About 2 years ago I ran a half marathon. It was cool but really rough on my knees which started giving me trouble as race time approached. So I started thinking about what else I could do and triathlons were clearly a good option. Much more managable running distances, plus a chance to compete on the bike (I raced for years) but then again there was the swimming. Now I can jump in a pool or off a boat and putter around, no problem. But my little secret is that I'd never actually tried to swim a lap in a pool in my life. Until about 6 weeks ago. I finally got off my arse and signed up for a race, in this case the sprint distance Benaroya Research Institute at Seafair Triathlon here in Seattle.
Started training pretty hard. And then there was this swimming thing. Got in the pool at the gym. Swam one length. 25 yards. Exhausting. Who invented this and why is it so freaking hard? Took a few lessons, got some great advice from Chris. Got a wetsuit. Got in the pool a few times a week. Swimming a 1/2 mile begain to look possible but still very daring. So I had my concerns about doing something that could be my last. Ugh. On a practice swim on Thursday Chris gives me the advice that really does save me. He says "are you trying to swim or just not to die?" My answer is obviously not the former. He reminds me just to relax and float. Believe it or not, it's a big help.
Race day comes this morning. Transition area opens at 5:15 (first wave is 7am) and parking is nasty around Seward park so I wanted to get there early. Melissa actually volunteered to go down there with me which was very nice of her; see what happens if you ask me to get up at 4:30 on a Sunday. So I got all set up, putzed around. 6:40 comes and they call for the red, silver, yellow, and pink caps for staging -- your age/gender group is designated with different color swim caps that they give you. I'm standing on the beach with about 50 other 30-34 year old guys watching the elite (red cap) folks get in the water trying not to look at the first turn buoy. Which, for those of you playing along at home, is (excuse ma francais) way the fuck out there. Remember, I'm not much of a swimmer and this is something I've never attempted to do before without rest. The elites go off and they call for the Silver Caps move into the water. I'm not nearly as scared as I thought I would or probably should be...fortunately there's a lot going on to keep me distracted.
The horn goes off and it's pandemoneum. Arms, legs, splashing water, bumping into people, etc. Fortuantely Lake Washington is super warm this year. I put my face in the water and get a few strokes in, and those are always the hardest. Immediately, I'm faced with what I knew was going to be my second biggest issue: I can't swim straight. Not even close. If I take 5 full strokes/breaths, I'll turn about 30 degrees to the left. So immediately the pack is moving away from me (not unexpected and I'm honestly not worried about it) but the safety folks on the surf boards are pointing at me telling me to get to the right. Yeah, I like swimming a bunch of extra distance, thanks. So it's really a struggle for me to stay close to the buoys but the good news is this. Not once did I consider quitting, sinking to my death, or spending more than just a few seconds on my back to get some good breaths (which I did 2 or 3 times). It goes by really pretty fast, and really before I know it I'm rounding the last corner pointing back at the shore. I didn't even have any issues with being a 1/3 of a mile out from the shore, I was mostly focused on just getting the job done. It didn't bother me as I understand it does some folks (that and not being able to see the bottom) .Not really all that fatigued just trying out how to swim right, which I think I did better. I'm betting the 2nd half of my swim was faster than the first. Had I stayed tight to the buoys though, I'll bet it would have saved me 2 minutes or more. Oh well. But I'm happy to say that just getting it done wasn't the struggle I thought it would be. Now if I can just do it with some sort of decent pace...
So I start seeing the seaweed, errrr bottom, coming closer and closer and before you know it I'm able to touch the bottom and start walking in all it's wonderful glory. Get my wetsuit off, have a great transition to the bike. There just happened to be a triathlon on TV yesterday afternoon and I watched those guys and really got some good tips on it. Leave the bike shoes clipped to the bike. Pre-tie your running shoes and just ram your feet into them. Have your helmet sitting on your aero bars and deal with it as you're running your bike out of the transition. No problem. Bike section isn't too bad. I wished I was a bit stronger, and could turn the next bigger gear. Something to work on, but I passed a lot of people. And the aero-bars I bought yesterday rocked. Very comfy, help a lot. Up Lake Washington Blvd, over the I-90 bridge onto Mercer Island and back. Great course, all blocked off so there were no cars.
I get back to the transition area and they want you to move counter-clockwise. So it was a straight shot from the water to my bike (which was nearest the bike exit), but the farthest possible from the bike entrance. Running all the way around with the bike in bare feet seemed like an eternity, and later Melissa informed me they weren't enforcing it. Damn. I get the bike racked and my helmet off in a flash, get my left shoe on. Where's my right shoe? Where's my freaking right shoe? For what seems like an eternity, I can't find it. This isn't something I planned for. Well fortunatlely, I catch a glimpse and it's gotten tangled in the towel of the person's set up next to me. You have to realize the bikes are handlebar to handlebar so you've got about a 2-foot wide strip to have your stuff all nicely laid out until people who are in every bit as much of a hurry as you mess it up getting theirs. Of course you do the same. So I get that other shoe on and off on the run I go.
The bike-to-run transition is what a lot of people struggle with. Your body has been busy pumping all the blood it can into your quads and you all of a sudden start using your hamstrings, and it takes a bit to adjust. But I'm feeling comfortable in the run, just starting to pick up steam and start passing some people. Nobody told me (or anyone else appearently) that in order to milk an extra 1/2 mile out of the loop around the park you had to run up and back down a steep road right in the middle. Ick. So I trudge up it and walk a bit. It's steep enough running isn't much faster and I was afraid I'd blow an o-ring or a gasket or something. And running downhill is no treat either. But the nice thing is you get to the bottom and it's only about 2/3 of a mile to the finish line, so you're done in no time. As you come down the stretch, you're really starting to hurt. You cross the line and they cut the ankle-strap that has your timing chip on it, get handed a bottle of water and all of a sudden the whole thing doesn't seem so hard. And you run into folks at the finish to trade some war stories and times. A lot of fun.
The Seafair folks did an awesome job putting together an event with 1,500 atheletes and running the whole thing very smoothly. And Melissa shlepping herself over here at 4:45 to go with me was absolutely above-and-beyond the call of duty, so a big thanks to her.
I took her to breakfast afterwords and then I came home and took a shower than a nap. I'll always remember this day as the "104" written in fat-black-marker on my right calf managed to transpose it's mirror image onto my sheets in the process. It's like my little rendition of the Turin Shroud.
Can't wait for the next race in August...