Choosing
to register for an international distance race pushed me right out of my
comfort zone and into a 1500m open water swim and a transition area full of experienced and elite triathletes (including an Olympian in training). But I kept repeating Coach E's words of wisdom to myself as I set up my transition area:
"The Longest Distance in ANY race is the six inches between your ears"
This
race was different from most because it was a time-trial start, meaning that
only two swimmers entered the water at a time, instead of an entire group
taking off at once. Honestly, that was part of the allure of this race
(not to mention that it was a wet-suit swim and the water was CLEAR).
After our group slid into our wet suits, we lined up according to our
race numbers to wait our turn to take to the water. Because I decided
to register as a "novice", I was seeded 4th from the end. A
position that wasn't so bad in my mind--no eager swimmers to swim over me and
chances were good that the fleet of kayaks that were on the water for
assistance would be available if I needed to take a moment to freak-out.
One-by-one I watched as our group entered the water. The hubby gave me a quick kiss and a few words of encouragement, and before I knew it he was in the water.
As I lined up beside the other Novices, the fear began to rise. But the closer I got to the water, the calmer I felt. . . the more I trusted that I would do this.
The timer counted down and I stepped forward into the water, began to swim, and the most amazing thing happened. . . no anxiety, no freak-outs, no panic. I was swimming, breathing, sighting and moving forward. Coach E and the hubby had both advised me to think of the swim, not as a 1500m race, but as 15 100m races, meaning to swim to each buoy, stop, regroup and continue until you reach the shore. But when I reached the first buoy I felt okay, so I continued to swim a bit. After 200m, I decided to take their advice and pause, meanwhile meeting one of the kayakers who checked on me. I assured her that I was fine and continued to swim. At 300m, I paused again, and the woman in the kayak, again, checked on me. She said, "You know, you don't have to do this. You can get out. You don't have to finish if you don't want to." I calmly said to her, "That isn't an option. I am going to finish. I might be slow, and I might be last, but I will finish. If you would like to paddle alongside me in case I need you, that would be fine." I continued the swim. 100m by 100m I counted them down. I kept telling myself "Get the ---- over it" and "Keep Moving Forward" for encouragement. . . and it worked. 43 minutes and 28 seconds later, I exited the water, turned and waved to the fleet of kayaks in the water and felt an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I had done it. I swam 1500m in the open water. I did not touch a canoe or kayak to rest. I never had to flip on my back AND I did not finish last.
Once the swim was behind me (literally), I was able to focus on the next leg of the journey. After 4 minutes and 45 seconds of being "lost in transition" (What the hell was I doing? Removing my wetsuit, eating oranges. . . who knows?) I "ran" my bike to the mount line and began the painful ascent to the bike course.
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| Yep. That hill is right out of transition. . .you met it twice. . . once on the bike and again on the run. |
The bike course was a 2 loop course that totaled 27 miles. Since I was one of the last swimmers in the water and one of the last (but not THE last) out of the water, some athletes were already finished with the bike portion, and others were close to halfway finished. That meant that some guys were already out on the run, but others would be making their second loop as I made my first. As I left the marina area, I passed two other people headed out on the bike before turning onto the highway. I was soon greeted by the whoosh of zipp disks roaring past me as participants pushed up the slight incline at the start of the loop. I had many passers-by that just blew on past, but occasionally heard a call of, "Good Job Novice" or "Keep it up Novice, you got this" as they spied the big "N" on my right calf indicating my level lack of expertise. About 3 miles into the ride I saw a rider approaching in my mirror and heard, "Oh! Hi, Erin!" My brother was well on his way to finishing the bike portion of the race at a respectable pace. I knew the hubby and friends couldn't be too far behind, so for the remainder of my first loop, I held out hope that I would see them passing by. Meanwhile, I enjoyed the presence of my new bike computer to keep my speed at a decent pace (18-21 mph in the flats), and tried not to get passed by too many riders. As I rounded the last turn of my first loop, the wind picked up and the pedaling became harder. As I passed the entrance to the marina, I realized that no one would be blowing past this go-round. Everyone had either finished or was on their second lap--in front of me. My only hope of seeing another athlete was catching up with someone, and despite my best effort I knew that probably wouldn't happen. The second lap was long and lonely. I rode 13 miles--ALONE. I saw NO one except the law enforcement officers that were positioned at each intersection and the occasional passing car or motorcycle support crew. The wind picked up significantly and it was difficult to keep a steady pace AND keep the bike in a straight line--I felt like the wind was going to tip me over at any point and I looked forward to stretches of road with trees for protection from the sun and the wind. I finally rolled into the marina and crossed the line into transition 1 hour, 44 minutes and 50 seconds later. My glutes were numb, but my favorite part was ahead.
T-2 was a bit speedier (2:15), but I paused to say hi to my brother (who had already finished--2:36:42) and get a report on our group's whereabouts. Everyone else was still running, including the hubby, which meant I was guaranteed to see them on the course since it was a twice-out-and-back layout. I hobbled out of transition and began to worry that I would not be able to finish my favorite part of the triathlon. I usually love the transition from bike to run, but that day my legs just wouldn't go. Climbing the hill out of transition was tough, but once I hit the flatter section, I was able to move freely and pick up a little speed. As soon as I hit the course, I saw my friend "Gills" and soon thereafter our birthday girl of the group. The hubby was less than 1/4 mile ahead of me (on his second loop) and I pushed to catch up. Being able to run with him for a short distance and reconnect was what I needed to keep me going. We eventually split up (I was walking water stations and he needed to keep moving to avoid cramps), but the momentum that I lost on those 13 lonely bike miles returned and helped to keep me going toward the finish. My 10K time of 1:01:24 was certainly not my fastest. In fact that is the slowest 10K I have run in quite a while. But given the hills of the course and the fact that I had completed both a swim and a bike prior, it was good enough.
3 hours, 36 mins and 40 seconds after I dove into the cool, clear water, I crossed the finish line. I certainly wasn't fast, but I will have to admit that it was the proudest moment I have had in a while. I honestly wasn't sure I could do it. Not just the swim, but all of it.
Triathlon is not just about your body being in shape, but about your mind being in shape.
"The Longest Distance in ANY race is the six inches between your ears"
It is true.
10 Things I learned:
1. Starting last in the swim isn't such a bad thing. You get a personal escort into shore by the kayak fleet AND the air temperature just might be higher than the water temperature by the time you finish the swim which makes for a much more comfortable bike ride.
2. Trust your wet suit. It will keep you floating if you need to stop.
3. Riding 27 miles, in the sun, with a sleeveless tri-top is another way of asking to be sunburned.
Expect it. Use sunscreen.
4. Transition is not for picnicking. Use your time wisely and keep moving.
5. If you peel a clementine before the race and leave it in transition, it may get gritty and feel like you are eating sand by T-2. Just sayin'. Try fig newtons instead.
6. The longer the ride, the tougher it is to get off that bike and run. Just keep moving.
7. You are not last (or close to last) because you are slow. You are there because all the other people that considered doing the race decided that they couldn't/were scarred/ were too slow. You had the guts to take a risk and they didn't. Who will feel the sense of accomplishment later?
8. When in doubt, "Get the ---- over it" and "Keep Moving Forward". . . that is where the finish line is.
9. My hubby knows me better than anyone in the world. He had faith in me when I didn't and helped me find that same faith.
10. I CAN do ANYTHING I set my mind to.
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| Finish Strong. . . |
So, what's next? A little speed work to get ready for a super-sprint, embracing my clipless pedals, and then just some training this summer. Maybe a return to Belews in the fall for the sprint?
Who knows what I will accomplish?
I certainly didn't think I would have finished an international last week. . .
