Sammamish Triathlon, August 2010
I signed up for this race a mere two and half weeks before it was to take place and needless to say, my training (if it can be called “training”) left something to be desired. I had been doing a fine amount of hot yoga, had biked a few times here and there, had fooled around in the pool if and when I had some time (which, truth be told was not often and usually involved pushing Brooklyn around on a floatie and back floating with the older girls)… In addition, I had barely run in the last several months due to a nagging hip/IT band injury.
I had immediate buyer’s remorse after I purchased my entry… What the eff was I thinking? I asked the computer screen which displayed my receipt, and also the swim, bike, and run course. I’ll tell you what I was thinking… I was thinking I missed racing and training -- mainly due to an injury that reared its head seemingly each and every time I tried to push myself out of my comfort zone. I spent the summer running deflating 2 milers, which usually ended in a jog-slash-hobble home. John would see me from the window, limping my way up the hill with a grimace of frustration and pain on my face. “Stop hurting yourself.” He’d tell me with no shortage of irritation in his voice. “As if.” I would think to myself. I began supplementing with a hot power vinyasa yoga class, taught by an Ironman triathlete. It was hard – very hard, but I got a contact high from my very fit instructor’s triathlon successes. I kept pushing with the running, until I could get in 4 miles – which was followed by some, if not all, of the following: ice, foam rolling, alleve, and lots of stretching.
I wanted to race. The Lake Sammamish triathlon was just down the street and I was eager to do something before the summer came to a close. So I signed up, and told myself it would be ‘just for fun.’ Realizing I had but a few weeks to crunch some serious training in, I got cracking. I tried a few open water swims in Pipe Lake in my Mom’s backyard, and I felt surprisingly strong in the water – all those chatarungas, I suppose. I also did some quick-paced bike rides on East Lake Sammamish – where the race course would be – and got some decent (relatively pain-free) running in. What I didn’t do, however, is one single brick. I knew my legs would talk to me during the race and I wasn’t looking forward to that conversation, but I would cross that bridge when I got there. I essentially was hoping for an injury free end to the race – even if it wasn’t going to be my PR debut.
Morning of Race:
My alarm went off at 4:45 and I crept quietly and quickly to the bathroom, washed my face, brushed my teeth, and swapped out my cozy pj’s for my tri clothes – as well as several warm layers, because it was a COLD morn. Went downstairs and chugged some water while making coffee. I got my bike loaded and added the final items to my bag (helmet, timing chip and swim cap, and a caffeinated Gu). I took my traditional pre-race breakfast to go (toast with almond butter, honey and sliced banana) and hit the road. It was dark on the 3 mile drive to the park. I sipped my coffee and ate my breakfast… It was still dark as I pulled into the parking lot at Lake Sammamish State Park. I always get that ‘this is kinda insane’ feeling the morning of a race… until I see hundreds of other men and women who are up, milling around bleary eyed, cupping canisters of coffee and Gatorade, wheeling their bikes and gear purposefully around. I unloaded my bike and started making my way to body marking. On my way there I was greeted by several warm ‘hellos’ and ‘good mornings’… Nice group of folks, I thought. There’s nothing like the familiar smell of porta-potties, neoprene, and body marking sharpie markers to get me fired up in the morning. After I was marked I wheeled my bike into transition and was stoked to see that I was the first to arrive on my designated rack. This has happened exactly: never. I grabbed the coveted aisle spot, which allowed me to spread out my gear a bit more than if I were cramped in the middle of the rack. I got my stuff all set up and was pinning my bib number to the shirt I intended to wear on the bike and run when a tall smiling woman threw her bike up on the rack next to me. “Hi! I’m Molly.” she said. “I’m gonna put my stuff next to you because you look nice.” She told me. She proceeded to dump her designer beach bag full of gear on the ground beneath her bike that was dangling precariously by one handle bar on the rack. She laughed at herself and asked if I thought she should eat something. I looked at her pile of stuff and saw about 10 different kinds of nutrition bars, gels, shot blocks and various other things. She settled on a banana and then asked me to help her get her stuff set up. She was so funny and nice, and thankfully was completely distracting me from any pre-race jitters or nerves I might have otherwise had. When there was about a half hour until transition closed I took a quick jog around the edge of the lake to warm up my legs. Though it was not warm, it was an amazingly beautiful morning. The sun had come out behind thin sheets of orange, pink and purple clouds. I stretched a bit, took a last minute potty stop and checked out the swim course. Then I made my way back to transition to pour myself into my wetsuit. Molly was struggling with her wetsuit herself. “This is borrowed.” She told me as she yanked up the legs. “I’ve never worn one of these before.” I managed to get myself all zipped in and walked down to the water with Molly to wait for our wave. We were in the same age group and it turned out we’d be going off at the same time. She asked how she should swim out , where she should stand while she was waiting, and if I ever felt like I was going to pass out when I exited the water. I told her I hadn’t done a race in over a year so I probably wasn’t the one to give advice, but told her my method was to stick to the inner edge away from other swimmers. My usual MO is to go out easy and pick it up at the first buoy. This became my method after my first open water swim in a wetsuit, in which I completely panicked – freaked, really – and felt like I would literally drown. I had tried to swim my hardest right at Go, and had hyperventilated, which I think was a combination of race nerves, adrenaline, and the new constricted feeling of the wetsuit. At any rate, since that debacle, I have chosen to be calm at the start and then really get moving once I’m warmed up and comfortable. This had worked out fairly well, the only drawback being that I had to move around slower swimmers once I got going. That was a big drawback, in all honesty. I looked at the course and realized I wouldn’t have much time to warm up, as it was only a ¼ mile swim. Our wave was up and both Molly and I hugged the outer left edge in the front. “Have fun.” She told me with a huge smile. I freaking loved that girl, I decided.
Swim:
When we were sent off I went for it and swam as hard as I could, while inwardly asking myself what the high hell I thought I was doing. I managed to stay calm and get enough air every fourth stroke, so I kept up the pace. The first buoy approached quickly and I turned tightly around it and spotted the next one and kept my pace steady. I got excited when our group of red-capped women began to thin out and I saw the yellow caps of the wave that had been sent off before us. I started to get breathless and tired as the second buoy approached, and noticed that my right rotator cuff was not enjoying the hard work. I had a touch of the ‘I can’t keep this up’ feeling… But the end was near… I could see the finish so despite some discomfort I hauled myself onshore as quickly as I could. Once on land, I felt good – not that disoriented exhaustion I have felt before when getting out from the swim. There was a steep ledge to hop over, and two volunteers to hoist up the swimmers as they came out. I thanked them and hauled my cookies as fast as I could back to transition. I checked my watch and realized I finished the swim in under 6 minutes – which may be a record for me.
T1
I was feeling pretty stoked as I peeled off my suit in front of my bike, and then I realized Molly was already back – standing leisurely in front of her bike, toweling off. ‘This chick is faster than I thought.’ I heard myself think. Initially when I signed up for this race, (my ‘just for fun’ race) I didn’t intend on really concentrating on transition times. I was just going to take it easy I told myself. But a few days before the race, I bought myself some zip laces to replace the regular ones and that’s when I knew I wouldn’t be able to cruise through transitions. They were, after all, an art form in themselves – which could either add or shave precious seconds or minutes from an overall finish time. Molly said hi and was asking me some questions which I may or may not have answered as I chucked my goggles, swim cap, wetsuit and got bike shoe #1, On. Bike shoe #2, On. Shirt, On. Helmet, On. Glasses, On. Bike off the rack. I was out the door, sopping wet and covered in dried grassy bits, while Molly was still toweling off. I could hear her voice as I ran my bike out, “You’re not even going to wear socks?” “Well actually, Molly,” I thought, “Socks are for pussies.” A valuable lesson I learned when I trained with the Raise the Bar Triathlon team.
Bike
I hopped on my bike in the mount area and was off. Getting out of the park was slow going, as it was a narrow path and crowded with riders. I called out a few “on your lefts” but for the most part wasn’t able to get moving until East Lake Sammamish, where the bikers thinned out and passing was easier. I felt great once I got going. Since I hadn’t bike-trained much to speak of, I wasn’t hoping for record times, which I think did contribute to a sense of overall enjoyment on my ride. I did push, and was surprised that I didn’t seem to be getting passed all that much. Except, of course, from the Tri Bikes… You hear them before you see them. They sound like a whirling combination of a swarm of angry hornets and a humming jet engine. And then they whir by – a stream of tricked out carbon and aerodynamics, operated by a pair of pumped up calves the likes of which I will probably never have. I feel a certain degree of acceptance when I’m passed by one these riders… But not when I’m passed by an older gent in a neon blue tank on a mountain bike. Which, did happen, and I made it a point to pass back. About halfway to the turnaround I looked up at the cars carefully navigating along the road next to the bikers, only to see John’s face hanging out his car window. I didn’t have the wherewithal to give a proper ‘hello’ but I do think I opened my mouth in a gaping ‘whazzup’ kind of way, which probably looked a bit disturbing come to think of it. For the most part, this course was flat, with a minor hill at about mile 5 and a fun ride down on the other side. As I was approaching the turnaround I was feeling great and remarked to myself that I hadn’t noticed anybody else in my age group passing (we’re all marked on our calves with our age). Just then I heard a sweet “on your left” and saw Molly and her socks flying by. I was impressed and then surprised and tried to keep up with her, but she was gone within a few minutes. This was somewhat disheartening, but I got back into the flow and duked it out a few times with blue neon mountain bike rider, who I finally passed for good with about 3 miles to spare. Going back into the park I was neck in neck with another woman. I passed her and she passed me, and then again. She worked hard and passed me again, then pulled directly in front of me and slowed way down. “Come ON,” I muttered to myself as I went to pass her. “Sorry,” she said as I was passing. Maybe I didn’t say it so quietly after all. “Thank you,” I said when she allowed me to go in front of her. As I pulled into the park I tried to assess the damage on my legs. They actually felt pretty good. But as I dismounted I felt it – that heavy, jelly, deadweight feeling. I braced myself so I wouldn’t fall (I’ve seen some embarrassing falls when riders dismount) and jogged awkwardly into transition. My watch said we were working with a total time of 1 hour – swim, T1, and bike included… which meant that the 14 mile bike took me around 50 minutes.
T2
I’ve never been able to get a handle on the second transition. I found my spot and racked my bike. Bike shoe #1….. off. Bike shoe #2…. off. Pause, pause, pause… Helmet, off. Hat, on. Running shoe #1, struggle with laces and, On. Running shoe #2, struggle, squeeze, push. in. my. foot, and, On. Take massive gulps of water and Gatorade mix from my water bottle and grab my caffeinated Gu. Stand up and run on my wobbly legs to the exit to begin: The Run.
The Run
There’s something relatively comforting about going out of the final transition onto the run. One cannot drown, and one cannot fall and scrape up his or her face beyond recognition… One simply must put one foot in front of the other… regardless how incredibly painful it feels. And that first mile? It sucks. It sucks particularly significantly if one has not trained oneself to go from the bike to the run… Say, someone who didn’t manage to do a single brick workout… Namely: me. The other runners who went out with me crawled along for awhile, then after some curse words and complaints about the pain, seemed to get their legs underneath them and get rolling. I tore into my Gu and took a few fruity goopy swallows (grody) and tried to hit the accelerator… I couldn’t kick into a faster pace though, and watched with mounting frustration as what seemed like a handful of people cruised by. This is ‘just for fun’ I reminded myself… and even though I was in a considerable amount of pain – each hamstring cramping and my lungs barely getting enough air in and out – I was having fun. One woman, who was half my size and twice as fast, flew by like she was on wheels. I looked at her calf. 67. “I hope I’m like her when I’m 67,” another runner behind me said. “I wouldn’t mind being like her when I’m 37.” I said and laughed. I was starting to feel better and had accepted the fatigue, as well as the fact that my heaving breath was loud and labored. We turned off onto a dirt trail with meadows on either side and I got an endorphin rush. My leg/hip situation was twinging on and off, but I could ignore it. Mile 1 was marked on the road, and I hit it in just over 8 minutes. Being on the trail was distracting, and made the time and distance go quickly. The course popped up on the road for a minute, then back on to the trail, around an entire soccer field, and back onto the trail again. I lost a sense of how far I’d gone, but looked at my watch and thought the end must be somewhat near. Just then I heard a woman on the sidelines say we were almost there, that we had just a couple more minutes ‘til the end. I could hear the bells and shouts from the finish line. “Finish strong!” somebody yelled just as I saw the finisher chute come into view. I picked it up as much as my legs would allow and heard my girls and John yell for me. I also heard my timing chip pick up my final time, which meant I could slow down – stop, even -- which I did, and promptly felt like I would throw up. I didn’t, thank God, but it was touch and go there for a minute. I saw John and the girls as I came out of the gates and they all gave me big hugs. Seriously, the best feeling ever to have my little ones (Brookie included) say, “great job, Mommy.” Total time 1 hour and 28 minutes...
I saw Molly as I was heading back into transition to get my gear. “Good job!” I told her. “You too.” She said, then added, “Those Cliff Shot Blocks? Yeah, they made me burp the entire run.” And then she made some burping noises for affect. Love that girl. John and the girls headed over to the play park while I went in to gather my stuff. Molly and her three kids were with her in transition. They were hanging on the rack and her little boy was karate kicking his little sister. I heard Molly say something like, “Let’s not kick each other. Do you know what happens when boys hurt their sisters?” At which point she grabbed him by the arm and gave him a firm look. “Right back into Mom-Mode, right?” I said, knowing exactly what that felt like. She nodded and rolled her eyes, then laughed. Being a triathlete was already being trumped by being a Mom…
Looking around I realized many Moms seemed to gravitate toward triathlons and running events. Probably in large part because Moms have the ‘endurance thing’ down pat. Moms are in survival mode on a daily basis. However, unlike athletic events, there are no finish lines in motherhood, no excited cheering spectators handing out cups of water and encouraging words, there are no medals, or personal records. Of course, being a Mom is the best thing in the world… but there is something so undeniably rewarding about crossing a tangible finish line… I was thinking this as I wheeled my bike toward my little girls laughing and smiling on the park playground.
