Sunday, June 10th
5am- The alarm clock begins to blare and I drag myself out of bed to shut it off, giving Hubs a few more minutes of sleep. Surprisingly, I slept well. Just the night before I had considered taking melatonin to help me slumber, but had decided against it in the off chance that it would affect my energy level on race day. The gamble seems to have paid off, but with the morning sun my nerves have returned. As I brush my teeth at the bathroom sink, my hands are shaking.
5:15am- Hubs has pulled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. I contemplate jumping in the shower to snap myself awake, but decide against it and instead I busy myself with pulling my hair back into tight pigtails that will last throughout the day. That accomplished, I slip into my swimsuit and running shorts, choosing to don my North Face fleece even though the day promises to get hot.
5:30am- I'm in the kitchen munching on a PB&J while Hubs is outside fighting with the bike rack on the car. Between bites of sandwich, I am sipping water from one of my Nalgene bottles. I am taking everyone's advice and starting to hydrate early and often. My reusable grocery bag is packed with my gear and waiting at the front door. My bike is waiting patiently outside. I'm pretty sure I have everything I need. I lift up a silent prayer for courage and head for the door.
5:40am- I am getting impatient, Hubs is still fighting with the bike rack. My plan was to get to the race by 6am, giving me 45 solid minutes to set up my transition area and figure out where everything is. I am starting to think I'm not going to have as much time as I wanted. I don't like to be rushed and Hubs knows it. Just as I begin to suggest we put the bike in the back seat, my cell phone buzzes. It is a text message from my co-worker, Karen (you might remember Karen from my Greece trip last year), she has already arrived at the race and is wondering if I'm there as well. I respond we're on our way and it must have been a magic response because Hubs suddenly announces we're ready to roll.
6am- We've arrived at the race, but traffic is a gridiron and multiple roads are blocked off. We had planned to park at the local high school, but we can't figure out how to get there . Instead, I suggest that Hubs drop me off at the entrance to the transition area. The rules stated that no one was to be dropped off, but there are multiple people doing it and I am freaking out that I'm not going to have enough time if I don't get out of the car now. Hubs pulls the car over behind an SUV and unstraps my bike from the rack. With a promise to park the car and come find me, he jumps back in the car and I begin the short trek to the transition area gate. I feel incredibly alone even though I am moving in a herd of athletes and well-wishers.
6:05am- As I approach the transition area, I am asked to show my event wristband. I put mine on the night before, so I lift my right arm and I'm immediately waved through the gates with the instructions to find my wave number listed on the bike racks. Transition is a sea of bikes, but the wave numbers are posted in bright colors and it only takes me a few minutes to find racks labeled #24. I intentionally choose an open spot close to the fence because I reason it will make it easier to find my stuff. There are 4 girls already on the rack, but they are open and friendly-- all first time competitors. At first, I think they already know each other and I worry I am impeding on their group, but I come to find out that they all just met. This is certainly not what I expected. Together, we figure out where our bike stickers are supposed to be placed and how to hang our bikes on the rack (by the seat). It seems that each girl has a different strength, but we all fear the swim the most. My nerves calm just a bit.
6:15am- I've got my transition area all set up. My bike is hung, my ankle strap is on my left leg with my timing chip in place. I have my running shoes set with a sock in each. My bike helmet is ready to be strapped on along with my BIB belt. I am running through my final inspection when I hear someone calling my name. Looking up, it's Karen. I am so excited to see her (someone I actually know) that I give her a big, impulsive hug. Karen is competing with her friend, Lynn, a tri veteran and after introductions, they invite me to walk towards the quarry beach (where the swim will take place).
6:20am- We've made our way over towards the porta potties. I hate porta potties, but all the water and Powerade Zero I've been drinking leaves me no other options.
6:30am- We've made our way down to the beach. The quarry has been transformed into a 1/2 mile race course complete with huge, blow-up start and finish gates. Seeing the course firsthand is daunting; it looks so much longer than it did in the participant guide. Lynn explains that within 10 minutes of our wave start, we'll be asked to line up with our groups. With 1 minute to start, we'll be led out into thigh deep water to wait for the horn. She explains that the swim is not about technique; it is about survival and just getting through.
6:40am- We've walked back to the transition area with 5 minutes left to grab everything we need for the swim leg. Transition will be cleared at 6:45am to make way for athletes grabbing their bikes during transition #1. I decide to keep my running shorts, flip flops, and glasses with me--Hoping Hubs can hold them while I swim and then hand them back as I dash to my bike. I've also grabbed my swim goggles and yellow, race-issued swim cap. Satisfied I have everything I need, I head over towards the beach to meet Hubs. He is waiting for me wearing his Team Lacey/My wife ROX t-shirt.
6:55am- The beach is packed. Hubs and I have landed ourselves under the shade of some brush trees. A young woman sings the national anthem and then the SheROX announcer calls for the first four waves to line up on the sand. The elites will set off at exactly 7am. The second wave is for ovarian cancer survivors, then the relay teams will set off, followed by the oldest age group- 56+.
7am- The elites have been led into the water. They look anxious and ready to go. At exactly 7am, the horn blares and they are off. I am amazed by how fast they fly in the water.
7:08am- The first elite competitor is already out of the water and running towards the transition area for her bike. Meanwhile, the next two waves have been released-- a new wave starting every 4 minutes. There are 31 waves in all.
7:34am- Karen's wave has entered the water and I give her a huge shout of encouragement. Part of me wishes I could be starting with her because the waiting is torture. I am once again, a bundle of nerves.
8:20am- I slip my swim cap over my pigtails and wiggle it into position. That done, I slide my swim goggles onto my head and hand Hubs my glasses. I take off my running shorts and hand those to Hubs as well. With a quick kiss, I head towards the sand to stand with the rest of my wave. Without my glasses and with my hearing impaired by the swim cap, I feel like I'm stranded on an island. I am dimly aware of the arrival of my brother and sister-in-law--shouting out good luck wishes from the stands with Hubs. I throw them two thumbs up and then inch my way towards the water as another wave is released.
8:30am- Wave #23 has been released, which means my wave is next. There is a cameraman immediately to my right and I give a nervous wave when he passes the camera down the line. I'm so scared for the swim, I don't even realize I'm being filmed in my swimsuit.
8:33am- Suddenly, the announcer is asking us to enter the water. The water temp is 78 degrees, but it feels chilly. We walk out a few feet and stop. Not sure what to do, I splash water up and down my arms. When we're asked how many are competing for the first time, over half the group raises their hands. 30 seconds to go. We are asked if anyone wants to swim with a swim buddy (local swim team members who've volunteered to swim alongside competitors and offer emotional support). One person from the group raises her hand. 15 seconds. I take a huge breathe, lean forward... and the horn blares. I'm off.
5am- The alarm clock begins to blare and I drag myself out of bed to shut it off, giving Hubs a few more minutes of sleep. Surprisingly, I slept well. Just the night before I had considered taking melatonin to help me slumber, but had decided against it in the off chance that it would affect my energy level on race day. The gamble seems to have paid off, but with the morning sun my nerves have returned. As I brush my teeth at the bathroom sink, my hands are shaking.
5:15am- Hubs has pulled himself out of bed and into the bathroom. I contemplate jumping in the shower to snap myself awake, but decide against it and instead I busy myself with pulling my hair back into tight pigtails that will last throughout the day. That accomplished, I slip into my swimsuit and running shorts, choosing to don my North Face fleece even though the day promises to get hot.
5:30am- I'm in the kitchen munching on a PB&J while Hubs is outside fighting with the bike rack on the car. Between bites of sandwich, I am sipping water from one of my Nalgene bottles. I am taking everyone's advice and starting to hydrate early and often. My reusable grocery bag is packed with my gear and waiting at the front door. My bike is waiting patiently outside. I'm pretty sure I have everything I need. I lift up a silent prayer for courage and head for the door.
5:40am- I am getting impatient, Hubs is still fighting with the bike rack. My plan was to get to the race by 6am, giving me 45 solid minutes to set up my transition area and figure out where everything is. I am starting to think I'm not going to have as much time as I wanted. I don't like to be rushed and Hubs knows it. Just as I begin to suggest we put the bike in the back seat, my cell phone buzzes. It is a text message from my co-worker, Karen (you might remember Karen from my Greece trip last year), she has already arrived at the race and is wondering if I'm there as well. I respond we're on our way and it must have been a magic response because Hubs suddenly announces we're ready to roll.
 |
| Karen and I enjoying dinner on the beach, Mykonos, Greece |
6:05am- As I approach the transition area, I am asked to show my event wristband. I put mine on the night before, so I lift my right arm and I'm immediately waved through the gates with the instructions to find my wave number listed on the bike racks. Transition is a sea of bikes, but the wave numbers are posted in bright colors and it only takes me a few minutes to find racks labeled #24. I intentionally choose an open spot close to the fence because I reason it will make it easier to find my stuff. There are 4 girls already on the rack, but they are open and friendly-- all first time competitors. At first, I think they already know each other and I worry I am impeding on their group, but I come to find out that they all just met. This is certainly not what I expected. Together, we figure out where our bike stickers are supposed to be placed and how to hang our bikes on the rack (by the seat). It seems that each girl has a different strength, but we all fear the swim the most. My nerves calm just a bit.
6:15am- I've got my transition area all set up. My bike is hung, my ankle strap is on my left leg with my timing chip in place. I have my running shoes set with a sock in each. My bike helmet is ready to be strapped on along with my BIB belt. I am running through my final inspection when I hear someone calling my name. Looking up, it's Karen. I am so excited to see her (someone I actually know) that I give her a big, impulsive hug. Karen is competing with her friend, Lynn, a tri veteran and after introductions, they invite me to walk towards the quarry beach (where the swim will take place).
6:20am- We've made our way over towards the porta potties. I hate porta potties, but all the water and Powerade Zero I've been drinking leaves me no other options.
6:30am- We've made our way down to the beach. The quarry has been transformed into a 1/2 mile race course complete with huge, blow-up start and finish gates. Seeing the course firsthand is daunting; it looks so much longer than it did in the participant guide. Lynn explains that within 10 minutes of our wave start, we'll be asked to line up with our groups. With 1 minute to start, we'll be led out into thigh deep water to wait for the horn. She explains that the swim is not about technique; it is about survival and just getting through.
6:40am- We've walked back to the transition area with 5 minutes left to grab everything we need for the swim leg. Transition will be cleared at 6:45am to make way for athletes grabbing their bikes during transition #1. I decide to keep my running shorts, flip flops, and glasses with me--Hoping Hubs can hold them while I swim and then hand them back as I dash to my bike. I've also grabbed my swim goggles and yellow, race-issued swim cap. Satisfied I have everything I need, I head over towards the beach to meet Hubs. He is waiting for me wearing his Team Lacey/My wife ROX t-shirt.
6:55am- The beach is packed. Hubs and I have landed ourselves under the shade of some brush trees. A young woman sings the national anthem and then the SheROX announcer calls for the first four waves to line up on the sand. The elites will set off at exactly 7am. The second wave is for ovarian cancer survivors, then the relay teams will set off, followed by the oldest age group- 56+.
7am- The elites have been led into the water. They look anxious and ready to go. At exactly 7am, the horn blares and they are off. I am amazed by how fast they fly in the water.
7:08am- The first elite competitor is already out of the water and running towards the transition area for her bike. Meanwhile, the next two waves have been released-- a new wave starting every 4 minutes. There are 31 waves in all.
7:34am- Karen's wave has entered the water and I give her a huge shout of encouragement. Part of me wishes I could be starting with her because the waiting is torture. I am once again, a bundle of nerves.
8:20am- I slip my swim cap over my pigtails and wiggle it into position. That done, I slide my swim goggles onto my head and hand Hubs my glasses. I take off my running shorts and hand those to Hubs as well. With a quick kiss, I head towards the sand to stand with the rest of my wave. Without my glasses and with my hearing impaired by the swim cap, I feel like I'm stranded on an island. I am dimly aware of the arrival of my brother and sister-in-law--shouting out good luck wishes from the stands with Hubs. I throw them two thumbs up and then inch my way towards the water as another wave is released.
8:30am- Wave #23 has been released, which means my wave is next. There is a cameraman immediately to my right and I give a nervous wave when he passes the camera down the line. I'm so scared for the swim, I don't even realize I'm being filmed in my swimsuit.
8:33am- Suddenly, the announcer is asking us to enter the water. The water temp is 78 degrees, but it feels chilly. We walk out a few feet and stop. Not sure what to do, I splash water up and down my arms. When we're asked how many are competing for the first time, over half the group raises their hands. 30 seconds to go. We are asked if anyone wants to swim with a swim buddy (local swim team members who've volunteered to swim alongside competitors and offer emotional support). One person from the group raises her hand. 15 seconds. I take a huge breathe, lean forward... and the horn blares. I'm off.
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