull, I'm saying they don't let me pull. Now I looked like an asshole.

The alpha male was starting to annoy me, and it was pretty clear that she didn't think much of me either, since she would talk to everyone in the group but me. Maybe I hadn't come off as enough of a roadie, I don't know. Maybe I just looked like a "dumb kid" who didn't know what she was doing. Anyway, as I said, the alpha male was moving up and down the line on the left side. Every time she moved into the pace line she would let all this daylight in, and the entire line behind her would start to lose the front half of the pack. It was really annoying me, so I moved up. She was already out there to the left of the pack, so I just pulled up on the right and tried to close the gap. But then suddenly the front pack started moving left. I didn't see until the last minute that we were passing another cyclist, so I had to move left too, forcing her out into the road. It all happened in a matter of seconds and then we were back in formation. "Don't box me out, kiddo," she scolded me.
Who the hell are you calling "kiddo"?! I thought. You're the asshole who's riding unpredictably? Shouldn't someone with a kit like yours who portends to be such a great roadie know how to ride in a pace line, you old hag? I may be young, but I'd ridden in packs before, and she was no stronger of a cyclist than I was. "Sorry, I didn't see him coming," I said, lamely. And how dare you call me "kiddo"! I added to myself. I call myself kiddo in my head when I'm trying to talk myself through something difficult. No one else is allowed to call me kiddo. I resolved to stay near the front of the pack till the first aid station, whatever it took.

I was actually feeling pretty good. The terrain was rolling, but standing up and powering up the hills felt good on my lower back and gave my butt a break. Yeah, I felt way tired, but it wasn't really getting any worse as the ride went on. At one point we climbed a longer hill and I managed to get to the top with the front of the group. "Good job," said the real lady in the group. "That was a long hill." I wished that the Alpha Male could have heard her say that, but she had fallen back on the climb.

When we hit the first aid station around mile 50, everyone laid down their bikes and it looked like they were going to be here for awhile. I filled up my camelbak, ate some pretzels and a banana and sat down on a rock. My feet felt sore now that I was off the bike, and elevating them wasn't helping much. The alpha male and the real lady were standing in the porta-pottie line 15 people deep. I weighed the benefits of a pack against the risks of being around the alpha male when I started to get cranky and decided that it was best to move on by myself.

Shortly before leaving the aid station I met Mike and wound up riding with him for awhile. When he saw the number on still stuck on my top tube and I saw the aero bars on his bike, we started talking triathlon. At one point he said, "You know, I'm just happy I'm holding an average of 17.4 mph. That's good, for me." The way he emphasized it, it was like it was meant to be. Mike was a kindred spirit as far as endurance goals go. "I hold the record for the Hyannis sprint distance swim. I swam 200 yards in 24 minutes!" he told me. "I have 4 goals for every race: 1) not to be the last person out of the swim, 2) not to come in dead last in my age group, 3) not to hold on to anything in the swim (like kayaks), and 4) have fun doing the best that I can do."

Mike is training for Ironman Lake Placid this year. "You're crazy," I said.
"What makes you say that. You don't even know what I can do. I've done 19 marathons, you know," he said. He wasn't bragging, it wasn't annoying at all.
"I say that because I was up there a couple of weeks ago, and those hills made me cry before I got back to my car. You're a brave man."

We talked about marathons, and triathlons, and ironmans, and ultramarathons, and cycling, and how to make sure that you keep having fun through the whole thing. I was enjoying our conversation so much I almost ran Mike off the side of the road trying to ride next to him. Mike was the only one I was comfortable telling about what I'd done the day before. I was afraid someone else would try to tell me what to do, or moreover what NOT to do, and why what I was doing was wrong. I didn't need to hear that. He was impressed, but didn't once tell me that I was going to get hurt or that I should stop. "Is THIS how you're riding your recovery ride?!" he asked at a stop light after I'd pulled ahead a few times.
"Hells no!" I said. "I'm trying to get 'er done as fast as possible so I can get off this damn bike seat!" My butt was really starting to get pretty tender. Eventually I had to leave Mike behind and ride off on my own. The pain in my ass just wasn't worth the company, so I rode off alone into the wind.

The wind had picked up steadily all day, and coming back we had a pretty fierce headwind. You're never going to believe this, but it didn't bother me. I was all alone, riding into a 15+ mph headwind and just thinking about how beautiful the scenery was. What was wrong with me? After 70 miles I was thinking about how I would have to come back and do this ride AGAIN. I sincerely wasn't cranky. Something must be terribly wrong.

Around mile 75 I found the last aid station, tucked away about 200 yards up an unpaved road. I think we were back in Massachusetts at this point. Mike rode up while I was waiting for the bathroom and we caught up some more. Walking over to my bike he said, "You're walking pretty slowly... are you getting tired?"
"It's the shoes, Mike," I said. "It's just the shoes." I asked if he would be continuing on with me, and he told me he would if he could keep up. We rode together for a little while, but I was still feeling good, and with less than 25 miles to go, I just wanted to get it over with. My butt was getting a bit uncomfortable in all positions except off the seat.

Astoundingly, I was still in a good mood. I couldn't believe it. I was riding alone into a headwind, I was phenomenally fatigued, and still all I could think about was how happy I was to be out here, how beautiful and... What the fuck was that?! In a split second something small and round and fuzzy dashed out from the brush at the side of the road right under my wheel. It happened so fast I didn't have time to even see what it was, only that it was between the size of a baseball and a softball, and fuzzy, and the color that they call pardo in Spanish which means grey-brown. I felt my front wheel rumble, and then my back wheel as I went squarely over it. I froze for a second, gripping my handlebars, staring straight ahead, and not knowing what to do. Whatever it was, I'd probably broken its back or its neck. Whatever it was, it was probably a baby something, and it was probably cute, and it was probably suffering and on its way to dead, and there was nothing I could do about it. I decided to just keep riding. If I saw some adorable baby woodland creature gasping its last breath and fluttering its eyelids for the last time and it was all my fault I would definitely never get to the end of this ride in one piece. Instead I kept riding, and somehow managed to convince myself that it was probably a paper bag (although it didn't crackle), or a balled up sock (although why would a balled up sock run out of a bush?) or something. This is what happens when I'm happy and thinking that all is well in the world: cute, furry things die.

I kept riding, now fueled by the feeling that I'd done something wrong and had to get out of there as fast as possible. I was stiff and sore, but I really didn't feel that weak. I kept reaching down to touch my leg and see if my muscles were bulging like a professional cyclist's (they were still pudgy, damn). In the last 10 miles it started to get really windy and the clouds rolled in. Luckily, I picked up a buddy to trade off pulls with for that last half hour or so. We didn't talk much, but it was one of those experiences where you feel like you've had a conversation from all the waving, signaling, pointing, passing and pulling you've done. It wasn't till I hit 100 miles on my Garmin and said, "That's it, it's time for me to quit," that we actually exchanged a full sentence. It was then that I found out that his name was Taz (Taz, really, no shit, that goes almos TOO well with his handlebar mustache), and that he was only finishing up the metric century.
"What's your time?" he asked. It was somewhere in the high 5:30's or low 5:40's. "Wow, that's fast. That's really fast." I was flattered and it gave me the energy to go the last 2 miles to the finish without getting cranky about having to go the extra distance. It's a good thing Taz was there too, or I would have ridden the wrong way up a freeway exit ramp. Only I could get lost on a rout that was so well arrowed.

After 50 miles is when I was by myself.

Total distance: 102.24 miles
Total time: 5:45:45
Average speed: 17.74 mph
Total elevation gain/loss: Dunno.
I even felt like I could have gone harder, which was encouraging.

At the finish I chatted with a few people while waiting for Mike to come in. One guy bragged about having ridden 50 miles the day before and I congratulated him. I was too tired to find a tactful way to brag about what I'd done the day before and make him feel like less of a man. Another guy was standing alone, staring transfixed at the people putting their sweaty hands into the bowls of raisins and M&Ms. "It's like they're the only ones here, like no one else is going to have to eat those," he said, disgusted. I wanted to tell him to lighten up, instead I made some lame joke about replenishing electrolytes by eating sweat. He didn't think it was very funny. Admittedly, it wasn't, and I was kind of revolted when I saw Mike eating from the bowls later.

After about 10 minutes Mike rolled in. "You made it!" I said.
"Was there ever a doubt?" he asked.
"I'm glad to see you," I said. We wished each other luck on our respective seasons and I went back to pack up the car. Imagine my surprise when the next day he'd left a message of support on my AIDS LifeCycle page!

Driving back I managed to miss every single turn back to the highway. Stopped at a red light a pack of cyclists rode by. I was immensely satisfied to see that it was the pack led by the Alpha Male, just now reaching 100 miles. Who were you calling kiddo, you pokey old hag? I thought, and drove home to eat some Thai food.

In other news: I can't believe it, some of the pictures from the Hairy Man came out pretty well!

A very chilly Claire in her brand new wetsuit.
Still look like a douche in all my bike pictures. If you look closely you can see I'm taking my shoes off. They couldn't get an action shot, or wait till my camera-side leg was STRAIGHT? Ugh! This makes me look fat!
A Claire who is VERY happy and relieved to be finishing.

Fucking AWESOME!

I'm working on my report from the century on Sunday, but I just had to share this. Walking to the train this morning suddenly I heard people yelling and noise makers blaring. Then, off of church street came a group of about 100 high school students on bicycles and rollerblades. They were dressed up in cow costumes, Mexican sombreros, fabulous pimp outfits, Marti Gras beads, and just the brightest ensembles you ever did see and screaming their heads off. They all pulled into the rotary at the center of town (which is only about 30 feet in diameter) and did about 10 laps around it, screaming and hooting and howling and stopping traffic.

It must have been Senior Ditch Day.

Whatever it was, every single person on that train platform, and each driver forced to halt in the middle of that rotary was grinning and laughing and calling friends. I wish I'd had my cell phone to get a picture or video. I miss being in school.

Ah youth, I'm getting old.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Swim

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

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

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

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

T1

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

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

The Bike

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

T2

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

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

The Run

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

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

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

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


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

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

Post Race

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

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

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

Epilogue

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

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

Claire Badass Mofo, you are a Hairy Man!

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

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

Happy Birthday to me!

Happy birthday to me,
Happy birthday to me,

Happy birthday dear Cla-aire,

Happy birthday to me!

How old are you now?
You're fat as a cow,
You look like a monkey,
And you smell like one too!

Stay tuned for race reports from the Hairy Man Half Ironman, and the CRW Spring Century this weekend. In the meantime, if you would consider buying me a drink for my birthday, then please donate the price of one drink (or dinner if you really like me) to my AIDS LifeCycle Fundraising page here. (All procedes benefit the San Francisco AIDS Foundation.) No donation is too small, in fact, I'm kind of interested to see who can make the SMALLEST donation. So, here are some drinks and roughly how much they used to cost at my favorite bar. I'll be sure to check back in and let everyone know how "drunk" I got from all the donations:
$ 0.25 hey, man, can I bum a smoke?
$ 2.00 Wanna split a Sierra Nevada Pale Ale?
$ 3.00 Pabst Blue Ribbon
$ 4.00 Harpoon IPA
$ 5.00 Rum and Coke
$ 6.00 Gin and Tonic
$ 10.00 I'll have 2 of whatever you're having
$ 20.00 Why don't we go get a handle and drink more at home
$ 25.00 What the hell did we do last night?

Oh, and don't forget to leave a message of support!

I almost never step on the scale. I refuse to, unless it's first thing in the morning, after the first pee of the day, I've pooped recently and I'm guaranteed the lowest possible number. And still, I've mentioned here before how that number never, ever changes.

So anyway, since perfect scale conditions are usually met at 4:30 am, and since I very rarely remember to do anything at 4:30 am, much less strip down to my birthday suit to get on the scale, I don't get weighed very often. Still, I have one of those fancy schmancy scales that measures body fat and hydration, too. Since pretty much none of these numbers ever budge, I'm not getting all neurotic about it.

Then, yesterday morning I got on the scale, and to my surprise, I'd lost 10 lb! Dear lord, when did this happen? I was incredulous. When was the last time I weighed myself? Two weeks ago? Three? This can't possibly be right. I got on and weighed myself again: I lost another 2 lb. No, that's DEFINITELY not right. If the choice was between believing that the $60 scale was broken or that I'd lost 10... no 12 lb, then I'd believe I'd lost weight. I got on again, Phew, back to the higher, lower weight.

I certainly don't feel any smaller. And who cares what the scale says if I STILL don't have a 6-pack. Every morning I get dressed in front of the mirror to see if maybe this is the day that I'll be able to see my abdominals. I flex and twist this way and that, try to find the perfect ratio of shadow to light, and still, no 6-pack. This must be karma for never caring if I had boobs when I was a teenager. I can feel that it's in there, I poke at it all the time, as if to say, Hey, I know you're in there. Why don't you come out so we can be friends.

Yes, this is really what I do with my time before work...

Someday I won't need to draw on my tummy to see my six pack. And when that day comes, I will take my shirt off and never put it back on again.

Who you calling No Wetsuit Girl?

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

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

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

The Swim

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

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

T1

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

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

The bike

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

Should I waste time on gloves?

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

T2

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

The run

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

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

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

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

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

Cheap on ebay does NOT equal sexy.