The short version: I was satisfied with my performance until I checked the results. I wanted (to want) only to complete it, not to compete, but a final time of 2:04 disappointed me. I would have been under two hours if I had transitioned better. At least I placed in the top half, both overall and within in my age bracket, in the swim. Lesson: be happy within myself without consideration of numbers or comparison.
The long version: Last Monday at bookclub, AEK remembered that the triathlon was six days away. "Can I come with you?" Was she insane? I wanted to leave at 5:30, and AEK more than most people does not get up early (except to ski). Maven wanted to come too. I was touched and pleased and slightly dubious, the more so after I ascertained that all attendees had to be off Powahton Road by 7:00, when the first wave entered the water. RDC and I had already determined that he didn't need to go, because we have one car and I didn't expect him to get up before dawn either. But they were adamant: "You can't go to your first triathlon alone!" said AEK. Better yet, we would take her car, and lo, I wouldn't have to drive afterward, and could even braid my hair after I left the house, and RDC could go fishing as he strongly desired to do.
I slept little and fitfully after 3, and RDC got up at 4 to drive up the Poudre Canyon and hike up the river into RMNP and harass the trout. I got up at 5, RDC 20 minutes gone, and he called at 5:05 to make sure I was up. He'd made the buddy breakfast, and I wheeled the buddy to his usual daytime spot at the living room window except it wasn't daylight yet: Blake did not like the looks of this in the least. I made my smoothie--banana, yogurt, frozen blueberries, a dash of orange juice, a suggestion of protein powder. I dressed: running shorts, bra, running tank (three layers breastal support total, not nearly as high on my sternum as my regular swimsuit but cramming my bust enough to reduce drag somewhat, especially since I'm not at the level drag makes a noticeable difference, though I did shave my legs), wool socks, bike shoes. I checked my pack: chip and ankle strap; numbers for torso, bike, and helmet; goggles and swim cap; bike helmet and gloves; sneakers, Thorlite socks, evaporative neckband, sweatband. Plus six pints of water: one to drink on the way, one on the bike, two mixed with Cytomax for transitions, and two frozen in a bottle for afterward. Also a towel, not for drying but to lay my gear on and get sand off my feet after the swim; a small bottle of alcohol to dry my ears after the swim; another banana and two packets of energy gel; sunscreen, eyedrops, another pair of contacts, prescription sunglasses just in case, lip balm, phone, insurance card.
Also a totem. HEBD crocheted me a small--smaller than my palm--pouch and when she gave it to me I'm pretty sure she called it a totem. It hangs in my study on one of those quilted boards with ribbons for notes and photographs (also a gift) along with Emlet's and Siblet's birth announcements and a yellow rose from Granny's grave and things like that. I have a tiny blue glass cat from childhood that lives in my little cedar chest. "That," not "who," because if I ever named it, I've forgotten, and because before today it had been out of that box maybe once since the box arrived late in twelfth grade, to accompany me to the GRE. I might not have thought to bring it then except that it had helped me take the PSAT and probably both (or three?) SATs. That went in, and a Blake crest feather, and a shell from my beach, and a piece of Granny's sea glass. I strung my engagement and iolite rings on Tigger's box chain and added those three things and called it done. I might have left my rings on, but they wouldn't fit through the crocheting whereas without them Tigger might, and I wasn't going to risk him in the swim or run.
On the porch swing I drank my smoothie and smeared peanut butter on most of an apple (Blake got a slice) and sucked down water and watched bats flitter toward their beds. I re-inked myself, since sweat and sunscreen had faded yesterday's marks. I went in for a final pee and to brush my beak--three minutes, max--and on the way back stopped dead in my tracks between dining and living rooms because my bike was no longer propped on the porch. I churned into overdrive and burst out the door to see, of course, AEK and Maven loading my bike into the car. Oh.
Google steered me east on 70 and south on 470, but yesterday the Oprah chick had warned about traffic on 470 and Wednesday when I drove from work all I had to do was go east on Sixth, which eventually turns south. So we did that, and while we did join a one-lane traffic jam eastbound on Quincy, this way did spare us two or more miles of it. As traffic jams go, it was okay--unidirectional and unidestinational--and we were parked by 6:20. I ate my banana as we packed up, gave Maven the totem to keep in a pocket, hugged and kissed my friends, and mounted Shadowfax to ride the mile to the race site there to to rack the bike and set up for the transitions.
Goggles and cap in hand, I entered the swim chute. The swim entry was the boat launch--concrete to two feet down--and thank goodness, because with 25 waves of 125 women, the less churning of "lake" bed at entrance and exit the better. I am really glad I did the open-water swim on Wednesday because even with many fewer participants, it gave me an idea what the actual swim start would be like. AEK and Maven shouted for me from the fence--they'd found me, that was amazing! Sally Edwards, who perhaps started this event? but who is anyway a fitness author and cheerleader, counted each wave start at four-minute intervals. As with a ski lift, once one wave had started, the next group could enter a corraled bit of water. Each wave had the same cap color (mine had the decency not to be orange or pink) and while we waited in the water, Edwards would give us a word for a mantra (wave 10's was "sensational" and while I might rather have been "invincible," at least I wasn't a Pre-Teen Sensation called Mavis) and ask what the best cap color was ("Purple!") and have us high-five our wave-mates ("You go, girl!") and it managed not to feel hokey at all.
The swim start was a total hippopotamus wallow. You know how as the rains end and the rivers dry, each hippo lives in a smaller and smaller bit of water, and then mud, and then the fighting begins? There wasn't any fighting and I didn't get kicked in the head or, as far as I could tell, kick anyone else in the head. But it was a tangle and I was nearly to the first buoy before we finally spaced ourselves. The 750m course was triangular with the apex at the boat launch, and I, unable as usual to swim in a straight line without a stripe under me (possibly the open-water goggles would have helped, since they would have afforded more peripheral vision, but fog is fog), nearly went left of the first buoy. It was within arm's reach of my right arm, instead of my left. Whoops. I put it on my left side and headed for the second buoy. This every fifth half-stroke that I've been breathing? Out the window. I breathed every left stroke until after the second buoy, in the homestretch, and I so badly wanted not to go off course that I checked more often than I needed to, wasting time.
And then! The thing that killed me! With the concrete ramp under me, I ripped off cap and goggles to start the ride with a nice cool wet head, ran up toward the transition area (grinning at AEK and Maven who found me again), and located the four racks for wave 10, but I could not find my bike. Again, good drugs: I was angry and frustrated but not paralyzed by these emotions. Once, I glimpsed the bike and headed toward it, but it moved away from me. Perhaps Shadowfax knew that I would have liked to have a street bike for this section of the race. Finally I ran the elusive thing to earth. Whew. I whipped on shorts and dropped to gulp Cytomax, bite sport goo into my maw, squirt alcohol into the porches of mine ears, rub sand off my feet, pin the number to my front, and don socks and shoes. I buckled my helmet, shoved hands into gloves, triangulated the particular rack with a tree and a bluff and a building--for next time I know to do that first and to know not just that there are x racks per wave but that mine is the yth rack from this direction and the zth from the other--and walked the bike to the gate. I lost minutes upon minutes in this transition.
The 20K bike ride was fun. Yes, I have a mountain bike and it's heavier than a street bike, but it has street tires on it. I hadn't bothered to remove my lights and rack because again, I am not at that level, and besides, mountain bike. RDC asked me if I wanted to carry a toolkit, and that'd be real nice if I knew how to use it but since I don't it'd just be weight and guilt. The only weight I wanted was the goop in the tires that has saved me from many a flat, and I relied on that to keep Shadowfax from throwing a shoe. If the bike spit out its bit, well, I can get a chain back on with my fingers. A couple of weekends ago we checked the gears and brakes, but otherwise the only maintenance I did was to pump psi high enough to feel every last crumble in the road. Shadowfax was naughty to hide during transition, but I expected it to behave during the race itself and it did. Whatever slope I was on, I spun. My bike is geared low enough and I am not in shape enough that any pedaling in even the highest gears effects no change in speed on descents, but I spun anyway. I am a calm swimmer and I did not expect to push myself on the run, but the ride was fun and I grinned maniacally throughout.
I found my spot quickly on the second transition and only had to shuck bike shorts, change socks and shoes, tie on my neckband, and gulp the other half of the water and goo, but I spent another minute trotting to where someone had left a Usan flag on the ground to drape it over the rack. This was such a touchy-feely race, what with the high-fiving and the volunteers in the water who'd reassure you if that's what you needed or accompany you the full distance, whew, that I still didn't know transition time would count toward the total. So I scampered quickly but didn't scurry to the 5K run start.
Where AEK and Maven found me again! I scooped up a cup at the first water station and they were just past it, and I shoved the empty cup into AEK's hand. Thanks! Now, I realize the limitations of the location. The race can be at Aurora Reservoir because the facility is nearly in Kansas so doesn't have a lot of traffic to disrupt, and it doesn't allow motor boats so doesn't lose as much revenue as Cherry Creek or Chatfield Reservoir would from half a day's closure. Having an out-and-back bike route on a suburban road is one thing, because the road is wide enough to accommodate four bikes abreast in each direction plus the double yellow line makes for an obvious divider, but an out-and-back run on a regular-width sidewalk is not such a clever set up. The by-phrase "on your left" meant nothing and those people I passed I did so when no one was oncoming, and I tried to keep right but walkers made that inefficient, and sidewalk? Ow: not a good running surface. The worst thing was that people to the left on my way out were congratulating people on their way back, and I kept hearing "You're almost there!" when I had barely begun. I set myself a pace that I thought I could maintain and stuck to it. And I guess I have no sense of how far five kilometers is, or even how far a mile is, because when I got to the first mile marker all I could think was, that's it? The turn-around on the bike hadn't felt like six miles at all, but the turn-around on the run never came at all. Except it finally did, and I hadn't walked on any of the slight hills, up or down, on the way out, and so I didn't on the way back either.
Nearly at the end stood AEK and Maven again, waving a hot pink ("We know how much you love pink") sign that read, "Go Lisa!" AEK yelled reallyfast, "We'll meet you at the playground past the finish line." Past speaking, I thumbsed-up with my left--the non-gimpy thumb--and sprinted for the end. (I had given a thumbs-up to some participants who were walking their bikes up hills, but did so with my right hand. My right thumb doesn't straighten fully, and I always worry that people think I'm being sarcastic. Whatever.)
Oh yeah, and I crossed the finish line, high-fiving Sally Edwards as I did. I was handed a bottle of water and a medal and someone misted me and I was done. These percentages are the reverse of the usual: 76% means I would have been 76th in a field of 100, not 24th.
I found the playground but had a more pressing need. Lavatories stood alongside, with a line out the women's door. Fuck that. I knocked on the men's door and entered, calling "Woman coming in!" and anyone who had a problem with that could kiss my sweaty ass. But no one said anything, a damn good thing. Now I was dry inside and out.
For all I had drunk--a half gallon in the past four hours--I didn't pee much: that's how much I had sweat. I finished by 9:45, but the day's high was 104 and it was probably over 90 for the run.
My sweet friends found me as I emerged from breaking whatever law and waited while I skittered down the beach to dunk myself again. I could have stayed there forever. The worst part of the day was waiting 30 minutes to get out of the transition area: the exit crossed the start of the run, so people could only get out in gaps between racers. We walked the mile to the parking area with AEK remarking on how I was still pacing faster than they were. On the way home we stopped at a farmer's market ("Unless you mind? Are you too tired?" "No. I am going to eat peaches until I explode"), and a shopper exclaimed how how strong my (bare) feet must be. It struck me as extremely funny that my feet, and not the numerals pinned to my front and inked on my skin ("I am not an escaped convict!"), are what he noticed. And my number! I hadn't thought of the calendar, only that I didn't know who sat on the English throne in that year--some Dane named Cnut, whatever--but Haitch pointed out it's her birthday. So she was there with me too, whee!
On the Formigny's front door, Stick and his mother had taped up a sign! It said things like "Congratulations!" and "Way to Go!" and had little drawings labeled swim bike and run, and Stick's lettering and spelling are extremely advanced for a not quite two-year-old. Also it had decorations in scribbles in many different colors.
All day I was tired, but not sore or weary. I think I felt the lack of sleep more than the race, yet afterward I didn't sleep. I ate peanut butter toast and bananas and peaches and drank lots of water and watched "Pirates of the Caribbean" and pet the buddy head and made RDC stop for ice cream on his way home.