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I had not been training for this. If you've been following this blog, dear reader, then you know how frustrated I've been with running in 2012 and despite doing four marathons so far for this year, my weekly mileage has been horrific. I've only been on two significant bike rides and both were several weeks ago. I had been swimming, but it was in the pool and my last swim was in March. Needless to say, this anxiety was probably stemming from feeling completely undercooked. About two hours earlier, before breakfast and before finding myself silently screaming in the car, I had stopped by my bike shop to see about some better tires for my bike. The weather forecast was for heavy rain all weekend due to the remnants of a hurricane down south that would drench the region all weekend long. They were not kidding: the rain started on Friday night and poured clear through to Monday morning.
After learning that I would be doing the Mooseman Half Iron the next morning, I was immediately met with a combination of a sympathetic head shake, wince and cringe from the bike shop men. One of the co-owners, with an air of concern in his voice gave me a few pointers on braking on the course and in wet weather since he had completed it the year prior. He warned me about the hills. The bike tech however, quickly calmed my nerves by suggesting some wonderful tires for my bike and helped me put together a flat kit. He also helped me install a dual-rear water bottle system and demonstrated how to use the CO2 cartridges since I had never used them before. I silently hoped that I would not need them but thanked him and was on my way. Gulp.
Logistics, logistics, logistics for the rest of the day: driving to New Hampshire, packet pick-up, pre-race meeting, bed and breakfast check-in and dinner. And sleep. And some weird nightmare about an open ocean swim which jolted me out of bed at 4:45am. It's time.
Packing up the car was drizzling and cold, but I told myself that the race wouldn't be starting for a few more hours so maybe the weather would improve. A hot, protein and fat-rich breakfast and hot coffee quickly warmed me up and I soon found myself being body marked and checking into transition. I hugged closely and fiercely goodbye and was on my way. This was the beginning of things going horribly wrong for the rest of the day.
When I found my numbered rack spot, the bike racks were incorrectly set up to the point where I couldn't rack my bike: two racks were overlapping to the point where my assigned spot and my neighbor's assigned spot was unrackable. There were large puddles of water everywhere, and were so deep that in stepping in them, I was wet well past my ankles. All that had to be done to fix this issue was to pick up the end rack and move it approximately one foot to the right. Since it barely had any bikes on it, I asked another triathlete if she could help me move the rack. Her response was "No Way" and that I should find a race official. *Sigh*. I left my belongings in a puddle in the pouring rain and ran around to find someone to move the rack. Ten minutes later and after talking to three different people, two volunteers came over and fixed the problem. I started to set up my transition area.
"Ten minutes to start time, folks. The transition is closing!"
CRAP.
I wasn't properly set up and quickly grabbed my wetsuit, swim cap and goggles before being ushered out of the transition. I tugged on my wetsuit, used the bathroom, and then ran down to the start where all of the other women in my group were already in the water in queue. I even missed the national anthem. When it was time for our wave to go, we waded in up to our chests in the murky lake; the world was still raining and the clouds perfectly matching the dark waters below.
**HORN BLARE**
Off we went. The typical stressful thrashing of bodies commenced. I was kicked, pushed and punched. Arms, legs, torsos flaring, flailing inches around me and water flying everywhere. At this point I started having my usual beginning-of-swim panic attack which I tend to experience during every swim start. Typically once this starts, I just need to slow my breathing and it calms me down to the point where I can focus, find a rhythm and check the swim off the menu for the day. This was not the case. I couldn't see, my goggles were fogging, it was raining, the water was choppy and all of us were confined to a lane in between two buoys which meant swimming in a pack. I started hyperventilating. Not only could I not find a breathing rhythm, but I could barely breathe - I was sputtering, gasping and making weird noises, I was swallowing water and choking. I flipped over onto my back in attempts to open up my chest to calm down, but upon doing so, could see the next swim wave rapidly approaching us in a wall of forceful power. This made matters worse and I felt like I was going to drown - I couldn't breathe and all movements I could make were completely erratic and simply, survival mode. It felt like the world and air and everything around me was being crushed and imploded. It was absolutely terrifying. I could try to describe how I completed the 1.2 mile swim, but I simply cannot. It was scary, scary, scary, and is leaving me wondering what exactly I am afraid of when it comes to open water swimming.
Once out of the water and over to transition, I still couldn't catch my breath from the panic. I was physically shaking so badly that I fumbled with unzipping my wetsuit and could barely put on my socks and bike shoes while trembling in the pouring rain. Needless to say, my transition time was horrendous.
I mounted my bike and was off, chest heaving. The first mile was spent calming my breathing and sipping on water. Once I found myself relatively settled I started pedaling away. Then the hills started.
Mooseman boasts one hell of a 56 mile bike leg. It looks like an EKG Chart:
When I got to the hill around mile 9 everyone was walking. Even the super competitive people with aero helmets. Everyone.
At mile 10 there was a small plateau and then the top of the first significant hill and as I zoomed on the plateau to gain momentum to pull me upwards, I hit a pot hole, and due to the wet pavement and rain, my back tire skidded out from under me, and I came crashing down on my left side. My hip, elbow and knee took the full force and my head hit the pavement. Shaken, I stood up and looked down and saw a giant welt forming on my knee which was raw and bleeding and stung. I don't know what was in me, but with a shaky body, I eventually clambered back on the bike and continued on my way. Then there was the downhill. The first significant downhill actually had a 30mph speed restriction on it and it was being enforced due to the saturated roads and completely blind turns. There was a point on that downhill where I had both brakes clamped tight and my odometer still read 31mph. I could smell burned rubber from other's tires squelching through the rain on the wet pavement. I tried to table my fears of crashing again and channeled what the bike shop co-owner had cautioned me about braking. It helped. The next miles are now a blur of scary, challenging, sweaty, rain-covered lenses of uphills and downhills. There was another huge climb where everyone was walking, including myself.
Then, as I found myself zooming along at mile 36, I hit a bump or debris or something in the road and heard a POP. My front tire went flat. I brought myself to a complete stop, got off the bike and flipped it over on the side of the road. I stood there for a moment, chest heaving, knee bleeding, a combination of sweat, tears and raindrops streaming down my face. Sigh. I found the small pouch that the bike tech had installed on my bike and produced it's supplies: a fresh tube, tire levers, a CO2 cartridge and deployment system. It took me several minutes of fumbling in the rain to get the tire off with the levers, but once it was off, I ripped out the old tube and inserted the new one after I had blown air into it like he had shown me. Then it took me another several minutes of fumbling with the CO2 cartridge, but it worked! I was able to fix my tire and place the tire back over the tube. For safe keeping, I put a fresh CO2 cartridge on the back of my hydration rack. From there, I hammered as quickly as possible to the finish. I just wanted to get off the bike.
The transition was a complete mud pit. My socks were soaked but at this point I didn't care. I needed to run.
I shot out on the half marathon run like a rocket. Nothing was going my way and I was angry! Once mile 3 peeled away and I got rid of the numbness feeling in my feet, I felt tired but happy I was running. Running and I have been in this personal fight lately, but on this day, during this disaster of a race, it was running that gave me the happy nudge I needed, running that gave me my spirit back, and running that gave me the consolation hug I needed. Running extended it's hand in apology and I had a great 13.1 mile run. I made up significant time on the run and was able to move back into the middle of my age group. I cheered on the other athletes and had fun with it. I ran happy. I ran happy. Finally! After all these months!
I made some big realizations during this race. Obviously, I realized that I need to work on open water swimming and get more time and miles on the bike. I realized that I did somehow manage to get my nutrition right during this race, so that was a win. More importantly, however is as I was running the final 5k along that grey, choppy, smug lake that was almost my demise several hours earlier, I couldn't help but to think about how during these big races, these long course triathlons and marathons, how I wonder about who I am during this moment and race in time. And then it happened during that final mile of that messy race - I found myself not wondering, but telling myself who I am:
I am a woman who finishes what she starts.
I am resilient in the face of disaster.
I am strong. I am happy. I am flexible and I am adaptable.
I am a person who shows up and who tries. Even if it's not my best or a record.
I am half iron. I am a fighter.
And then there it was - the finish!
This was a terrible, terrible race. However, I'm finding myself in good spirits. I'm oddly happy that I had a big, bad race because I feel like I've now experienced how horribly wrong triathlons can go and how things can utterly fail, but that I can handle it. I feel like I learned that I can deal with broken bikes and bloody knees and crashes and flat tires and swimming panic attacks and weather conditions, and these races when they are not favorable and continue fighting for the finish. I feel like I came away from this wiser and stronger.
I feel like I can, and I know that I will.
Its funny how much the bad races teach us. The good ones keep us coming back for more, but the bad ones tend to be where you grow the most.
ReplyDeleteFantastic work dear!