| Race Report Timberman Half-Ironman Triathlon August 18, 2002 Pre-Race The night before the race I'm not necessarily looking forward to the race start, or to my 4 a.m. wake-up call when the real pre-race jitters are sure to begin. There are a lot of unknowns…how will I do in the1.2 mile swim? The swim is my historical nemesis, this will be my first race in a wetsuit, and Lake Winnipesaukee was my first and worst open water swim exactly one year ago when I did my first triathlon. Though my swimming has gotten stronger, I've never successfully raced without experiencing some degree of panic, which has usually caused hyperventilation and made swimming a challenge. I've biked the 56 mile course before, and don't like what I remember about it. Despite the hill training I've done, it's just not possible to find New Hampshire-style "hills" in Massachusetts, and I feel underprepared. Tomorrow will also be my first half marathon too-my longest run having peaked at 10 miles just 2 weeks ago. How will I feel going the distance after having already spent more than 4 hours racing? As five of us crawl into our beds at 10:00 on Saturday night at the motel, I find myself unable to sleep. My mind is racing-not with tomorrow's worries fortunately-but racing nonetheless. Thankfully I don't have a watch or clock at my bedside so I'm not able to watch time tick by. I have no idea what time sleep finally came, but 4:00 definitely came too soon. Race morning I'm a mix of excitement and nerves. The can of whoop ass a la Team Envision helps alleviate some anxiety as I spend 30 minutes in line for a port-a-potty (thanks Candace and Heather and whoever else was responsible for arranging that!). Race start is set for 7:00-my swim wave is scheduled for 7:21-and then there's a 20 minute race delay. I do a quick run to warm up, manage to twist both ankles on the rocky ground, and decide to don the wetsuit and do a pre-race swim instead. I'm out on the beach, waiting for my start, and catch the eye of a college acquaintance I haven't seen in over 6 years. I guess we've both changed to be at this start of our first Half-Ironman. The Swim I do some deep breathing, imagine the mask and snorkel provided Friday night by Heather and Sue, and get a good laugh thinking what I'd look like wearing it at that moment (it's legal!). I start at the back of the pack and caution into the water when the siren blows. The water is a perfect temperature, and I am comfortable from the start. I get my rhythm, and just let myself have fun. There aren't too many swimmers getting started behind me, but when the 40 year old men started to pass me, I expect to be shoved a bit and am prepared. I am sure at one point a man actually grabbed me with both hands and pushed me away from him. Instead of getting angry, I use his speed to my advantage and relax in his drafting zone as long as possible. There were waves from jet skis and boats that ironically were there for our protection, but I push forward despite that. I laughed to myself when I thought of something Candace had said once. Something to the effect of- "Just keep moving forward, and you'll get there eventually." There really were moments when I thought I was swimming forward, but moving sideways because of the waves. Before I knew it, I was approaching the shore. I could see the bottom and had to close my eyes to be sure I was not just swimming in place. For those of you who swim in open water, you probably realize how slow you feel like you're going when you watch the rocks pass below you. No wonder why they call this stroke the "crawl." I saw swimmers standing to walk, but blew past them as I swam until I was in about 6 inches of water (an advantage of having short arms?). Total swim time 48:04 (slow comparatively, but my own PR!) Transition 1 Out of the water, and a quick run to my bike. I hear a woman's voice scream my name, not sure who. I step out of the wetsuit, and don my bike gear as quickly as possible. A melted Power Bar half in my mouth, half out, I slap Gu into my back pocket, and I'm off. I hear John screaming my name and race out of transition. John is good at picking me out in the transition, and I never understand how he does it. Maybe it's the bright colors. The Bike I jump on my bike and I'm off, ready for the first hill. As I start racing up, I think of it as an incline. I see Donna, which is also encouraging (she looks strong!) In fact, it barely even feels like a hill. I reach the top, and with it, a group of men with water dressed in prom dresses from the 80s. I'm anticipating a good 12 miles of considerable hills, a 30 mile break of relative flat, and then some more hills (that's what Kathy promised anyway). I make a decision to push hard on the bike- I don't have runner's legs anyway, so no need to save them for that! I see lots of teammates on the course-including Amanda H.- do some shouting, and I start passing some lean, long-legged men my age. That's usually how I gauge my power. When I can pass these men on the inclines, I know I've got it. If any of you are 5' tall and have short legs, you probably understand what I mean. I'm trying to consume enough Gu, but am having a hard time getting enough fluids, and the Gu just doesn't go down without it. I don't feel hungry, but know that I haven't even replaced a fraction of the calories I've burned. I ride past the Sprint turnaround and am thrilled that I get to keep going. I love the course-I'm having a blast-and never feel too tired in the legs, though I feel a low-grade headache through most of the ride. I regurgitate (sorry, it happens) some of the Chocolate Gu, and feel much better. The sun is beating down at about 90 degrees by this time (late morning) and I was drinking dry the bottles I picked up on the course. Every now and then I think back to my swim which was perfect in my mind and grin to myself. It powers me up every hill and I wish I could count the number of athletes I'm able to blow right by. A crowd of Team Envision women cheer me on at about mile 40- I'm headed home! Some more hills to contend with, I drop my chain, but it only causes me a few-second delay. A few kind people do offer to stop (thanks Shannon!)- whoever said triathletes are all ultra-competitive die-hards? After some less than fun hills on a bumpy road, I look forward to some downhill. I get an Extreme song in my head and am able to sing out loud near the top of my lungs as I cruise down a hill at more than 44 mph and am sure no one can hear me anyway. I can feel the end of the bike course, and surge up the last few hills, excited to start the run- there's something about the promise of a changed body position that is great! Final bike time 3:17:44 (17 mph) (beat my anticipated 3:30) Transition 2 I'm feeling great and hear John's reminder to hydrate (!) on the run. I slap on my shoes and fuel belt and the pair of fresh legs that Heather had reminded me to leave at the transition. My legs feel strong and powerful, and aside from a desire to throw up, run easily onto the course. The Run Cameron and Heather cheer me on, running alongside, which is great. I glance at my watch-it's just before noon, the temperature's probably near 95, and the sun is pounding down on me. I remind myself that I have a good two plus hours of running ahead of me, and pace myself. Because the course is a loop, I pass many teammates (or they pass me) several times. I see Paula and Alyssa flying by and am happy that they appear to be having a good race. It motivates me to pick things up a notch. A teammate's family is stationed at mile 4, near B. Mae's and that was definitely my favorite spot of the course (since I passed them 4 times, and they cheered me on every time!) I see Megan, and shout some encouragement. Apparently my vocal cords are not as efficient as hers- I'm not sure she hears me. Just past mile 5 I see my name on a poster, with some blown up photos. I get a good laugh-that was definitely unexpected. Shortly after is a crowd of teammates. Thanks for all of the encouragement- Beth, Candace, Jessica, Paul, and I think others too- (I must have been running too fast-it was a big blur)- I let them know I'm feeling great! Then there's Sue jumping up and down and Anne as I pass the halfway point. The first 6 miles are perfect. I still feel great. The headache is gone, and I'm only a little hungry. I'm running about a 10:30 (?) pace, which is probably less than conservative considering the mileage ahead. My hope is to pick up the pace the last few miles and average under an 11 minute mile throughout the course. Now comes the tough part. I've been running for about an hour, and am about to proceed to the toughest part of the course. A hill (the same I'd biked up earlier)-but it's much more difficult on tired running legs than fresh biking legs. I know at the top there'll be water a la men in prom dresses and recall all the times I woke up at 5 a.m. this summer to strengthen my legs on hills. The sun is so strong. At the same time, it's hard to drink, I haven't eaten enough, and my stomach can't handle food while running. Miles 7-9 are slow. I pass a 72 year old man walking as fast as can be, offer him some words of encouragement and he's beaming. I wonder what his story is. I wonder what my life will be like at that age, and get some extra steam. I hope I am still triathloning at 72. Past the rambunctious family at B. Mae's. A barbershop quartet serenades me with Happy Birthday (maybe they have me confused with Sharon?), and I finally reach some shade and…wet sponges! My legs are beginning to slow and feel some amount of pain (tight quads). I play cat and mouse with other runners. I wonder how it's possible that I feel a headwind (hot headwind) no matter what direction I'm running in. Oranges at mile 8. I decide to try to ingest them, as I'm hungry and am pouring most of the water I get over my body, as it's hard to drink. The oranges are a panacea. Unfortunately I can only hold two slices at a time, so I inhale 4 over the course of two water stops. I know I'm getting close, and I'm fighting the urge to walk. I see my favorite 72 year old friend again, he's still walking at a steady pace and still smiling. At mile 10, I forget what a half marathon is, and think I only have two miles left. I'm really trying to pick up the pace, but it is hard, and I am actually moaning (out loud I think). Mile 11 and I'm thinking…1 more to go. I run about ½ mile, and someone let's me know that I'm a mile and a half away- that's when I remember- a half marathon is 13.1 miles, not 12! That's hard on the psyche, and I feel ready to cry until I see my picture hanging on a telephone pole and hear screams from friends. Less than a mile to go, and something takes over my body. I find some sort of reserve, and start the sprint home. I feel no pain, and run myself so hard that I'm hyperventilating the last few hundred feet. Finally through the finish chute! I must look dazed and confused, and when I miss my neck trying to put on a finisher's medal, an EMT is ready to take me away. I think I want to cry, but not sure if it's because I'm happy or because I hurt. Cameron and Sue take over my body at that point, and I don't really recall the walk to the water, where I just sit like an invalid for as long as possible. I immediately start feeling post-workout envy. I want to run through the finish chute again. Well, maybe not today. Final run time 2:39:52 Total race time 6:50:31 |