After working for (and getting!) my BQ all spring, in June I started shifting focus to triathlon and that big scary multisport monstrosity at the end of the summer: Ironman Chattanooga.

To ease back into having to do three friggin’ sports in the same race I hit the Colonial Beach Sprint on July 9th in the eponymous Colonial Beach, VA. A bunch of friends and Speed Sherpa and DC Tri Club teammates were doing the Rev3 Williamsburg Half Iron and Olympic races on the 10th, so I convinced one of them – the endlessly impressionable Chris – to come to Colonial Beach with me first. Then I went with him to Williamsburg where he raced and I volunteered. (More on that in another post. In short, it was awesome and everyone should race-volunteer at least once a season.)

My last tri of 2015 was the Giant Acorn Sprint where I snagged 3rd in my AG (2nd on the bike and 1st on the run and also there was swimming) so I was definitely entertaining a play for another podium finish. I’ve been on the bike a lot lately and I’ve been having a strong run season between a 5k win and my BQ, so in a small sprint it seemed doable again. The swim is still terrible no matter what I do but as the other two (longer) legs get stronger I’m able to make up for my water-flailing more.

With a 6:50am start time on Saturday, Chris and I decided to drive down to Colonial Beach Friday night, while some other less 3am-averse teammates opted to drive down race day. It had been hell finding a hotel. Just about everything in the small “beach” town was either a bed and breakfast or a Norman Bates homage. There was one regular-looking hotel, the River Edge Inn, that appeared to be really close to the race, but of course it didn’t have online reservations. So I had called. And called. And called and called. No answering machine. On the 9th or 10th call someone finally picked up and I was able to book the night. I’d been surprised to get a room as I called so close to  race day, but then again they really made me work for that rez so maybe some people gave up. I had really earned it.

We got to the hotel a little after 9 on Friday night. This city girl was a tad freaked out by the dark, rural, “Make America Great Again” drive out, and I can’t pretend that the fought-for River Edge Inn was 4-star (unless the scale is 1-25).  I was really questioning the decision to drive down the night before when we got into our dingy room, where the pillows were pretty much construction paper-filled ziplock bags. Then I pulled out the race info to figure out where we were headed in the morning, only to realize we were already there. The race was literally happening on hotel grounds. My planned 4:30 wake-up inched back to 4:50 with the realization that I just had to walk out the door and I’d be at transition. Suddenly the arts and crafts pillows weren’t looking so bad!

Then…I woke up  to my 4:50am alarm with a pulled neck so painful I had to work to convince myself that it wasn’t meningitis. Other than the shitty pillow whiplash, packet pickup and race prep were easy. I felt pretty calm (for me?) about the race, and my bowels seemed only slightly aware that it was a race morning – they forced me into the (no-line!) portas only once!

The best part of the pre-race activities was getting to meet some of my new teammates! With my new coach comes a new tri crew in the form of team Speed Sherpa.  (More below.) They added a sense of community and support to an already-easy morning.

The morning only got better as we headed down to the beach start. There were dogs everywhere! I resisted the urge to touch each one (I’m like Monk and surfaces [ok will anyone get that reference?]) until GREAT DANE ALERT! His name was Zeus and it was (as it always is) love at first sight (smush). His owners were kind enough to permit me some Zeus cuddles and face kisses before the race started. I even got some serious slobbers which I didn’t notice until I went to start my Garmin. (Good thing it’s water proof!)

With Zeus’ sloppy blessing I got back to the start line. As a small race there were only four waves. Women 39 and under (still me for a few years!) went out third.

The swim took place in the Potomac – a fact I did not know until the night before because I have a mental block when it comes to geography outside of DC.  (Not to worry – it was a much cleaner section than what we swim [when the swim isn’t cancelled for sewage] at Nation’s, and all the parts per billion cleaner than the Hudson will be in two weeks.)  At a balmy 83 degrees we were most definitely not wetsuit-legal, and in fact the water was warmer than the air at that point. The river looked pretty calm and I didn’t feel anxious at all as we waded in to wait for the start gun.

I found a spot in the middle but further towards the back than the front of the pack as I always do with a beach start. I know I’m not competing with the fast swimmers and if I hang back a bit at the begining I can avoid most of the fist-fighting as people jockey for position. Once people spread out a bit over the first hundred meters I can pass folks to usually finish in the top third (or sometimes just half) of the pack.

(As I write this I am wondering if Coach Josh is going to tell me my very passive swim strategy needs a facelift.) Either way that’s how Saturday played out. Within a couple minutes and with minimal foot-to-face contact I found some space to put my head down and go.

My (only?) strength in swimming is I’ve drilled stroke stroke breathe into my mind and body so that I can hunker down into the rhythm no matter what. The first 300 meters went by easily and I rounded the first turn feeling like I could keep going that way for forever. As I swam left and across the current though that changed.

Swimming downstream and along the shore I had been oblivious to the rolling waves that were coming from I have no idea where. Turning into and then against the current to return to transition I became painfully aware though. It became very difficult to stroke stroke inhale – and bilateral breathing actually became a liability. The waves were rolling out in such a way that when I tried to breathe to the right I got a mouthful of Potomac. I switched up my autopilot stroke stroke breathe and added some extra sighting in – both to keep from getting pushed off-course by the waves and to give myself a break when the breakers got too big. On the way out I’d tried to think about the form improvements I’ve been working on, but on the way back in that just all kind of fell apart. At around 19 minutes and 2:15/100 my swim time was disappointing, but I’d passed a decent number of people in my wave and the wave ahead of me so coming out of the water I felt I’d put up a decent fight.

After a good-not-great T1 (I’ve improved but still need a lot of T1 work) I headed out on a pretty flat and fast 14 mile course. I’ve been getting outside on the bike a lot the past month and was feeling pretty secure as I got going. I passed a few folks in the first couple miles and could see my teammate Justin crushing it maybe 200 meters ahead of me. I wanted to get closer but my shifting was feeling a little off.  I had started at too low a gear and kept shifting higher to get some speed, but I felt like I wasn’t really catching the road.  I was passing people and making good time but I wasn’t getting the speed I should have on such a course.

Just before mile 5 there was a sharp almost u-turn. When I knew it was coming up I looked at my Garmin and saw I was at 4.37 miles at 14:27 minutes. I felt like I should have been pushing 21-23 mph but still thought to myself, that’s not too bad for the first bike leg of the season.

I should really know better than to self-congratulate during a race.

As I approached the sharp turn I began to brake, and that’s when the wheels literally came off. Well, just the one. When I tapped the brakes my entire back wheel popped out of the dropouts. Suddenly the back end of Koopa Troop just fell out from under me. I tried to kick my feet out but only got free on the right side and fell left. (Not complaining – I would prefer to fall left any day!)

It was a very strange sensation. I knew instantly that it wasn’t a popped tire – it was too sudden and sharp a drop. I had slowed enough that when I hit the ground it was more an ego-bruiser than actual bruiser. I managed to avoid any road rash and for that I am thankful.

I am also thankful for the incredible volunteers who were stationed there to warn people about the sharp turn. They quickly scooped me out of the way of oncoming traffic – both race and regular traffic – we flipped Koopa Troop over and got to work. He was a mess.

We tried to fit the skewer back into the dropouts but couldn’t get it to go in straight and I ended up having to take the skewer off and apart, adjusting the springs on each end. Then we saw that the rear brake was stuck and the calipers weren’t letting us slide the wheel back into position. Once we had dealt with that and I reskewered the dang thing, we finally got it back in place. I had been especially fortunate that one of the volunteers used to work with bikes and figured out the array of issues faster than I would have on my own.

The volunteers were split over whether I should keep going. One gentleman said if it were him he’d give it a go, but he followed that up by noting his love of taking risks. I’m a nervous biker, so this wasn’t entirely comforting, but it felt really sad to drop out less than 5 miles in. I decided to try to keep going but agreed with my impromptu pit crew that I would take the next couple miles slow. I said, “I’m already way out of the running to podium, so I just want to finish!”

I thought I’d be more bummed about the setback but I actually felt totally at peace with it.  I waited for a break in race traffic and pulled back out onto the road.

Then I dropped my chain. I got back off and adjusted. I spun the wheels and took extra time making sure I was really good to go. At that point what was another 45 seconds? I waited for another break in traffic and finally got back on and rounded the sharp turn to mile 5.

I hadn’t paused my Garmin, and a few seconds after I remounted it buzzed to mark a five mile “lap:” 24:50. My breakdown had eaten almost ten minutes.

More good bike luck: As soon as I’d gotten back on I’d hit that almost U onto what turned out to be a very uncomfortable road. It was technically “paved,” but it was that cheap, coarse pavement that feels no different than a gravel road when you’re rocking skinny wheels and a 10lb frame.  Between the bumpy terrain and uncertain security of my back wheel, I took the next few miles very slowly. I got passed left and left and only managed to overtake a couple folks on hybrids.

Around mile 8 we turned off the way-beaten path onto a little climb and a road that felt like butter. I figured my set-up had withstood three rocky miles and would probably hold up so I finally picked up the pace. It felt great to crank it up that little hill and start passing a couple folks who’d had no real business overtaking me!

And at least a bit of actual good news: in putting my wheel and chain back on I’d fixed whatever was going on with my shifting. I was finally able to get into a high enough gear to feel the road underneath me. With Koopa Troop back in business I settled into my aero bars and enjoyed a little speed back to transition. A few low rollers allowed me to get in front of a couple more folks in the last few miles, massaging my ego a little bit. I finished with a total bike time of 55:26. I wish I could have race organizers add an asterisk there to let everyone know what had gone wrong! (The mortification of internet results that live on forever!)

I had a strong (for me) 90 second second transition and headed out on the run. Ahhhh the run! Where I earn my self-worth. And my brunch!

But there was a hang-up here too: I hadn’t really run since M2B marathon in May. I had taken about 10 days off after that race, and then had started to feel the oh-so-goddamn-familiar pre-stress fracture throbbing in my left shin. So for all of June Josh took running out of the training. I had done 10 minutes after teaching spin the day before Colonial Beach, and while it had felt good to run, an 8:30 min/mile had felt fast.

I didn’t think about any of that and just went out as hard as I could. It was only 8:30am, but it was already solidly in the mid 80s and the 5k course was an out and back in direct sunlight. Within a quarter mile I was feeling rough. Glancing at my wrist I saw I was running a 7:10. With conditioned legs that should have been the right pace, but I just could not hold it after 5 weeks of no running. I let myself slow to a 7:40, and while it was uncomfortable, I was able to hold it through the rest of the race for a 23:47.

That was at least 90 seconds slower than a time I would have been legitimately happy about, but it was getting hot and there had been truly no shelter from the sun anywhere on the run. The only bit of  relief came from a very nice man who lived on the run route and who had pulled his garden hose out to the street to spray us as we ran by. (Also he had a black lab who I loved. Obviously.) Oh and to be clear, he asked our permission – he wasn’t a hose-weilding NIMBY.

I clocked in an overall time of 1:43:00. Absolutely not the numbers I had wanted to put up, but once again, I was really fine with it. It was just a fun way to switch gears from marathon running to triathlon and to get some good training done in a race situation.

I was especially fine with it when I saw the times of the women who won my AG. Even with 10-12 minutes off the bike and 2 minutes  off the run I would have been battling for 4th or 5th and not a podium spot. For a small race there were some damn speedy ladies on the course!

I still finished in the top half – 7th out of 18 (See? Small race!) – and even with a slower pace I passed 4 women in my division during the run. (One of whom I’d passed as we turned into the finishing chute. I saw that ’34’ on her calf and I just had to pass her in the last push. She finished 8 seconds after me and I don’t feel even a little bad!)

Oh and speaking of speedy ladies – or ladettes (or girls if we’re sticking with actual words) – the overall winners were two 14 year olds and a 17 year old! There were so many kids absolutely destroying it. I wasn’t just inspired but felt like I was witnessing history (or maybe the future?) as those girls are future stars of the sport for sure. There were also whole families racing together. I talked (gasped) briefly to a woman whose teenage son and daughter had just passed her. She was absolutely beaming. And also sweating really profusely because it was disgusting out. But still under the perspiration you could see how proud she was.

The absolute best part of the day was that I got to race for the first time with my new team, Speed Sherpa. (Ok the team isn’t new. I’m new to them.) I constantly rave about the tri/run community and these people epitomize the best of it. Out of the Speed Sherpa squad racing Colonial Beach I had only met Madi before – and I met her because without even knowing me she showed up to surprise me in one of my spins, and followed it up with some [solidcore] pain. Race morning I got to know teammates Justin, (check out his recap here) Bill, and Federico. Each greeted me with a 5:30am smile and then cheered me to the finish line. I’m sure a big part of my pre-swim calm was thanks to their company – especially Madi’s as we were in the same wave. (Oh and thanks to the Great Dane slobber kisses. Those are like xanax for me.)

So yeah a mixed start to tri season 2016, but mainly positive. Slow in terms of the swimming, the biking, and the running, but hanging with the team more than makes up for it. And for years I’ve been dreading an inevitable break down on the bike. Now it’s happened, and it was ok! I still need to learn my mechanics more and practice tire changing, but I’m not as intimidated about that aspect of the sport any more. And given my bike journey over the past two years, it was huge for me to fall in a race and get back on. Especially knowing now that I was never really in podium contention, I’m actually happy it happened: the confidence I gained was worth exponentially more than the 10 or so minutes I lost. (That being said I really hope the wheels don’t fall off in Chattanooga – figuratively or otherwise.)