Adventures of a Triathlete (kinda, sorta)

Once upon a time, there was a girl who, at age 31, decided to do her first triathlon (a sprint course). She was a young lawyer, unmarried, and had plenty of time to train. She was blessed to have been given a kick-a** road bike, swam lots at her gym, and regularly ran the trails around her rented condo in Irvine. She remembers the race being difficult, but not tortuous, and completed it in a fairly respectable time (mainly due to the swim which was her strong suit). All in all, she felt empowered by the experience.

Fast forward 10 years to 2009. This same girl (well, technically, I suppose she must now be referred to as a woman) gets a needling thought in her head to do the same triathlon again. She had been spending energy lately reflecting on that time in her life and quite possibly had idealized the experience a bit, looking at it through the fuzzy window of time. Regardless, she had been working out for the past couple of years (albeit only a few times a week) and felt that completing the race again would be a great experience. Of course she was now 41, married, and had a 3-year-old Energizer bunny of a daughter, not to mention she was still working full-time. She really didn't consider the fact that she had not been on that kick-a** bike in many years (only using the spin bike in her house occasionally), and that she only swam with any regularity for a couple of months in the summer when she could tolerate the temperature in her unheated backyard lap pool. Although her running had improved substantially over the past year due to her twice a week outdoor fitness class (www.roughfit.com), she reasoned that she would just go slow and still be able to finish the race without keeling over. After all, she was just going to do it for fun. This was about the journey of proving to herself that she could do something most others her age and in her position in life would not even attempt.

Well, now I can stop talking in the third person because how annoying is that when everyone knows who I'm referring to? One of my partners wanted to do the race, plus I found out my Rough-Fit trainer Lindsey was going to sign up for it, so it made signing up for the commitment that much easier (plus once I registered and paid the $140 entry fee, there was no going back).

At my trainer's invitation, about 2 months prior to the race, I began meeting her and a bunch of other folks from a local tri club at the beach in Corona del Mar on Sunday mornings to train for the half-mile ocean swim. I invested in a good triathlon wetsuit (wow, what a difference compared to the cheap waterskiing spring suit I wore the first time around, lol), and loved, loved, loved doing the ocean swim. The cove we swam at was almost always calm and except for the one Sunday where the water was 54 degrees F (speaking of "F", I must have used a particular word starting with that letter 20 times during that particular workout), each Sunday was a joy. The last few weeks I even got Norm to meet me at the beach following an early a.m. surf for him, and he and Lauren played in the sand while I swam, then we all hung out for a while and ate PBJs until it was time to go home for Lauren's nap. Even though I really did no other swimming prior to the race (so only swam a total of about 6 times), my swimming muscles had good memory and I felt ready to crush the swim on race day.

In terms of running, I just continued going to Rough-Fit, including the Friday 6 a.m. class, which is all running, totalling 4-5 miles. Usually about 3-4 miles is my limit, but I've seriously come to look forward to Friday mornings, whereas at first I despised them because the running hurt so badly. I definitely don't consider myself a "runner" by any stretch of the imagination now nor have I ever felt that high everyone talks about, but at least I've seen my body whipped into shape pretty quickly, which of course feels good.

With regard to the biking, how did my training for that go? Let's just tell it like it is - I simply ran out of time. I rode my spin bike a few times and only got on my "real" bike 3 times in advance of the race. I was a little hesitant as to how that would affect me during the race, but thought I would be capable of getting myself up the rolling hills on Pacific Coast Highway.

As my colleague Lisa stressed for weeks in advance of the race (this was her first one), I was totally mellow and not really concerned about it. After all, I'm much more laid back than I was 10 years ago and survived childbirth, for gosh sakes! How bad could the race actually be?

Of course a few days before the race, Orange County was hit with the biggest surf swell it had seen in many years. We're talking 20 foot waves in parts of Newport
Beach. Serious warnings were flashing across the newswires cautioning swimmers to stay away from the ocean under threat of death. As of the day before the race, the organizers said they didn't know if the swim would be cancelled. Needless to say, I suddenly became a little worried and didn't sleep very well that night.

Race day was Sunday, July 26th, and I awoke at 4:40 a.m. to stumble out to the car and drive to one of the designated parking lots for the event. I met Lisa there and we had to walk/ride our bikes over a mile to the start point for the race, with huge backpacks full of our gear. I should have known I was in trouble when we couldn't even find the path to the underground tunnel leading us to the proper side of PCH at 5:30 a.m.

We arrived at the Crystal Cove parking lot, where the transition area was set up, and were directed to the section of bike racks for our age group (35-44). I looked around and saw some incredibly serious looking athletes. As in not human. As in the East German women's swim team had invaded Corona del Mar. The woman directly next to me had flown in from Canada for the race and gave me the evil eye when she thought I put my towel on the ground too close to her bike. Yikes. What happened to the group of women I had remembered from 10 years ago who were laid back, didn't have super fancy bicycles, and were just there to have fun? From the looks of it, most must now be bitter divorcees with an ax to grind, and they were out for blood. No, actually I learned on race day that this particular race was now a qualifying event for the World Championships in Australia in September, so pretty much it was super elite athletes competing. Oh, and me (and in fairness, Lisa).

Fifteen minutes prior to the time when they required everyone to leave the transition area and go down to the beach for the race start, the announcement came: The swim was cancelled. Hmmm. The one part of the race I was actually looking forward to. The one part of the race I could finish close to the front of the pack (and not completely embarrass myself). How were they going to conduct a race start on the bike? For those triathlon novices, the race is supposed to be a half mile ocean swim, followed by a 12 mile bike, then a 3 mile run (the last 3/4 mile of the run is on the sand, then up a massive hill to the finish). The answer to my question almost made me sick to my stomach. They were going to start the race on the beach. Instead of swimming along the shore, we were going to run that same stretch, then sprint up a massive hill to the transition area to get on our bikes. More running on the sand? I wanted someone to shoot me right then and there. Lisa was doing a happy dance since she was terrified of the swim. Many of the serious triathletes there were extremely ticked off, since the surf didn't actually look so bad that morning, and they were there to qualify for Worlds. Beyond the additional run, my primary concern related to one issue. Where the heck was I going to pee while waiting for 90-plus minutes on the sand for my heat to start? When the first part of the race is in the water, the answer to that question is obvious (get that look off your face, I know you've all done it in the water before). Turns out I wasn't the only one with that concern. With 1400 athletes on the beach for the race start (and not allowed to return to the transition area to the wonderful porta potties), everybody did what they needed to do. As is the custom in restaurants, women kept up the tradition and travelled in packs together to the hillside backing PCH (with a few well-positioned shrubs) to take care of business. Not one of my proudest moments, I might add, but certainly an equalizing force.

There were probably 125 women in my heat who started together, and I was definitely in the rear on the initial run. For any run, it takes me at least 15-20 minutes to get warmed up, and this was a 5-6 minute sprint. Painful? You betcha.

I made it to my bike in the transition area and after putting on my helmet, sunglasses and cycling shoes, was off onto the bike course. It became clear to me pretty quickly how under-prepared I was for the bike portion, both physically and mentally. I somehow must have blocked out how many hills there were or how 12 miles actually felt like 20. Oh, and of course there were the psychotic Ninja athletes constantly whipping by, screaming every 5 seconds "ON YOUR LEFT, ON YOUR LEFT!!!!" No matter that many of them were actually violating race rules and passing on my right, even when I was as far over to the right as I felt comfortable (why oh why didn't my $140 registration fee pay for some additional race monitors to penalize those *%&#@s?). Then there were my handlebars. I have had chronic neck stiffness and pain for years, so a few years ago when I thought I would start riding my bike again, I had my friend Vivian's husband (who used to be a pro cyclist) replace my aerodynamic road bike handlebars with "fitness" handlebars that sit upright and look more like the handlebars on a mountain bike. The reasoning was that I wouldn't have to lean over as much while riding, thereby sparing my neck some additional stress and tension. I never for a second thought to change them back prior to the race (in fact, I couldn't even tell you where the original ones are), but I'm positive that by saving my neck, I slowed myself down tremendously on the bike. I have a friend who, if reading this, will be thinking "I told you so" - yes they would be correct, but I'm still sticking a virtual tongue and pointing a particular finger (with accompanying sentiment) at that person right now. :-)

Despite the seeming torture of the bike ride, I finished and after figuring out a way back to my part of the transition area (not much in the way of race guidance this year, especially for us slowpokes at the back of the pack), I headed out for the final run. Alone. Seriously, there was not another runner in sight. I was actually looking forward to having people to commiserate with on the run, since no headphones were allowed (listening to music on my Ipod is my saving grace while running). So now, not only was I delirously tired from the bike, but I was running under a blazing sun (did I mention we were also having a heat wave?), and the only thing I could hear was the clomping of my own feet. So what did I do? The same thing I always do when in difficult situations (i.e. while being drilled at the dentist). I started playing through Stanford Band songs with accompanying Dollie routines in my head (including All Right Now, Everybody's Everything, 5:15, and What is Hip, to name a few). The few spectators dotting the roadside must have thought I was a special needs athlete, as I would periodically sharply throw an arm over my head or out to the side (with fingers stretched in perfect jazz hand form), unable to control the automatic Dollie moves engrained in my being for more than 20 years now.

As I neared the end of the second mile of the run, and was about to head down the hill to the beach and the home stretch, I'm sure you think nothing else out of the ordinary could happen, right? Wrong. About 20 feet in front of me, on the narrow strip of paved road I was running on, bordered by brush on either side, was a slowly moving rattlesnake. No, it was not a hallucination from the heat and lack of fluid in my body. I seriously saw my first rattlesnake, and it was quite large, thank you very much. It was slithering very slowly and deliberately and was shaking its rattle. What did I do? I stopped, of course, and gladly allowed nature to run its course and let that thing take its own sweet time to cross the road. Several other runners came up behind me and can vouch for what I have reported. And I absolutely will be subtracting at least 30 seconds from my official finish time for the delay.

I will say that seeing the rattler loosened me up considerably. I could only laugh at the absurdity of it all. And so I trekked on, with more of a relaxed attitude. Judging by the official race photos taken by various photographers along the course (all except one whom I never knew existed), there must have been some part of me having a decent time, as evidenced by the smile on my face. Either that, or it's a contorted grimace in the shape of a smile; I can't really confirm as I've never been photographed running before.

I crossed the finish line, drenched in sweat, and Lisa greeted me (she finished some 8 minutes ahead of me) with fists full of bagels and cream cheese and chocolate chip cookies. Since I felt ready to puke, I politely declined all sustenance except for orange slices, but more than made up for it later in the day at the bbq I hosted at my house for visiting family (post to follow).

Due to the wonders of modern technology, I was able to download my official race pics, and share them below.

Pre-race view of the masses in the transition area (I actually took this one):


View of the surf before the start of the race. Wusses. This did not scare me in the least.


On the bike with those handlebars:


On the sand about a mile from the finish:


Heading up the insane hill (about 12-13% grade) about 5-6 minutes from the finish:


Sprinting for the finish:



With Lisa after it was over:


So in retrospect, how do I feel about my experience this time around? First, I'm bummed we didn't get to do the swim. Second, if I ever do a triathlon again (can't believe I would even say that now given how I felt during the race), I will certainly start training earlier and will spend more time on my bike. Given the hypercompetitive nature of most of the others in this race, however, I can't say I will want to do this same event again. While I may look relatively fit and currently feel good about my level of exercise and overall health (which I certainly plan to keep up), I want to be able to enjoy my race and not take it all so seriously. Kind of how I feel about life right now.

So I'll keep everyone posted as to my future race plans. In the meantime, I'm about to begin "training" for my next big event. The Big Splash enters its 24th and final year with shows in late September. All to benefit AIDS Services Foundation of Orange County. I was invited back to participate as a performer in this last hurrah, which I eagerly agreed to. Me and a bunch of men in drag on stage in a makeshift pool. Fits perfectly within my present life motto. Will have more details soon.