Sleep came late.
When it came it was like a much needed cool breeze on a hot day that flutters curtains, tantalizing you with its touch. Sometimes lingering long enough to bring refreshment but often beat back by the heat, leaving you wanting for more.
Upon the umpteenth waking and seeing the dawn approaching through the farmhouse windows where we were staying, before the alarm had its chance to declare "RACE DAY!," I got up. That cool breeze of sleep had lost all strength and the heat of the race beat it back one final time.
Despite the never-ending night of restless slumber, I felt alive. The dreams of the night had been priming my system and endorphins were flowing freely as pre-race excitement gripped me. I dressed for the race, I ate my breakfast, I fixed my running number to my race belt, I checked my bag to make sure everything I needed was there. Nils and I left the farmhouse and headed to the race site. An agonizing 40 minute drive.
Arriving at the race site my excitement was amplified by the parking lot filled with cars carrying bikes, people in race gear, and banners proclaiming starts and finishes. Because Nils wasn't able to arrive early enough the night before, we had to pick up his packet before bringing our gear to the transition area. We walked the swim course entrance and exit, path to the transition area, bike start and finish and run start, mentally creating our maps so we could move quickly between the stages.
Stowing our gear in the transition area, we stopped to get marked and then we headed out for a warm-up run. The morning air was crisp and cool. As we ran, we reviewed with each other our preparations and hopes for the day. It was good to finally be there, running the course, getting ready to race. After running, we jumped on our bikes for a short ride. Not much talking now. The start was looming closer.
After a final check of the gear, and making mental notes on the order of operations during the two transitions, it was time to put on the wet suit and tackle one final warm-up. The 64 degree water was refreshing after the light exertions of the biking and running. The wet-suit provided every bit of insulation from the chill waters I had hoped for and the water felt pleasant to be in, not cold as I was afraid it might feel. As a part of the novice group of racers, my swim cap was white and I gravitated to other "white caps" as I exited the lake in preparation for the start. With approximately 400 racers, the beach start would go in waves. 4 minutes between each wave with mine going last.
As the race began and the first group headed into the water, Nils and I searched the beach for our families. Both of us were relieved when Emily, with kids in tow, headed towards us at the swim start. Heather, Lizzy, and Xander were still at the van since poor Lizzy got car sick on the twisty road from the farmhouse to the race site and threw up all over herself and her car seat just before pulling into the park. I said a quick prayer for Heather and Lizzy and wished that I had time to help. The air horn announced another wave of swimmers, however, and my time was fast approaching.
As us "white caps" made our way into the starting area, I went to the water-line, concerned that being at the back of the pack would be too difficult to navigate through all the swimmers. The fear of the swim was gone but I was nervous about the waves, anxious about the bodies surrounding me. When I first began my training, I could barely swim 50 yards without needing to rest and there I was ready to swim 750 meters in a lake. No blue line guiding me, no calm pool waters at 82 degrees, no bottom to stand on if something happened. The butterflies, adrenaline, nerves were wound tight as the air horn blew.
Six or seven quick steps into the water, a dive forward and it began. Bodies surrounded me and I became very concerned about getting kicked in the face or gouged by a stray hand. Taking a breath was difficult as the waters churned in a cacophony of splashing and kicking. Looking up I found myself already veering off to the right of the course, finding it difficult to get my bearings without my pool bottom to guide me. Mentally I was severely distracted from the measured, practiced, strokes of the pool and I found myself short of breath, unable to maintain my breathing patter of three strokes to one breath. Course corrections were difficult as I realized that I had not given enough thought to the motor movements of looking forward when taking a breath in order to maintain course. I wasn't even 100 meters from shore and the obstacle of the swim was taking a toll on me mentally and physically. Where I was energized and keyed just a few moments before, I now felt taxed and weak. I needed to take some time so I did the equivalent of "walking" by keeping my head above water, doing some doggy paddling and engaging in self-talk to beat back the onslaught of negative thought and emotion. And then I went on.
The swim was tough. After 250 meters the crowd had thinned and I was no longer running into people regularly, feeling guilty about impeding their progress and causing them the same mental and/or emotional anguish I was feeling. I was still having difficulty with breathing and course corrections but was no longer as anxious about it and decided to just swim and get through it. After about 400 meters things got better and I was able to maintain a breathing pattern and confidence was returning. I looked at my watch when I figured I was about halfway through and realized that, although I wasn't swimming fast, I wasn't doing as badly as my battered thoughts and emotions would have me believe. I rounded the final buoy and headed for the exit. I had no idea how many "white caps" were behind me but I saw plenty ahead of me and hoped I wasn't ruining my chances for a 90-minute or better finish.
Exiting the water I made my way up the beach and steps, to the cheers of three little girls. My energy level immediately went up and the joy at having them there, cheering me on, truly gave me a boost that was sorely needed after the trial of the swim. Transition to the bike went well. Helmet first, then socks and shoes, oops! I forgot to put my shirt on before the helmet went on. Too late, I decided, I will bike without it. Running up the slope to the mounting line, my legs felt good and I was eager to be on my bike, my strongest leg of the race.
From the very start of the bike portion, my legs felt good. I got into a good gear and didn't have much problem at all with getting up to speed. I had my computer on my bike and knew I wanted to maintain about 30 km per hour as my average speed. I was able to get there quickly and didn't feel sluggish. Within the first km I was able to start passing people. That is a big motivator for me. I hate being passed and love passing others. The bike leg had several hills that had people in their granny gears to climb. With those ups, there were some fantastic downs as well and I think my maximum speed was over 52 km per hour at one or more times during the bike leg. Riding is pure joy for me. I love to be locked onto my pedals, conquering hills, feeling the wind rushing by and knowing that wind is me moving swiftly through the course. My focus on the race was intense but the beauty of the course was not lost on me. Lake views, trees, and warm spring air were all part of the sensate experience of the bike course and it was magnificent. I remember very distinctly as I made my final turn around and was heading, finally, towards the finish line rather than away from it, a significant hill where many bikers were moving slowly up. As I drew nearer and began to pass I asked if they were having fun. Some of them groaned but most of them laughed and I was so glad I was there doing exactly what I was doing, at that moment.
Coming into the bike finish I was finally able to see Heather there, standing on the sidelines. Her smile and encouragement, along with the girls (Emily too, smile), energized and invigorated me. I wanted to make her proud of me and be able to look at her and tell her I did my best. I realized just how important it was to me that she be there, sharing the race with me. I flew past her on my bike and into transition with even more determination.
Transition to the run was easy. Put the bike up, rip off the shoes, put on the running shoes, remove helmet, put on hat and glasses, down my energy gel and go! It went pretty fast and I was feeling really good.
Exiting the transition area and after starting the run I looked at my watch. The chrono function showed something like 1 hr 2 min. I was worried I wouldn't make it under my goal time of 90 minutes. After 200 yards, I stopped to stretch my calves. I am not good at doing my stretching when I work out. I want to move, to sweat, to "get on with it" and so I don't take the time I should to stretch. However, I knew that if I didn't stretch at that time, I wasn't going to do well in the run and figured the time to stretch would be won back by not cramping up. It was a good decision.
The run was hard. It wasn't that I was concerned about finishing. I was now racing against the clock, trying to get in under that 1 hr 30 minute mark I had set for myself. My legs were tired after the bike ride, I had pushed hard on the bike, and they weren't really that interested in running. This is when the determination to make my goal time really helped me keep moving. I was also glad I had started my watch at the beginning of the race and let it run. Glancing down at my time helped me pick up my pace and push up some of the small hills that were part of the course. Hills that, a few minutes earlier on the bike, weren't much at all were now much bigger. It was great as I ran up one of the hills to have a woman headed towards the finish line yell out, "Don't you let this hill beat you! You are stronger than this hill! Push it!" I don't know who she was, or even her number, but her encouragement was welcome and helped! Again, as on the bike, I hate being passed and wasn't ever passed on the run. I was passing others and having a person in front of me to pass helped me keep my pace strong. As I would pass one, my gaze would shift to the next and I would let them draw me forward, working to pass them. In the last km, I have to admit, I walked some. Only about 25 yards but I walked. The small hill I was going up was taking its toll on my legs and I walked that short distance before glancing at my watch and realizing that, if I started running again, I could make my goal. The watch got me going again.
I came running into the parking lot area towards the finish and there was my family, standing together, cheering me on. I was tired, my lungs were burning, my body was protesting but the joy I was feeling at nearing that finish line and having my family there cheering was incredible. I ran. I crossed the finish line with hands in the air and my own cheer escaping my lips. I had done it. I had become a triathlete.
I started out this journey thinking that finishing would be enough. And it was. But as I trained, felt stronger, and lost about 30 pounds in the process, I wanted to do more. I wanted to finish with respect for myself, the effort and achievement had to be significant to me and so the timer became part of my goal. It was never about being faster than the next person, it was about doing my best. And so, it was with a great deal of surprise that I discovered I had placed third in the novice men category with a time of 1:27:07. There was no regret at not being first or second, just joy at the achievement and opportunity to race. In fact, my third place finish in my category meant I was 104th out of all of the men and 126th out of all of the men and women. There could be no conceit for my prize. There was only happiness at the journey and the accomplishment of something done well.
I look forward to doing it again.
