Vegas 70.3 World Championships

The latest in my tri-adventures took me to one of my favorite places on the planet: Las Vegas, Nevada for the Ironman 70.3 World Championships.


For a laugh. This is me, 9 years ago.  This is how I USED to do Vegas before I got all healthy and tri-obsessed.  Don't judge.

I’ve wanted to do the Vegas race for a while now. I actually qualified back in 2011, grabbing a slot that rolled way, way down to me at Steelhead, but then was injured and couldn’t compete. Last year, Vegas fell on the same day as Ironman Wisconsin, so that was out. This year, I qualified on the same day that I qualified for Kona, and I decided to put down the money for the big double because I knew that Vegas would provide a good preview of a lot of the things I would be facing at Kona – heat, hills, the pressure and excitement of a World Championship.

Plus, there was the promise of craps. Little secret: I’m a type-A, semi-risk averse (that little 8 month trip around the world/ career suicide thing aside) lawyer who has always followed the straight-and-narrow path... and I love gambling. Don’t ask me how much money I’ve lost in Vegas. I’ll never tell.

But I digress.

I traveled to Vegas with Liz, our second race-traveling adventure after Nationals last month. I think I’ve found my good luck charm, and it’s Liz, cracking me up before races with things like her very bizarre love of kale (she told me about 32 times, before we even arrived in Vegas, about the Henderson, Nevada Whole Food that has five different kale salads), and her insistence that we purchase “magic budgies” [Max-speak for blankets] because the comforters in our room were “too loud.” It’s hard to get too nervous for a race when you’re laughing the whole time leading up. Don’t get me wrong, when it was time to get focused and serious, we got focused and serious, but the light-hearted nature of the weekend was very helpful for me.

We arrived on Thursday afternoon, with the race on Sunday, and our pre-race days were busy but fun. The Vegas course has two transitions, about 20 miles apart, so it’s a bit of a logistical nightmare and we spent a lot of time driving around. Thursday, we got off the plane and hightailed it to the Whole Foods, where Liz stood in front of the counter containing five kale salads with her eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.  Then, we stopped in at Dusty’s amazing vacation home to get some help building up our bikes and say ‘hi’ to our Chicago-turned-California friend Karin. Friday, we worked out a little, previewed the bike course (which I loved), did a little tourist-y time at the Hoover Dam, and checked ourselves in for the race, squeezing in yet another trip to the Whole Foods (they got lots of kale salads, y’know).

Scoping out the bike course.  Loved it.

A little bit o' tourism- Hoover Dam

Saturday, we did a little practice swim in Lake Las Vegas, which takes the cake for the nastiest body of water I have ever had the pleasure of swimming in, and then dove into a massive proper brunch with such reckless abandon that a guy actually stopped by our table and commended Liz on being able eat as much food as she did, which was quite remarkable for “someone her size.” (Meanwhile, I sat there and tried to not be too offended that “my size” is such that having eaten just as much or more, no one felt inclined to give me a gold star for effort, but such is life. I’m doubling down on the eggs next time). Later, we drove around town dropping our gear off at the appropriate places, and then ate dinner at the positively geriatric hour of 5:00PM before hitting the hay early.

Throughout all this hubbub and business, one thing that never happened: I never really got all that nervous. In fact, my own lack of nervousness actually made me nervous. Because that’s normal.

Race Day
We woke up at some ungodly hour, shuffled around trying to get ourselves ready, and Liz opened the blinds and said, “it’s pouring.”

I just laughed. Coming into Vegas, I’d obsessed over the weather prediction sites and prepared myself for many scenarios, but fully expected race day to reach the the high 90s or 100s. I’d trained accordingly. I sat in the sauna so long that I almost burnt out my phone. On a day when it reached 95, I rode my bike on the trainer on my balcony, without a fan, wearing arm warmers and a long-sleeve shirt. I’d adjusted my fuel plan to allow me to drink more water throughout the day. But never, not once, did I think I’d do the race in a downpour in the middle of the flipping desert.

FYI, this is what happens when you try to heat train with your phone.

But really, I knew this little change suited me well. I like to swim in the rain. I’m fine riding in the rain, although after two crashes in the last month, I’m a little more cautious than usual. And I love, love, love running in the rain (but it didn’t come to that).

We walked the short distance from our hotel to the transition area, in the pouring rain, quickly set up our gear, and then hustled back to the warm, dry hotel room. That walk down from the hotel to transition, that’s when my nerves finally kicked in, and they kicked in hard. Being able to go back to the room, away from all the nervous energy, and just relax for a little was a huge plus. And when it was time to head back down to the start, I felt much, much calmer.

Swim

I lined up along the shore of the lake with the rest of the girls in my age group, chatting for a while with Liz Miller, another one of Liz’s athletes and a TriSports teammate, and trying not to shiver too much until we were released into the warm (80 degree) water.

I don’t have a whole lot to say about the swim. I did not enjoy it and I did not swim particularly well. The water was absolutely disgusting. I could not see my hand as it entered the water in front of me. The start wasn’t all that physical, but things got rougher when we started to catch the men in the wave that took off before us. Mostly, I mentally just was not into that swim. I didn’t feel strong, and I had a few thoughts of I feel like crap. This is going to be a long, long day. But, perhaps one benefit of a season of pretty mediocre swims is that I’ve learned that a bad swim does not necessarily equate into a bad day, so I tried to push the negative thoughts out, do my “count 100 strokes over and over” thing, and wished for the end to come.

Pic stolen from Lava magazine

Soon enough, it did, and I was out of the water 16th in my age group.  Barf.

T1

The first transition was long, around a lake, up and over a wet and grassy hill, and through soft sand. Fun. And then the exit from transition required up to run with our bikes up a couple switch-backs on a single lane of carpet. There was quite the little traffic jam, but really, what can you do?

Bike

It was a nice steady rain when we started the bike, and the first few miles around Lake Las Vegas were slippery, narrow, and crowded, with lots of people jockeying for position. I spent those first few miles just trying to stay alert and not crash or be crashed into.

Once we got through that first little loop and started to climb out of Lake Las Vegas, I started to work a little more, but my head still wasn’t in it and I lacked motivation. For whatever reason, I just did not feel like I was in a race. My power output was low but I didn’t have the drive to work harder, and when a girl in my age group passed me (with authority, I might add), my primary thought: meh. I had no fight. I tried to talk myself into it: C’mon Wendorff, this is a World Championship, get your head in the game. That didn’t really work.

So not into it at this point.

Then I went to Plan B, and that was to turn off the power reading on my Garmin. I train with a power meter and have always raced with one as well, putting together pretty detailed race plans with power targets along the way. Liz had told me before this race that she was planning to race without power, and I was intrigued and considered following suit. The Vegas course is really hilly and the conditions were supposed to be challenging….I just wasn’t sure there was anything the power meter could tell me that would be of use at the time. I worried that lower power readings might cause me to work harder than I should in the conditions, or worse, to get all up in my head (not a good place to be). So I set up the computer so I had the option to flip to a screen that did not show power.

Four miles in, I flipped the screen and stopped looking at power. I could tell I was starting to get to the “all up in the head” place, and I decided to take the risk and just trust my stuff. Not necessarily easy when you still feel as inexperienced as I do.

But wouldn’t you know it… shortly thereafter, I started feeling great and I started to re-engage in the race. We headed into Lake Mead National Park, where it’s constant ups and down, and I just tore down the hills and was climbing great. I absolutely loved everything about that ride. It was my kind of course. The rain hid the scenery a bit, but it was still gorgeous (I’ve seen blogs where people call the course boring and I don’t know where those people usually ride but they should come visit me in the cornfields outside Chicago sometime if they want to see “boring”). Mostly, I just enjoyed riding free.

Which is a good thing, because 11 miles in, my Garmin crapped out altogether, and I was left with a blank screen. No cadence reading, no distance, no speed, no time. It wasn’t a huge deal aside from the fact that I had to do some fancy math to figure out how to convert my fuel plan (based on minutes) to miles, but I did do pretty well on the math portion of the SAT, not to brag or anything, so I managed. I would have liked to have some of the data after my ride, but oh well.

Coming out of the Park, we had about 15 miles or so back to Henderson, and this part was less scenic and more laborious. I lost some speed and mental focus in this area. I’d been warned about the draft packs but they still got to me mentally, especially when I saw a peloton of guys with two girls tucked right into the middle of the pack, but I used the times I got passed and had to fall back as opportunities to sit up and drink a little more. The rain had stopped and it was heating up. In the end, I rode well and moved up to 8th place.

T2

A volunteer grabbed my bike from me, which was awesome, and I ran into the changing tent (a nice touch for a half ironman) with wobbly and stiff legs. But I didn’t really give myself the opportunity to assess what that meant, and just headed on out.

Run

I think I both loved and hated the Vegas run course. It’s a three-looper, where basically you do an out-and-back on one street, a little jaunt through a parking lot, then an out-and-back on another street, which essentially translates into one mile down, two miles up, one mile down, repeat, repeat. On the plus side, I do love loop courses and opportunities to mentally break up my run into bite-sized segments, and this one was perfect for that.

On the down side, 2013 has not been a great year of hill running for me. Due to poorly-timed injuries and niggles, I’ve done the vast majority of my training on flat land in efforts to avoid putting extra stress first on the knee/ quad, then the Achilles, then the calf. Plus, living in Chicago, it takes real effort and driving to find real hills. So I was slightly lacking in hill running confidence, and I think it showed, as I had a decent but not remarkable run.

A slightly overdramatic rendering of the course

Heading out, I saw Karin right off the bat, cheering, and she seemed to be laughing at me. Still not sure why, but perhaps it had something to do with the vast array of things (gels, salt containers, a small water bottle) I had stuffed down my top? I’ve newly discovered the sports bra-as-storage-space technique, and I can’t believe it took me this long.

The first loop felt OK as I tried to keep my heart rate down on the climb and maintain form, and the nice downhill at miles 4-5 invigorated me more than I anticipated. Second loop was a bit harder, but I just put my head down, looked a couple feet ahead, and carried on. The third time up that 2-mile hill, ugh, it hurt a lot, but I just kept the thoughts positive and trudged onwards. And if you want to know just how hard I had to work to find positive things to tell myself? After going through an aid station and scoring a cup of water and a cup of ice without issue, I mentally congratulated myself: “I’m a really, really good gatherer. I’m probably the best hunter and gatherer out here.” Yeah, it was a stretch. “And also, these pink sunglasses are SO cool.”

Once I hit the top of that hill, there was one downhill mile left, and I leaned forward, turned over the legs, and just ran and ran as fast as I could. That mile hurt but it was kind of fun, too.

When I crossed the finish line, I was physically spent, but I had no idea how I’d done. I didn’t look at my swim time, my Garmin had stopped working so I had no bike split, and I opted to leave my other Garmin behind on the run. The course was ridiculously crowded and I had no idea who from my age group was ahead. But I knew I’d worked hard and I felt like no matter the result, I had to be happy, as I really had put it all out there.

Turns out, I was 8th in my age group in a time of 4:56. Before the race, I’d set the goals of Top 10 in my age group and sub-5 hours (ambitious for this course), so I’m happy I met those. Would I have liked to have gotten onto the podium? Sure! But at the same time, I can’t get greedy. I have to remind myself sometimes that a lot of the women I’m racing have been doing this for so much longer than me and are much more experienced. I’m still learning and paying my dues. Plus, I found out later that the 30-34 age group was incredibly stacked (no surprise there), and while I was 8th in my age group, I was 12th Overall Amateur. That, I will take.

Liz had started a couple waves back from me, so I waited at the finish line for her, and joined in the celebration when she learned that she was 5th in her age group and had reached the podium. That was truly awesome to see. Earlier this summer, Liz decided to make some big changes and take substantial risks in her training to get to a new level as an athlete. I remember riding with her one day in Madison, a few weeks after she'd done Eagleman, and as she tore up a hill, leaving me in the dust, and then sprinted the next hill, and then the next, I thought to myself, “wow, something has really lit a fire under her.” And that fire burned all the way onto the podium at the World Championships. Her determination, drive, and dedication has been really fun to see, and I’ve gotten a lot of my own motivation just from tagging along.

After that—we did Vegas the right way. We hightailed it over to the Bellagio buffet and gorged ourselves on everything bad, we met up with Scott, a friend from Well-Fit, and attended the awards ceremony, we stopped in at the Wattie Ink party, and then we went right on back to the Strip. There, I taught Liz and Scott how to play craps. And yes, I walked away a winner (up over $200) and Scott made a pretty penny, too (literally. He started with $100, cashed out at $106, and paid $5.99 in ATM fees). We watched the fountains at the Bellagio, we saw the flamingos at the Flamingo, and almost 22 hours after first arising that morning, we collapsed, exhausted and happy.

Livin' it up on the Strip

And now, I’m back in Chicago, and back to work. I gave myself a few days to recover and be slightly (highly) gluttonous, but now it’s nose to the grindstone as I make the final Ironman push. Next stop: Kona!

  

USAT Nationals- Gutting it Out

About a week ago, I took a brief respite from my Ironman training to head north to Milwaukee, Wisconsin  (let's just call this Amanda's Summer of Wisconsin) for the USA Triathlon Olympic Distance Nationals.

I signed up for Nationals this year not because the Olympic distance is my specialty (ugh, it hurts) or even because I fit perfectly within my training schedule, but because, well, everyone else was doing it, and that's as good a reason as any, in my mind.  When you have a top-level race within a 90 minute drive from home, it's kinda hard to pass it up.  And I'm so glad I didn't.  This was a fantastic experience.

Although I know this is going to end at some point, I still consider myself somewhat of a "rookie" at this triathlon nonsense.  And I think when you're like me and you don't have that many races under your belt, each race is a little more valuable just because it teaches new, unique lessons.  The lesson I have learned pretty well this summer:  things before a race don't have to go perfectly in order to have a good day, so long as you can get your head screwed on relatively straight by the time you toe the line.  This is now the second consecutive race I've had where I've encountered some serious speed bumps in the days preceding, but walked away pleased with the outcome of the race.  I don't necessarily wish to repeat ANY of the tough pre-race experiences I've had, but in the end, I feel like a much more mentally tough athlete than I was even just a month ago.  Progress.

This version of the crappy lead-in week (and I say this NOT at all to offer up excuses, I was happy with my race, but to remind myself when I look back that adversity isn't determinative):   Tuesday:  bike crash.  In the grand scheme of bike crashes, it wasn't bad, but it left me bruised, sore, headache-y, and, as these things always go, a little shaken up.  Wednesday:  pretty severe asthma flare-up that had me feeling like I was breathing through a straw even when sitting still.  Thursday: two extremely choppy-water and asthma-induced panic attacks in Lake Michigan that left me standing up, coughing, freaking out, and trying to believe my friend Karin when she stood with me and lied said, "don't worry, I stop 5 minutes into my open water swims all the time.  Totally normal." Add to this the fact that I rested a little bit for this race, but mostly maintained Ironman training as usual up until a few days before the race, and still felt pretty well fatigued when we arrived in Milwaukee.

In the past, any one of those occurrences would have taken me out of the game and essentially guaranteed a mediocre result, so I'm proud that this time, I remained calm and, I dare say, confident (who, me?) going into this race.

Pre-Race
I traveled up to Milwaukee on Friday with Liz.  Liz and I have traveled together but never to a race but I think that might have been one of my best decisions of weekend.  Liz is so experienced, calm, and confident, and just by following suit, I felt much the same.  Going to Milwaukee felt more like taking a fun road trip than traveling to one of the biggest races in the country.  I had all these little worries (bike crash, asthma, panic in the water) in the back of my mind, but instead of dwelling on them, I just chatted about random nonsense with Liz as she drove (e.g., Justin Bieber's descent into punkhood) and (poorly) attempted to navigate us first to the race site for a little pre-race swim, then to the bike course for some recon (hillier than we expected), then the hotel, and finally Noodles for dinner.  Pretty soon my little worries had melted away, replaced instead by the embarrassment of being an Ivy League-educated individual who, even with the help of Google Maps offering turn-by-turn instructions, lacks the attention span and sense of direction necessary to get us anywhere without a couple wrong turns.   Once our Friday adventures in Milwaukee were over, we were all packed up for the race and settled in, I realized that I've truly never felt less nervous for a race.

See?  Milwaukee's pretty.

Saturday morning came quick, out the door at 5:30,  and we zoomed on over to the race sight, parked closely and without issue, got our transitions all set up... and then waited.  My wave wasn't until after 10:00 AM, Liz's was a little less than an hour earlier, so we had a good deal of time to kill.  We spent some time chatting with two of Liz's athletes, Molly and Robyn, who were so much fun to meet in person, watched some of the earlier swim waves to get a good read on the best lines to take, and mostly chilled out in the shade away from all the hubbub.

When it was finally time to head on over to the swim start, I still felt really quite relaxed, almost to the point of apathetic.  Honestly, after sitting around all morning, I just wanted to get the race over with and return to the elephant cookie I'd purchased as a post-race treat the day before at the local Speedway.  A lot of the other girls in my age group seemed to feel the same.  As we were all lined up in the water waiting for the gun, it was mostly friendly, calm chatter going on instead of the typical nervous stoicism I've seen in other races.  We all groaned when the song "Gangnam Style" came over the loud speakers, knowing we were all in for 2+ hours of having that particular song stuck in our head, and when one girl said, "let's get this show on the road, I really just want to be done and get some lunch," a whole lot of us nodded in agreement.

That elephant cookie may or may not have gotten me through the race

Swim
If there was any part of the race that I was a little nervous about, it was the swim, and that was mostly due to both the panic attacks during my Thursday morning swim that had left me a little shaken and my still-existing asthma issues.  There were over 170 girls in my wave, and I knew the start would be pretty rough.  I also knew that I struggle mightily if I get my heart rate up too high right off the bat...it's when I start to feel panicky in the water.  I think those little fears added up to a swim that was, for me, really quite mediocre.  The gun fired, we took off at a sprint, I was right in the thick of the rough, physical action....and I backed off.  I didn't want the contact, I didn't want to be sprinting immediately, so I didn't.  I veered away from everyone else, swung way inside in search of clear water, and did the swim almost entirely in my own little world, with no one to draft off.   I really wimped out on that swim, and I paid for it with a pretty lousy split and coming out of the water outside of the top 10 in my age group.  For someone with a swimming background, my lazy swim was pretty unacceptable, but I did what I felt like I needed to do on that day to get through it without issue.  No use dwelling, so I put the swim out of my mind as soon as I got to the transition and grabbed my bike.

The swim took us under that bridge, twice

Bike
My major process goal for this race was to make the bike hurt, to not hold back a bit, and to ignore the fact that I had a 10K run ahead of me.  I started the bike in chase mode, knowing my swim had put me behind.  As has been the case with every Olympic distance race I've done this year, my legs quickly let me know that they were not at all happy to be working so hard, but I ignored them and pressed on over the rolling and slightly rough bike course.  Liz told me the day before that someone had pretty much dared her to try to over-ride on the bike, to see if she could blow up, and I promptly took it on as my own challenge.

I didn't feel even remotely good on that bike, not at all.  My legs were screaming at me the whole time, I felt all the fatigue that remained from Ironman training, and I sounded like an asthmatic dying animal.  On any other day I would have backed off in the interest of still being able to run well, but on this day, for whatever reason, I rode with reckless abandon.  I passed a few girls from our age group early on, including a couple I recognized as being  top contenders for the podium, and was passed towards the end by two more, one of whom I knew had won this race last year for our age group, so I figured I was in a pretty good position.

I really need to stop the nerdy and non-aero thumb twiddling habit I've got going

I finished the bike with a 1:03 split which is my best Olympic distance split by a fair bit, but not meeting what I thought was my potential.  Based on my training lately, I think there was a really special ride in me that could have come out had I felt a little better, but you play the cards that are dealt to you, and I did the best I could for that day.  It certainly wasn't easy, but it was a vast improvement over what I've been able to do in other short course races this year.

The bike course itself?  Nice.  First a little out-and-back along the Lake Michigan we all know and love, followed by another out-and-back on a highway and through a couple neighborhoods.  I found the course more challenging that I expected and the wind had picked up as the morning progressed, but I was very, very impressed with how little drafting I saw out there.  It was a fair race, from what I can tell, and kudos to USAT for figuring out the logistics in such a way that allowed that.

Run
I was kind of making an educated guess as to my position based on who had passed me on the bike, but I thought (correctly) I was taking off in third place with 1st and 2nd both in sight.  I left my Garmin behind in the interest of just running by intuition, but that may have been a mistake.  I took off after Girls #1 and #2 probably a little too quickly, feeling fatigued and like my legs were quite heavy, but hoping they'd come around.  Despite that, I had a decent rhythm and  I was gaining on Girl #2 a bit and feeling optimistic...and then I got passed by Super-Tall Sunny just past the first mile, who blew by me as though I was standing still, and that took a bit of wind out of my sails.  A mile later, I dropped a gel and turned around to get it (mistake), lost all rhythm and momentum, and I quickly turned on survival mode. 

I played a lot of mental games the last few miles because I really didn't feel good, at all.  I wasn't running terribly well and the asthma was still an issue, but I tried to ignore my own gasping.  I kept trying to chase down people from previous waves and gain confidence with every pass, but mostly, I just wanted to hold on to 4th place and be done.  I gritted my teeth, put my head down, and just ground it out.  Some days, like Racine, I'm a little social butterfly on the course, waving and smiling at every person I recognize, even (this actually happened at Racine), spotting people I recognized in the crowd and calling out their names when they didn't see me (oh hey, Jen, how's it going?).  Today....not so much.  I had a lot of friends racing out there who called out to me on the run as we were doing multiple out-and-backs, but I didn't have a whole lot of energy to respond in kind....sorry for that!

That is not a smile, that is a grimace

Soon enough, that damn run was finally over.  My split wasn't horrible for me, but it wasn't all that good, particularly compared to the other girls in my division.  I think I was only a couple seconds per mile faster than I ran for more than double the distance at Racine.  But... I was tired and a little flat and to be able to put my head down and get it done in a still quite respectable time is progress, for me.

Post-Race
In the end, I was really quite pleased with my day.  I ended up with a time of 2:12, a PR for the distance, even if you count Leon's (which I really don't think we should do, because let's be honest, Leon's is not an accurate course) and snuck onto the podium, finishing 4th in my age group.  My goal for the day was Top 10, with Top 5 seeming a little over-ambitious given the strength and speed of all the short-course specialists I knew would show up.  To be able to mix it up with those fast girls on a day that really, at no time, felt all that good, is quite the confidence builder.  This was a mental toughness day, and given how tough the mental side has been for me in the past, I'm happy to have pulled through. 

Plus, Milwaukee is a surprisingly beautiful town!  I should have known, it is in Wisconsin and Wisconsin is just all kinds of awesome, but I was really quite pleasantly surprised by the beauty of the Milwaukee lake front.  The awards ceremony wasn't until the evening, so Liz (who had a really great day despite being in the midst of a really heavy training load, I've witnessed some of it and the training she's done gives me sympathy leg pains) and I spent the afternoon enjoying quality time with Molly and Robyn, drinking craft beers and eating a Scotch Egg (look it up and thank me later).  Yes, I broke their hotel room shower curtain in an act of pure klutziness, but when has that ever surprised anyone?

Several hours later (longest awards ceremony ever), it was back on the road to Chicago with a stop along the way for Blizzards (both of us) and fried cheese curds (just me, Liz is a responsible, clean-eating triathlete, aside from the Blizzards).  Nationals was a very successful and fun weekend, and it was so good to see so many friends up there. I got back to Chicago feeling so enthused about the sport and ready to gear up again for another big pre-Ironman push.  Which may or may not include multiple trips to Wisconsin, because, you know, I'm freakin' in love with this State. 

Racine 70.3: Anatomy of a Magical Day

 Before I start my race report on the Racine 70.3 that I did this weekend, I want to tell a little story about a completely different person, competing in a completely different race, 15 years ago.  But hang with me:  this is relevant.

But first a pretty picture of the Lake

I ran track in high school and competed several times against a girl from a neighboring school named Lauren.  Lauren and I had similar PRs in the mile…somewhere between 5:05 and 5:10.  Good for high school runners, but not amazing.  In 1998, Lauren appeared to be having a somewhat rough season. I’d heard she’d shown up to practices in March out-of-shape and discouraged, was struggling to break 6 minutes.  As the season wore on, she improved, and managed to eek her way into the State meet for the mile run, but just barely.   She was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a favorite.

Fast forward to that Saturday in June when the milers lined up in Ohio Stadium for the State Championship.  The gun fired, and Lauren, who was not expected to even crack the top 10, bolted to the lead.  She came through the first quarter mile several seconds ahead of the field, running way, way faster than any of her previous racing should have indicated.  I was sitting with my coach watching, and we turned to each other.  “What the heck is she doing?”  We assumed she’d blow up, we thought she’d end up crawling to the finish.   But another lap passed, her lead grew and she just kept running.  The rest of the racers had let her go, had made no effort to go with her, they thought she was running like an idiot.  She was!  But Lauren just ran and ran and ran, and when it was over, she had won the State Championship by a huge margin in a time of 4:54- I believe something like 15 seconds faster than she’d run even at her best in previous years.  A 15 second PR in a mile, at that level, is HUGE. 

Lauren crossed the line, having just raced out of her mind, and immediately covered her face in disbelief.  You could tell by her body language that she was as stunned as anyone out there.  Where the hell did THAT come from? You could see her sobbing, crying shocked tears of joy.  The girl who got second, the defending State champ who knew Lauren very well and had raced her dozens of times, was quoted in the paper saying something like, “I honestly didn’t give Lauren credit.   She went out so fast, I just didn’t think there was any way she’d be able to hang on, and then it was too late.”   

I’ve thought about that day and about Lauren a lot in the 15 years since then because it was honestly one of the most inspiring sporting moments I’ve ever seen.  I’ve wondered a lot about that dream day and how it happened.   Did Lauren know she could do that?  Did she sense the magic, did she feel it coming?  What switch turned on that allowed her to find a greatness, a whole ‘nother level inside herself that neither she nor anyone else knew was there?  Really, where the hell did that come from?

I’ve also dreamed of having my own magical race day, and I wondered what it would feel like.  I imagined that someday I’d show up to a race, feeling amazing, just oozing with confidence, having trained perfectly, just knowing today was my day, and would feel on fire the whole time.  That’s how I figured it had to go.

On Sunday, I had my magical race day.  And it was nothing, NOTHING like any of that, at all.

The Results

To not bury the lead any more…. I won on Sunday.  I won my age group, I won the overall amateur title (neither by small margins), I set a PR of something like 17 minutes, and I vastly exceeded ANY of my own expectations.   I had a Lauren moment when I crossed the line….complete and utter disbelief followed by a whole lot of sobbing.   I’m still a little emotional.   I found a greatness inside me that I truly didn’t know was there, and it was meaningful and profound in ways that have nothing to do with sports.

And the crazy part….I almost didn’t even line up.

The Lead-In

Details aren’t important, but on a personal level, I had an extremely difficult and stressful week leading into this race.  To say I was a wreck, emotionally, is an understatement.  Sometimes I am strong, but oftentimes I am weak when it comes to handling the tough times in life.  I was already pretty well on the weak side from various stressors when a few big hits came at me last week.  Frankly, I completely crumbled.  Pre-race workouts were mostly unstructured and pretty horrible, when I was even able to complete them.  Planning for the race….out the window, I was just trying to hold myself together.  There wasn’t much sleep, and there most definitely weren’t many smiles.  Some amazing and wonderful friends helped prop me up and to them I am extremely grateful and I hope they know that.  But the number of times that I said, absolutely, 100% seriously last week, “there is no way I’m going to be able to race this weekend,”…  well, I lost count.  Melodramatic, yeah, sure.  But I’ve never claimed to be anything otherwise.:)

I think it was Thursday when I finally committed to racing, and it wasn’t until Friday, on my way up to Wisconsin, that I actually started to think about the race.  I didn’t have a plan, I didn’t have a schedule, and honestly, I no longer cared AT ALL about the outcome.  I’d once had some quite ambitious goals for the day but now, I pretty much just wanted to get through it.  This was NOT a magical day in the making.

But there was also a small voice, way, way, way far in the back of my mind, telling me that greatness was still there, that knew that I was going to have a great day, precisely because I had stopped caring. 

So that’s the lead-in, and because I’ve already blathered on long enough, I’ll spare you more words about the pre-race stuff except to say that when I left my hotel room the morning of the race, I checked my emotions at the door and just told myself:  for five hours out there, I’m going to allow myself to be at peace, to relax, to stop thinking, and to enjoy the simple process of swimming, biking, and running.  And that’s all I need to do.

Blaine, Super Sherpa Extraordinaire

Race Day

I think Racine is the largest half Ironman I’ve done, and apparently the ladies my age are flocking to triathlon, because there were so many entrants in my age group that they had to split us into two waves.  I was in the second wave, starting 4 minutes back.  Practically, this meant that it was going to be harder all day to really know where I stood in my age group, but since I’d stopped really caring about the outcome, it didn’t bother me too much.   That said, I had looked at the start list a few weeks ago and knew of two girls, strong swimmers, who were in that first wave and with the head start, would surely exit the water ahead of me. Let’s call them A & B (because I don’t know them well enough to call them out on my blog).  I figured if I wanted to place well in my age group, I’d need to chase them down on the bike.

Swim

Oh, Lake Michigan.  Crazy Lake Michigan.  It’s so unpredictable.  One day, cold.  One day, not cold.  And then, on Sunday, mimicking an ocean, with real waves and chop, chop, chop.  We were doing a beach start, dealing with sand bars and waves and all that jazz to get going.  Before the start, I tried to practice my entry, running in and dolphin diving into a wave.  I was promptly thrown backwards, my goggles ripped from my face by the crashing wave.  Great start.  I tried again, was more successful the second time, and then headed to the start, lining up right next to my friend Taylor.  

Taylor the super swimmer

OK, I think Taylor is probably sick of me talking about what a fantastic swim she had, but I’m not about to shut up.  Taylor was doing her first half Ironman on Sunday.  You’d never know it from her swim:  she swam like an absolute pro.  This was a rough swim, very rough, chop the whole time, but I think the trickiest part by far was navigating through the waves of swimmers that had taken off before us.  The chop spread everyone out and there were numerous floaters and bobbers.  Within 200 meters, Taylor swam next to me, and I decided to just settle in right behind her.  She did ALL the work.  She dodged floaters, she wove around, no joke, hundreds of swimmers, and she never slowed down a bit.  For 30 minutes, ALL I thought about was trying to hang on Taylor’s feet, to just follow her every move.   If I zoned out for a second, she’d start pulling away, and I’d have to accelerate to catch her.  She led me through that mess (at least until the last couple minutes when I lost her) and she did an amazing job.   Taylor had the fastest swim of the amateurs, in her first race.   I came out 20 seconds behind, at just over 30 minutes.  I saw the clock as we exited and was a little disappointed….that’s a decent but not amazing time for me.  Certainly not enough to have made much ground on the girls in the first wave of our age group (at least I didn’t think so). Certainly not magical. 

Turns out, Taylor and I actually swam great for that day and those conditions.  Everyone was slow.  Unbeknownst to us, we caught and passed all the girls in that first wave of our age group.  I had no idea.  I still figured there were several ahead of us.  But to Taylor….drinks on me this weekend, sorry again for making you do all the work, but you did it so well!

Bike

After a long run up the beach, the typical frantic nature of transition, and a steep hill right out of transition, I spent the first several minutes of the bike just riding really easy and trying to bring my heart rate down.  I always have power showing on my bike computer, but for quite some time, I didn’t look.  I didn’t care.  All I wanted to do was ride and not think.  I was tired of thinking.

So I rode nice and easy, just chilling out.  Then I looked down at the power reading, finally, and was shocked at my average power thus far.  It was really high.  I was riding really easy.  That small thought entered my mind:  this could be a good day.

Just chillin', twiddling my thumbs like a dork.

I kept on going, staying at a relatively easy effort but passing people with ease.  I was going fast, averaging 23 miles per hour, I knew that.  But I knew nothing about the course, figured it was really fast, figured everyone was speedy today.  Yes, I was passing people and no one was passing me, but I still hadn’t found those girls I knew started in the first wave of our age group.  I was still chasing (or so I thought).

I wish I had much to say about the bike, but honestly, I didn’t think about much and I don’t really remember much.  I was just riding.  I was kind of in a daze.  I didn’t have extreme highs.  And for the first time all week, I didn’t really have any lows, either.  I felt good on the bike, I felt strong, but I didn’t feel magical, by any means.  I drank a lot, I ate my food when I was supposed to, I sang silly songs in my head, but that was about it.  At one point, I dropped my chain, and stood for 40 seconds struggling to get it back on, but once I got going again, I got over the momentary panic almost immediately.   It was, basically, the most even keel and uneventful ride I’ve ever had in a race.  Apathy?  Maybe.  More likely….I’d finally stopped caring so damn much.  I just rode my bike.  There was no magic.  There was nothing.  I just….was.

Soon enough, the end came, and I had my fastest split ever, by a lot.  It was a great ride for me.  I did not get passed, not once, but I figured I still had work to do.   Blaine saw me coming into transition.  “You are absolutely killing it,” he said.   I didn’t know what that actually meant.  I didn’t really care enough to ask. 

Run

Heading out on the run my legs felt OK, but I was still a bit robotic, mentally.  I was breathing a little harder than I thought I should have been at that time, but I didn’t panic.  I asked myself, “does this feel like a pace you could hold for 13.1 miles?” and I could honestly say yes, so I just carried on

Coming up on mile one, Liz was by the side of the path.  “What is this???”  she yelled, seeming pretty excited.  “You are the first [non-pro] woman!”

I’m not going to lie, I thought she was messing with me.  I still hadn’t seen the girls I thought I was chasing from the first wave of my age group.  Yeah, I’d passed a good number of people on the bike, but there were three waves of women who’d started before me.  Surely I hadn’t worked my way through all of them.  There was no way.

 

Shortly thereafter, I saw Anne.  “I think you’re winning!” she said, and I started to believe.  Then a few more people told me the same thing.   All I could think:  there is no way.

Racine is a two-loop, out and back course, and I spent the first 3+ miles to the turnaround trying to just run easy and maintain form.  When I turned around and started heading back, I had the chance to start scoping out who was chasing me.  And honestly, it was a long time before I saw another woman.  I looked at my watch and I was running fast (for me), and it felt good, it felt sustainable.  I had that momentary thought:  what if I blow up?  But it was momentary.  I knew I wouldn’t blow up.  Not today.

Approaching the end of the first loop, it was sinking in.  THIS was the magical day I’d dreamt of for 15 years since I first saw Lauren sobbing at the finish line at the State meet.  THIS was really happening.  I started smiling, and I just couldn’t stop.  Liz saw me again and told me something like “you had an 8 minute lead off the bike.”   In other words, this is yours to lose.  On another day, I would have panicked:  oh my God, what if I lose this?  Today:  no flipping way.  This was my day.  I wasn’t going to lose this.

This is my "oh my God, can you believe this is happening??" face

For the rest of the run, I just sustained and tried to keep running hard.  There were moments when it felt difficult, when my breathing felt incredibly labored, but I’d look down at my watch, see I was still maintaining a good pace, and I’d relax.  After the last turn around, I told myself:  this is your victory lap, enjoy this.  And I did.  I smiled.  I reveled.  It hurt, and I wanted it to be over, but in a way, I didn’t want it to end.   This was the only time I had emotion all race, and it was pure, unadulterated joy.

Kicking it in

I ended up running way faster than I thought I could -- just over 1:30, a great, great split for me.   I crossed the line in a state of shock, I found Blaine, and I had my Lauren moment….I broke down and just cried and cried and cried. I felt overly dramatic….this was Racine, it wasn’t the Olympics, it wasn’t Kona, but for me, it meant so much.  After the week I’d had, when nothing felt magical or even all that good in my life, when I almost hadn’t even started, I somehow managed to pull out that truly magical day.  And all I could think: where the hell did that come from?

I’m still a bit on a high, I’m still a bit stunned, and I still haven’t fully processed my magical day, but I will say, in a lot of ways, it felt transformative.  Triathlon’s just a hobby, it’s just a sport, but it teaches so many great lessons about life in general.  And from this I learned that magic and greatness is there, it’s possible, and it may just appear when you least expect it, and most of all, when you stop looking so hard for it.

Final Results: 

4:33:40 (1^st Age Group; 1^st Overall Amateur)

Swim: 30:11 (2^nd AG; 2^nd OA Amateur)

Bike: 2:28:21 (1^st AG; 1^st OA Amateur)

Run: 1:30:31 (1^st AG; 2^nd OA Amateur)

Major highlight- hanging with Maggie (3rd overall, absolute stud!)

New friend Matt, Team TriSports.com sweeps the overall amateur titles!

And then this.  Of course

Pleasant Times at Pleasant Prairie (Race Report)

In the spirit of hitting all the hottest spots in the Midwest, this weekend I headed north to lovely Pleasant Prairie, Wisconsin (a suburb of Kenosha) for the Pleasant Prairie International Distance Triathlon. 

Pleasant Prairie is a great local triathlon that attracts a lot of speedy triathletes in the Illinois and Wisconsin region.  I did the Sprint distance at this race a couple years ago when I was just coming back from my knee surgery.  I was fat and slow (want proof?  I found pictures last week and contemplated posting them here as a sort of "wow, look how far I've come" self-congratulatory sort of thing, but then I realized the pictures are way too embarrassing), but I loved the race, and knew I'd be back someday, in better form all around. 

My primary goal for this race, particularly after my little debacle at the Naperville Esprit de She a couple weeks ago, was to finish happy and proud of my effort.  I know that sounds cheesy, but really, I just wanted to get back on the horse again, shake off the demons, get through the swim unscathed, bike hard, run hard, and put myself back on a positive course for the rest of the season.  Sure, ideally I'd be proud of the effort, happy, and fast, but I figured the fast part would follow the other, less tangible process goals. 

Pleasant Prairie's only about an hour from home, but race morning wake-up calls are already really, really rough for me (hey, I just spent 10 months not working....would you get up super early in the morning if you had all day to do your workouts?), so I opted to drive up on Saturday and get myself a cheap little hotel room a couple minutes from the course.  Good choice.  On race morning, 4 AM in a hotel room a couple miles from the race was rough.  3AM with an hour drive ahead might have made me cry, and the tears are supposed to come after the race, not before.  (Just kidding, this has been a tear-free zone starting the day after the Naperville race.)

Spoiler alert, or Clif's Notes version, or whatever you want to call it...the race went just fine.  The swimming was fine, the cycling was below average but still fine, the run was pretty good.  I saw friends, one of whom meow'd at me during the race just at a time when I was struggling enough that it didn't phase me one bit, I placed exactly where I wanted to, and I walked away with some cold hard cash.  And most importantly, a smile. Winning all around.

Post race smiles/ goofy faces with Nic, who meow'd at me during the run, claiming it was an "Eye of the Tiger" kind of thing.

And here are some deets:

Swim
After last race's panic attack --> quit --> unquit disaster, the confidence I have always had in the swim was a little lacking.  After Naperville, I'd proven to myself that I still knew how to swim when four days after the race, I had probably the best swim practice of my life that concluded with a 1000 IM.  That's not a typo.  Crazy Coach Liz (just kidding, she's not crazy, except when it comes to her very bizarre love of butterfly, which is without a doubt, crazy) came up with that gem as a challenge after a practice that had already been pretty darn difficult.  Despite the fact that since age 16, and possibly even before that, I have not done more than 4 lengths of the pool butterfly at any one time, I somehow managed to rise to the challenge and (slowly and ugly-ly) got through 10 lengths of butterfly, staying legal the whole time.  So I knew, physically, I could still swim.

This was how happy I felt about that 1000 IM malarkey

I still worried, however, about whether I could mentally handle the mass start.  Rationally, I had nothing to be scared of.  More realistically, I was afraid that panic would start to become part of my repertoire.  I really didn't want that.

This particular start was a little more nerve-wracking, too, because this year Pleasant Prairie added a co-ed Elite wave.  That's a welcome addition to any tri, but it meant starting the swim in the midst of a bunch of fast, hard-charging dudes who always seem to play rougher than we civilized lady swimmers.  Plus, Pleasant Prairie has this very odd (and in my view, totally dumb) first 100 meters, where everyone starts on a tiny little beach, and then we make a 90 degree turn probably no more than 15 yards after the start.  Take a pack of aggressive, fast-starting swimmers, put them all together, and force them to change directions within the first 20 seconds of the race, and that's a recipe for disaster.

The plus side:  I knew it would be bad, so I spent the minutes pre-race just calming myself down, reminding myself to expect the worst, to prepare to be punched and grabbed and dunked, coming up with positive self-talk and mantras.

And yes, I was punched and grabbed and dunked and punched some more.  I started a bit behind the front line and purposely held back a little in the first 200 meters so as to stay a little calmer, but I still got the snot beat out of me.  But I was ready for it, got through, and when clear water opened up, I was fine.

My swim wasn't amazing, but it was fine.  I wasn't looking for amazing, I wasn't willing on this day to take anything even remotely resembling a risk, I wasn't willing to redline, I just wanted to get out without incident, and I did.  I think I was the 4th woman out of the water, with some super fish ahead of me, and that was just fine and dandy.  Demon, exorcised.  Now back to business as usual.

T1
In an effort to look and act more like a real triathlete, I decided to try starting this race with my shoes already in the pedals.  I practiced getting into and out of them several times the day before and thought I was good to go.

Not so much.  One shoe flipped down and dragged on the ground, acting like a sort of brake.  I could not get started and there may have been a few choice words uttered (quietly).  And then, when I was trying to slide my foot into one shoe, I managed to kick the velco strap out of the metal thingamabob that it loopy-de-loops through.  I lack the writing skills and vocabulary to explain it better, but basically I could not fasten my shoe unless I reached down to re-thread the velcro strap through the thingamabob, all while moving.  My bike handling skills are questionable at best without messing with my shoes, downright scary with shoe shenanigans, and I would not be surprised if I lost a minute or more during the bike coasting and trying to fix my stupid shoe.  What a rookie.

Bike
There's a mystery right now (well, it's a mystery to me and my coach) and that is....why can Amanda not put together a decent bike in an International distance race?  I got on the bike, and immediately, my right hamstring and glute were sore, sore, sore, threatening to cramp, and basically making me very unhappy.  This very same thing happened in Terre Haute.  It doesn't usually happen in training.  The current theory (or at least the theory I like)...I'm kicking too hard in the swim and jacking up my leg in the process.  I'm a kicker when it comes to swimming (hey, my best race back in the swimming days was the 50, this is what I was taught!) and I think it's working against me.  Any fishes out there who have experienced something similar?  Drop me a line, if so, and tell me how you figured out how to NOT kick so much (just saying "don't kick" doesn't work, it's a rhythm thing).

Anyway, my legs were not cooperating on the bike.  My power was low, low, low, to the point that I stopped looking altogether because it was just frustrating me to be working really, really hard and only putting out the kind of power that is absolutely no problem at all during training.  At one point, I said to my legs, "come on, legs, work with me."  They didn't.

I was frustrated with my slowness, and extra frustrated with another woman passed me at mile 18 and I tried to go with her, to take a risk, but I just could not do it.  But I didn't let my mental state get too low and instead focused on doing the other stuff right-- hydrating sufficiently, taking in a couple gels, taking salt (actually I failed at that after dropping BOTH of the salt tabs that I'd taped to my bike in the span of 15 seconds).

The bike course itself was nice enough.  It's a new course, and from what I can tell, more challenging than before.  There were some nasty headwinds to deal with, some false flats, some overpassess disguised as hills, and we rode right by the Jelly Belly factory twice.  I'm newly in the midst of a month of no gluten, no sweets, no alcohol, no junk, and I love, love, love jelly beans almost as much as I love Arby's, so that was kind of a mean tease.  At least the bike course didn't take us by an Arby's.

I love jelly beans.  I miss jelly beans.

I came off the bike in 4th place, having given up huge chunks of time to the other girls in the race.  Boo.    

T2
It was getting really hot out there, and I'd dropped all my salt tabs on the bike, so I did some weighing of consequences in my head and decided that in the interest of not melting on the run, I'd sacrifice my transition.  Here's a first.  I got to transition, racked my bike, walked over to the backpack I'd brought all my stuff in (stashed a bit away from my transition area), found the bottle of salt tabs in the bag, opened the bottle, and shook out a pill.  Which I promptly dropped on the ground as I was running out of transition and accidentally put my visor right over my eyes such that I was running blind for a couple seconds.  You better believe I grabbed that salt pill right off the ground.  Five second rule!

Run
Continuing within the theme of klutziness and errors, I tried to start my Garmin when the run started, but actually managed to turn it off.  I wasn't going to look at it anyway, it's becoming clear that I run better without data, but I would have liked to see my splits afterwards.  Oh well.

I got going on the run feeling not too shabby, but I had no idea of my position or whether there was anyone within striking distance.  Sharone was standing by the exit and said something to me about "two minutes" but I had no idea if that was to the next person, or the first person, or just a general Sharone-like non-sequiter, so I just ran and tried to turn over my legs.

The run course at Pleasant Prairie basically goes out-and-back-and-out-and-out-on-a-path-and-back-on-same-path-and-around-the-lake.  Got it?  In other words, lots of places to scope out the competition and assess where you are.  There was a turnaround at about 1.5 miles, and as I was approaching, I saw that I was gaining on a girl who I later figured out to be Mary B., a long-time top triathlete in the area whose name I knew from looking at results over the years.  I tried to be all strategic-like, tucked in behind her for a little, and then surged so as to "pass with authority."

But maybe surging wasn't such a good idea, because a quarter mile later, I was dead, totally toasted, and wondering if I was going to be able to finish without walking.  There's really few more frightening feelings in triathlon than being in trouble at mile 2 of a 10K.

The thing I love about racing is that no matter what happens, there are valuable lessons and experiences to be gained from each race.  This race-- the valuable lesson was how I dealt with the low in mile 2.  I've heard so many people say, especially when talking about Ironman racing, that you have to learn how to deal with ups and down all day long, and not get too stuck in the "downs" because often, they will pass.  For me, they've never passed, and that has always been my struggle.  If I'm feeling decent all day, great, I'll keep working.  But when things spiral downhill, when I start feeling horrible, in the past I've always let my mind take over and remained entrenched in the "down" for the rest of the race.

I'm just throwing in random pictures to break up the words, work with me.

This race, I think, was the first time I've been able to successfully pull myself out of a really rough patch.  Some of it was mental approach.... I told myself I was doing well, that I was in third, that third pays money, I thought back to some of my rougher workouts when I've felt completely and utterly toasted with miles to go but managed to hold it together (it's great to think of those awesome workouts but sometimes it's the rough ones that provide the most motivation when you're struggling....it was like, I survived that day, I can survive this one), I tried to push out the negative chatter.  A lot of it was just problem-solving.  I started struggling and I set out to try and fix it.  I doubled up on the water at the next aid station, took some salt, took a gel.

And wouldn't you know it, by mile 3, I felt great again.

It got hot out there, but I just chugged along.  I could tell from all the turnarounds that I was pretty safely in third and barring a miracle, wasn't going to be able to move up any more places, so I just tried to keep working and running smart.  When I saw Nic and he meow'd at me....that was special.  At the next turnaround, I had enough energy to give him a high-five.  That was special, too.  When all was said and done, despite the heat and humidity (people were positively melting out there), I had my fastest 10K in an Olympic distance race, ever.  I'll take it.

In the end, I ended up in third place behind Lauren Jensen, an absolute stud who has been dominating short-course racing in this region for what, decades now?, and Kimberly Goodell, another Wisconsin stud.  Those two have been first and second at Pleasant Prairie for the past four or more years, I think, and I knew going in it would take an extra special day to change that.  Basically, I was thrilled to take third in such a stacked field, and happy with the day.

On the podium with two Wisconsin rock stars

The bonus?  I got paid!  This was my first payday in triathlon (not a ton of races offer money for amateurs and those that do tend to be pretty darn competitive), so I consider it pretty momentous.  It wasn't enough money to retire on ($100, which I spent all of and more at Whole Foods just a few hours later) but it made me smile.

Posing with my check like a big ole' dork.

One of the things I really like about the Chicagoland area (and when I say Chicagoland area, I'm being a little big city-centric and including the states of Wisconsin, Indiana, and Michigan) is that there is no shortage of incredibly talented short-course racers, and as a necessarily corollary (oof, I'm talking like a lawyer again) lots of competitive short course races.  We've got Galena, Leon's, Evergreen Lake, Elkhart Lake, etc. etc.  I think Pleasant Prairie fits onto that list, particularly on the men's side.  Let's just say, when USA Triathlon's Next Great Hope shows up and does not win, well, that's a competitive race.  (And as an aside, based on what I witnessed and heard, said Next Great Hope might want to brush up on the fundamental difference between draft-legal and non-draft-legal races, and maybe think twice next time before berating volunteers at a local triathlon for not being able to provide accurate splits during the race, but I digress (and I'll probably delete this within minutes.) I'm not a short course specialist, as is obvious by all the little mistakes I made, but it's fun and inspiring to throw it down with girls that are just FAST.

So that's Pleasant Prairie.  Great way to spend a Sunday, and now it's back to the (alcohol and junk-food free) grind!

Getting Over Thyself

You know what's fun?  Writing race reports about races that go well, races with positive outcomes and general fun and merriment.

You know what's quite a bit less fun?  Writing race reports about races that do not go as planned.   Re-living painful or straight up embarrassing moments.  It's hard, it's procrastination-inducing (hence a race report going up on my blog almost a week after the race), but I think, for me, it's necessary. Because it's in the tough moments when the real lessons are learned.

And with that lead in, I'm sure you can guess that I had a bad race last weekend.  Here's the story.

The scene of the crime was Naperville, a place where I've spent a lot of time in the past year or so, so much that the race felt a bit like a hometown affair.  The race itself was intended to be low-key in the grand scheme of my race schedule:  the Esprit de She Women's Sprint Triathlon.  I knew it'd hurt, sprints always do, but I also knew the race environment is inspiring and a celebration of so much more than just triathlon.  I was really looking forward to this race.

The Lead-Up

Backing up a bit, however, to the weeks preceding.  I've stayed a little quiet on my recent goings on, but it's been an eventful last few weeks.  First, my condo was finally vacated, so I made the big move from the 'burbs back to the city.  Then last Monday, I started back at work.  Yes, I'm back at the law firm I left ten months ago.  My position is a little different, I'm working a slightly-reduced schedule, and understandably, I lost my lake-facing office.  But the firm was incredibly gracious in taking me back without making me grovel for it too much and working with me to devise a schedule that will allow me to train adequately for that big race I have in October, and for that I am thankful.

Which is not to say the adjustment has been easy.  It's been anything but.  These past few weeks have worn on me far more than I anticipated (and I certainly did anticipate a rough adjustment).  Moving's no fun.  And, starting a new job is always exhausting, but I will say that returning to an old job after a substantial break, trying to get your feet back under you, and being keenly and acutely aware that it's really, really important to re-prove your commitment, loyalty, and ability is even more exhausting. 

All of which is a long way of saying that I arrived in Naperville on Saturday, the day before the race, completely and utterly worn down, far more fatigued than I've felt in a really, really long time.  Friday and Saturday, I was struggling to walk up flights of stairs.  My workouts all felt horrible, not withstanding the fact that I cut them all in half in an effort to try to find some energy.  I wondered at times if I was getting the flu, but I knew I was just incredibly fatigued from life stress.  It's hard to give credence to life stress (what's so tough about work?  I'm just sitting behind a desk) but it's real and it hit me hard.  But, I honestly wasn't worried about the race.  I'll get through it, I told myself.  It's short, and it's going to hurt, but I'll be fine.

Race Day

Bree, me, Taylor

Race morning, I felt marginally better, got to the race site early, set my stuff up, and then chilled out for a while chatting with my friends Taylor and Bree, both of whom were racing in the Elite wave with me.  Bree I've known for a couple years through Well-Fit...she's a phenomenal swimmer who competed for USC and used to regularly lap me in the pool (I'm sure she still would, we just haven't had a chance to swim together for a long, long time).  Taylor's my newest most favorite swim buddy who I share a lane with when I go to Masters' practices in Naperville.  We're similar paces in the pool and work well together, trading off the lead and always pushing each other to the next level.  I was so excited to have both Taylor and Bree in the race and knew if I could stick with one or both of them in the swim, I'd be off to a good start.  So that was my strategy for that first leg of the race.....just stick with Taylor and Bree. 

The swim at the Naperville race is a funny little swim.  It's in a quarry, which is essentially a big pool.  To complete the 750 meter swim, you kinda snake back and forth, essentially completing three out-and-backs.  A-like so:

There are lane lines.  It's so shallow at times that you can walk.  I've swum in the quarry a bunch of times.  It is so NOT a scary swim.

Which is why I was and am completely bewildered and flummoxed about the fact that I had a panic attack in the middle of the swim, stopped, and quit the race after two out-and-backs. 

I've heard about people having panic attacks in the water, even pros, and even pros with swim backgrounds, but I guess I never thought it could happen to me.  I grew up in the water.  I was that pool rat that lifeguards hated, the little girl who just always wanted to be in the water, playing, swimming, doing flips off the board, didn't matter the weather, didn't matter the time, I was always at the pool.  In triathlon, the swim leg has never, ever been something I've even remotely stressed about.  I'm not scared of the swim.  Ever.

But something happened on Sunday and now it's a whole new game.

After a pretty inspiring pre-race ceremony honoring the women starting in the second wave, all cancer survivors, and listening to the National Anthem being passionately sung by a young woman who had a cancer diagnosis so bad that she was told she may not speak again, much less sing, we walked into the water for the start. 

I'm the one adjusting her goggles

The gun fired, and we were off, sprinting that first 100 meters or so, as you have to do in a race as short as this one.  I jockeyed for position, saw Bree swimming on one side of me and Taylor on the other, and figured I was in good shape.  It hurt, A LOT, but that's how it goes.  So far, so good. 

Just a couple minutes later, starting the second out-and-back, no longer so good.  Suddenly, I was completely and totally overtaken with fatigue.  I felt like a piano dropped on my back.  Just boom, I went from feeling OK to being able to hardly get my arms out of the water.  I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, I questioned whether I was going to be able to finish.  Bree and Taylor quickly pulled away.  Girls behind started passing me.  I grew more and more panicked....what is going on? Something is wrong.  This isn't right.  I flipped on my back for a moment, tried to breath, then I slowed down the pace significantly, just trying to get a hold of myself.  And when I got to the end of the second out-and-back, where it got nice and shallow, I put my feet down and I walked out of the water.  I quit. 

At first the volunteers cheered me as I walked towards the swim exit, thinking I'd just blown away the field, until they saw me shaking my head and, yeah, crying a little.  I sat down, trying to catch my breath, trying to figure out what'd just happened.  The volunteers were concerned.  "Do you need medical?"  No.  "Are you OK?" Yes.  "Is this your first triathlon?" Not exactly.  Blaine came running over, concerned something was truly wrong.  "Was there contact?  Did you get hit?  Do you need your inhaler?"  No, no, no.  "What happened???"  I have no idea.

 I sat there for a bit, more stunned than anything.  I just dropped out of a womens' sprint triathlon five minutes in.  There were a ton of thoughts and emotions running through my head, and at the risk of sounding too melodramatic, the primary emotion:  self-loathing.  Triathlon's my hobby, it's fun, and I was competing in one of the most positive, celebratory events, full of first-time triathletes just trying to finish, cancer survivors proving to themselves and the world that they had triumphed over life stresses that I can't even begin to comprehend, and here I was, sitting by the side of the water, having dropped out of the race because I wasn't winning the elite wave, because it felt hard, because my inability to keep up freaked me out.  How self-absorbed and lacking in perspective.

A couple more minutes passed, and knowing that my anger at myself would only get worse if I walked away, that quitting once would only make quitting again that much easier, I made the very, very tough decision to get back in, to finish the race.  I stripped off my wetsuit, I handed it to Blaine, and I headed back to the water to swim that last out-and-back, by myself.  By this point, every single woman in my wave had finished and was on to the bike.  I was in dead last place, having just spent at least five minutes (an eternity in a race this short) sitting out.  My "race" was over, but in a way, it was just beginning.  I think in that five minutes, I finally got over myself.  It's been a while coming.

I can't say the rest of the race was easy, it wasn't.  To be that far behind was beyond humbling, and it took a lot of willpower to keep on pushing and to keep my emotions in check.  But it also taught me a lot.  I was embarrassed by what had happened, I was embarrassed to be so far back.  Yet at one point, the volunteers cheered for me as I made a turn on the bike.  "You're awesome, you're amazing!"  My first thought, I am so not awesome.  Do you see me out here, miles behind?  But then I realized that was just my own judgment.  They didn't know.  They didn't care that I was having a bad race, they truly thought it was awesome that I was even out there.  And you know what?  It was.  It really was.

This contrast sums up the spirit of this race.  Yes, it's a race, but all sorts are out there, celebrating life and the ability to do this.  (And that's me in the background being all aero-like)

Time-wise, my bike wasn't great.  My legs and head weren't really into it.  The run wasn't stellar either, but I hung in there, I kept on working, I even caught a few girls in my wave. 

And while the moments after this race were filled with confusion, anger, a little fear, I have to say that during that run, I was awfully proud.  Proud to have turned it around and gotten over myself, proud to have gotten back out there and finished the race, proud to still be working hard even though the result was going to be bad.  I didn't have a lot of strength during the race, physically, but actually, mentally, I found some strength and courage that I didn't know I had.  It took, perhaps, falling to a low, low place to find it, but there it was.

And now....onward to bigger and better days!