Littlefoot Triathlon – Race Recap

Oh man.

This summer I planned to do no races, to enjoy my summer, and to go to more happy hours. And I have! I have spent a lot of time drinking beers on patios, sitting on the couch, working, and very little time working out. As a result I’m slightly squishier but a lot less stressed out than I was this time last summer.

But a few weeks ago Chris and I went for a bike ride and then I hopped off and did a short run. Just to see. Just to see how bad a brick might feel. But it was fine! I was hot and tired, but really, it was fine.

So on a whim, with no training, yesterday afternoon I signed up for the Littlefoot Triathlon, a tiny sprint tri that was this morning. (There were only about 150 racers.) I had done two random 5ks this summer, not really trained, and PR’d both! Maybe 2013 was one long taper I’d benefited from immensely.

Ha. Hahahaha. Oh, Past Mel. How did you get so dumb?

I actually had a lot of fun today, but I totally face-planted in the race. The very short version with random crappy iPhone pictures…

The approach:

Most of my gear came together pretty quickly last night except for 10 tense minutes spent looking for a stray cycling glove. (I have super crappy wrists, I need them even for a short ride.) My alarm didn’t go off (I set it for PM instead of AM) but Chris’s alarm woke me up and I got out the door on time. On the way there, I hit a bump on the freeway and in the rear view mirror watched my bike bounce out of its fastenings on the bike rack and slide dangerously close to flying off. Pulled over, adjusted, drove verrrry carefully the rest of the way.

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The swim:

Always my favorite leg, and I love the part before we start where everyone’s in the water chatting. I haven’t swam (in a pool or in a lake) in a year so I was impressed that I could swim a half mile with no breaks. It wasn’t fast, but I swam pretty straight and was able to pass some folks.

The bike:

Bleh. I think I have realized I do not enjoy cycling, especially on my crappy Target bike. The course wasn’t as hilly as I thought, but it was really curvy, so you had zero momentum going into the uphills. Also, my heart rate was like “WHY DID YOU JUST SWIM SO HARD FOR SO LONG? IS SOMETHING CHASING YOU?” and my heart rate would. Not. Come. Down. Not when I slowed down, not when I had water, not when I took it easy on the uphills.

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The run:

I got off the bike and my legs felt okay-ish, but again my heart rate was like “THIS IS NOT DRINKING BEER. WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING??” And by this time it was really hot, and when I tried to run my heart rate exploded and I felt a little dizzy. So since I had no goals, and I was just here for fun, I decided to just walk the 5k. I could have kept up a run/walk situation but…meh. Meh. I say.

I smiled at other racers, chatted with volunteers, and drank a lot of water. It was hot. Then there were fewer people on the course and I got bored. I kind of wished I’d spent my $85 on a new dress.

The finish:

I realized at some point that I was the last finisher, and I felt badly because I think people really like to cheer for last finishers who look like they’re overcoming some hardship but trying really hard. People like it when the last finisher is really old or overweight but doing their best to sprint to the finish! I was just a healthy lady who was not trained at all and being kind of lazy.

When I got to the finish line I tried to nonchalantly saunter across, but the announcer stopped the raffle/awards to call me out, and I waved to the crowd. “Hi! Sorry. Don’t mind me. Are there any vegetarian sandwiches left?” (There weren’t!)

Maybe 15 seconds after I finished, I was slinking off to collect my stuff when the announcer called out my name for first place! Well, only place. In the sadly neglected Athena division. (That means I weigh more than 150 pounds.) I collected my award and marveled at the math that allowed me to be both first and last. Ah, well.

So there’s that. Ninth triathlon in the books. Kind of made an idiot of myself, but I had fun.

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Three footnotes if I could remember how to actually code footnotes:

One, I think I actually came in last place, which is kind of funny. It’s that thing people dread but it’s fine. No one points and laughs at you, you still get the same t-shirt. I’m kind of happy to fall on this sword if it means someone else who would mind doesn’t have to. But, I was also in the last wave, so maybe someone who started 20 minutes ahead of me actually took more time than I did. Who knows.

Two, I wish the Athena division was really a thing. I always sign up for it if it’s an option because seriously, regardless of how in shape you are, it’s just harder to propel 150 pounds around a course than it is 120 pounds, and I’m a big person! I’d like to compete against other big people. I’m tall and broad and the only time in my life I’ve weighed less than 150 pounds was a brief period after college when I engaged in some somewhat disordered habits. Other than that, I’ve fit into the same jeans since high school.

And there were definitely women in that weight range who beat me today who decided to compete in their age group instead. They should have this cool plaque, not me! I mean, to each her own. Thanks for the first place/last place finish, ladies!

Three, race directors: you always run out of the vegetarian sandwiches or burritos! You should have more. I was starving and made a beeline for a McDonald’s breakfast sandwich when I left the park.
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Harvest Moon 70.3 Odds and Ends

My actual race recap for the Harvest Moon 70.3 was already 90 million pages long. These are random moments from that race that don’t really fit into a recap. Mostly so I can remember them:

The run up:

As we pulled up to the park the sky looked so crazy. It was like you could see the curve of the earth as the sun was rising. It was really cool.

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When I got to the table to pick up my packet I had the most awkward conversation with the girl about my t-shirt size. I always ask for a men’s small and usually this will fit me or it will fit Chris. I’ve never actually gotten a race t-shirt that I ever wore again so I don’t really care. But the girl was like, “You asked for a men’s small, do you want a women’s medium?” And I was just so in my own head and not prepared for this question I stuttered and stumbled way more than necessary. Sorry, nice lady at check in. My women’s medium doesn’t fit, but I don’t really care.

The lady next to me in transition was SO chatty. And normally I appreciate chatty. I am chatty. But I was so nervous and she seemed to chipper I really hated her in that moment. She kept telling people around us where they could put their number on their bike. Random.

The swim:

Pro tip: one way to fog up your goggles really fast is to cry while you’re wearing them. And at one point I thought my goggles were leaking but I literally think it was my own tears sloshing around in there. Ridiculous.

I drank some water on purpose in the lake. It’s Aurora’s drinking water so I figured it was fine.

The bike:

I put my gatorade bottles in the freezer the night before and then brought a small cooler to put them in during the swim. As I left for the bike leg, both were still frozen solid. Luckily it was so hot the first one melted pretty quick in my bottle cage. The other bottle was in my waist pack, and it still had a frozen chunk in the middle when I took it out at mile 28. That system worked really well.

On part of the bike ride two horses ran in their field, parallel to me on the road. Thanks, pacers!

On one part of the course I came to an intersection at the same time a big white truck and a red SUV approached. A police officer stopped traffic so I could go through, and I told him it made me feel like the president and he gave me a good laugh. I felt the same way when Chris was riding next to me on the run. Like this must have been how President Clinton felt when he was jogging with his motorcade.

There were kids playing in a ravine who waved to me. I also passed a skeet shooting range. I found the gunshots a little unnerving.

At one point a woman pulled up beside me and asked me why we didn’t see anyone coming back. “Well, it’s not an out and back course, so…”

There was a cow on the last stretch of the bike course. One of the race officials had to go out and chase him off the road. The cow looked grumpy and I was a little nervous he wouldn’t move before I passed. But it did.

The run:

I also left my hat in my cooler with the ice, thinking it would feel great and cold when I started the run, but I don’t remember noticing. I think it was so hot that the hat didn’t stay cold long.

As I was walking from transition towards the run course I was rubbing my ring finger with my thumb. My hands felt naked without the rings I normally wear. Chris noticed and pulled them off his keychain and handed them to me.

Aid stations:

Aid stations staffed by teenagers are funny. I approached one and about eleven or eight kids were all sitting down at a picnic table. As I approached one of them sighed and said, “Can somebody get up and get this lady?” Another station had more enthusiastic kids and one proudly proclaimed my gatorade had “NO bugs!” (I swallowed a few tiny ones in different cups of gatorade. Oh, well.)

There was a really cute kiddo volunteer at the turnaround/aid station on the bike course, maybe 10 or 11 years old? I said “Thanks for being out here!” And he said “Thank YOU for being out here! I couldn’t even do this!” He was very earnest and I wanted to give him a dollar.

As I approached the last aid station, either at mile 1 or mile 2, there were like six volunteers (the rest were already all packed up). They seemed really enthusiastic and asked “What can we get you?” I declined, grabbed my belly and said I was pretty full. Right after that it occurred to me that they were there just for me and it would have been polite to take some water.

The aftermath:

I came home on Tuesday and there was an envelope in my mailbox with my name on it and a 70.3 sticker inside! Chris got it for me from the Runner’s Roost.  It’s kind of big, I haven’t figured out what I should put it on yet.

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I have the most ridiculous tan lines. Really bad on my left leg from my pants and from my timing chip.

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I have a dot on the back of each hand from my cycling gloves. And then there’s the usual half moons that come from wearing something racerback over something with regular straps.

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We have an all-company meeting on Monday mornings. At the end we have a “Random five minutes” when people can share…whatever. Our CRO asked our CFO, “How’d your half-marathon go?” and she said it went well. And then my boss piped up with “Mel did her first half iron man yesterday!” And I said, “Yeah, that also involved a half marathon.” A little triathlon humor for you.

That afternoon I had lunch with a coworkerfriend. He’s an avid triathlete and an all around amazing human being and wanted to hear about my race. Surprise! I cried my eyes out as I told him about it.

That’s all. I promise I will stop talking about it now. 

Harvest Moon 70.3 – Race Recap

In the car on the way home from this race I thought to myself, “I should just brain dump right now, go home and make a video and just talk about this race before I start to to forget things.” But instead when I got home I took an ice bath, then a hot bath, then a shower so I could wash my hair, then was in bed asleep before 9 pm. And now it’s over a week later, but here we go. 

This is like the longest thing. You should go grab snack.

To begin, the entire week leading up to this race whenever I thought about it, I felt sick to my stomach with dread. I was terrified and so nervous that it would be too hard or I wouldn’t make the cut off time and they would ask me to get off the course. I was a total wreck. 

The day before I decided to start panicking over silly things. I texted Chris “I think my bike needs new brakes.” (It didn’t.) And I somehow I suddenly owned zero pairs of sunglasses, so I made a Target run for a few new pairs and stopped at 7-11 for gatorade. The guy who rang me up asked, “So…are you going to the gym?” “Nope! Just really thirsty.”

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By race day I’d sort of…I don’t know how to explain it. You can only maintain a state of utter panic for so long. When my alarm went off at 4:30 I thought, well, one way or another, in 12 hours it will all be over, and that will be a relief.

I’d set out all my gear the night before and prepped a smoothie. I managed to sleep a little, but shot out of bed, gear in the car, and we were out the door shortly after 5 am. We got to the park too early, the gates didn’t open until 6 am. Chris was a race day rockstar in many ways,  the first being that he was definitely doing his best to keep me chatting and to try to distract me from being so nervous. 

 

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We had to sit stopped in the car for about 20 minutes before we could go into the park. We sang some songs but changed all the words to be about riding your bike up hills. We tried to come up with a triathlon related word for every letter of the alphabet. (A for awesome, B for Bike, C for Chip timing…) 

I picked up my packet and got to work setting up transition. I was glad we got there super early and I had plenty of time because my brain was not working. I spent a lot of time just sort of staring at all my stuff. Should I drape my shirt over my seat? Put it on the ground? Guh. I…what do I do now?

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We went down to the water and I commenced panicking. This is a picture of a girl who really feels like she’s about to puke. And then the crying started. Not full on, but quite a few tears slipped out while I was braiding my hair and then getting on sunscreen, body glide, and my wetsuit. It was kind of embarrassing, sitting on a picnic table, getting suited up, just quietly sniveling. But what can you do? I am a cryer. I cried into Chris’s shoulder a little bit and then tried to get myself together.IMG 2161
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When the announcer called one minute until my wave started I could just feel my whole body vibrating with nerves. I tried to release nervous energy by shaking out my hands. It didn’t work.
 
But once I actually started swimming I felt amazing. For one thing, it felt so good to be actually doing something rather than standing around and fretting. On top of that, there is no time for nerves when you’re swimming. It engages all of your senses, leaving no room for anything else. 
 
I love swimming. It’s my favorite way to work out and it’s my favorite leg of  every triathlon. I love it so much, well, I decided to do a little extra swimming I guess.
 
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The course was essentially an out and back, a long extended triangle. There was only one set of buoys, though, so the way back was pretty tough to sight. One the way back I found myself way to the right of the other swimmers.  It took me about 24 minutes to do the first half of the swim and a little over 30 minutes to do the second half. Whoops.
 
I came out of the water and tried to be hardcore and run up the short hill to transition. But then I was like…I think this race is hardcore enough, thanks. I’ll just walk through the sand. Peeled my wetsuit off and darted into the Porta Potty.  
 
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The announcer was encouraging spectators to scope out transition techniques noting that some athletes would be in transition for less than 60 seconds. Meanwhile. I got tangled in my shirt.

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The guy next to me had essentially overlapped his towel onto mine and the nice girl inside of me didn’t want to step on it  so I kept weirdly leaning over to grab my stuff. Eventually I managed to get myself out onto my bike and out on the bike course. I only have one bottle cage on my bike so I wore a waist pack to hold another bottle. I had a veritable picnic in my sports bra with shot blocks and cliff bars chopped up into little pieces.
 
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The first half of the bike course felt amazing. Really amazing. There was a slight downhill out of the park and then it was onto Quincy Road. Quincy Road is a crazy roller coaster of straight up and down hills but I had ridden this thing four or five times by now and I was ready. I pulled over for just a moment around mile 10 to open my shot blocks (I always forget to tear open the package ahead of time) and to tuck my shoelaces into my right shoe, a step I’d forgotten in transition.
 
After the up and down hills, we turned on Watson Road. Watson Road felt like cycling heaven. It was a long stretch of slight downhill. Not steep enough to be scary at all, just enough to allow even a slowpoke like me to cruise along above 20 mph. “I’m doing it!” I thought. I am a CYCLIST!”
 
After Watson we turned right onto Colfax. Not still in cycling heaven, but it was mostly flat with just some very slight uphills. I was approaching the hallway point of the bike and I couldn’t believe how good I felt. I was above the average pace I needed to be, and I was feeling silly for ever worrying this was something I couldn’t finish.
 
The second half of the bike course was my worst nightmare. If I had known how this would feel when I woke up that morning, I’d have stayed in bed. Honestly. It was terrible.
 
Around mile 30 we started to head uphill again, but with very little downhill or flats to break up the climbing for about ten miles. My pace slowed way down, and around mile 32 we turned onto a road with ridiculous wind. It was getting to be midday and the sun was out in full force. Riding uphill, in hot sun, with a nasty headwind, with 20 miles to go, I was losing all confidence. My pace slowed and the miles felt longer and longer. 
 
I watched my average pace drop on my Garmin and watched as my goal time slipped farther and farther away. My legs ached, my head drooped, and I started to feel a little panicky. I think it was around mile 35 or 36 that I passed a girl in an ambulance. And I was so jealous. She was smiling, she wasn’t on her bike anymore, and she didn’t have to run 13 miles.
 
Along this tough stretch, I was passed by a white car a few times who was leapfrogging a racer so they could cheer her on. The first time I passed the car, a man and two little kids leaned out of the windows and started cheering their heads off “YOU CAN DO IT KEEP GOING DOING GREAT!”
 
Aaaand of course I burst into tears because I was not doing great and I wasn’t sure I could do this and I was so hot and tired and it felt like my legs were going to fall off.
 
But they kept leapfrogging, and as long as they were out there cheering for someone else they cheered for me, too. And it made me cry, but I called out the most sincere “Thank you!” I could.
 
At one point a woman passed me and commented “Ugh, this wind! This just feels endless.” And it did. That’s exactly how it felt. For those ten miles, it felt like I was going to be riding my bike for the rest of my days and that I was never going to turn onto Quincy and I’d never do anything again except ride my bike uphill in the sun.
 
I started bargaining. Okay, Mel. If you finish this race, I promise you will never, ever, ever have to ride your bike again. You can throw this bike into the dumpster when you get back to the park. And even, Okay…whatever’s up there. I don’t believe in this, but if there is a higher power out in the universe that can hear me, if you give me just one minute of downhill or heck, even flat, I will become a believer. (I actually did get a short downhill after that but I did not hold up my end of the bargain. Sorry, Universe.) 
 
Eventually I turned back onto Quincy Road and, for the most part, out of the wind! I never thought I’d be so happy for those roller coaster hills, but at least scary fast downhill broke up the steep uphills. I knew I could do this, and I only had 16 miles to go. At this point the ride was still tough, but felt less like death. More like a bad cold.
 
I grabbed a water bottle from the aid station at mile 46 and squirted it all over me. That was probably one of the best moments of my life. I wish I had done that earlier, but I was only carrying and drinking Gatorade, and I didn’t want to splash that all over myself and get sticky. 
 
In this last stretch, there was a race official on patrol on a motorcycle. He pulled up to me a few times and asked if I was okay and advised me to drink water if I felt dizzy. I put on my biggest, lyingest smile and said “I feel just fine, thanks! I’m just slow.” I didn’t feel dizzy or anything, but I did feel like the smart thing to do would have been to just stop.
 
Once I turned back into the park, I was so happy to be almost off the bike. The last three turns/uphills were brutal, though. They seemed suddenly much steeper than on my way out. It’s funny how your body really starts to protest when you know you’re almost done.
 
As I came to the end of the bike course, I saw Chris standing next to a volunteer, cheering his head off. Once again, I promptly burst into tears. At that point I didn’t even care. I wasn’t trying to smile or pretend I wasn’t sobbing like a baby. Volunteers were encouraging as I came into transition and shared some good news “You’re off the bike!” I managed a “Thanks” in between ragged breaths. I parked my bike, took off my helmet, and stood in transition for a solid 60 seconds at least, and just sobbed my eyes out.
 
I’m not a huge fan of the term “Lose my shit.” It’s crass. And not usually very descriptive. And I once knew someone who so overused the phrase that it’s still a joke in my household.
 
But guys, I lost my shit. Poor Chris is standing on the other side of the railing, “Are you okay?”
 
“Yes.” Sniff. “I’m fine.” Sob, sob. Chris was kind enough not to take pictures of this low moment, but I almost wish I had some. I just put my face in my hands and cried because I was so disappointed and so tired and hot and I was just sad.
 
I didn’t really think I had a run in me, but I grabbed my hat and some shot blocks and walked out of transition. Chris walked next to me for a few minutes and I blubbered to him “That was SO HARD. That was the HARDEST thing I have ever made myself do.”
 
“Do you want me to walk with you?”
 
Sigh. “No. I don’t know. I think I can do it. Okay. I’m gonna go run now.”
 
I tried to run a little but I mostly walked to mile one. I grabbed two cold cups of water, downed them, and realized I needed and wanted way more. I texted Chris and told him I wasn’t sure I could finish and asked him if he could bring me a full bottle of water.
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I think he caught up with me around mile two. I drank water, filled him in more on how I was feeling, cried more for good measure, and then, realizing I had several hours ahead of me, that I didn’t really want to carry the gallon jug of water he had brought, that I was dehydrated, emotional, and very tired, I think I said something like, “I think I need you to stay with me.”
 
And that was that. He rode his bike slowly next to me for the rest of the race. (This is certainly not something that is allowed, but when you are that far in the back of the pack, they don’t really care. We actually saw another couple doing the same thing.)
 
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I didn’t really decide I was going to finish until around mile 4. I was running for as long as I could stand it (maybe 2-3 minutes) and then taking a walk break. But by mile four it was like…even if I quit I have to walk back. So I can turn around now and walk back or I can go another measly two and a half miles and then turn back.
 
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I felt stronger as we went along. I drank water whenever I walked and poured tons of water on my self to cool off.
 
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I got to the turnaround right as they were taking it down. They actually were putting the cone away but put it back so I could run around it. I joked, “I don’t know why they give medals to the people who finish first. I’ve been at this for twice as long, that’s WAY harder.”
 
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I literally would not have finished if Chris wasn’t hanging out with me. I wouldn’t have had enough water, and I’m sure I would have been way too much in my head. Having someone to talk to made all the difference in the world. I just took it mile by mile. I really didn’t even think of it as 13 miles. I never thought “I’m on mile 9.” I just thought of it as six miles out, a little extra to the turnaround, and then counted down on the way back, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1. 
 
As we continued I felt better and just tried to run until I felt like I was going to fall over and then take a one minute walk break.
 
Company kept my spirits up, but it didn’t keep my feet from hurting. I ran as much as I could, but with three mils left I had stabbing pains in my feet and my hip was hurting again. At that point running didn’t really feel worse than walking so I tried to run for five minutes before taking a one minute break (my original plan for the whole run).
 
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With two miles left I was feeling a lot of pain. Obviously I wasn’t going to give up with two miles to go, but I was done.
 
I was glad I’d done the Rattlesnake on this same run path, so I knew that the last two miles were deceptive, especially around the one mile mark. There are two spots where the finish line looks just around the corner but I knew there were wide loops and turns left before I was actually done.
 
As we approached the finish, Chris rode ahead to get some photos, and I geared up for the best sprint to the finish I could muster. The volunteers/staff at this race were awesome and they cheered me all the way in and put a medal around my neck. 
 
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And then I cried again. Less than I did on the bike, but it was an emotional day. Home to an ice bath, pizza, not even a quarter of a beer, and then bed.

And then I teared up as I wrote this, as I read over it again, and just a little now as I’m hitting post. I can’t believe I did it. I can’t believe it’s over. I’m so glad it’s done.

I will have more to say about this, but there it is. My first and only half iron man. I told Chris if I ever even think about signing up for another one he has my permission to squirt water on my face, grab my computer out of my hands, and throw it across the room.

 

 
 
 

Harvest Moon 70.3 – OMG I actually did it

My Harvest Moon 70.3 Goals:

  1. Finish – check!
  2. 2. Don’t cry – not check. OMG not check. 

I finished! There were two distinct points when I definitely didn’t think I would, but I kept finding reserves of strength somewhere and made it to the finish line.

But as for my second goal, I cried from nerves before we even started. I cried from fatigue about 35 miles into the bike. And I cried from relief when I crossed the finish line. Full recap to come, but this photo is pretty representative. Full sun. By myself. Going uphill. Uff.

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Harvest Moon 70.3 – Obligatory Pre Race Post about Goals

  1. Finish.
  2. Don’t cry.

I signed up for this race eight months ago, on January 2nd. Thanks a lot, Past Mel. Doing a Half Ironman to celebrate turning 30 seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now it’s here (on Sunday). I had to abandon my carefully crafted training plan in favor of a Just-swim-bike-or-run-whenever-you-have-a-spare-moment strategy. I honestly think I might feel awesome and putter along, crossing the finish line smiling. I also might have a meltdown (mechanical or emotional) on the side of the road during the bike.

Stay tuned.

It’s 475% More Miles

So, I went to get on the spin bike at the gym. There are only like eight total at my gym and only four of them have any kind of display (to show distance, time, play the TV, etc) and obviously those four get the most use. So I know the people who use those spin bikes all the time in the evening. There’s blonde lady, the guy who kind of looks like Alec Baldwin, and the guy who looks exactly like the guy who just won on the Bachelorette. (The resemblance is eerie.)

I get to the bikes and only Alec Baldwin is there, and he says, “You’re here a little late today.” And we chatted about how it’s hard to make time for the gym, that it’s more fun to ride your bike, and what not.

Okay, so then I say something like, “I signed up for this race and I’ve been training ALL summer and I’m REALLY excited it’s this weekend and I’ve been spending ALL my time on the bike and spin bike because I am SO nervous about the bike and being able to finish.”

“What race?”

“The Harvest Moon. It’s a half iron distance, it’s this Sunday.”

“Is that in Parker?”

“No, it’s in Aurora.”

“I think it used to be in Parker. I’ve done that one a few times.”

Okay, so at this point I know that the Harvest Moon is a race that’s only like 10 years old and as far as I know it has always been in Aurora but whatever. This is the first time Alec and I have spoken, so…okay. I don’t really want to correct him.

Blah blah blah, something about college football. Pleasantries. Have a good day! Have a good ride!

Later that very same day, I got an email from Active about upcoming races in Denver. One on the list is the Fall Frenzy. In Parker! And I was like oh, how funny, this is obviously the race he was talking about. It has a fall sounding name, it’s the same weekend, but this one is in Parker. So I check it out.

The bike course is 12 miles long. Alec Baldwin now thinks I have been training and fretting all summer for a 12 mile bike ride.

Sigh.

So obviously I’m now trying to think of ways I can casually work this into conversation the next time we end up on neighboring bikes.

Rattlesnake Triathlon – Odds and Ends

There are always a million little details from any race that I want to remember but that would make the race recap nine million pages long. In roughly chronological order:

I chatted with a guy before the swim who was really nervous about the swim. This was his first Olympic distance, and he was worried because he was one of the only people not wearing a wetsuit. He was so nice, and I saw him after I finished, shook his hand, and was delighted that his race went well.

The Elites got in the water before any of us, and then…several of them went completely off course. It’s not very kind to make fun, but I think it was nice for all us amateurs on the shore to feel a little less intimidated.

At one point in the swim I kept getting boxed in by two swimmers. I couldn’t quite get around them and finally I just came up for air and tread water for a moment to let them get ahead of me. A volunteer on a paddle board called to me, “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m just waiting for the damn traffic to clear.”

I reiterate: the swim felt somehow very narrow and crowded. It wasn’t unbearable but there was a lot more contact than I am used to.

As we were packing up I realized that my goggles and swim cap somehow went missing. Blargh! Those were my favorite goggles, and they were really nice swim caps (for free race swim caps).

The woman parked next to me in transition said she hadn’t seen the wetsuit strippers or the buckets to rinse off feet. I saw both, so maybe she was just going too fast. There are some advantages to being a little slower, I suppose. She also said she really had to pee but planned to wait after the bike was over. I wonder how that decision played out.

Oh! And I opened a portapotty to see a dude peeing AGAIN. Guys, seriously. I know it’s a race but you do have time to lock the door.

As I headed out on the bike, I passed a woman who looked quite old. She was actually the only person I passed on the whole bike ride, and she ended up passing me back towards the end of the race. Oh, well.

As I was headed down a long scary downhill part I got really freaked out and slowed way down. A woman on the other side of the road, in the middle of a long hard uphill climb, shouted out to me, “Keep pedaling, number 238! You can do it!” I frigging love triathletes. They are the nicest people. It amazes me that someone in the hardest part of the route would toss out encouragement to someone on (ostensibly) the easiest part.

As I turned back into the park a volunteer commented to me, “It’s really nice to see someone smiling for a change! Everyone looks so sad.”  That makes me sad. I guess most folks probably put their Serious Race Face on when they’re pushing hard, but isn’t smiling and thanking volunteers an essential part of the day?

When I came back into transition from the bike I couldn’t mentally deal with re-racking my bike so I just sort of parked it off to the side. That doesn’t break any rules that I know of.

I used the runkeeper app on my phone to prompt me to run and walk on 5/1 minute intervals. The GPS on this thing kind of sucks, though, so it kept reading out really ridiculous average paces because it thought I had gone like 13 miles instead of 6. I don’t know why but I found this embarrassing and I kept trying to muffle the sound.

I came up on a guy who was clearly struggling on the run at about mile 3 (out of 6.2). He said, “There better be a timing mat at the turnaround or else I would have just turned around and cut the course a long time ago!”  He looked sad. People who are at the back of the pack are either just cruising along being happy and not caring (like me, maybe 5%) or they’re having a bad day and they are pissed.

I had to pee really badly on the run but didn’t see a portapotty until mile 5. Bathroom location is really something I need to add to my race recon.

It was really fun knowing other people who were racing. My friend Megan was there and my neighbor Meg was racing as well. The longer I live in Denver, the smaller it gets, and it feels like you really can’t turn around without bumping into someone you know.

The finisher’s medal was a bottle opener with a rattlesnake on it (cool) hung on a dog chain (ehhn). What can I say, I like my finisher’s medals. I can’t hang this on the wall because it doesn’t look like a medal.

And my pictures came out kinda cute! I usually find official race pictures to be extremely unflattering but these are pretty okay!

I think that’s all I have to say about that. Twelve days until Harvest Moon. Ack!