Saturday, was The Day. The Big One. The event that has been the focus of my training for a full year. Less than a year ago I did my third sprint triathlon, The Portland Tri, and had a miserable time. Honestly. The swim took every bit of energy I had just to finish and not drown, and that left me with nothing for the bike, and even less than nothing for the run. I couldn't even begin to count how many times I came within a hair's breadth of quitting, getting a DNF, "Did Not Finish." But I did finish, and crossing that line gave me a perverse sense of accomplishment. Why? Because, despite how miserable, exhausted, trembling, and nauseated I was, and how I was sucking on my emergency inhaler in a vain attempt to be able to breathe, I did cross the finish line. It made me hungry for more. It fired up the fierce competitor inside of me, the Me that has a constant desire for self improvement, the need to always best myself.
That brings me to The Big One. My first Long Course Triathlon, a half-Ironman distance, 70.3 miles. Oddly, I was not nearly as nervous as I had expected. Excited, yes. Nervous, not so very much. There was no negative self-talk. No doubts that I would finish, and do it decently well. After all, I had completed each of the distance in the three disciplines several times, at least. Hell, I have been swimming 1.5 miles twice a week for months. I conquered my open water phobia to the point that now swimming in the deep, green, open water is a sanctuary for me, and I am almost dreading having to return to lap swimming this winter. The bike? There again, I have been logging long hours on the bike. True, many of those hours were indoors, up on my trainer, but it trained my legs to pedal continuously, at high cadence, tirelessly, and for as long as I need to. The run, yes, it is and was my Achilles' Heel. I just can't manage the high miles I need to in order to be an insane distance runner. The cross I bear.
Anyway, I digress. Back to Race Day. I was a little stressed because the drive was longer than I was thinking, so I got on site with less than an hour before the starting gun. But there were plenty of others still rolling in when I got there. I found a good spot for Joshua in T2, got my gear laid out in perfect order, and slid into my Selkie Suit. A friendly fellow half virgin helped zip me in, and we all wandered down to the shore. I slid into the cool, lovely lake, delighting in the clarity of the teal water. I got in a good warm up, my arms and shoulders were loose and strong. It was an open water start, so we all filed in, and swam out to the starting area, treading water, talking, joking, an undercurrent of excitement. Three, two, one, Pop! The starting gun went off and we swam. From the very first stroke I was relaxed, breathing easy, feeling great. I got passed by another swimmer and sucked in behind her to draft. I have never had a chance to draft behind a faster swimmer, and let me tell you, it fucking rocks. With another body breaking the water, I was slicing through with ease. I let her waste energy popping her head up to sight on the buoys, I just flowed behind, almost, but not quite touching her feet with my long, easy strokes. As I swam, I noticed some fine particles in the water that were glinting in the morning sun, as I swam through them I felt like I was flowing through space, through a million stars, as if I were in hyperdrive blasting through the galaxy. It was amazing. I can honestly say, this was my best swim ever. Ever. The mile plus went by so easy, so smooth, so rapturous. It seemed no time at all until my hands brushed the lake bed near the swim finish and I was on my feet, running for T2, shedding Selkie Suit and goggles as I ran.
T2, my trusty Joshua was patiently waiting. I took a few extra moments in transition to make sure I was comfortably geared up. I do not wear a Tri-suit like most competitors, they expose too much skin to the burning sun. Instead I was in UA compression tights under my wetsuit, and pulled on a white, long sleeved compression top before slipping into bike shorts, shoes, helmet, and gloves, and running for the Bike Out. On the road, I was cognizant of my training, the importance of JRA (just ride along) for the first 10 miles or so, getting warm, relaxing, slowly picking up speed, but keeping it mellow. That is key to long course triathlons, do not burn too much in the swim and bike so that you have nothing left for the run. I stuck to The Plan. I found my "I can do this all day" pace, and rode. It was a fabulous ride. 56 miles of rolling roads through the foothills of the Cascades. Yeah, there were a number of low gear, up in the stirrups, hands in the drops, head down, and grind your way to the top hills, but they were glorious. I made sure to eat and drink continuously while riding, to avoid feeling depleted later on. I was not going to bonk the run. Before I knew it, I was rolling back into the park, feeling great.
T3, I got a little confused and couldn't find my transition area. My fault, I brought a burgundy towel, along with half a dozen other racers. It seemed like an eternity, but I found my gear. Later I found out I only spent 3 minutes in T3, so it was still a decent transition time. Into running shoes, dorky hat, and fuel belt, and off I was on the run. I was surprised at how decent my legs felt off the bike. I had learned a few tricks to get my legs ready to switch from the monotonous, circular cadence of the bike, to the forward propulsion of the run. It worked. I followed The Plan, to jog easy the first few miles to let my body readjust. Things were going splendidly, despite the fact that the course seemed like one, long uphill. It really was a brutally, hilly run. Until Mile 4. That is when the leg cramps started. I was fucking pissed. I had been so diligent about trying to keep fueled, hydrated, and my electrolytes balanced, especially after the leg cramps of the Hagg Lake Half. The 13.1 miles became an odd torture, I had ample energy for the run, but my body was exacting some perverse revenge on me. I made it into a game: see how many stride I could run before the next leg cramp, then see how few strides it would take for me to walk it off. I was managing 70 to 100 running strides before a cramp would hit, then 20 to 50 walking strides to walk it out. Yes, nine miles of this game. It was not a very fun game. I was slamming electrolytes, water, Salt Sticks, Sport Beans, Clif Chews, Heet sport drink at the aid stations. Nothing was going to give me relief from these cramps, so I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. At mile twelve, feeling a bit desperate, and devil-may-care, I busted out my last electrolyte filled Salt Stick capsule, broke it open and put some under my tongue for faster absorption into my system. The stuff tastes like ass, I would not recommend this. I kept sprinkling the stuff under my tongue, swirling it about in my mouth, praying for it to do some good. Trotting along with this white powder filled capsule clutched in my hand, I got a seriously deranged idea. Yes, I snorted a bit. Hey, it is one sure way to jack something straight into your system. Again, I would not recommend this. At all. But as I was grinding up the final hill, nearing the park, it seemed the cramps lessened just a bit. It was enough that I ran the last 1/10th of a mile to the finish, strong, head up, eyes forward, no cramps. I crossed the line feeling on top of the world. Then I walked off cramps for about 10 minutes while swilling Heet and water.
I had fully expected to be totally exhausted crossing the finish. Weirdly, I felt like dancing. Actually, I wandered back to transition to shed my fuel belt and drink some Naked juice, and I did dance. Looking at Joshua, my discarded gear, my still wet Selkie Suit, I danced. It was magnificent, glorious, awesome, marvelous. It was a dance of sheer triumph. I was overloaded with the joy of victory, endorphins pushing me higher than any drug one could consume. It really was one of the greatest days of my life. Overcoming adversity during the run made the victory all the sweeter. I was faced with pain and suffering, and made it my bitch. It was fantastic. There really are no words to describe the elation of this accomplishment.
To sweeten the already deliriously heady experience was my final time. No, not fast, but I had set my sights on 8 hours, with 7h30m as "My Dream Time." My final time? 7 hours 30 minutes 31 seconds. I almost cried with joy. Another interesting point, 89 competitors started the race, 67 finished. That is about a 25% DNF rate. I was surprised. Another interesting little tidbit, during the entire event, even the run, I was thinking how much easier, and more enjoyable time I was having than when I did the Portland Tri, which was only about 18 miles total distance. So I really feel like I went from Zero to Seventy in less than a year. And oh my gods, what an amazing finale to that year. Next year? 70.3 in under 7 hours, a 50K ultra marathon trail run, and maybe, just maybe 140.6 mile Ironman. Time to start training.
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