Crossing the Finish Line

Rallying the troops

I pissed you off.
You saw me coming;
I wasn't fast enough
to take you by surprise.

Now you've reared your head,
hit below the belt,
made the fight
more personal
than it already was.

You won't stop me.
You won't win.
I'll run faster,
bike harder,
glide farther through the water.

That was just
my first swing.
I was just
warming up.

I'm regrouping,
rallying the troops.
And this time I'll stomp harder
when I cross that finish line.

Move on.

Don't bother.

Your cause is a lost one.

You won't win.

Goals realized and future challenges

So it was event weekend. The one that I had been training for these past seven months.

The weather forecast was less than stellar with rain looming all weekend and thunderstorms on the horizon for Sunday morning.

Packet pick up began on Saturday afternoon and we headed up so I could get my assignment. I made my way through the hotel to the conference room, signed the waiver releasing my family from the right to sue everyone and their brother should I die during the event, and got in line to pick up my number. I reached into my purse for my wallet so I could have my photo ID ready.

Oops.

My wallet was sitting on the kitchen counter.

So we headed back home and I quickly made the trip back up by myself.

This was not a good start to the weekend.

I had my nerves last week, so race weekend left me mostly calm, just ready to get on with the event.

We had a nice dinner out to celebrate my mom's birthday at Vino's on 1st Avenue and then headed home for an early night in.

The thunderstorms moved in as promised, interrupting my restless sleep.

The alarm on my watch went off at 4:45 and I rolled over to turn off the bedside alarm.

Only I couldn't.

The power had been knocked out by the storms.

Oh, this was not good.

I had packed my transition bag with all of my gear the night before, so that was no big deal. The bike had a final tuning Saturday afternoon, so it was good to go.

Fortunately my mom had already been up and had water in the tea kettle for her morning tea and power had only been out for about 20 minutes before we had gotten up. I was able to make some lukewarm oatmeal for my pre-race breakfast.

My husband and I set out 15 minutes ahead of schedule to the race site, with my dad, mom and father-in-law about half an hour behind us.

The storms moved out, leaving a heavily overcast sky in its wake.

As I pushed my bike to the body marking area, I ran into my swim coach and quickly arranged to meet on the beach for a warm up once my transition area was arranged.

I went through the line to have my race number, 85, written on both arms, both legs and my division marker on my right calf. I picked up my timing chip and headed into transition to layout my gear.

I found a spot on the last rack for my division, a great spot in my opinion, as they were color coded. All I need to remember was that I was at the last orange rack on the right instead of having to count out my spot.

I pulled on my wet suit, secured my timing chip on my ankle and headed for the beach. I ran into my mom on the way down, amazing considering the crowds of people that were starting to converge on the race site, and gave her a quick hug.

The water temperatures were forecasted to be 67 degrees at packet pick up. I swear that the fresh rain from the storms the night before dropped it another 10 degrees. It was almost painful as I stepped deeper and deeper into the lake.

I met up with my coach and another swim partner and we did a short warm up before we swam out to the actual rope that designated the route. It wasn't as far as I thought it would be. I got my visual for the return, and briefly examined the route up to transition. I was as ready as I was going to be.

I found the rest of the "Team Kristie" cheering gallery and chatted until it all the participants were called to the water's edge for the pre-race meeting and line up.

The elite women went into the water first, followed nine minutes later by the elite men and teams. Four minutes later it was my turn. My heart pounded for a few moments as the first few white capped racers from my division started to go in. I took a deep breath and let it go. There was no reason to be nervous. I trained for seven months for this. I was prepared.

I got to the timing mat, called out my race number for the proctor and waited for the signal to enter the water, and I was off.

Because of the new format there weren't massive numbers of people fighting for position. I was able to more or less swim the rope line, occasionally getting slightly off course as I back stroked. I came up to the big buoy at the end much more quickly than I thought I would.

All in all, the swim went well. I relied heavily on the backstroke, more out of comfort than anything else. It wasn't hard to flip back over to freestyle and spot from time to time. I made it to last buoy and found my feet.

Well, tried to find my feet.

My equilibrium was shot, and though I didn't fall, I felt almost drunk as I attempted to unzip my wetsuit while running through calf deep water. As soon as I thought I had my footing I hit dry sand and a hill.

This was the one time that I thought about quitting. This was the hardest part by far. I was a little winded and shaky from the swim. My legs burned from running through so many types of terrain in a short period.

But I passed my cheering family and friends (sorry if I short you all dirty looks. I swear I didn't mean to.) and made my way up the hill. As I hit the pavement of the transition area, I passed my swim coach who cheered for me loudly as I made my way through the transition chute.

As I sat in front of my bike to get shoes and socks on my husband appeared next the transition area to give me some encouragement. Between that and the few moments of reprieve that the sitting gave me, I felt re-energized.

I snapped the strap on my helmet, pulled my bike off the rack and ran/walked to the end of transition where I mounted my bike and took off.

It went fast. I took on the hills, conquering two of the three that had stopped me last time. I almost made it to the top of the last, but had to stop for a few seconds to cool the burning in my legs before continuing the route back into the park. The sight of the lake was welcome, telling me that I was in the final stretch of the bike leg, with only a mile and a half left of the 15.5 miles.

I was calm.

I was happy.

I was thrilled.

The toughest two pieces were coming to an end. There was no way I wouldn't finish.

I slowed as I approached transition and hopped off my bike. My right foot fought me as I tried to pull out of my toe straps, but I eventually won the struggle and went to rack my bike and drop my helmet.

As I made my way out of transition for the run I had a laugh out loud moment as a guy came running out of a row of bikes a head of me shirtless, in a kilt. As much I was enjoying myself, he was doing it even more.

Truth be told, I fast walked 75% of the run. My energy level was really starting to sag. I was okay with that. I was meeting my most important goals that I had set out.

People on the run leg cheered me on, calling out "Way to go 85," "Good job 85," "Keep it up 85" as they passed me.

I enjoyed being referred to by my number. It made me feel like I belonged.

I came in 657 of 666 participants, 239 out of 245 women, 26 out of 28 in my division.

Overall, my time was 2:24, 19 minutes over my goal time of 2:05 (again, arbitrarily arrived at by concluded that they sounded like nice, round numbers).

Goals that were met:

I completed my first triathlon.

I did not come in last (I was almost a half an hour in front of last place).

I beat my swim goal of 20 minutes by 3:07.

I beat my fund raising goal of $1000 buy bringing in $1285 to date for cancer research.

I have made new friends, strengthened old ones, and found new passions.

The person that I used to get an idea of time frames also competed in the tri again this year. She shaved over an hour off her time this year.

I think I'll do that next year.

I am a totally rockin' biker chick!

During our last long bike ride I came to the realization that some of my gears seemed to have gone missing. I called the local bike shop the next day to ask what the turn around time for a tune up would be and was told that it was running about a week.

Ugh!

I was totally unwilling to give my bike up for a week.

So today I met my swim coach at the beach in Palo, the actual starting point for the triathlon. It was a gorgeous day, but the water was still freezing.

We did an easy 200 yards in an attempt to acclimate ourselves to the water and the surroundings. Following the swim, it was time for pointers:

Objects best suited for sighting, general direction of the path to the transition area, a reminder to smile as I came out of the water as there would be official photographers waiting to snap my picture.

Joy!

One thing that had been missing from my life was a photo of me, purple faced, falling over as I struggle to regain my equilibrium while attempting to strip out of my wetsuit.

I skipped the ride that I had planned for after the swim and instead settled down with my computer, a beer, my husband's bike tool kit and my bicycle.

Thanks to the wonders of Google I read many articles that I did not understand. Articles that talked about the whozamawhatsits and the thinggamajigs and the cogs and the barrels.

I eventually found an article that included pictures of the whozamawhatsits and the thinggamajigs and the cogs, though I still had to guess at what the barrels were.

I determined that 6 gears were missing: the top two and bottom one from each of the front rings. I don't know how important some of those gears were, but I do know that it included my lowest gear. The one used for climbing hills.

That one was a little important in my opinion.

45 minutes, several greasy fingers and a bit of swearing later and I had not only a nicely tuned bicycle, but more mechanical knowledge of bicycles than my very handy husband.

I am a totally rockin' biker chick!

6 days, 10 hours....

Race Belts, Body Glide and Transitions... Oh my!!

T-Minus 10 days and counting.

I have seriously begun to lose sleep. I wake at 3 in the morning pondering the use of race belts, Body Glide anti-chafing sticks and how they could affect my transition times.

I woke last Saturday morning tired because I dreamt continuously the night before of swimming a consecutive 550 (which, I am happy to say I did despite the delirium).

Maybe it's because of the sleep deprivation that I have seriously done things that call into question my sanity.

Take last night for example:

I left work and drove down to Lake McBride for my first open water swim. This sounds innocuous enough. I was going to have to do it in eleven days anyway, so what's the big deal?

It was 58 degrees when I left work at 4 that afternoon.

And cloudy.

And windy.

And a little drizzly.

Oh sure, you say, you have a wetsuit. Isn't that the whole point?

Well, yes. So?

If you had asked me this time last year if I wanted to go to the lake I would have said sure. But you bet your boots that in my head I would have been in jeans, socks, tennis shoes, my favorite fuzzy pullover and my Corona ball cap. Not in a swimsuit, wetsuit and a swim cap.

It wasn't a fabulous work out. It wasn't bad either, all things considered. It made me truly understand the importance of a warm up. It taught me not to panic just because I can only see as far as my hands as they pull through my stroke. I learned to stop as if I'm treading water so when I put my feet down and can't touch, I don't go into girlie hysterics.

Hmmmm.....Maybe I won't drown after all.

I've also begun to think through the sleepless haze that a 14 mile bike ride really is no big deal. Where's the challenge in that? 14 miles doesn't even make my bottom sore anymore. (Yeah, I said it.)

Lake water (at least this lake water) tastes better than Y pool water. Not that I intentionally drink it, but well, it happens.

Swim training is tapering off now with only three sessions left on the books before the big day: my usual hour at the Y on Saturday, a 550 on the race course itself followed by a bike ride of the course, and a nice an easy swim a week from today.

It's all drawing to a close and I'm not sure how I feel about that. What am I going to do with my life?

Oh yeah.

Train for round two.

September 27.

The Danskin Tri in Chicagoland.

My First 5k Race

I completed my first 5k race yesterday morning.

I knew that it was going to be a good day when I picked up my race packet and was handed my bib number: 444.

I took it to be a lucky number, though part of me wondered if I shouldn't dress in yellow. As Yellow Cab was not my official sponsor, I decided that the feeling was unwarranted.

It was a little unnerving, arriving at the race location and seeing so many runners and their .5% body fat, stretching, flaunting their in-shapedness for all to see. Of the three events, running I feel will be the hardest. Track or treadmill and I do great. Pavement, even dirt path, has been my running bane.

It's my own fault really. Whether it was simply the unwillingness to put myself on display or the fear of the temporary pain as my body transitioned from the cushiness of the treadmill to the unforgiviness of the pavement, or both, I don't know.

So, fair or not, I picked a few people out of the crowd and thought to myself, "hey, if they can do this, so can I."

The gun went off and I was swept up in the crowd of runners.

Two minutes into the run I began to have buyers remorse.

What in the hell had I gotten myself into?

This was hard!

And it certainly was uncomfortable!

Running on concrete really sucked! Goats!

I could turn around, lie about my time (never mind the fact that if anyone checked the official times posted online, I would show up without a time) and just go home to the warmth of my house.

So once again I picked someone out of the crowd ahead of me, someone who, like me, looked like she was struggling, and paced her. We played several rounds of leap frog.
I didn't get her name, or even her bib number, so I could have thanked her, whether she realized or not the game that I had played with her.

The first mile marker came sooner than I had expected and was thrilled when the marshall called out my first split time. Rock on! I was 22 seconds under my goal.

The water station, marking the halfway point came and went.

Families dotted the race course, some holding signs cheering on family members. Course marshalls cheered on runners as they made their ways through intersections. It camraderie was uplifting and encouraging.

Shortly after the two mile marker, when my legs really began to burn and I began to huff and puff, I really let the random thoughts begin to fly. What came to my mind was a logo my brother and I had discussed in an email exchange one day. It was the logo that I should have put on my shorts and top for tri day:

A cartoon person in a wet suit, flippers, snorkel mask, swimmies and an inner tube in the shape of a duck.

If I found this image funny when it was first discussed, I found it hysterical during my run. It actually made me laugh outloud. It re-energized me and pushed me on.

All in all, it was a good day for runner 444.

I am happy to report that I placed 639th among 677 participants.

Yay me for not being last.

Okay, so that really wouldn't have been so bad, except for the fact that they made a huge announcement when the last runner crossed the finish line. That would be the kind of attention that would make me want to find the closest rock to crawl under.

My goal, without any real thought to back it up (aside from "Hey, that sounds like a nice number."), was to complete in about 40 minutes.

My final chip time (secured to my running shoe with the help of twist ties) was 40:39.

Really, so how cold is 65 degrees?

I received an email from the Pigman organizer the other day with some general information. This year's sprint event will host almost 900 people. That means there will be a lot of people swimming around (over) me as I will be in the first waves of swimmers to go in after the elite and relay team swimmers. Woo! Yay! Also noted is the fact that they're forecasting the water temperature to be about 65 degrees.

So, because I have a fondness for useless trivia, I wondered how long I would have to hang out in 65 degree water before hypothermia would set in. According to the Mayo Clinic, I have 2 to 7 hours before exhaustion or unconsciousness sets in.

As I am shooting for a swim time of around 20 minutes, it looks like I will be okay, though I'm certain I'll be exhausted after those 20 minutes.

Not to worry though!

I have a wet suit.

Yup, the one my husband had conveniently failed to mention to me so many years ago fit fairly well. It's a little loose around the waist, but it will most definitely work for the Pigman.

Learning to swim in it is another matter.

I took it for a spin last night.

It most certainly does help with buoyancy, almost to the other end of extreme. I still have a few weeks left to practice in it so I'm sure I'll get the hang of it.

I ditched it in today's swim since it was still a little damp from last night's practice. I could have used the extra help as I managed to get 850 yards in today's workout.

Not too bad for someone who wanted to panic when her face was in the water 6 months ago.

It amazes me how far things have progressed in that short time frame. It also amazes me at how far I still need to go. I understand how people become addicted to the sport. I may be tired and I may want to skip training for the day, but if I can push through it, it's a great feeling. On days like last Saturday's mini-tri work out, it's exhilarating.

The quote at the bottom of the newsletter I received from my tri club read, "The harder you work, the harder it is to surrender."

I'm pretty sure that's true.

24 days until I prove that I've become a triathlete.