I was about to be body marked
for my first triathlon. Which would have been fine if I hadn’t just realized I couldn’t
find my bike helmet. I quickly let the official mark my arm and calf with my
race number, 252, and then started running back toward my car. Which would have
been fine if I wasn’t stumbling through the cold pitch darkness in knee high
fur boots. A quarter mile later, I arrived at the car – no helmet. WHERE was my
helmet? I now had 30 minutes until the Transition Area was going to close, and
45 minutes to the start of the race. I hauled back toward Transition, still
negotiating the darkness and breathlessly begged the DJ/Announcer to ask if
anyone had found a silver bike helmet, marked 252.
And so began my Adventure in Triathlon.
There’s a lot of gear involved in Triathlon. First you swim, so you start out
in a tri-suit or swimsuit, some type of foot wear to get you to the start (fur
boots in my case, perfect for a cold autumn 4AM wake up), a headlamp so you can see
and a sweatshirt or something to keep you warm. A swim cap and
goggles round out your gear for the first discipline.
Next comes the cycling.
First: you need a bike. Then, the previously mentioned missing helmet,
sunglasses, bike shoes, socks if necessary, and a belt that holds your bib
number (252, remember?). If you’re not wearing a tri-suit, you’re likely going
to supplement your swimsuit with bike shorts and a t-shirt and if it's cold, a jacket to wear
while cycling. Then you run. Helmet is replaced with a cap or headband, bike
shoes changed for running shoes.
In addition to all of this
stuff, you likely have a towel to dry off with, a bottle of some kind of liquid
nutrition and a bottle of water, maybe a gel or two depending on the length of
time you’ll be racing and for me, definitely a chap stick. You can imagine that
trying to get all of this gear to the Transition Area is slightly complicated in the early morning darkness. But losing the helmet? Really? Unless you were to lose the
bike, it couldn’t get much worse. I was in a panic.
Dawn was arriving, my
adrenaline was pumping, and my muscles were all warmed up from my unexpected
search. The DJ made my plea and someone shouted out that there was a helmet
lying on the ground “right over there” and I sheepishly picked it up and made
my way back to the Transition Area with 25 minutes to spare.
I knew how to set up my spot
in the TA from having obsessively read Your First Triathlon by Joe Friel, and
having watched approximately 7,000 you tube videos. The transitions of
triathlon are nuanced moments in time. You want to be as organized as possible
so you can change gear as quickly as possible and get right out to the next
discipline. In fact, Transition is known as the 4th discipline of
Triathlon. That's why the Towel & Bucket System seems to be
universally used by first timers right up to the pros. It involves laying a
towel on the ground and placing your stuff on it in an organized fashion. Then
as you finish with each piece of gear, you throw it into a bucket. OK, it’s not
really the most technical system but everyone uses it. The TA looks like a sea
of bikes with tiny festival blankets laid out beside each, topped with supplies
for the day.
I nervously rearranged my
chap stick to a new place on the towel for the 6th time and began to
chat with the guy and girl next to me. “I’m going for the heaviest bike award
today," I stated, horrified at my amazing but reeeeeally heavy mountain bike
complete with knobby tires. They laughed and asked me a few questions. I
admitted I had no idea what I was doing and that my friend who I was supposed
to be racing with had become injured so I was all alone and really nervous but
that I was going to try really hard, and in a moment the girl said, “Are you in
the on-line running group, My Running Girlfriends?” “YES! ARE YOU!?” I shouted.
Was this a virtual friend from my women’s running group on Facebook? “I’m Kim,”
she said, “You’re Clythie. I thought that was you!” I was instantly relieved.
I had my Love hoodie on for the occasion: Tri4Love, with Kim
I started My Running
Girlfriends a few years ago as a virtual running group for women and it’s grown
to include friends of friends of friends so there are lots of “girlfriends” in
the group who I don’t actually know even though I know all about their
running habits and what music they like to listen to when they run and how
their races go. Kim had responded to a post I set up when I first signed up for
the triathlon. She had done the same one last year as her first tri as well,
and she had given great words of wisdom and now, here were both were, having
randomly racked our bikes next to each other in the dark on race morning. “This
is PJ,” she said, referring to the guy next to her, “And this was his first tri
some years ago as well. It’s a really great race and you’re going to be just
fine.” PJ chimed in with genuine words of encouragement and all of a sudden the
Debacle of the Missing Helmet seemed to fade into the background and I had a
feeling that everything was going to be alright.
My Running Girlfriends played
a big part in getting me to the starting line of the triathlon. When my partner
in crime, Lauren, became injured, all of a sudden I was doing a race that I was
quite intimidated by, alone. Three disciplines in one fell swoop. Three sports
that I am alright at but by no means a star. Plus the fourth:
Transition. The girls in my running group gave me incredible encouragement and
advice. My friend Emily gave me a tri-suit. Annie and Kim had both previously raced the
tri I was about to attempt, so they told me all about it, solving the mystery of triathlon logistics. Anne had done other tris and gave lots of advice.
Lauretta had finished her first only a few weeks ago and sent me a race report
with every question I could have ever thought to ask, answered in perfect
detail. I am always thankful to this group of women from around the world, who
are always there for each other, even if it’s typically just virtually.
We lined up in the warm pool
area in number order. I was 52nd according to my predicted ¼ mile
swim time. A respectable mid-pack swimmer. The RD said to line up and
ask the people in front and behind you if they were faster/slower and rearrange
yourself accordingly. There was no pretension. Everyone humbly stated swim
times, most in my section (8:00 min) that they weren’t sure if they were going
to be faster or slower today, and that we should all feel free to tap and pass.
I nervously watched the first couple dozen swimmers jump into the pool and
swim, 15 seconds apart. Before I knew it, I was jumping in and off for my first
snake swim ever, and first competitive swim since my senior year of high
school.
Pretending like I know what I'm doing in my fancy blue tri-suit, with Kim
A snake swim is basically a
long line of swimmers snaking up and down each lane, ducking under the lane
line at the end of each lap till you reach the end of the pool and complete a ¼
mile swim. Unlike an open water swim
where everyone is competing at the same time for water space, therefore kicking
the crap out of each others heads, arms and legs, you have a half length (+/-)
in between each swimmer so unless someone is in the wrong placement order, it’s
quite calm. If you consider crushing a quarter mile swim to be a calm affair,
that is.
My strategy for the entire
race was to take my time and just finish. I know that’s not really the most
competitive spirit, but according to Joe Friel, it’s what you’re supposed to do
for your first tri, and I'm pretty good at following instructions. So, once I finished the first lap, I slowed down a bit, and relaxed,
taking my time cruising along, saving energy for the bike and run. In a flash, I was climbing out of the pool waving to my mom, my husband Jeff, and
my best friend and running partner, Matthew. I was on my way to T1, the
transition from swim to bike.
Making my way out of the pool toward T1
So, T1 was located a bit of a
hike on pavement and grass from the pool. I wasn’t sure about running barefoot
on pavement, so I tried to walk as fast as possible and then ran once I made it
to the grass. Running on pavement and grass was absolutely not part of my
training and in fact, I never ever go barefoot. Add that to the list for next
time. Practice being barefoot and running on pavement. Wha?? Noted.
I took my time in T1. I was in T1 for 4 minutes. I know! 4
minutes does not seem like a long time to put on sunglasses, take them off
because they're fogged up, put them back on, take them off again, hook them
into your tri-suit, put helmet on, dry off your feet, shove socks on, shove
shoes on, attach your bib belt, chug water and Gatorade, apply chap stick, un
rack bike and get out of the transition area, but apparently people do
it in one minute. Whatever.
All of a sudden, 4 minutes
later, I was out on the bike. My bike strategy was to let the bike do as much
work as it could for me, push as much as I could and to keep in mind that I had
one of the heaviest bikes in the race. The bike was nearly perfect. I finished
without a hitch until mile 12ish (of 15) when I could feel my feet going numb.
I wondered what I would do when it came time to run. Well, I thought, I’ll walk
the bike into T2, and hopefully by then I’ll be able to feel them. A nice guy passed me on a proper road bike
and shouted, “WE’RE ALMOST THERE!” I said, “GREAT!” and he said, “YEAH!! NEXT
COMES THE REALLY SHITTY PART!”
The run. I had been looking
forward to the run. Of the 4 disciplines, it’s really the only one I feel
comfortable doing. I figured I could make up time on the run. Maybe I could
pass some people who happened to have fast bikes but weren't really runners. I shouted back to the guy who was now fading
off in front of me, “YEAH, I’M NOT SURE WHAT I’M GOING TO DO BECAUSE I CAN’T
FEEL MY FEET.” And I rode in the last 3 miles to T2.
I saw Jeff as I hopped off
the bike and then my friend Tora, who to my delight, surprised me by showing up, and when I
said to them, “Um, I can’t feel my feet!” Tora said, “Well, you’ll feel them
soon enough because it’s time to run!” Good point, I thought.
Headed toward T2 with numb feet
I halved my time in T2. I was
in and out in just about 2 minutes. I hopped toward the trail. Running would
have to wait a bit, because I was concerned that I would break my toes, or
completely fall over. Nice, a runner signs up for a triathlon and when it
comes to the run, she walks out of the transition area.
About halfway through the
run, I began to run. That’s an improvement, I thought. The rest was uneventful
in a good way. The trail was easy, and the crowd was roaring as I came into the
finish. I passed under the arch, stepped onto the timing mat and immediately
saw my friends and family cheering for me. I had finished my first triathlon. I was a
snake swimmer on a heavy mountain bike with numb toes and very slow transition
times. Fabulous!
Success!
A triathlete!
