I volunteered at Rev3 Williamsburg in 2016 as the bike lead for the half iron distance. Chris and a number of my Speed Sherpa teammates were racing, and through their experience and my volunteer role biking the run course I got to see what a fantastic race this is. It was a no-brainer to make it one of my 2017 A races.

In 2016, Chris and I made a weekend of it, first hitting the Colonial Beach Sprint for me on Saturday, and then Williamsburg for him on Sunday. This year I made it a family affair with Scott and my two ponies-er-dogs, Daenerys (Daynee,) our Great Dane and Birkin, our Anatolian Shepherd in tow. Traveling with the dogs always complicates things, but I discovered the La Quinta in Williamsburg is pet friendly and had no limits on dog size so that made hotel-reserving easy!

Since it wasn’t a double-race weekend this year, we loaded up Scooby, our new-to-us Subaru (because yes we had to buy a new car when we adopted Daynee and that’s a totally rational thing to do to fulfill your Great Dane dreams) around 10am on Saturday and made it to Williamsburg at 1:45pm after terrible traffic and too many bathroom stops. (Gotta hydrate!) I missed most of the 1:30 athlete briefing which was disappointing – they’re usually really helpful both to review logistics and to assuage nerves. Chris filled me in on what they covered though and escorted me through the very quick packet pick-up.

We’d each been assigned short bike-run shake-out bricks so while Scott entertained the hounds, Chris and I saddled up and headed out for 25 pretty easy minutes biking the course and five minutes running. It was the hottest part of a hot day and that half hour of work had us drenched and disgusting. We were encouraged though that it was supposed to cool off at least a little over night. We racked our bikes a little after 3pm and parted ways till the morning, and Scott and I went in search of this dog-loving hotel.

The La Quinta was in town, about twenty minutes away from the race site at Chickahominy Riverfront Park. I had called a few days before to make sure they knew we were bringing 200 lbs of dog and the woman I spoke to was friendly and said she’d try to get us on the first or second floor so we could take them out easily. When we arrived, true to her word they gave us a room on the second floor and didn’t blink at the size of our canine crew. If any readers (hi mom!) are considering this or any race or event in Williamsburg and you want to bring your dogs you will be well-taken-care-of at this hotel!

Once we were settled in, Scott, because he’s a race sherpa and a saint, hit the 711 next-door for extra waters and gatorades and bread and jelly for my morning breakie. I found an Italian restaurant with a massive menu that delivered, (Antonio’s) and quickly ordered all the things for a geriatric dinner. In all the traffic getting down we hadn’t had a proper lunch and I was starved. The food arrived in 30 minutes – so fast! – and I plowed through a massive portion of fettucine alfredo, a side of meatballs, and 3 garlic knots. It was a spectacle. I actually think it worked out well; I’m often too anxious the night before a race to eat much, but I was famished so I did not have any issues putting away a billion calories.

We unwound as per always to a Law & Order marathon while I laid everything out for the morning. Also as per every-f*cking-race I aimed for a 9pm bedtime and overshot by an hour. And in no time it was 4:15 and my phone – plugged in across the room as there were no bed-adjacent outlets – was belting out wake-the-hell-up show tunes. Chris had awesomely offered to pick me up before the race so that Scott could sleep a little longer and so that we wouldn’t have to pack everything up at 4am. He showed up right on time at 5 and we were setting up at transition by 5:30.

The DC Tri Club had arranged a rack in the front which was fantastic. Lots of friendly, familiar faces in our red, white, and blue kits. Being the discombobulated spaz that I am, I forgot multiple things in Chris’ car and had to make repeated trips between the parking lot and transition. Luckily we were in the main lot and not overflow so this wasn’t a huge issue – though it did add unnecessary stress to Chris’ morning. I said hi to Josh while we set up, met insta-friend Tim Cross in person, pumped my tires – we’d let air out in the night before heat – and porta’d twice (and told Josh too much about that.) Chris and I were out and on our way to the swim start by 6:20.

The Swim 

There were four big waves going out 5 minutes apart via an in-water start. Chris got to go out with the young dudes in the first group at 6:45. I was in the last wave at 7:00am – with the first group of Olympic athletes five minutes behind. (No fair!) Rev3 had all the waves out and onto the course on time and the in-water start limited the usual cluster of feet and elbows.

Unlike Poconos 70.3 where it was barely wetsuit legal and I was the only one who opted to swim without, the water was almost 84 so no one had their neoprene speed boosters on. Still I was quickly left in the dust bubbles of most of the women under 39. Not gonna lie, it really bothered me to be eating wake like that. I kept looking around and checking that I wasn’t dead last which was small comfort and a waste of my time and mental energy. I imagined the volunteers on kayaks and surfboards judging me, which is ridiculous (and not fair to imagine of them) but in the moment I just knew I was the laughingstock of Rev3. Aware of my swim psychosis I tried to shake the self-deprication and find a decent rhythm.

About halfway down the first straightaway the river got shallow and dark. Every downstroke my fingers brushed against the muddy bottom and I shortened my stroke to avoid the unpleasantness. The already brackish water became darker than any I’ve experiences in a race. It was discomfiting to turn my head to breathe and sight and then see nothing but black when I turned back into the water. It rivaled the Hudson for gnarly swimming conditions.

At the first turn the bottom dropped back down enough to swim normally (or my version thereof) and see more clearly. I started to overtake the slowest athletes from the waves before mine, all of which made me feel better about life. We turned one more time for the straightaway to the swim exit and joined up with the oly swimmers and quickly I was back to feeling bad about my efforts. I also struggled as this stretch home lacked the sighting buoys that had marked the way out. Every ten strokes or so I had to stop and scan the horizon to figure out where I was supposed to be heading. Given my penchant for swimming extra mileage this bothered me more than the mud water.

A few hundred meters before the exit I started bringing up handfuls of mud again. Around me people started standing up and walking. I put my feet down and discovered the bottom (very close to the surface) was heavy deep mud. Walking through it was both foul and difficult so I shortened my stroke again and freestyled on. As it got shallower, I switched to breast stroke, refusing to walk in that muck until I absolutely had to. Finally I had no choice and joined the upright slog toward shore.

I was so happy when my feet hit the boat ramp. I ran into transition with a swim time of 37:44 which was about what I’d aimed for when thinking through what I had to do to go under six hours for the race. But later I would find it was also the bottom 1/3 of women 30-34 which is so frustrating.

I felt like I had a slow transition as I tried to take in some calories and fluids and fumbled to get my bike gloves on. (Most people race without gloves and I do not know how. My hands get so sweaty and I feel like I have to fight to hold on.) In the end it was 2:58 which wasn’t as bad as I thought. There was a little traffic jam at the mount line when a cyclist fell shortly after getting on. I managed to avoid a near pile-up and soon was on my way up the first hill and out onto the bike course.

The Bike

The course is generally pretty flat with some rollers in places but nothing drastic. The worst is probably getting out and onto the course. There’s a hill right out of transition to get out of Chickahominy Park and then an immediate climb up the bridge over the river. (You get intimately acquainted with that bridge in this race.) Once I was a few miles away from transition and the bike jitters wore off I shifted into my big ring and got to work.

I felt fantastic and strong. It’s been a battle to get back to enjoying the bike the way pre-crash Liz did, and several times over this bike course I thought to myself, ‘oh my gosh I am really legitimately, loving this. This is objectively fun as hell.’ It made me a little teary to feel so happy in the saddle. I buckled down into aero and for the first twenty miles racked up a solid pace – on track for the three hour ride I was hoping to turn in. (I swear I was in aero – even though the ONE photographer on course caught me sitting up as I was about to eat a gu. I was so mad when I saw him. We need a warning to look cool when the cameras are coming!)

From miles 20 through 45 or so, there was a near-constant head wind. Which scientifically I do not understand. How can it be blowing in your face no matter which way you go?? Every time I saw a turn coming up I hoped the straight on gusts would end only to be let down. We got some relief in the wooded portions but when the course opened up into unobstructed farm country it was pretty bad. As it slowed me down through the middle miles I started doing math and getting nervous. I wanted to hit the run having logged four hours or fewer in case the sun forced me to really slow my roll in that third leg.

About halfway through I also started needing to pee. I didn’t want to stop though; I didn’t want to lose any time and most of the course was residential enough that I was nervous I’d get caught bathrooming in someone’s front yard. We want to maintain the good will of the people through whose communities we race and public indecency didn’t seem good for the longterm health of Rev3 Williamsburg. (Not that I didn’t see plenty of [exclusively] men doing their business along the road.) Instead I thought, this is the perfect chance to try peeing on my bike – just like Ellen taught me! I found some distance between myself and the other athletes, pulled to the left and stood in my pedals as she’d instructed. And then I coasted and squeezed and tried so hard, but I guess my potty-training really took because I just couldn’t get my bladder to cooperate. I made several attempts throughout the course before giving up. I wasn’t terribly uncomfortable and felt I could hold it till the run. Bathrooming while biking would be a new uncivilized skill to pick up another day. (Any advice, Ellen?)

Just gonna pause here for all non-triathletes still reading. (Hi Mom!) We are really gross. I want you to know that I know that. I also want you to know that I’m going to keep leaning into it and that I apologize to no one for that. Except Scott. I’m so sorry, Scott. 

The aid stations came every 15 miles. I rode by the first, still plenty stocked with water, gatorade, gus, and a Clif Bar. I also brought salt tabs with me on the bike which I haven’t previously done. I drained a bottle of gatorade, half a bottle of water, a quarter Clif Bar, and one gu (consumed one half at a time) over the first 30 miles. At the second aid station I pulled over and refilled my aero bottle with half gatorade and half water. I briefly considered the porta potty but there was only one and there was a line so I got back on the road. This pause took less than a minute, and until my bike handling is much better I’ll still opt to pull over to refill my aero bottle.

Back on the road in the back half of the course, the pack of athletes had thinned. Many were probably ahead of me on the run, and the tens of miles had spread us out so that it was very sparsely populated. There were even places where I was totally alone which made me a little nervous that I might miss a turn. Generally though it meant no bunching or passing – just really comfortable pleasant riding at the exact pace I wanted to go.

Around mile 38 I happened upon a bad accident. Two athletes were strapped to back boards and being loaded into ambulances. One, a young woman, appeared to have he torso wrapped in saran looking plastic and I could see she was bleeding from some really terrible road rash. I heard later that at least one was hit by a car but that they were both going to be ok. In the moment I slowed way down and sent a little plea for their health into the universe. It really scared me to see these athletes laid out like that, and it was hard not to flash back to my own accident – ambulance, road rash, and all.

After a few moments of reflection and mindful deep breathing I tried to buckle back down into the last third of the bike. I remembered with relief that Josh’s race plan had promised the course would get flatter and faster, and that the energy I’d conserved through the first 40 miles would pay off here. With his words in mind and with the energy that always comes at the end of the bike portion I shifted down and kicked up the speed a little bit.

Based on the previous miles of calculations I was aiming for something under 3:10. As I picked up the pace I began shaving time off this estimate. With five miles to go I knew I’d made up enough time to come in closer to 3:05 and I was pumped – a big 70.3 bike PR. With three miles to go the bike course began rolling parallel to the run course and I saw Josh and Chris. Their encouragement gave me another burst of energy. My last push was my fastest and strongest and before long I was heading back up the bridge and back down the hill into transition.

My final bike by Rev3’s clock was 3:04:09, though my garmin had me at 3:03:43. Either way a PR and I’d maintained a pace over 18mph for the 56 miles. (Actually the course was slightly short – 55.6 miles.) As I ran into transition I felt the relief I always feel when all I have left is my best discipline. I felt extra weight lift off knowing I’d bought myself a really good cushion to ensure a sub-six day. After a 1:59 transition I scurried to the porta potties – no line! – before heading out on the run. Once I was really on my way for this last leg I was at 3:43 overall. I just had to run a 2:16 half marathon and barring disaster I knew my sub-six goal was in the bag.

The Run

The way I left off there you may be expecting me to say that it all went to hell but nope! That wasn’t some cryptic cliffhanger. It was a typically sweltering July day though and I was determined not to fall apart on a hot run. I’d been pointedly training in the heat and was nervous as I’d bonked on several mid-day runs. I knew I had to keep the effort and heartrate under control, especially the first half if I was going to make it through the July-in-Virginia conditions.

Like the bike, the run starts up a hill onto the main course and then continues uphill over the bridge. For the half distance the course is two six-and-change mile out-and-backs, meaning you get to run up (and down) the bridge four times. This first said climb over the river I took it extremely conservatively. There’s zero shade and it’s a legit incline – I would have been really upset with myself if I got too aggressive and threw it all away right off the bat.

I crested the bridge and felt like I was in control. I looked to the right which Scott had instructed, and there he and the dogs were, waving from a dock on the river below. I smiled at my awesome family and at the earned descent down the back of the bridge.

I made a plan that I would keep my heartrate under 170 (threshold was around 172 for me at that point in training) for the first out-and-back, and then I would reassess. I was a little nervous that meant I’d be running 9+ minute miles – despite the good cushion of time to go sub-6 I still wanted a sub-2 hour half marathon and 9:30s weren’t going to get me there. I was pleasantly surprised though to find that I was actually in the 8:40s and 50s depending on the course. There are some shaded sections as well as some long totally sun-exposed bits which of course spike the heartrate.

A few times on this first lap I hit 170, but I succeeded for the most part in holding myself around 168 – a very comfortable level of exertion. The out-and-back is fun because I got to see Chris and Josh several times, as well as other DC Tri friends. It’s a little congested as the run is on a pretty narrow bike path, so passing has to be done considerately of the other athletes. This also makes for one of the most collegial experiences in what’s already an incredibly friendly sport. So many people cheering each other on, high fives all around – it’s great.

The out-and-back is also conducive to TONS of aid stations. In the heat this was so clutch. Ellen taught me to bring a ziploc and fill it with ice whenever ice was available. I did this and kept it in my sports bra. I think this tri-hack makes a hug difference in tricking your core body temp to stay low. When the ice melted down I would dump the frigid water over my head and refill the bag at the next station. I also grabbed the wet sponges volunteers were handing out and tucked them into my kit at the base of my neck whenever I could, and slipped ice cubes under my hat for constant dome-cooling.

The first lap passed by as comfortably as could be expected in 90 degrees and soon I was back at the bridge. This would be the cruelest bit because, again, nothing but sun, and now I’d have to run up it, down it, and right back up it to start lap two. I slowed  and brought my heartrate down as I approached, and then took it easy over the top. Once at the turnaround I tried to take it easy back up, but also recognized that it was time to reassess my self-imposed heartrate rules. I decided I would let it creep to 172 for the next three-ish miles out to the last turn around.

If I’d been thinking more about the other 30-34 women I probably would have kicked it up a notch. But I wasn’t competing with anyone but myself. Looking back I’m a little torn: was I too conservative? I’m sure I could have run a faster 13 miles but it was definitely a fine line in the heat, between pushing too hard and taking it too easy. Ultimately I’m happy I opted for the latter. As it got hotter and my body became more fatigued, I still felt like I was at a strong but sustainable effort for the third 5k.

I kept refilling my ziploc with ice and grabbing fresh sponges at every aid station where they were available. As I approached the last turn-around at mile 9.5 I started building a little more momentum. I felt like even if I pushed too hard and the wheels started to come off it was just a 5k left and I didn’t want to finish feeling like I could have done more.

The sun was directly overhead and the shady stretches were shrinking so as I picked up the pace most of the people around me were slowing down. I felt really proud and like I’d grown as an athlete to have gas left to burn. Josh can attest to many a training run where I’ve taken his reasonable-but-tough assignments and raised him an unsustainable breakneck idiot speed/RPE only to flame out with thirty minutes left to go. Like sometimes he’ll assign marathon pace intervals, which I’ll run like a 10K, or he’ll assign 5K pace, which I’ll interpret as go as fast as you possibly can for the first push so that you have absolutely nothing left for the remaining intervals. Tangent there but the point is I felt like I had matured as an athlete, a Sherpette, a competitor.

As I picked up speed and gave my heart rate permission to creep higher I ran by many people and true to triathlon form they all cheered me on, even as I passed them. Having been on the other side of it, it’s surprisingly heartening when you’re stuck in the pain cave to see someone else climbing out. Running down the last few miles I started to feel a little terrible for the first time all day and reveled in it. Crossing the finish line you want to have felt like hell at least once otherwise where’s the accomplishment and the challenge?! (That’s actually kind of sick, isn’t it? And I’m not even sure this is the correct way to approach racing; Ellen? Josh??)

I kept my foot on the gas up the final bridge ascent and then floored it down the other side. Once off the bridge the last chunk of the run winds through the grass around transition, alongside the parking lot, and down the chute. It’s a hard way to end a race, though less discouraging than last year’s extended course which wound all the way around the parking lot and camp ground in direct, killer sunlight. This was a bit less than a half mile of sunny, grassy hell so long enough to hate it but not long enough to complain too hard.

I saw Scott with Birkin and Daynee shortly before the final chute and waved them along with me. Rev3 lets you run in with your family which is amazing. I had told Scott that if I was cutting my sub-six goal close I would just run ahead, but here I was about to come it under 5:45! As I waved him into the final stretch with me, Birkin and Daynee were so excited – there is nothing better than how happy dogs are to see their people and my two weirdos are no exception! Scott handed me Daynee’s leash and she took off toward the finish line – she may have  actually shaved a few seconds off my time! (Is that fair?)

As I sprinted the chute I felt like I might puke – which was great! Made me really feel like I’d nailed the line between holding back enough to not fall apart while still giving it all I had. I do think I could have run a faster, more aggressive 13.1 successfully – at 1:56:50 it was one of the slowest half marathons of my career – but I’m so proud of this race effort and the decisions I made. I’d hoped for a sub-six hour half iron and I finished at 5:43:40. Can’t argue with that result!

The finish line crew gave Birkin and Daynee their own medals from the children’s race and draped the giant icy wet towel over my shoulders that Rev3 always provides. As good as that wet towel felt, the rest of me was unhappy to be sopping wet after all the ice water I’d dumped over my head. Scott and Daynee had to run to the overflow parking lot to find me some dry clothes – race prep fail on my part not leaving them out for him. Birk and I stayed back and watched for Chris to finish.

Once Chris, Josh (who is a sub-fiver so was long done) and I were all over the line, Coach treated Chris and I to some truly decadent snow cones. I shared mine with the pups, putting a literally cherry-flavored treat on their great day. After hanging a bit – had to get in some Normatec recovery! – my ponies, hubby and I loaded up the car and headed back to DC. I’ve never seen the dogs so pooped which was the figurative cherry on top of my PR. Fourth Rev3 event I’ve participated in and this organization continues to deliver and impress. I HIGHLY recommend all fellow multi-sporters to check out their schedule – I don’t think you’ll be disappointed!

 

I didn’t want my first tri of 2017 to be the WIlliamsburg 70.3 in early July – both as it’s an A race and that’s a big distance to do without a swim-bike-run tune up. So the Thursday night before the Rev3 Montclair Sprint I decided to throw my visor in the mix and see what would shake out.

Much like last year when I worked towards a spring marathon all winter and then turned focus to multi-sporting spring/summer, I’ve had to shift gears after Boston. I only got back outside on Koopa Troop (my tri-bike) the weekend before Montclair and I’ve been trying to rededicate myself to swimming the last couple weeks. Happily Montclair is perhaps the closest-to-DC tri out there with the exception of Nation’s Tri so given my middling swim-bike prep at least the day felt low-key and logistically easy. And Josh and a number of my Speed Sherpa teammates would be there so friendly faces assuming I didn’t annoy Josh too much in the days leading up to race morning!

I wasn’t sure what to expect out of my legs but I was vaguely optimistic based on last year’s results that I could podium on what I believed was a flat and fast course if I had a good day. My optimism was slightly tempered when Josh broke the news that it was actually a pretty hilly course, (I have to stop assuming courses are flat just because I want them to be) but as I compared Montclair’s elevation chart with charts for Chattanooga, Rev3 Poconos 2016 (because of course this year the mountain-climbing there has been mitigated,) and the NYC Tri, I wasn’t intimidated. Maybe I’d be slower than I envisioned when I plugged in my credit card info but at least the race still felt low-pressure – nothing to soil my bike shorts over.

I tried to get all my water bottles ready the night before and made a checklist like Ellen taught me so the morning would be easy. After laying everything out I was in bed by 10 which is only an hour after I planned to be in bed so, I dunno, typical. At 4:15am the alarm began serenading me with musical theatre – I’ve been setting alarms lately with songs I really love to keep myself from snoozing, it actually kind of works – and I was up before the 4:16am alarm could sing. (To Scott’s delight on days I really need to get up I set alarms to go off every single minute for about fifteen straight minutes!)

I ran through my checklist several times confirming repeatedly that I had every item. I made myself a PB&J, loaded Koopa and all my checklist-triple-checked gear into Yoshi and hit the road for the easy 40 minute drive at 5am.

Here’s the thing about checklists: they only work if you make sure everything you need is on the list. Otherwise you wind up in transition only to realize you have no race belt i.e. no way of affixing your number to your tri kit. Luckily, Josh was there and whether or not I’d annoyed him in the race-preceding days, he was being very nice. He took my bike to maintenance to confirm that the pesky back wheel I’ve had such trouble with was indeed well-affixed to Koop, and then he tracked down a belt from Speed Sherpa teammate, Justin – all while I picked up my packet and used the porta. I imagine the feeling is far from mutual but I want to do all my races with Josh from now on! (In an allusion to my previous ponies and P3s piece, I felt like one of those stuck up horse kids who does nothing but the actual riding, handing off the animal to grooms and staff as soon as they’re out of the ring!)

Once properly-accessorized, wheels, race belt, and all, I set up my transition spot. I love the ground racks that Rev3 uses. They’re clearly marked with our names and numbers and they don’t discriminate against tiny bikes like KT. The hanging racks at most races are often so high his poor front wheel just dangles precipitously above the earth.

Set-up was quick and I was able to get in a 5 minute warm-up run before getting ready for the swim leg. Around 6:35am I switched out my sneakers for goggles and swim cap and headed down to the beach for a water warm-up before the 7am start time. The water was 82 degrees and so my no-wetsuit streak continues. Maybe one of these days I’ll invest in a skinsuit but my swim-to-bike transition is still so weak it seems silly to add more to do in that time. After a couple hundred meters in the balmy lake water we were called out for the anthem and race start.

Montclair asks athletes to self-seed which ends up working out exactly the way feminist/gender scholars would probably predict: the men all over-exaggerate their swim-pace while the women are more more self-effacing. I’ve been pulling down mid-1:50s/100m in the pool so I filed in behind the 2:00min/100m corral marker, knowing I would slow down in the open water.

As we approached the beach we were further parsed into pairs and then sent into the lake two-by-two, a pair entering every five seconds. I really liked this approach. It didn’t feel bottle-necky or aggressive. The woman I ended up with and I hit a pretty identical pace for around the first 100m at which point she pulled ahead. Josh’s race plan like always had commanded me to start strong and like always, I started pretty medium. I definitely could have dug in a little harder those first few moments, but in the water I always choose security over pushing too hard – I do not like the aquatic pain cave. I can hang out in pain on the bike and in agony on the run, but I’m still working on owning that discomfort in the water.

So I missed (didn’t even attempt) the aggressive opening but at least I got into a good rhythm quickly, and after some strong pool workouts the last couple weeks I was feeling pretty good – even taking the time to work on longer intervals between breaths and getting a good hip rotation and pull.

As I congratulated myself on what felt like a good(-for-me) swim pace I didn’t realize I was sighting the wrong buoy and managed to veer pretty wildly to the left down the first straightaway. After a few minutes I looked up and realized I was pretty far from any other swimmers and had to course-correct. I tried to drop the hammer some to compensate for my stupidity and got myself caught up with some other racers.

Here’s where my gender theory studies come in: As we rounded the first turn buoy, I started passing a good number of people, and almost every last one was a man. I think I passed two women the whole swim – one of whom was actually my time trial partner so I stand by my meek start since ultimately her bold opening was less sustainable than my steady pace. On the trip back to shore I passed many many men – many of whom were breast-stroking or back-stroking. I know (so well) that things go wrong and you have to adjust your plans during the race, but I don’t think that many of these dudes were really sub-2:00/100m swimmers who suddenly had to abandon their race plans to breast stroke through glass-smooth 82 degree water. I’m pretty sure they all just jumped in the front of the line regardless of their fitness.

Still, the time trial start had kept the course evenly-populated and I only had to really dodge a couple guys on my way in. If anyone got in my way in the back half of the swim it was me as I veered less-wildly but still-stupidly off-course again. In the end I swam 893m on what was supposed to be a 750m course. If I could learn to swim in a straight line and if I looked at the correct buoys I could have knocked a couple minutes off my 19:19 time.

I booked it back to transition – I always run T1 fast as I can to make up time – and was on Koop and heading out a mehhhh 2:50 later.

The bike takes off up a legit incline. I’d made sure to rack Koop in the correct gears thanks to Josh so I had a pretty strong ascent and got in front of a number of other climbers before we turned right onto the two loops that comprised most of the course. The whole thing is rolling hills.

There’s one pretty big one (well two since it’s a double loop) but none are too terrible – the only thing is that they don’t stop. The bike is pretty devoid of any extended flat stretches, so my winter-rusty shifting skills were put to the test. I appreciated having the two loops so that I could correct any mistakes I made the first time through. After my first ascent over the one big climb I got into my big rings and tried to stay there.

A few times I started to relax and ride too easy at which point I tried to mentally boot myself in the pants and tell myself that if I wanted any hope at a podium spot I had to heed Josh’s race plan to embrace the pain. He’d said on a short sprint like this I should feel like I was at 90% pretty much the whole way through – until the last 1.5 miles of the run where I should feel like I was at 100%. I was pretty successful in dropping the hammer every time I reminded myself to – that mental game is crucial, and I managed an 18.09 mph average over those hilly 12.1 miles. (Short even for a sprint!)

 

After a pretty tight 1:03 T2 I hit the run which started up that same incline that opened the bike leg. I took it intentionally easy up that climb not wanting my heart rate to spike too early. It was starting to get quite hot and I was afraid if my BPM got too high right off the bat that I’d never get it back under control. Even holding back I passed a lot of folks and felt confident that I was in my best discipline. I thought even on this tough course I should be able to lay down a 23 minute 5k based on some really strong run workouts lately, so once I crested that first big climb I opened it up and settled into the low-7s.

I felt strong. It was hot as hell with very little shade, but I thought I could hang onto around a 7:05 or at worst a7:20 the whole way in. (On a bit of descent I even got sub-7 for a bit.) I kept reminding myself to stay at 90%, that it was only twenty minutes, and that I could definitely rock this level of exertion for twenty minutes.

A lot of the run mirrors the bike course and as I approached the big bike climb-cum-run-climb I tried to slow some and get my heart rate a little lower before the climb would surely spike it. I thought I knew what to expect from this hill since I’d biked it twice, but obviously it’s a lot longer on foot and about halfway up I realized I was in trouble. Most people were walking and I refused to do that, but I did slow down a lot.

I tried to take deep breaths and urge my heart to pound a little less desperately but even as my legs slowed my BPM did not drop. By the top of the hill I was feeling dizzy and bad memories of Ironman Chattanooga started to take over my brain. I tried to physically shake them away grabbing water from an aid station around mile 2. I walked a few steps to sip it and then threw the rest onto my overheated noggin and started running again.

Those couple steps had brought me from the 180s back to the 170s and the worst was behind me so I tried to pick up the pace. We had a little bit of decline and I got my self back into the mid 7s/mile but quickly the rollers started back up and back up went my heart and back down went my pace. My right side had also started stitching which was making it really painful to lean into my gait. If Josh wanted me at 100% and in agony for the last 1.5 miles he was getting his wish – we had just both assumed that my 100% would be much faster than it was turning out to be.

Josh was working the last aid station where I grabbed water and gritted my teeth for the last .3 miles. I got back into the 7s once more and tried to hold on for dear life. A hundred meters before the finish line there’s a sharp switch back and then deep, slow, mean sand which robbed me of any plans to sprint in. I crossed the finish line with a 24:53 run and 1:28:10 overall.

It was hot out but as Josh predicted, I recovered quickly from the short distance as I met up with several Speed Sherpa teammates who were congregated near the finish line. We chatted a bit and I got to meet a few folks in person who I’d only met online previously, so that in itself always makes a race worth it. It was Father’s Day and a lot of them were papas who had family brunches to get to, so once we made sure our whole team had finished we headed over to the results truck to get print outs of our times.

I knew I’d gone sub-1:30 and I was very happy with that in spite of a really slow 5k. What I hadn’t expected thanks to that slow run was that I could actually still podium, but as the computer spit out my stats I looked down and saw 2nd place in my division! I was pleasantly thrilled! As the Speed Sherpa dads headed off to celebrate their day with all their future triathlete progeny, I got some grub and waited around for the award ceremony.

(The finisher food was french toast which sounded fantastic, but as I took my first bite I realized what I should know by now: with the exception of wine, I don’t want anything sugary after I race. Gimme saltsaltsalt!)

At 10am Rev3 held the award ceremony. This is my 3rd podium ever but my first time actually getting to be there for the awards so I soaked it up. I wished Scott and the pups could have been there, but I enlisted the help of a kind stranger to be my impromptu photog so the moment can live on in social media infamy.

 

Last week marked three years since the bike crash that landed me in the hospital, forced me to withdraw from my first attempt at Ironman (resulting in this blog), and set me on a journey to overcome  a new, instantly, impact-initiated bike-phobia and to figure out what this body and mind are capable of. My crash-iversary has me reflecting on the physical and mental barriers I’ve overcome to get here. (Wherever here is; there’s no here here.) I’ve been thinking about how this sport forces me to do things that hurt, that I’m afraid of, and that I just don’t want to do – which sometimes makes it seem like a weird thing to choose as a hobby, I know. After the reflection I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever success I’ve had is a direct result of the years (decades!) I spent confronting and overcoming the same obstacles horseback riding. I learned as (really) little kid how to be afraid of something but do it anyway and I’m so grateful and fortunate for those lessons. (Ohmygosh readers if you’ve made it this far are you just bracing yourself for the overwrought self-examination to come??? Does my philosophical self-help waxing make you yearn for bathroom-focused posts of yore?)

Before  I go any further I’d like to address the equinephant in the room: horseback riding is absolutely the height of privilege. Money, geography, and a desire to keep one’s children away from 1500 pound animals with strong prey instincts are all obstacles that reasonably make riding off limits for many (most) kids. But the things I took away from growing up with horses and in the saddle are applicable to many types of sports or activities that push people past their comfort zones and require discipline to be any good. My parents made my passion for horses a reality for me, we had the means and the access, but they also made damn sure I knew how to muck a stall and got up everyday and rode even when I didn’t want to and got back on when I fell and was afraid to continue.

That fear factor I think was key to the journey I’m now on with cycling. We used to joke that horseback riding was a genetic disposition – it became apparent pretty early on which kids were unencumbered by the (rational) fear most have for horses. (Again, they’re huge and they’re afraid of squirrels.) Some kids in riding lessons just never get comfortable, and falling off was the great arbiter. Everyone falls; not everyone gets back on. It was obvious from the start (and I started at the age of 4 so it was an early start) that I lacked the (life-preserving) fear that held many back. And so I dedicated my childhood (and my parents’ early adulthood and income) to horses. But I still got scared ALL THE TIME.

Learning new skills like flying lead changes, jumping higher fences, riding a new green horse, taking on an intimidating course in a show are all really scary – even if you’re generally a confident equestrian. I didn’t want to make excuses or back away from a challenge though – riding taught me that if you don’t actually try the thing you’re afraid of you’ll regret it when you’re lying in bed later. And so I learned to push through that fear and in turn learned how amazing it feels when you try and succeed at the scary thing. And eventually that old scary thing isn’t so scary. Even into my teens I did often look wistfully at the soccer field across from the barn as my trainer jacked up the fences thinking of my sane friends whose sport wasn’t so life and death-y. But then I would make it over those fences – sometimes it was ugly and sometimes my horse would refuse and I would fall – but eventually I would make it and my momentary futbol inclinations would be quashed.

Not only did I fall frequently and get back on, my friends and I actually practiced falling so we could be safe as possible whenever it happened. My parents and trainers (one of whom is in fact in jail for murder but that’s another story) insisted when I fell I got right back on – sometimes through tears. That same murder-trainer once took my stirrups away for an entire year when I was about eleven which made everything harder and scarier, but ultimately gave me legs and glutes of steel.

Those steely legs and glutes and nerves did lead me to become a complete asshat when I moved to Atlanta as a teenager and I became known at my new barn as the kid (asshat) who would do anything bareback and even without a bridal. I used to take dares telling the other (privileged but less reckless) kids that anything they could do with a saddle and bridle I could do without. (The many concussions I’ve alluded to previously are starting to make more sense now, right?) I guess it’s possible to take a fear overcome too far…but I swear I had a point and it’s that early on in the journey sometimes it’s hard to imagine how far we might go.

Horses also taught me that I wouldn’t always enjoy the thing I loved – a counterintuitive and important lesson. I’m passionate about horses and I’m passionate about triathlon and sometimes I want nothing to do with either of those things. But those grumpy couch-inclined days are the ones that matter most. My mama made sure I went to the barn and rode when I didn’t want to. When it was snowing and so cold that it felt like my toes had disintegrated in my paddock boots, I went. When it was so hot that stuffy horseshows were forced to waive jacket requirements lest riders pass out, I rode. And when I was done I took care of my horse and put that animal’s needs before my own. (My ponies growing up, Suzy Q and Giddy, were the loves of my life much as Koopa Troop now is the recipient of many hugs and kisses. He doesn’t hug or kiss back though. But also he doesn’t spook at rodents and birds!)

Riding also taught me to get my ass out of bed before the sun. I didn’t like it then and I still hate my 4 and 5am alarms but I learned young how to do it and the rewards that discipline brings. (Nowadays I don’t even need my mom to come in and yell at me three times before I heed the wake up call!) Riding taught me to get dirty and live and function in the dirt and the sweat (and manure [and we all know how comfortable I am barefoot in porta potties now]) and not be self-conscious or prissy about it. As prissy as ponies may seem, there’s a lot of poop involved, and I also used to get paid to clean sheaths…look that one up if you have a sec and don’t believe me that riding is much less stuck up than you may think.

Riding taught me both humility and how to get over embarrassment. Like I said, I used to fall a lot – and that included in the show ring. I fell and cracked a rib in a show once – and I got back on and finished out the course despite the DQ I’d earned. (And despite the break because I’m bullheaded [read: an asshat.]) When I was eight I was competing in a cross country team event called a hunter pace and I let the crowd’s cheering for me as the smallest, youngest competitor there go to my head. My bitchy pony, Suzy Q, taught me a life lesson and bucked my ass right off in front of the crowds. At all of probably 3’6″ I had to figure out how to get back on in the middle of a field with a hundred people watching. Suzy wasn’t helpful but eventually I scrambled up after balancing on a jump. I have since then fallen off my bike in downtown DC, lost a wheel in a race, fallen off in my first 70.3, and in front of countless others. And I feel fine shrugging it off.

I could go on and on about the gifts riding has given me. (And if you have any horse people in your life you know it’s hard to get us to stop once we get going about ponies!) I’ll stop here though and conclude that those childhood lessons last a lifetime. I’ve heard some of my friends and colleagues who are parents recently discuss the virtues of having kids do lots of different activities vs one or maybe two really seriously – I vote the latter. Learning discipline early, and the rewards of trying and falling and getting back up are essential to grown up success. I still sometimes wish I had a hobby that wasn’t so scary, sometimes I think I’ll throw in the towel and stick to running  and stop pushing my limits so hard, and then inevitably I have a great ride or bust through a hard-to-get finish line and I know I’m not going anywhere. And when it comes to horses and bicycles, just do what my mom used to always say and try to keep one leg on either side. (And wear your helmet!)

 

3:50:34. Not my best day. (Not my worst – right smack in the middle of my [admittedly short] marathon career.) Considering all the math I’d been doing over the last five miles working out whether I could turn in something in the 3:forties it’s frustrating to have been 35 seconds off the mark. In my Tuesday morning quarter-backing it’s hard not to think I could have made up that time over 26.2 miles but then again, as I crossed the finish line I had less than nothing left.

I was in too much pain anyway to bemoan my time; I needed to focus on putting one foot in front of the other convincingly enough to deflect the attention of the race officials waiting with wheelchairs and medical transport. This was not easy.

Those last few miles had wrung every drip of functionality out of my quads and glutes – on both sides – and my left foot felt like a gnarled claw in my sneaker. Affecting a limpless, forward-moving gate took all my concentration.

A few meters after we were handed our medals and space blankets through the fog of right-left-right-left-be cool I heard someone shouting my name. I scanned the crowd and found my friend Jill – actually little sis to a college bestie. She lives in Boston and had kindly come out to cheer me and the other crazies on. Seeing a friendly familiar face was an immediate boost and I hobbled over to give her what must have been a rancid hug.

She had been texting with my mama and directed me to go down another block to where my mommy would be waiting. She then promised she’d meet us back at the hotel since security in the area was tight and neither of us could cross the barricades over which we smellily embraced. I thanked her profusely for being there and telling me where to find momalach because in my state I hadn’t yet even attempted to work my phone or make sense of the many waiting text messages. We parted and I joined the sea of slow-moving Marathoners heading  east and away from the finish.

I made it about half a block and had to stop and try to stretch my seizing muscles. I awkwardly leaned against a piece of barricade and displayed my embarrassing lack of flexibility to the world. I must have looked truly pained because a police officer approached and asked if I was ok and if I needed a wheelchair. Oh no! They’ve caught me! I don’t know why, pride probably, but I was horrified by the idea of having to be wheeled out. I’ve never judged anyone who needs the post-race medical care but I was desperate not to be one of them. I told him I was fine just needed a little stretch before continuing. He looked skeptical but walked away. After that meet-not-cute I put a lid on the stretching and kept shuffling east.

When I got to the intersection where Jill told me I’d find my mom – a block from the finish line that had taken me about fifteen minutes to traverse – I couldn’t take being upright any longer. I found myself a patch of sidewalk and sat my ass down. Once grounded I finally pulled out my phone and texted my mommycakes to tell her where to find me, ironically using the SoulCycle I was sitting next to, (SC is the butt of many of my jokes and a source of much elitist cyclist disdain) as my landmark.

It only took her a minute or two to locate me – I made sure she knew to look down…even lower than usual – to find my face in the crowd. I assured her I could make it back to the hotel on my own two busted legs, but needed to sit at that moment. She waited patiently as I summoned the strength and will and equilibrium to stand. I rose slowly and piteously, wrapped my reflective blankie around my shoulders, and soldiered on. Slowly.

We made it another block before I had to sit again. I don’t usually do a separate post-race post-mortem like this but the pain I was in immediately following Boston was so beyond anything I’d ever experienced in this sport it feels like it merits attention. (As badly as I didn’t want to be wheeled away, I’m totally fine telling everyone now what a disaster I was. Go figure.) So two blocks from the finish and just one away from the hotel I sat again.

In the middle of all the pedestrian traffic on the dirty, city sidewalk. Mama stood over me and waited once more, unquestioning and without pushing me to just make it that last block. I appreciated her acceptance without objection that these pitstops were what I needed. I watched other tinfoil-cocooned athletes as they embraced friends and family and smiled and milled around as if their legs weren’t the obsolete pipe cleaners that mine had become. Their at least sort of functioning quads and glutes left me feeling a little ashamed of my apparent lack of preparedness for the course as I sat like a ripe lump in the middle of the hubbub.

Eventually I again willed myself to standing and mama and I made it the final block back to the Plaza Hotel.

Where I sat again. This time indoors, but still on the floor as the lobby was chaos. Jill was on her way to meet us so we waited for her before heading up to the room. I half expected hotel staff to tell me to get up off the ground, but no one bothered me and Jill arrived shortly. We headed up to the room where I finally got a good (terrible, nightmare-enducing) look at myself.

I had salted through everything, and the white mesh shirt I was wearing had gone brown around the middle because apparently my sweat has melanin in it.

One of my french braids had also come undone a few miles into the race and in the moment all I’d been able to do was shove that half of my hair into the rubber band still affixing the other braid. Now I could behold the birds nest dreadlock situation I’d created. It took almost two full travel-size bottles of conditioner to separate the clump.

I worked that situation out while my mom collected another Boston friend, Anni, from the lobby. Anni, Jill, and mama waited as I scrubbed myself – being mindful of the chafing. (I won’t get specific about that.) I poured what was left of my legs into a lose, pajama-like romper, sans-undergarments, and waddled back out of the hotel to find food. (That romper is coming to all races from now on – I highly recommend having something that comfortable and non-binding on hand for when you’re done endurance sporting!)

I also recommend:

• Staying at the Plaza or the closest place you can to the finish line – if you can financially swing it it’s worth the extra change to have a short walk home.
• Knowing how to read an elevation chart.
• Wine.

The Boston Marathon ended up being one of the most difficult race experiences I’ve had so far. That shouldn’t be a surprise, but the difficulty of the course (and the weather) caught me off guard. As I put some distance between myself and that day, I expected to become more disappointed with my finishing time, but I’m not. I feel fine about it – even about those 35 seconds. My glutes came back quickly, and my right quad eventually started speaking to me again – it took almost a month though! With those key muscle groups back in action I hope very much to return to Boston soon – shooting for 2019. I have big goals to get there and I think if and when I get to run up and down those 26.2 miles of hills again it will go better. Till then, lots of swim-bike-running to do, and the best news is that poor performance got my head back in the game and since then I’ve had a good season. More on that soon!