In honor of the offroad tri I will be "competing" in on July 30th, I thought I'd re-post a blog from 4 years ago, when I did my last "real" tri.
WARNING! This is a rather long, and detailed description of a rather long and boring race...
Well, I did it. I've thought about it in the "wouldn't it be cool" sense since I watched my first Iron Man Triathlon on TV nearly 15 years ago. Back then, it was done on Alcatraz island, and not in Hawaii. But I've been watching it every year (on TV, of course, so I can get the nice, human interest stories on the competitors) as it grew in popularity and prestige. My dad has regalled me with stories of watching it live (he lives in Hawaii), and I've dreamed. I did a little research about a year ago about sprint triathlon opportunities in the area. There really aren't many. I let the dream sit in the back of my mind, comfortable in its home of 15 years.
Earlier this year, I was presented with the opportunity of participating in the sprint triathlon at the Cornhusker State Games. For the small price of $34.00 (and a fortune of sweat and ibuprofen), I too could be a triathlete. Hooray! I signed up. I started training. I got derailed several times (I always did have a short attention span), but win lose or die, I was going to do this.
Fast forward to Sunday, July 29th. I was up at 4:30, and I got my daughter up around 4:45. According to my calculations, we had to be on the road by 5:15. I figured she'd sleep in the car, but no such luck. That girl is a chatterbox. I believe the term that described her best later in the day was, "blithering." We made it to the competitor parking lot, which held maybe 50 cars. We were the only ones there. It was raining and 70 degrees. The forecast? Sunny and 80. Hmmm...
I signed in, and got my numbers markered on my left arm and right calf. On the back of that calf, they also wrote my age in big, bold numbers. Great. Next year, please put my weight on there, too, would 'ya? They also gave me an anklet to strap on. I suddenly felt like Paris Hilton on house arrest. I put my bike on a rack, with my backpack containing shoes, socks, shorts, shirt, buff and water near the front tire. My helmet, I hung on my bike's handlebars, and then gathered in my "women under 40" grouping for the pre-race briefing. There were over 360 competitors signed up for this event, and they split us into four categories for the start. Suddenly, my mom was standing behind me.
"Lori! Lori! Hi!"
Me: Mom! You're not supposed to be in this area! (competitors on my left and right turned to look.)
Mom: Oh! Ok. Well, I just wanted to say good luck!
After a quick hug, she was gone, and the pre-race stuff started. Boys started first, 34 and under. We started 3 minutes behind them. What a rush! It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I would consider myself a rather strong swimmer, but I don't think anything can prepare you for a mad 1000 meter dash with 60 other competitors surrounding you 60 more in front of you and 120 chasing your tail. The lake was a murky green. I could not see my own hands in front of me, much less my fellow swimmers. I accidentally grabbed ankles, I was elbowed in the face at least 4 times, someone clawed my watch off. It was mayhem. Rather than lose my watch, I snagged it from the water and stuffed it in my swim briefs. Every once in a while, I popped my head up to make sure I was going in the right direction. Once you get out of the mass of bodies, you feel strangely alone in the lake. I passed a few boys in their green or yellow swim caps, but for the most part, all I could think about was staying afloat and finding the bouys. I swallowed more than one mouthful of that putrid water. I was the 73rd person out of the water, and the 18th girl out (3rd in my age group), in 17 minutes and 47 seconds.
"Lori! Lori! Hi!"
Me: Mom! You're not supposed to be in this area! (competitors on my left and right turned to look.)
Mom: Oh! Ok. Well, I just wanted to say good luck!
After a quick hug, she was gone, and the pre-race stuff started. Boys started first, 34 and under. We started 3 minutes behind them. What a rush! It was one of the most difficult things I've ever done. I would consider myself a rather strong swimmer, but I don't think anything can prepare you for a mad 1000 meter dash with 60 other competitors surrounding you 60 more in front of you and 120 chasing your tail. The lake was a murky green. I could not see my own hands in front of me, much less my fellow swimmers. I accidentally grabbed ankles, I was elbowed in the face at least 4 times, someone clawed my watch off. It was mayhem. Rather than lose my watch, I snagged it from the water and stuffed it in my swim briefs. Every once in a while, I popped my head up to make sure I was going in the right direction. Once you get out of the mass of bodies, you feel strangely alone in the lake. I passed a few boys in their green or yellow swim caps, but for the most part, all I could think about was staying afloat and finding the bouys. I swallowed more than one mouthful of that putrid water. I was the 73rd person out of the water, and the 18th girl out (3rd in my age group), in 17 minutes and 47 seconds.
Once I was ashore, I jogged over to the transition area. I looked down briefly and noticed what looked like a small penis in my swim briefs. Alarming! I reached in and pulled out my watch. I managed to get it back on my wrist before entering the transition. It felt like I spent too long getting my shorts, shirt sox and shoes on. I threw my buff onto my head and plunked my helmet down on top. Ahhh, the dreaded bicycle portion. I just started riding my bike in March or April. Before that, it'd been about 15 years. I am not very fast, and after the 2nd lap of 3, I realized that my legs don't go as fast as my mind thinks they are going. In fact, I saw so many people passing me, I thought perhaps I was doing this wrong. As I started my 3rd and final lap on the bike, I saw the first of the finishers on the return lap of their run. Wah-wah...
But the upside of 3 laps was that I could go by the transition area and the spectators 3 times. On my second lap, I heard my daughter screaming, "Go mommy, go mommy, GO MOMMY!!!!" She was so loud, I turned around to make sure that it really was my little girl making all that noise. But her voice is unmistakeable. It had to have been her. There she was, wearing my mom's sweatshirt for warmth. Shoes, sweatshirt, umbrella was about all I could see of her.
I finally finished my third lap. It took me an hour and 4 minutes to complete 21 kilometers. Ugh. I don't have split times, but I know my terrible rate was 11.5 miles an hour. Um, yeah. I knew it wouldn't be good when the kid on a tryclycle zoomed by me. But I hadn't given up, yet. The next transition felt much smoother. All I had to do was hop off my bike, take off my helmet, and start running. Except what I did do was hop off my bike, take off my helmet, hang up my bike on the rack, start to head out, and turn around to grab some water out of my backpack.
And I was off and running. Only, I was stiff and sore and tired, so it was more like a lurch. I was off and lurching! I hobbled along at a pretty steady pace. I talked myself out of walking several times. It was hard, though. And in my area in the pack, it seemed as if everyone was walking. I passed and was passed by the same girl several times. She would stop to walk, then catch and pass me, then walk, and I would pass her. Finally, somewhere on our 3rd mile, she caught me again, and I told her that now that she's running again, we should catch "big red." She laughed and agreed. Big red was a rather rotund fellow who was 25 yards ahead of us. We did catch him. And we passed him. And then we passed a few more people. It was nice to have a running partner on that last stretch. Finally, she passed me for good.
I spotted my mom up ahead. She said that she was allowed to run with me, as long as she stayed off the crushed limestone path. Sweet! She whispered to me that she'd try to run, but was scared she'd pee her pants. I chuckled, and then confided in her that I, too, might pee my pants. We jogged along for a bit, and I wondered aloud where the finish line was. I was beat. And then it was there. Salvation in the form of a red pad, which beeped my final time. 2:01:33. Only 30 minutes slower than my goal. Oops.
There were girls at the end whose sole job it was to take off the dreaded house-arrest anklets. She said, "just put your foot on this, and I'll take that off for you." Easier said than done, but I got my foot onto the ledge 6 inches off the ground eventually. And then I went to gather my stuff. Everything was soaked. It had stopped raining during the bike portion of the race, but then I was sweaty and lake-y, and all around gross.
So in conclusion, I have a few lessons learned from this year's event
1. Go to the bathroom before the race.
2. Don't wear a watch, or put it on during the swim to bike transition, if you absolutely need to wear one.
3. Bring flip-flops or other sandal-y shoes for before the race
4. Bring a change of clothes!!!
5. Go to the bathroom after the race, before the drive home.
I was nervous about it, but in the end I'm really glad that my mom, boyfriend, boyfriend's parents, and daughter came out to support me. It meant a lot to have a cheering section, even if I wasn't going to win any awards. And even though my body and mind are screaming "NO!" my heart knows that I will, again, attempt to conquer the triathlon.
1. Go to the bathroom before the race.
2. Don't wear a watch, or put it on during the swim to bike transition, if you absolutely need to wear one.
3. Bring flip-flops or other sandal-y shoes for before the race
4. Bring a change of clothes!!!
5. Go to the bathroom after the race, before the drive home.
I was nervous about it, but in the end I'm really glad that my mom, boyfriend, boyfriend's parents, and daughter came out to support me. It meant a lot to have a cheering section, even if I wasn't going to win any awards. And even though my body and mind are screaming "NO!" my heart knows that I will, again, attempt to conquer the triathlon.
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