Tomorrow is the Ironman Wisconsin Race. Athletes will swim 2.4 miles, bike 112 miles, and run 26.2 miles tomorrow in and around Madison. Thank the heavens above it will be a clear, calm, and warm day for the event. (Can you imagine training for a year and having yucky weather on the big day?). My friend, Stephanie, and I rode past the transition area and along some of the swim and bike route and I felt that pre-race excitement again. What great memories from my own race just a few weeks ago. Then I returned to concentrating on the bike path in front of me, as it would be quite a shame if I took out someone on their bicycle who was just doing a "stay loose before the big day" casual workout.
I was quite nervous on race day. There is really a lot to think about as you mentally prepare for doing three sports consecutively. I realized during my mini-race training session that after multiple brick workouts (biking followed by running) I was familiar with the noodle feelings in my legs and could work through that. However, completing a swim workout and trying to think about hopping on my bicycle (and knowing I wouldn't be done until I ditched the bike and ran a few miles) was a little daunting. Or, simply a little under-practiced. For, oddly enough, I think I viewed the race as two distinct sections. The first as a huge challenge of swimming in open water, and then "the rest of it." Midway through my training it dawned on me that the swim was sort of like a warm up in the "splash, mash, and dash event" and that the bulk of the race would happen during the "mash and dash" portion. I adjusted my training accordingly, and focused with equal measure on the bike and run.
After reading books and websites, it's easy to become carried away in the "tech and gear department" involved with triathlon. I really tried to keep gear simple for my first race. I used the same pair of shoes for biking and running. I wore "tri-shorts" which were under the wet suit, have a little padding for the bike and are sufficient for running in without too much chaffing. And I rented the wetsuit. The wetsuit was a last-minute confidence boost I needed when I saw that the weather forecast for the race day was 75 degrees (thankfully, about 15 degrees cooler than it had been), and at 6am the temperature would most likely be about 55. Actually, that forecast set me spinning. I am a
tropical fish. It takes me
forever to get warm enough to submerse my body when we're at the beach. So I had visions of me lingering on the beach, unable to even approach the starting line. Wetsuit rented. Problem solved. Added buoyancy a bonus.
A description of the race day:
My goal was to finish and still feel good. That was certainly accomplished.
Secondary time goals included a finish in less than 2 hours.
I thought the swim would take me less than 10 minutes, bike in 1 hour, run goal - no walking, around 30-35 minutes.
Event parking, no problem. But, holy smokes. There is no Elite division at the Silver Lake Triathlon, but apparently that doesn't mean that professional athletes don't participate for "fun" or training. There are some serious people out there with their fancy bikes, helmets, shoes, etc. I take a deep breath and remind myself that I did the training. I will finish the race.
Set up. Transition area entered bike gear laid out, towel, running gear same as bike gear, minus helmet. Struggle into wetsuit. I mean struggle. It fits like a second skin. Like someone else's skin, actually. It's raining, and we're trying to stay positive. I hear other people commenting about how we'll get wet in the water anyway. But, oh yeah, our shoes and socks will be wet and our towel to dry our feet will also be wet. Squishy shoes for the whole race. Ew.
Swim: Wet suit not needed for the water temperature. Very, very warm.
Stephanie and I agree that we will hang toward the back of our wave, which will take off at 8:23 (yes, we're second to last to get started. F3034 - females, age 30-34, only females 35-40 are behind us). Our strategy is to let better swimmers get a good start and we'll find our own rhythm in our own space. Someone just before the start makes the joke "If anyone is sprinting this please come to the front ahead of me, by all means
she dramatically waves her hands" No one budged. This should have been a clue. The swim was difficult. It was like they threw 20 women in the water who had one or two swimming lessons and had determined to "just wing it". Not kidding, I felt like I was looking at myself everywhere I turned. My Old Self, back in February, who was so determined to learn how to swim that I was thrashing about. Side stroke, doggie paddle, backwards, forwards, resting on the kayaks (which is legal, by the way). It was admirable, the determination. However, I felt like the whole 11 minutes was a struggle for me to be free from flailing arms and legs. Seriously, a little skill would have gone a long way. But I left the water not feeling totally drained. Wetsuit off without too much trouble.
Transition 1:
Simply put, 4 minutes 30 seconds is entirely too long. I admit I was a little confused. Stephanie was supposed to be in front of me, as she's a stronger swimmer, then I would catch up to her on the bike, because that was my forte. But she wasn't. So I lingered, prepared, looked around a little. Her hair was caught in her wetsuit. Matted and super duper tangled, she searched for her husband in the sidelines to free her (that is, once she, too, was freed from the newbies in the water). So I waited for her to get set up on the bike. Then we started off.
Bike: I started off slowly. Stephanie would be along shortly and we would ride together. Several glances back. Still nothing. Unsure, I take off (
hey, I'm the rookie here, she is a veteran and knows what she's doing, right?). Turns out she had to do a little bike repair as her brake came loose and was continually pressing her tire.
The bike portion felt good. It was a great course. There was one incident with a small dog harassing competitors, but a quick snarl and I had him confused enough not to dart toward my bike. I was in my "racing gears" nearly the whole time (highest on the bike) and was passing a few people. I had one moment, however, that I knew was the limitation of my hybrid bicycle vs. a road bike.
Transition 2: easy. Park bike. Start running. (Just remember to take off the helmet, too. Let's not look silly).
Run: Jelly legs and a hill at the start. Though a great feeling to begin the final leg of the race. I kept trucking along, not wanting to walk any of it, realizing quickly that it's hard to drink water and run. So the water stations were my only walking stints and I used it to gather some final energy (glucose chewy opportunity as well). And I finished when the clock said 2 hours and 15 minutes. After a moment of disappointment, I realized the clock at the finish was started during the very first wave of swimmers! 1 hour 50 minutes for me!
Without sounding too cliche, the whole experience reminded me that often, it's about attitude. A can do attitude will finish the race (with good results!).
I have had a broken ankle, repaired by surgery. Learning to do a non-impact sport will help me as I age, and during the impact sport I felt good, too. Can do.
I have two children, and I found time for training (thank you summer nannies! goodbye TV). Can do.
I started a new job, and worked a couple of days each week throughout the summer (so I counted biking to and from work as miles toward training!). Can do.
I can do it. You can, too!
Maybe I shouldn't write about Henry.
In addition, three must mean new and stronger emotions and opinions. The wrong spoon or plate at a meal can ruin the whole event. And a bowl of ice cream can lead to a spontaneous and boisterous "I LOVE YOU, MOM!"
