Glad I finished, because I'm finished!
3:30am. Race day. My roommate, Carly, is antsy. She is on a quest that she has worked hard on for many months. She will be competing today in the Elite Amateur division, one step behind the pros. Her wave would begin before 7am. Carly and I started triathlons at the same time...just a year ago this May. She took to the sport like a fish to water, and has just gotten better ever since. I'm really proud of her, and I'm excited for her race today, even moreso than my own.
I rolled out of bed at 4:15am, and got all of my gear together. We headed down to the lobby at 5am, where we met our teammate Chris, who is also our honored hero Haley's father. He too had an early wave in the race. My wave was late, at 9:02am. I'd be going off with the other Team in Training ladies, the second to last wave of the day. I knew I'd have time to relax, watch Carly start, and get focused before I even began.
We got to check in, got body-marked, and set up our transitions. My plan was to come back after the pros started, so I left all of my swim gear in transition. Carly and I soon headed out to the swim start, a good 3/4 mile walk away from the transition area.
I loved hanging out at the swim start before the sun rose. The pros were lurking in the darkness, enjoying their anonymity if only for an hour or two. I valued watching them prepare, stretch, warm up. Wow, they are so dedicated. It's no wonder -- payoff for this sport is pretty good if you can beat the field.
Soon, dawn broke, and the race was about to start. A good-sized crowd was now gathered at the beach, surely to watch the start of the race (or so I thought). The start was pretty cool. First the pro men, then the pro women. As soon as the women were gone, I started walking back. I wished Carly one final good luck as she stood patiently waiting in the holding pen of the swim start. I couldn't wait any longer though, I had to get back to get my own gear. If I made it in time, I could see Carly swim in and go through her first transition. Sounded like a plan.
I walked back, passing hundreds of triathletes walking toward the beach. I briefly noticed that I was the only one walking back to transition, though I didn't think much of it. I was already set up, so the stress level was minimal and time was abundant. That was until I got to the transition area.
By the time I finished my 3/4 mile walk back, the male pros were already getting out of the water. I looked around for the entrance to the transition area, and there was none. NONE? Where would I get in? There MUST be an entrance for me to get in, I NEED MY STUFF! My heart started to beat faster.
I got the attention of a volunteer inside the transition area, and asked her where the entrance was. "The transition is closed, the race has started", she said. How would I get my wetsuit? My goggles? My swim cap?? How could I have been so ill-prepared as to forget that there is a closing time to transition? I'll have to scratch, I don't even have my swim cap. Panic was now setting in fast.
Think of what Dave Scott said, I thought to myself. Adaptation is key. Yes, adaptation. This is just a curve ball. This is a challenge and I must find a solution.
There was nothing I could do about getting my wet suit, so I quickly accepted the fact that I'd have to swim without one for this race. The water was 74 degrees, very doable. In fact, I had taken a few laps without my wet suit the day before, just for fun. I'd be slower, but having no wet suit wouldn't stop me.
I went back to my hotel (a stop between transition and the beach start) and went on a frantic hunt for a shop with goggles. Very nice hotel (The Vinoy), two nice shops, no goggles for sale. Would I have to swim without them? What if I lost my contacts? Salt water would NOT feel good on my eyes, but I was willing to take the chance.
I also had a different problem. I had my sunglasses and hat which I was going to leave in transition. Since I could no longer do that, I needed a place to put them. The room was the only option, at least for my hat. I certainly couldn't swim with a baseball hat in the water. But my glasses...I wondered if they would stay with me if I put them in the back pocket of my tri jersey. I decided to swap out my expensive glasses for my cheap ones and take that chance.
I was still on a mission to find goggles. I saw a female athlete with a Team in Training jersey on -- a complete stranger except for this one commonality. I asked her if she had an extra pair, and miraculously, she did. She took me up to her room and gave me her goggles. (Thank you, teammate in room 374 -- you checked out before I could return them to you!)
Next mission: swim cap. I can't race without one. I rushed, barefooted, to the beach start. Fortunately, the race staff had a tent with spare caps and I had no problem picking one up. I had everything essential that I needed, with exception to proper nutrition and sunblock. I found my teammate Erica, who had SPF 8. That was better than nothing, so I used that. As for the nutrition, I had no choice but to go on the little I had before leaving the hotel. I just hoped that it would get me far.
Finally, it was time for our wave to go. Back to feeling confident, I was right at the front of the pack for the beach start (a rare thing for me). I started somewhat strong, and found my stride after a couple hundred yards. I got kicked and hit quite a bit, sometimes even swam over (by the men in the wave behind us that caught up to me after 10-15 minutes).
Other than veering off course once (which cost me about 20-30 yards), I felt pretty good about my swim, at least until I got 20 yards from the swim finish. Someone kicked the salty ocean water RIGHT into my mouth, and I had to bring myself to a dead stop and wade upright as I coughed violently (almost losing the little nutrition I had in me). After 30-40 seconds, I was able to gain enough composure to make it to the swim finish, and out of the water I went.
My first transition was pretty good, considering my bike was at the far end of a sea of 6000+ bikes. I took my time getting my shoes on, and ran my bike out.
The bike course was fairly flat with only a few rolling hills. It definitely wasn't as fast as the run course we had ridden the day before, but it was still enjoyable. There were a lot of hairpin turns, which slowed down my average speed a quite a bit I am sure. I made sure to hammer it out, though, and ended up with a personal best of 17 miles per hour. Not speedy to many, but a big improvement for me (being that a year ago, I started at 13 miles per hour).
Approaching transition once again, I dismounted and was shocked to find that my legs suddenly didn't want to cooperate with me. My brain said run your bike in, but my legs said "not on your life". Stunned, and realizing my feet suddenly hurt, I took of my bike shoes and walked my bike in as if going on a Sunday stroll in the park. Was this an effect of lack of nutrition? I didn't know, though I did know I had never felt anything like this before.
Five minutes later, with my running shoes on and my last gel in hand, I set off for the final part of the race. Only a half mile in, that invisible wall hit me again like a ton of bricks. I had to walk. Again, I wondered why. Was it the heat? Am I that out of shape? I couldn't understand it.
The intermittent walking occured throughout the run, though I did finally find my legs after mile three. MILE THREE!!! For a few minutes, I found myself getting angry at my poor performance. But then something shifted, and gratitude set in. I am here, I thought. I've made it this far. I didn't even think I would be able to race up until a week ago. I've raised money for a really good cause. I've met a whole array of incredible people.
At that point, fellow Triathlete and a real inspiration ran towards me toward the finish -- Scott Rigsby. (You can read about his story here.)I had never seen him in person before, only on television. He is the first double-amputee to finish an Ironman, which he did just last year in October.
With the mission I was on, with all of the stories that surrounded me, I realized that I was just simply thankful to be a part of it all. I smiled, and found enough energy to finish the rest of the race at a running pace.
3 hours, 29 minutes and 46 seconds after starting, I crossed the finish line. I had very little energy left, though was still able to easily walk to the food tent and massage tent immediately afterwards. The best thing of all was that I was able to walk there with a medal around my neck. It's something that now has a story behind it, a story that may stick with me as one of my favorites as I look back on my career twenty years from now.
I rolled out of bed at 4:15am, and got all of my gear together. We headed down to the lobby at 5am, where we met our teammate Chris, who is also our honored hero Haley's father. He too had an early wave in the race. My wave was late, at 9:02am. I'd be going off with the other Team in Training ladies, the second to last wave of the day. I knew I'd have time to relax, watch Carly start, and get focused before I even began.
We got to check in, got body-marked, and set up our transitions. My plan was to come back after the pros started, so I left all of my swim gear in transition. Carly and I soon headed out to the swim start, a good 3/4 mile walk away from the transition area.
I loved hanging out at the swim start before the sun rose. The pros were lurking in the darkness, enjoying their anonymity if only for an hour or two. I valued watching them prepare, stretch, warm up. Wow, they are so dedicated. It's no wonder -- payoff for this sport is pretty good if you can beat the field.
Soon, dawn broke, and the race was about to start. A good-sized crowd was now gathered at the beach, surely to watch the start of the race (or so I thought). The start was pretty cool. First the pro men, then the pro women. As soon as the women were gone, I started walking back. I wished Carly one final good luck as she stood patiently waiting in the holding pen of the swim start. I couldn't wait any longer though, I had to get back to get my own gear. If I made it in time, I could see Carly swim in and go through her first transition. Sounded like a plan.
I walked back, passing hundreds of triathletes walking toward the beach. I briefly noticed that I was the only one walking back to transition, though I didn't think much of it. I was already set up, so the stress level was minimal and time was abundant. That was until I got to the transition area.
By the time I finished my 3/4 mile walk back, the male pros were already getting out of the water. I looked around for the entrance to the transition area, and there was none. NONE? Where would I get in? There MUST be an entrance for me to get in, I NEED MY STUFF! My heart started to beat faster.
I got the attention of a volunteer inside the transition area, and asked her where the entrance was. "The transition is closed, the race has started", she said. How would I get my wetsuit? My goggles? My swim cap?? How could I have been so ill-prepared as to forget that there is a closing time to transition? I'll have to scratch, I don't even have my swim cap. Panic was now setting in fast.
Think of what Dave Scott said, I thought to myself. Adaptation is key. Yes, adaptation. This is just a curve ball. This is a challenge and I must find a solution.
There was nothing I could do about getting my wet suit, so I quickly accepted the fact that I'd have to swim without one for this race. The water was 74 degrees, very doable. In fact, I had taken a few laps without my wet suit the day before, just for fun. I'd be slower, but having no wet suit wouldn't stop me.
I went back to my hotel (a stop between transition and the beach start) and went on a frantic hunt for a shop with goggles. Very nice hotel (The Vinoy), two nice shops, no goggles for sale. Would I have to swim without them? What if I lost my contacts? Salt water would NOT feel good on my eyes, but I was willing to take the chance.
I also had a different problem. I had my sunglasses and hat which I was going to leave in transition. Since I could no longer do that, I needed a place to put them. The room was the only option, at least for my hat. I certainly couldn't swim with a baseball hat in the water. But my glasses...I wondered if they would stay with me if I put them in the back pocket of my tri jersey. I decided to swap out my expensive glasses for my cheap ones and take that chance.
I was still on a mission to find goggles. I saw a female athlete with a Team in Training jersey on -- a complete stranger except for this one commonality. I asked her if she had an extra pair, and miraculously, she did. She took me up to her room and gave me her goggles. (Thank you, teammate in room 374 -- you checked out before I could return them to you!)
Next mission: swim cap. I can't race without one. I rushed, barefooted, to the beach start. Fortunately, the race staff had a tent with spare caps and I had no problem picking one up. I had everything essential that I needed, with exception to proper nutrition and sunblock. I found my teammate Erica, who had SPF 8. That was better than nothing, so I used that. As for the nutrition, I had no choice but to go on the little I had before leaving the hotel. I just hoped that it would get me far.
Finally, it was time for our wave to go. Back to feeling confident, I was right at the front of the pack for the beach start (a rare thing for me). I started somewhat strong, and found my stride after a couple hundred yards. I got kicked and hit quite a bit, sometimes even swam over (by the men in the wave behind us that caught up to me after 10-15 minutes).
Other than veering off course once (which cost me about 20-30 yards), I felt pretty good about my swim, at least until I got 20 yards from the swim finish. Someone kicked the salty ocean water RIGHT into my mouth, and I had to bring myself to a dead stop and wade upright as I coughed violently (almost losing the little nutrition I had in me). After 30-40 seconds, I was able to gain enough composure to make it to the swim finish, and out of the water I went.
My first transition was pretty good, considering my bike was at the far end of a sea of 6000+ bikes. I took my time getting my shoes on, and ran my bike out.
The bike course was fairly flat with only a few rolling hills. It definitely wasn't as fast as the run course we had ridden the day before, but it was still enjoyable. There were a lot of hairpin turns, which slowed down my average speed a quite a bit I am sure. I made sure to hammer it out, though, and ended up with a personal best of 17 miles per hour. Not speedy to many, but a big improvement for me (being that a year ago, I started at 13 miles per hour).
Approaching transition once again, I dismounted and was shocked to find that my legs suddenly didn't want to cooperate with me. My brain said run your bike in, but my legs said "not on your life". Stunned, and realizing my feet suddenly hurt, I took of my bike shoes and walked my bike in as if going on a Sunday stroll in the park. Was this an effect of lack of nutrition? I didn't know, though I did know I had never felt anything like this before.
Five minutes later, with my running shoes on and my last gel in hand, I set off for the final part of the race. Only a half mile in, that invisible wall hit me again like a ton of bricks. I had to walk. Again, I wondered why. Was it the heat? Am I that out of shape? I couldn't understand it.
The intermittent walking occured throughout the run, though I did finally find my legs after mile three. MILE THREE!!! For a few minutes, I found myself getting angry at my poor performance. But then something shifted, and gratitude set in. I am here, I thought. I've made it this far. I didn't even think I would be able to race up until a week ago. I've raised money for a really good cause. I've met a whole array of incredible people.
At that point, fellow Triathlete and a real inspiration ran towards me toward the finish -- Scott Rigsby. (You can read about his story here.)I had never seen him in person before, only on television. He is the first double-amputee to finish an Ironman, which he did just last year in October.
With the mission I was on, with all of the stories that surrounded me, I realized that I was just simply thankful to be a part of it all. I smiled, and found enough energy to finish the rest of the race at a running pace.
3 hours, 29 minutes and 46 seconds after starting, I crossed the finish line. I had very little energy left, though was still able to easily walk to the food tent and massage tent immediately afterwards. The best thing of all was that I was able to walk there with a medal around my neck. It's something that now has a story behind it, a story that may stick with me as one of my favorites as I look back on my career twenty years from now.
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