The Event (Triathlon #2)

We (my dad, my daughter, and I) unloaded the car and headed over to the registration area. My dad took my daughter off to the restroom while I got checked in and set up my transition station. let me tell you, this time I was PREPARED.

1) I got there early so was able to choose the exact space I wanted.

2) I brought a yoga mat to lie down on the ground and laid out all my things on it, ready-to-go.

3) I brought an empty storage bin and a gallon jug of water to rinse my feet in after the run outside from the swim to the transition area. (To avoid rocks/dirt/crud in my shoes which would rapidly become uncomfortable during the actual event.)

4) I pinned my number to the shirt I was going to put on for transition, which I bunched up and draped over the handlebars of my bike in a manner that would make it easy to pick up and pull on.

5) I grabbed my bike gloves, sunglasses, goggles, swim cap, and towel, and headed inside to the pool.

We got Dad and my daughter seated, I had my event briefing, and I started!

This event has an indoor swim, which is appreciated for the time of year and our climate. I did not so much appreciate sharing my lane with 3 other people, especially considering that despite having to enter swim times, we weren't in synch with each other. I know my pace really well and am very good at holding it through the swim--with just enough left to push the last length.

The other three blasted out of the start and passed me immediately. Since I wasn't in it to win, I didn't really care, but we were too close for me to do my flip turns (that I'd actually practiced quite a bit). I also learned that my swim pace is a bit slower, but my flip turns help me catch up speed, so losing out on those turns cost me some time.

Then getting stuck behind my lane mates when they got tired from their fast starts was also frustrating.

I was given the signal for last lap (I hadn't been counting; perhaps this was stupid of me) and I was really confused because the one person in the pool that I was SURE had lapped me got out right as I got to the wall behind her.

Not wanting to be disqualified in case I'd misunderstood, I swam an extra lap.

It turns out I swam a 550 instead of a 500. Oh well. Off to the transition.

Like I'd hoped, I was able to get my gloves and sunglasses on, my cap and goggles off, and mostly dried by transition. I slipped into my new bike shoes (which were laced with Yankz! which I LOVE), pulled on my shirt and helmet, and headed out for the bike portion.

It started out on a very slight incline, but enough that I (belatedly) remembered advice that I got from Long Beach Triathlon Club clinic that I went to: check the area just outside of transition for hill angle and adjust your bike gears accordingly PRIOR to setting up your transition station. Oops. Luckily, the bike was in the right gear.

And that is where my luck ran out.

I could NOT get the rear derailleur to move, at ALL. I hopped off the bike to look at it, but had no tools to adjust anything, so gave up and got back on the bike. It was stuck in more of a climbing mode, so I was okay for going up hills, but going downhill or even flat, I couldn't build up enough speed.

Incredibly frustrating. About half the course was downhill and I watched people ZOOM by me as I coasted, unable to pedal fast enough (and unwilling to try to make my legs move fast enough to make it worthwhile in the gear I was stuck in). A 12-mile bike ride on what was essentially a 3-speed bike. Whoopee.

And my feet started hurting in my shoes and my hiney was hurting on my saddle and I still had a run left and was really starting to wonder why I do this to myself.

As I got into the transition area, my dad was standing next to a lamppost, talking on his cell phone. When I got close, my daughter fell head-first into the lamppost and started crying. I wanted to go pick her up and comfort her, but was in the middle of a race, and dad was there...so I walked by, feeling like a horrible mom.

I had to loop around a barrier and come back up to my station--which was right across from my dad. My daughter was still crying, my dad had put his free finger in his ear and was talking into the phone, and I was trying to get ready for the run, which I did NOT feel like doing at that point.

He hung up, I yelled across about my bike problems, and he finally picked up my daughter as I walked off. I crossed the transition barrier and started running.

Okay, for purposes of clarity, when I use the term "run," I don't actually mean RUN, or even probably jog. What I actually mean is more like a not-walk. If you want an idea of my actual pace, which I'm pretty sure I kept up for the whole run, get on a treadmill and set it at about 3.8 MPH or a 16:10 minute mile pace.

I did NOT feel like running at all. The one thing I wanted to do in this race though, was to run the whole 5K. I decided I would just keep up my terribly slow run pace and do at least the first lap (approximately a mile) on a run, and then see how it went.

Now for the good part (in my head, anyway). I RAN the whole 5K. Since my training, like I mentioned yesterday, was not great up to this, the furthest I'd run prior (all connected anyway) was 2 miles. So I ran a whole mile more today--and farther than I've ever run in my life.

As I rounded the second to last corner, one of the race volunteers came up to me. I'm one of those people that with so much as minor exertion, my face turns deep red--and slightly over minor exertion turns it almost purple. Apparently my color (or perhaps my pathetically slow pace) worried the volunteer as she asked, with a VERY concerned look on her face, if I was okay. She looked like she was ready to turn around and call 9-1-1. I assured her I was fine, but she insisted on asking if I needed anything. I told her, "I'm doing fine! I'm almost done!"

Around the corner and the last little stretch before a turn into the finish, my daughter joined me. As she caught up to me on the course, she hollered, "Mommy, mommy, I'm going to BEAT you!"

My response? "Yes, honey, you probably are."

For some reason, the crowd around us found this hysterical.

Okay, yes, it was funny, but upon reflection...I guess I have to laugh or otherwise I'd be insulted. (And I have to remind myself that those standing around laughing were not doing the event.)

Somewhere inside me, I found this extra energy/ability to pick up the pace. It was not enough to catch my daughter (who kept on going, well PAST the finish line), but it was a real run, for the last 20 yards or so.

Results?
I placed dead last. Not just last in my division (by over 33 minutes), but last out of all the women who competed. There was one guy who placed further behind me. Now, if I hadn't swam the extra lap, I would have beat one more person. If I'd been able to take just 10 minutes off of the bike (if I'd been able to pedal the other half of the race), I would have beat five more people. So, that's the "ugh" of the results.

Comparing to Catalina?
I took just over 4 minutes off of my transition times.
I took over 6 minutes off of my run time.
If I calculated it out, I took 4 minutes off of my bike time--with a dysfunctional bike.

Which means I am 14 minutes into my goal of taking an hour off of my Catalina time, assuming I could apply it directly.

Once the race was over, my husband (who had arrived during the run) took my dad, my daughter, and my bike home. We got caught in a downpour and then hailstorm as we were waiting for the car. We loaded everything up, I headed back to my car, and after saying goodbye, went back to pick up the rest of my transition area.

By time I got there, all forms of precipitation had stopped, but my gear bag was sitting there, with a puddle of water on top of it.

I learned today that my gear bag is waterproof. Which meant my clean clothes were still dry inside. I went and showered, grabbed a snack of a piece of muffin, and headed back to my car.

Noticing that the parking lot was blockaded for reserved parking (officials only) for an event at the coliseum (that I was going to go to and why I wanted to park there in the first place), I decided NOT to leave and go get food. Instead, I leaned back in the driver's seat to rest.