Race report, part 3 (Sprint distance triathlon)

Here’s the follow-up to Part I, and Part 2.

Once balanced precariously on the bike and out of transition, I started passing people. I wasn’t riding the greatest bike in the world but it was a pretty good road bike, faster than any bike I had ridden before. It was borrowed, but set up to fit me. I stayed slightly out to the left to pass, one by one, whoosh-whoosh-whoosh, through the 15.8 mile ride, so far behind that no one passed me back. (Because of a construction route change, the bike ride was 8 tenths of a mile longer than it was supposed to be.)

I watched the wave numbers on the calves in front of me (just as Filoli advised ): 12, 11, 8, 3. I knew I was cold, and I was vaguely aware of how the warm aroma of manure hovering over the fields was making me think of my childhood, but other than that I didn’t do a whole lot of thinking during this stretch. I had no idea how far I had left to go or how long I’d been riding. The drizzle soon turned into a pretty good downpour so the tires whizzed along making a buzzing noise on the wet pavement. I forgot any fear I had of falling and just rode as fast as I could. At the corners there were volunteers shouting at all of us to “slow it down!” I didn’t have aerobars so I rode resting my forearms in the drops, with my elbows below the drop and my body low enough so that on every pedal stroke I’d lightly touch the top of my leg to my chest. It was comforting in a way, and I almost felt protected from the rain. Resting on the arms also took some weight off of the horribly uncomfortable, pencil-wide, unpadded saddle that came with the bike. Although it didn’t bother me at the time, my arms were almost as sore as my butt the next day. I think I need some aerobars — not to mention a new saddle – next time around.

Near the end of the ride a car driven by an elderly couple turned onto the rode, cutting me off. It followed the cyclists right in front of me so I was stuck, and frustrated. I couldn’t pass and had to slow down. Inches from their back bumper I waved at them to move over, but it was hopeless. The only good part of this was that while following the car I almost didn’t have to pedal – it just sucked me along, slowly, for what felt like an eternity but was maybe a mile or so. I was almost ready to scream, anxious to get back to my business of passing people, when it finally turned off into a driveway. I was quite delusional, thinking I was Lance or someone by this point. After the race I calculated my speed and ended up with an average of 19.3 miles per hour, which I guess is good for me, although significantly slower than the top placers who ride over 25 mph.

It felt SO good to leave the countryside behind and pull into transition, where I managed to get off the bike without falling. I got the bike racked, helmet and dripping wet shirt peeled off, new shoes and race number belt on, then started running when I felt something in my shoe. Oops, I had a mini-tube of anti-chafing gel in the shoe, so I stopped, kicked that off and threw it to the side. The run felt horrible. I was miserable through the whole thing and didn’t even have a little sprint-to-the-finish in me. My feet were numb from cold and my legs were exhausted from getting carried away on the bike. All I wanted was to have it be over, even if I ran 10 minute miles. I stopped to walk at the water station and let myself get passed without caring a bit.

When I did finally finish, the familiar faces of my race buddies – long done and changed into warm, dry clothes by now – were laughing, talking, smiling, and hugged the bad attitude right out of me. The endorphins then took over for most of the rest of the day, and I once again understood WHY we do these things. When I finally grabbed the bike and headed back to the car, I noticed I had a flat front tire on the bike. Whew. That was a close one. It must have either been a really slow leak, or happened at the very end, because I sure hadn’t noticed.

Final result was a 1:28.17. According to the website, I ended up placing 43^rd out of 200 women. I was shocked. I had thought I was at least in the bottom half. So now, I’m plotting how to get faster – but saving my next triathlon for a vague “someday.” Right now, off to pack up the kids for the trip to Duluth, to go camping and see all the relatives, and run Grandma’s Marathon on Saturday. First things first.