Sunday, June 10th
8:34am- The horn blares and I am immediately propelled forward by the other members of my wave group. Because I am swimming without my glasses, I am essentially blind. I've decided to hug the buoy line in the hopes that it will keep me going in the right direction. What I don't anticipate is that the seasoned competitors will also hug the buoy line because it is the shortest route through the course. It was a bad decision, but I'm surrounded on all sides, front and back. I have to make the best of the situation. I continue on my feet as far as I can, about 20 feet from the start. When I can no longer bounce along and stay with the pack, I fling myself forward and dig my arms through the water. I am pushing hard, so I don't get pulled under or swum over. Each stroke and kick I take is hitting my competitors. The water is churning and I am caught off guard by the choppiness. This is one the craziest things I've ever done. I don't care how long this takes, I just want to live through it.
8:40am- I have just reached the first buoy and need to make a sharp turn to the right. I feel like I've been swimming for hours and not just minutes. Several of my competitors seemed to panic when they hit the deep water (15 feet). I'm so grateful I grew up swimming in lakes because now I feel at home in the murky, deep water of the quarry. As I pull around into the first stretch back toward the beach, I take a hard kick to the head. Crap, that hurt. I pull my head up in time to see another yellow cap pop out of the water. The other girl yells out to see if I'm okay. She keeps apologizing until I wave her to go on. I'm okay or at least my head is fine, but I'm starting to wonder if I can really complete this swim. I pushed so hard at the beginning that I'm already feeling exhausted. I'm less than half way through. There is nothing to be done, but to keep swimming. I put my head back down and channel Michael Phelps.
8:50am- I am nearing the final buoy of the course. My arms feel like they are on fire and I know that if it wasn't for the opportunity to walk around the buoys closest to the beach, I wouldn't have made it this far. At several points, I swam past competitors with swim buddies and was blessed to be encouraged by them. One yelled out that I was doing an awesome job and not to give up. Another told me to rest when I needed to and to pace myself. They should really be called swim angels, now swim buddies.
8:55am- My toes touch the quarry floor and I am now running towards the swim finish gate. I hear Hubs yelling from the beach to run. I flash him an exhausted smile and plow forward with my best Baywatch impression. As I near the sand, I hear my sister-in-law shout out. I head towards her, she's standing alongside Kaylee's stroller. My sister-in-law holds out my glasses and shorts. I grab them as I jog by. The run to the transition area from the beach is up hill (of course it is- wry smile). On my way up, I am handed a cup of water. My arms are shaking so much that the majority of the water sloshes to the ground. Leaving the beach behind, I head towards the transition area. With my glasses on, I can easily see my space because of my balloon.
8:57am- I arrive at my transition area. My bike is the last one on the rack, but to my surprise there are several bikes still left on the wave #24 rack across the aisle. This gives me a boost; I am not last. I peel off my swim cap and exchange it for my Bondi Band and my bike helmet. I strap on my BIB belt and then flop to the ground to clean the sand off my feet. I'm shaking, so I'm doing a poor job with the sand. I have to give up because I think I'm wasting too much time. I grab my running socks and slip them on, followed by my running shoes. Then, I slowly pull myself to my feet and unhang my bike from the rack. No one is allowed to ride their bike in transition. Instead, I have to run/walk it up to the mounting area about a quarter mile from my balloon. As I push my bike, I shake out my legs. I'm trying to psych myself up for the bike by telling myself the swim is over. Praise God. It's been 6.26 minutes since I began transition #1.
9:03am- The mounting area is highlighted by chalk on the ground. Two men are there to monitor the competitors. I swing my leg over the bike and lock in my first foot. With a strong push-off, I am on my way. As I lock in my second foot, I hear Hubs, his brother, and my sister-in-law shouting out encouragement. I've only been riding 14.2 miles on the College's stationary bikes, so I don't quite know what I'm in for.
9:13am- The first ten minutes have been good, except that the bike is stuck in too high of a gear. My legs are spinning a mile a minute, but I'm not getting anywhere. I am trying to shift, but I don't want to hurt the bike. My biggest fear with this leg of the tri is having a bike problem I can't fix and getting disqualified from the race. Tentatively, I keep fiddling with the gears until I finally feel the pedals catch and I'm finally in a lower gear.
9:30am- I am about half way through the bike course. This is a double loop course, so I need to remember to make two laps. The announcer was teasing on Saturday that anyone who can count to 2 can compete in this triathlon. My mind is more calm now, so I guess I qualify. I'm really enjoying the bike. I am moving at my own pace and there is a cool breeze blowing (so much so that I've pulled my Bondi Band down over my ears). What's more, the girls on the course are so encouraging. Almost everyone who's passed me or that I've passed, has shouted out an encouragement. What I don't like is that there are a lot of competitors who aren't following the bike rules laid out in the participant manual. Of course, I have the rules memorized-- No drafting, no blocking, passing has to be within 15 seconds and must be announced, slower bikers to the right, passing only on the right, etc. People are passing all over the place and on the left and the right. I have to stay alert. This is not the place to get hurt or wreck the bike... It's too hot out (90 degrees) and the walk back to the transition area would be long.
10:00am- I am closing in on the end of the bike leg. I just passed the point where other competitors are looping around for their second lap. There are more spectators on this portion of the bike route. Many of them have signs and/or cow bells. I head down a hill, cross a bridge, and now I am in the final stretch. I can see the dismount area straight ahead. Karen told me a few days ago that although the transition from bike to run is known to be the most difficult, if I purposely slow my heart-rate in the last three minutes of the bike leg, it should help ease the switch. I'm 10 feet away from dismount. All of a sudden, I hear my name shouted out. It is Hubs and Mary (one of my dear co-workers and friends). I am so happy to see them that I forget the dismount and have to pull my bike to a sharp stop. Struggling to unlock my shoes from the pedals, I wobble and for a moment, I think I'm going to fall. I get my left foot to the ground at the last possible second and manage to catch my balance. One of the race aids reaches out to steady me. Careful, he warns, my legs are going to feel like jelly... and they do. He keeps his left arm out to catch me if I should go fall and points with his free hand in the direction I'm supposed to go.
10:02am- I've arrived back at the transition area and my legs still feel like cooked noodles. First things first, I rehang my bike. Then, I unstrap my bike helmet and hang it on a handlebar. I pull my Bondi Band back off my ears and reach for a Nalgene. I take 2-3 smaller swigs of water and then grab some Clif Bloks to chew. As I get ready to head towards the run, I take one more larger swig of water and grab one more Clif Blok. It's been a fast transition, 3:02 minutes, but I'm ready to run. Hubs and Mary see me off. Mary has considered jumping in to join me, but she says I'm looking strong and should finish on my own.
10:05am- The sun is high in the sky now and without the forward momentum of the bike, there is no breeze. I'm relieved to be in the final leg of the race, but I know this is going to test my endurance. The run begins by winding through a small wood. Several people have posted signs for the racers. One reads, "Kick Assphalt, Emily." Sassy. Another reads, "Run, Mommy, Run!" Sweet.
10:10am- The wooded section of the run was short and now I'm running in direct sunlight. Sweat is poring down my face. It seems like a lot of competitors are walking, but I won't let myself. The slower I move, the longer the race is going to last. I need this to be over. The one mile marker has a water station and although I normally don't drink while I run, I grab a water cup out of one of the volunteer's hands. I get about one sip and then toss the rest. Just ahead of me is one of the girls from my wave that I remember from just before the swim. I run up along side her and tell her she's doing an awesome job. She tells me I'm looking strong and to keep pushing. So I do.
10:20am- I'm tired, but I've found my groove as I near mile marker 2. My legs no longer feel shaky. I grab another cup of water from the aid station and a handful of ice. The ice feels good on my hot palms. This station also has a mist machine. A few yards back, a little boy asked if he could spray me with a hose and I let him. He was incredibly enthusiastic and kept spraying me for as long as the water would reach. Bless his little heart. I hear Hubs give a shout and realize he's walked over to the run course with Mary. They were waiting for me to come by and now they comment on my speed. I thought I was moving at a snail's pace, but Mary says I'm motoring. I give a hard core look for the camera and chuck my ice to the ground. I tell them they better move or I'm going to beat them back to the finish line. The crowds nearby overhear this and give a cheer.
10:30am- Here it is. This is the moment I've been working for and dreaming of. Spectators are telling me that I'm so close, only a few yards more. As I turn off the main road and head down the final path to the finish, I spy Karen up ahead. When she sees me coming, she starts jumping up and down and yelling. I speed up when I see her. I can't believe I have the energy. This is the grand finale. As I run past Karen, I throw my hand up for a high five.
10:32am- The finish line is now in full view. I can hear the announcer reading off the names of the people passing the finish line. I am flat out sprinting when I cross the line. A race official catches me on the other side and hands me my medal with a quick congratulations. I can see Hubs and Mary waiting for me. I can hear Hubs lamenting that he missed me cross the finish; saying I was too fast. Before I can reach them, another race official is asking for my ankle bracelet and chip. There is a $30 fee for not returning them, so I slip the bracelet off and walk through the finish chute into the recovery area. I walk up to the fence to hug Hubs. He gives me a sweet victory kiss and then Mary gives me a big hug. I can feel my legs start to seize up as they congratulate me. Mary (veteran marathon runner) advises me to grab a banana. I double back to the recovery table and grab a banana, a cold water bottle, and an iced towel. Then, Karen is rushing into the recovery zone to give me a hug.
I am done. I did it. I am a triathlete. Amen.
Of course, there is plenty of after-the-race information to share, but you've waited long enough for my stats. Here they are:
BIB #1564
WAVE #24
Start time: 8:34
Overall: 1168 out of 1494
Division Place: 166 out of 197
Swim: 21:27
Transition #1: 6:26
Bike: 59:40
Transition #2: 3:02
Run: 31:43
Time: 2:02:17
8:40am- I have just reached the first buoy and need to make a sharp turn to the right. I feel like I've been swimming for hours and not just minutes. Several of my competitors seemed to panic when they hit the deep water (15 feet). I'm so grateful I grew up swimming in lakes because now I feel at home in the murky, deep water of the quarry. As I pull around into the first stretch back toward the beach, I take a hard kick to the head. Crap, that hurt. I pull my head up in time to see another yellow cap pop out of the water. The other girl yells out to see if I'm okay. She keeps apologizing until I wave her to go on. I'm okay or at least my head is fine, but I'm starting to wonder if I can really complete this swim. I pushed so hard at the beginning that I'm already feeling exhausted. I'm less than half way through. There is nothing to be done, but to keep swimming. I put my head back down and channel Michael Phelps.
8:50am- I am nearing the final buoy of the course. My arms feel like they are on fire and I know that if it wasn't for the opportunity to walk around the buoys closest to the beach, I wouldn't have made it this far. At several points, I swam past competitors with swim buddies and was blessed to be encouraged by them. One yelled out that I was doing an awesome job and not to give up. Another told me to rest when I needed to and to pace myself. They should really be called swim angels, now swim buddies.
8:55am- My toes touch the quarry floor and I am now running towards the swim finish gate. I hear Hubs yelling from the beach to run. I flash him an exhausted smile and plow forward with my best Baywatch impression. As I near the sand, I hear my sister-in-law shout out. I head towards her, she's standing alongside Kaylee's stroller. My sister-in-law holds out my glasses and shorts. I grab them as I jog by. The run to the transition area from the beach is up hill (of course it is- wry smile). On my way up, I am handed a cup of water. My arms are shaking so much that the majority of the water sloshes to the ground. Leaving the beach behind, I head towards the transition area. With my glasses on, I can easily see my space because of my balloon.
8:57am- I arrive at my transition area. My bike is the last one on the rack, but to my surprise there are several bikes still left on the wave #24 rack across the aisle. This gives me a boost; I am not last. I peel off my swim cap and exchange it for my Bondi Band and my bike helmet. I strap on my BIB belt and then flop to the ground to clean the sand off my feet. I'm shaking, so I'm doing a poor job with the sand. I have to give up because I think I'm wasting too much time. I grab my running socks and slip them on, followed by my running shoes. Then, I slowly pull myself to my feet and unhang my bike from the rack. No one is allowed to ride their bike in transition. Instead, I have to run/walk it up to the mounting area about a quarter mile from my balloon. As I push my bike, I shake out my legs. I'm trying to psych myself up for the bike by telling myself the swim is over. Praise God. It's been 6.26 minutes since I began transition #1.
9:03am- The mounting area is highlighted by chalk on the ground. Two men are there to monitor the competitors. I swing my leg over the bike and lock in my first foot. With a strong push-off, I am on my way. As I lock in my second foot, I hear Hubs, his brother, and my sister-in-law shouting out encouragement. I've only been riding 14.2 miles on the College's stationary bikes, so I don't quite know what I'm in for.
9:13am- The first ten minutes have been good, except that the bike is stuck in too high of a gear. My legs are spinning a mile a minute, but I'm not getting anywhere. I am trying to shift, but I don't want to hurt the bike. My biggest fear with this leg of the tri is having a bike problem I can't fix and getting disqualified from the race. Tentatively, I keep fiddling with the gears until I finally feel the pedals catch and I'm finally in a lower gear.
9:30am- I am about half way through the bike course. This is a double loop course, so I need to remember to make two laps. The announcer was teasing on Saturday that anyone who can count to 2 can compete in this triathlon. My mind is more calm now, so I guess I qualify. I'm really enjoying the bike. I am moving at my own pace and there is a cool breeze blowing (so much so that I've pulled my Bondi Band down over my ears). What's more, the girls on the course are so encouraging. Almost everyone who's passed me or that I've passed, has shouted out an encouragement. What I don't like is that there are a lot of competitors who aren't following the bike rules laid out in the participant manual. Of course, I have the rules memorized-- No drafting, no blocking, passing has to be within 15 seconds and must be announced, slower bikers to the right, passing only on the right, etc. People are passing all over the place and on the left and the right. I have to stay alert. This is not the place to get hurt or wreck the bike... It's too hot out (90 degrees) and the walk back to the transition area would be long.
10:00am- I am closing in on the end of the bike leg. I just passed the point where other competitors are looping around for their second lap. There are more spectators on this portion of the bike route. Many of them have signs and/or cow bells. I head down a hill, cross a bridge, and now I am in the final stretch. I can see the dismount area straight ahead. Karen told me a few days ago that although the transition from bike to run is known to be the most difficult, if I purposely slow my heart-rate in the last three minutes of the bike leg, it should help ease the switch. I'm 10 feet away from dismount. All of a sudden, I hear my name shouted out. It is Hubs and Mary (one of my dear co-workers and friends). I am so happy to see them that I forget the dismount and have to pull my bike to a sharp stop. Struggling to unlock my shoes from the pedals, I wobble and for a moment, I think I'm going to fall. I get my left foot to the ground at the last possible second and manage to catch my balance. One of the race aids reaches out to steady me. Careful, he warns, my legs are going to feel like jelly... and they do. He keeps his left arm out to catch me if I should go fall and points with his free hand in the direction I'm supposed to go.
10:02am- I've arrived back at the transition area and my legs still feel like cooked noodles. First things first, I rehang my bike. Then, I unstrap my bike helmet and hang it on a handlebar. I pull my Bondi Band back off my ears and reach for a Nalgene. I take 2-3 smaller swigs of water and then grab some Clif Bloks to chew. As I get ready to head towards the run, I take one more larger swig of water and grab one more Clif Blok. It's been a fast transition, 3:02 minutes, but I'm ready to run. Hubs and Mary see me off. Mary has considered jumping in to join me, but she says I'm looking strong and should finish on my own.
10:05am- The sun is high in the sky now and without the forward momentum of the bike, there is no breeze. I'm relieved to be in the final leg of the race, but I know this is going to test my endurance. The run begins by winding through a small wood. Several people have posted signs for the racers. One reads, "Kick Assphalt, Emily." Sassy. Another reads, "Run, Mommy, Run!" Sweet.
10:10am- The wooded section of the run was short and now I'm running in direct sunlight. Sweat is poring down my face. It seems like a lot of competitors are walking, but I won't let myself. The slower I move, the longer the race is going to last. I need this to be over. The one mile marker has a water station and although I normally don't drink while I run, I grab a water cup out of one of the volunteer's hands. I get about one sip and then toss the rest. Just ahead of me is one of the girls from my wave that I remember from just before the swim. I run up along side her and tell her she's doing an awesome job. She tells me I'm looking strong and to keep pushing. So I do.
10:20am- I'm tired, but I've found my groove as I near mile marker 2. My legs no longer feel shaky. I grab another cup of water from the aid station and a handful of ice. The ice feels good on my hot palms. This station also has a mist machine. A few yards back, a little boy asked if he could spray me with a hose and I let him. He was incredibly enthusiastic and kept spraying me for as long as the water would reach. Bless his little heart. I hear Hubs give a shout and realize he's walked over to the run course with Mary. They were waiting for me to come by and now they comment on my speed. I thought I was moving at a snail's pace, but Mary says I'm motoring. I give a hard core look for the camera and chuck my ice to the ground. I tell them they better move or I'm going to beat them back to the finish line. The crowds nearby overhear this and give a cheer.
10:30am- Here it is. This is the moment I've been working for and dreaming of. Spectators are telling me that I'm so close, only a few yards more. As I turn off the main road and head down the final path to the finish, I spy Karen up ahead. When she sees me coming, she starts jumping up and down and yelling. I speed up when I see her. I can't believe I have the energy. This is the grand finale. As I run past Karen, I throw my hand up for a high five.
10:32am- The finish line is now in full view. I can hear the announcer reading off the names of the people passing the finish line. I am flat out sprinting when I cross the line. A race official catches me on the other side and hands me my medal with a quick congratulations. I can see Hubs and Mary waiting for me. I can hear Hubs lamenting that he missed me cross the finish; saying I was too fast. Before I can reach them, another race official is asking for my ankle bracelet and chip. There is a $30 fee for not returning them, so I slip the bracelet off and walk through the finish chute into the recovery area. I walk up to the fence to hug Hubs. He gives me a sweet victory kiss and then Mary gives me a big hug. I can feel my legs start to seize up as they congratulate me. Mary (veteran marathon runner) advises me to grab a banana. I double back to the recovery table and grab a banana, a cold water bottle, and an iced towel. Then, Karen is rushing into the recovery zone to give me a hug.
I am done. I did it. I am a triathlete. Amen.
Of course, there is plenty of after-the-race information to share, but you've waited long enough for my stats. Here they are:
BIB #1564
WAVE #24
Start time: 8:34
Overall: 1168 out of 1494
Division Place: 166 out of 197
Swim: 21:27
Transition #1: 6:26
Bike: 59:40
Transition #2: 3:02
Run: 31:43
Time: 2:02:17
great write-up ...and GREAT JOB on the Triathlon!!!! WOO HOO!!! August co-ed race, here you come!
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