Just five days after returning to DC from the New York City Triathlon I was loading up my little green dinosaur (Mini Cooper) Yoshi again, this time bound for a weekend of team-sponsored insanity at Rev3 Williamsburg. It was a full weekend of events with a sprint and kids race Saturday and an olympic and half distance race on Sunday. I would be racing the second day but I hit the road Friday afternoon so that I could volunteer with the sprinters and the young’ns before it was my turn.

Excited for the racing and team hijinks to come I got on the road around 3pm, thinking I would beat rush hour traffic on my way out of DC. But it is rush hour from dawn to dusk on Fridays in DC and so within blocks of my house I found myself mired in a vehicular slog for the second Friday in a row. A slog that crept the whole way to Williamsburg – despite Waze’s creativity I don’t think I ever broke 45 mph the entire trip down.

No no it is tooooootally reasonable for the 115 miles from DC to Williamsburg to take four hours, that is not infuriating in any way. I finally rolled into the La Quinta where I would be staying around 7pm – already 30 minutes late for our team dinner reservation. I checked in and unloaded Yoshi as fast as I could and made it to Paul’s Deli New Town where I was happy to find the dinnering still in full swing. I got to meet a few teammates I hadn’t yet met in person and followed one of their leads in ordering the french dip sandwich. This was a mistake – not because it was bad but because the pizzas that others got were surprisingly excellent. Forgive the Calabresi in me for not expecting a restauraunt called Paul’s in a tourist trap town to be serving up legit ‘za. I was wrong and if and when I am back I will eat that humble (pizza) pie, and I recommend it to all Wburg carb-loaders.

I was back in the hotel by 9 and after a Normatec-HGTV(-pinot grigio) sesh (and an epic 711 run where I think I shocked the cashier with my haul of goodies) I tucked myself in pretty early. I was the bike lead for both the sprint and the kids races the next morning which meant I had to be at transition – 20 minutes away – by 6:30am. I’ll be honest, setting my alarm I had a few unsportswoman like thoughts of, ‘why the hell did I volunteer for a thing that meant I had to be up almost as early as the athletes.’ But I got over it and got some surprisingly good zzzzzs in.

That alarm went off at 5:30 and I made myself some mid-market chain hotel coffee and packed up my massive haul from 711 – fruit platters, croissants, lunchables (oh yes, you read that right), and plenty of gatorade – and was out the door by 6am. My why-did-I-volunteer-for-dawn-duties sentiments only hung around through my first sip of coffee. By the time I parked at the race 20 minutes later I was fully onboard with with the early hour.

I rolled Koopa Troop into transition to await our bike-lead duties with plenty of time to spare. As bike lead, I would be riding out a little ahead of the first place runner in the sprint so I got to hang out a bit as the race got underway and the sprint athletes went swimming and biking.

While waiting I got to see Speed Sherpette Erica and cheer for our fellow Sherpette, Peyton, who was one of the first out of the water. Once Peyton was on her way pedaling up the hill out of transition I returned to Koop and got ready for my own ride. I knew whoever the first place athlete was they wouldn’t take too long to complete the 13.1 mile bike course and I didn’t want to get caught unprepared.

When I’d volunteered as bike lead at the Williamsburg 70.3 in 2016 I had waited for the first athlete just outside the “run out” from transition as I’d been directed. Transition – and the whole race ground really – is a large field, and upon exiting the “run out” the run course traverses 100 or so meters through high grass and uneven ground (more on that later) up a steep hill before your feet (or in my case tires) find pavement. In 2016 I’d struggled to get up that hill with the rough ground, aggressive pitch, and hard right turn you have to make onto a bridge that leads runners out onto the main stretch of course. I remember feeling panicked as I struggled to stay in front of the crazy fast runner while trying not to crash my skinny tribike wheels in the grass or smash into the side of the bridge.

I’m a better cyclist now than I was then but I didn’t want to chance it or feel that panicky again, so I walked Koop up to the bridge to wait for the runner on pavement. There I met one of the many fantastic volunteers who’d come out to make the race a success. We had about 15 minutes to chat while she kept a lookout for a runner heading out of transition. I learned that she and her husband volunteered every year and had convinced their son to come out too. We compared notes on our obsessive affection for our pets and discovered a mutual love of lizards (it’s not weird, it’s cool) and she told me about her weightloss journey and how volunteering at the race inspired her to keep it up. I was happy to hear she got something so beneficial out of being there because I am always floored by how generous race volunteers are with their time.

Soon enough she saw the first place athlete speeding out of transition toward the bridge. I swung my leg over and waved goodbye to my new friend, getting myself the good head start that I would need to stay in front of the speed demon charging my way. I took care this time to stay further ahead of the runner than I had in 2016. It was easier this time around because we were the only ones on the course whereas leading for the 70.3 winner we’d been on the course when there were already hundreds of olympic athletes running their 10ks.

It had proven challenging then, given the narrow run path and out and back nature of the course – there had been runners going every which way to weave around while I stayed ahead of a guy running sub-7 minute miles. This time  with the sidewalk all to ourselves I easily maintained my distance, even as the maniac behind me pounded out sub-6 minute miles!

We rode/ran the out-and-back and with half a mile to go it was time to face the grass and wobbly ground again. I accelerated down the back of the bridge to bank some space ahead of the runner, but I had to slow way down to navigate the tight turn and rough terrain and sprinting for home  the guy was able to overtake me running past transition. There was a stretch of gravel road coming up that I was anxious about, not wanting to pop a tire before racing the next morning, but I thought if I can get there safely I can get in front of him again. Happily though, as I approached the gravel I saw Rev3 teammate Davey waiting on his mountain bike to lead the runner in. He took over and led the final quarter mile to the finish line. It was a huge relief and Koopa and I got to avoid some grass and gravel for which his little tires and frame were not designed!

Having (mostly?) discharged my sprint duties I wheeled Koop back to transition to wait for the kids race which we would also be bike leading. I joined Rev3’er Clarice at the “bike in/bike out” where she was directing athletes to the mount/dismount lines and cheering people on. As I yelled and cheered with her – yelling the loudest at our own teammates – someone ran up to me and saying my help was needed by the “run out” – that a runner had fallen and hurt himself.

I sprinted over and found teammates Josh and Ed tending to a gentleman who was lying to the side of the course. He had stepped in a hole and twisted his ankle and Josh and Ed, who were racing, had stopped to help. Ed is an EMT so he knelt with the guy trying to assess the ankle, as Josh stood in said hole – clad only in a very small shimmery Rev3 speedo – directing people around the obstacle.

Josh asked if I could find some way to mark the hole so no one else would take a  dive. Not sure exactly what I was looking for I took off again back around transition. I thought maybe I’d alert an actual staff member when I happened to glance at the parking lot, and all the orange cones delineating rows of cars. I hurried over, grabbed one and sprinted back. (It was much heavier than I expected!) We replaced mostly-nude Josh with the bright orange hazard warning, and eventually he and Ed were able to get back on their heroic (ridiculous) ways.

Having been up at that point for many hours I took some time to dig into my stash of lunchables and 711 fruit (which everyone knows is the freshest fruit [it’s not but it was better than expected]) to keep my energy up to deal with the childrens. I also found Davey and his mountain bike and we worked out a plan to colead the kids’ race so I could continue to keep Koop’s tires clean (and unpunctured.) Their race was a 2.6 mile bike 1 mile run duathlon and we would be with them for the whole thing. The bike would follow the same route as the adult races out of transition on the road, but then would hang right onto the sidewalk over the bridge on  what was the adults’ run path. They would then cycle that narrow path out and back for 2.6 miles. The run was the path out of transition along the bumpy grass and gravel that comprised the last half mile of the adults’ races.

We decided that Davey would do the bike lead for both legs and I would patrol the bridge to keep an eye on the kiddos. Having consulted with teammate Robert who had ridden with the kids the previous year it sounded like best practice would be to have someone (me) there with the kids the whole time – not just clearing the way for the winning youngster.

When the race kicked off at 9am Davey rode out with the fastest kiddos and I hung back with the middle of the pack. True to the plan he biked in the winner while I rode back and forth over the bridge (Yeah that’s up and down a sizable hill repeatedly – optimal activity for the day before a race??)

Being a narrow path my main role was to keep the kids riding to the right as they shared the little path coming and going out-and-back. Robert and one of the many Erics (DePoto in this case) were also on the bridge cheering the kids on. During one pass over the bridge I found DePoto with a little girl Continue reading Race Volunteer Report: Rev3 Williamsburg 2018 Sprint/Kids Race →

It’s an honor just to be nominated. No seriously, it’s awesome to have qualified for USA Triathlon (USAT) Age Group Nationals the last few years; it’s an accomplishment I’m proud of and a tangible mark of how far I’ve come in this sport; and competing in Cleveland this year was also a humbling reminder of how far I still, legs and cardiovascular system-willing, have to go.

To be invited to compete in Nationals you have to place in the top 10% of your Age Group at a USAT compliant race. I’ve been able to do that several times over during each of the last few seasons, but with the race taking place in Omaha in 2016 and 17, I never really considered going. This year (and next) it moved up to the Mistake on the Lake and this author’s home from grades K through 7, Cleveland. I’d been back only once and very briefly in the 20 years since we moved from the Cleve to ATL, and the homegoing plus the opportunity to race in the lake (Erie) that my mother forbade us to swim in as children was too much to pass up.

I already wanted to go, so when my first Speed Sherpa friend, Madi, who years ago left me for California said she was going, I was sold and the two of us made plans to shack up together. Then Coach Josh and his wife, Erica, said they were also in and were bringing their adorable kiddos so we decided to find a bigger rental and get the whole crew under one roof.

Finding a suitable rental in Cleveland proved a challenge. It is not after all a real tourist destination. After wading through a sea of Airbnb listings touting the 2016 Republican National Convention (listings that made me concerned that the homes’ owners probably didn’t know their houses were still on the site and either way I didn’t want to stay with people who had actively courted Donald Trump delegates) I found a five bedroom, ten person house close to downtown and booked it. We then convinced one more teammate, Justin, and his wife, Colleen, to stay with us and take the last bedroom.

The olympic distance in which we were all competing was Saturday, Aug. 11th, so everyone drove up (or in Madi’s case flew) Thursday the 9th. Justin was the first to arrive and was able to get into the house with the host’s instructions no problem. I was relieved having made the reservation that it was working out. (Anyone else always a little nervous with Airbnbs that the house you book won’t actually exist or something?) By 7pm that evening we had all made it to the house and we headed out for a nice Italian dinner nearby, followed by a quick stop at a grocery store that was trying to close.

On Friday everyone slept as late as they felt like, knowing the following morning would mean an ungodly early wake-up. By 9am everyone was up, breakfasted, and ready to hit the Expo. Caravaning down in two cars we arrived at the Expo and race location, Edgewater Park, a few minutes before packet pickup opened. There was a long line snaking through the Park, but once packet pickup was underway it moved reasonably quickly.

Numbers etc. in hand it was time for a practice swim in beautiful, closed-due-to-sewage-only-days-before Lake Erie. Walking down to the beach we were all a little disconcerted to see waves with actual whitecaps rolling through the whole swim course and actually crashing onto shore. Race officials had announced the water temp to be 78.9 that morning so we were all anticipating a non-wetsuit-legal swim the next day, and going neoprene-free in that water didn’t sound very appealing. (Plus the course just looked really long – I think that of every swim course including the 300m pool courses at Rev3’s sprints but still.)

Scott and Colleen kindly watched Josh and Erica’s girls while the rest of us waded into the absolutely-colder-than-79-degrees-I-call-bullshit-race-officials water, angry little lake waves lapping around our shins. Once we got out a little deeper – after pausing to pee of course –  Madi took off like the aquatic freak she is, leaving Justin, Erica, Josh, and me to fend for ourselves. The four of us huddled and agreed to swim out to a buoy maybe 100 meters away. 100 really sucky meters. The waves were substantial and relentless; they made me seasick and washed buckets of probably-still-sewage-y lake down my throat every few strokes. We were all out of breath and unhappy when we reconvened.

Erica and Justin decided to swim back from there while Josh and I opted to continue on to the first sighting buoy another (according to my Garmin) 200m away. I managed to ride his toes about half way there, and then a big swell tried to drown me and I lost him. Finally I caught up with Josh at the buoy, feeling dispirited that the next day was going to be slowgoing and unpleasant. We decided we’d gone far enough and swam back to find everyone else, at least with the aid of the tide as we headed back to shore.

After the swim everyone was wallowing in a harrowing mix of anxiety and despair. These were the worst swim conditions I think any of us had ever encountered. (Ehhhh I dunno about Josh, he’s a nutter so he’s probably been through worse. That’s why he’s my coach!) Josh tried to console the crew that we’d all be entering the water hours earlier the next morning, when the wind wouldn’t be as strong and the lake would be calmer. Nonetheless Madi joined throngs of other petrified practice swimmers at the Roka tent to buy a race legal swim skin – hopeful that a little extra compression and buoyancy would take some of the place of the wetsuits we might not be allowed to wear.

After our harder-than-anticipated swims we were hungry so we caravaned back towards the house and hit up a Panera, and then once more to the little grocery store to get what we’d need to cook a massive family style dinner later. Back at Chez Airbnb we all changed into chamois and rounded our bikes up to head back to Edgewater Park for a short ride before racking. Scott once again played the role of saint and watched the girls. I hadn’t told him he’d be babysitting all weekend but he took to the role with (at least outward!) good humor. (Really any time you looked at him over the weekend he was just draped in chidren.)

Back at the Park we ran into Speed Sherpa King and Queen Dave and Sara. Dave was only racing the sprint on Sunday (spoiler: he crushed it and qualified for Worlds) and Sara was sadly injured and sitting it out, so they’d come in a day late and opted for a hotel over our big familial rental. We chatted a bit and then Erica, Justin, Madi, and I headed out for a few miles on the bikes. (If you’re wondering where Josh went, I am too.)

Following Madi’s lead we rode past the beach and headed up a decent incline. I tried to shift down to accommodate the climb but Koopa Troop refused. It was a legit hill – not so legit it should have posed a real problem – but here I was huffing and puffing and standing and afraid I might tip humiliatingly over before we made it to the top. Once we finally crested I kept trying to shift and still no dice. I knew I only had a little time before the on-site mechanics  closed up shop, so, a little panicked, I rode the brake back down the hill and handed Koop off to a nice grease-covered man.

After only a few minutes he brought my steed back to me, having tweaked something with the derailleur. I climbed back aboard and thankfully was back in shifting business. We did a quick lap around the Park and then made our way into transition, where we discovered the tallest racks of all time – worse than the ones I complained about in NYC this year. My bike is always dangling off the ground so that’s no biggie, but here, everyone’s was hanging precariously. I didn’t like how insecure that made the whole set up seem, but I did kinda like that other people had to experience the heartburn of leaving your most favorite toy in so perilous a position over night.

After racking we clomped back to the car in our bike cleats – hadn’t thought that all the way through – and then back to the house to make dinner. Erica and I had planned the menu of breaded chicken, pasta, and aspargus over lunch and we took the reins in the kitchen. The boys all hung out in the living room while we ladies, including a few extra Sherpettes who weren’t staying with us, cooked more than enough for the 12 mouths that needed feeding. This gender-normative division of domestic duties would normally distress me but I had too much fun with my girls to get on a feminist soapbox. (I spend so much of my days on that soapbox anyway! [Plus I’m pretty sure Scott was still babysitting.])

Dinner went over well and once sated most of took turns in the several pairs of Normatecs we’d brought, and then we parted ways to attend to our own race-eve rituals. We had to be up extra early because our Airbnb was basically on the bike course and so the roads around the house were going to be closed early – 5am according to signage on our block.

After much back-and-forth we’d worked out the schedule for the morning, which would have Scott watching the girls while Colleen would drop off all of us who were racing as close as possible to transition. Madi’s mom, Deb, was in town but staying with another friend (Madi snores, I’m pretty sure she’d be ok with me telling you that) and would make her way over to the house to join Scott in the babysitting; then Deb would drive Josh’s car and Scott would drive ours to the race or to the race shuttles downtown so they could cheer us on.

Race Day

The first part of that plan happened: despite a last-minute panic that I’d lost my chip, and some dawdling on the parts of I think everyone but Justin, Colleen commandeered a truckful of antsy triathletes away from the house before the bike course roads were shut down. She dropped us close as she could to transition at about 5:15 and we hoofed it ten minutes to our bikes. Once there Erica and Rev3 teammate Julie had an unwelcome adventure when they discovered their entire rack had toppled. Their bikes were ok, but color me not surprised that these giant racks were less than stable.

My Koopa Troop was ok still just dangling. (He’s just so used to hanging high!) I pumped his tires quickly and used one of the in-transition portas before the line got too long. There were a decent number of jons, but I was glad I prioritized an early poop because the lines did get bad. (I say this like I had a choice: there was no way my about-to-race-coffee-filled belly was gonna let me get through set-up without a bathroom visit.)

We did get some good news while setting up though. A little before 6am the pre-race hype playlist was interrupted to let everyone know the water temp had measured 75 degrees rendering the day wetsuit legal. The whole transition errupted into cheers. Most people prefer wetsuite legal swims – they add buoyancy which adds speed – but I’d never heard people applaud and whoop like this for a water temp announcement. People had been really on edge about the swim and getting their neoprene safety blankets assuaged at least some  of that angst. (Are you also suspicious about how the water dropped four degrees in 24 hours? You’re not alone – ask Justin about that some time.)

Also allaying swim fears was the lake itself that morning. I met up with Justin, Madi, and another teammate, Chris, to poop once more a little before 7am.  After a productive visit to a bank of portas outside the expo we walked down to the beach and heading toward the lake everyone remarked with relief at how much calmer it looked. No more whitecaps, just an unruffled slate of water. The buoys still looked like they marked way too much distance to me but at least we’d have our personal compressive floaties and we wouldn’t be facing Saturday’s swells.

Madi’s young whippersnapper wave didn’t start until 9:30 so she ditched us as we got closer to the swim start. Chris, Justin, and I tried to get into the lake for a warmup but we were too late. Instead we zipped each other up and I started to head to my wave’s line up. On my way to join the other ladies 35 through 39 (I’m really 34 but I’m not bitter) I ran into shockingly fast Rev3 teammate Sarah whose wetsuit zipper had popped off its tracks. The guys and I tried to rethread it to no avail. Being the inspiration she is she calmly thanked us for trying and ditched the suit, seeming at peace with having to face the lake sans safety neoprene. (She still beat me by like 15 minutes. And I don’t mean overall – I mean in the swim alone she was that much faster, even handicapped.)

The Swim

Having admitted defeat to Sarah’s wetsuit zipper I raced to join our wave which was entering the water to wait for our  7:40 start. I was relieved it was an in-water start. I’ve said it before and I’ll just keep saying it until it stops being true: that’s my preferred way to kick off a swim. I waded in and of course had a pee while the race announcer lavished praise on the athletes in my Age Group. He called several women out by name lauding them for things like winning Worlds titles and having stunningly fast bike splits in other National Championships. I looked around wondering which of these purple-capped women he was gushing about. I felt in awe of my company, wholly unworthy, and a little comical knowing I was about to be at the back of one helluva pack.

I musta really been feeling that pep talk because when the start went off I did something I don’t often do and tried to take the first couple hundred meters a little aggressively. I found some toes to follow most of the way to the first buoy and I was excited to find I wasn’t being left the way I’d fear/expected/accepted. Obviously the ringers were way out front but I was in the middle of the main pack for the first straightaway, and I was even able to stay focused on the form homework I’d been given by my coach at Swimbox.

I was so elated to be keeping pace with most of my sort-of contemporaries (I mean I’m only 34 sooo…no really, it’s fine) that I wasn’t overly upset to discover that the Lake’s calm appearance had been deceptive and in fact the waves were as bad as the previous day. They only got worse the further from shore we got too, and by the first turn – which was at about 700m according to my GPS – the swells were too unpleasant to ignore.

As I swung right around the turn buoy I paused and tried to find a sightline to the next one but it was difficult with the wall of water around me. I got a glimpse of some neon and pointed myself in that direction, now swimming east and across the waves. Maybe a minute into this new tenuous path I looked up to see a safety kayak speeding in from the north. Another volunteer was paddling toward him from the south. I paused to avoid their path and heard the first kayaker yell to the second, “Do you see ____?” I thought I heard him say “her” but it might have been “him” or “them.” Either way it was clear they were trying to find someone they’d seen in distress, and I instantly feared someone had gone under.

I was about ten feet from the frantic kayaks and spun around and put my head in to see if I could see anything or anyone. I could not and in the bad lake conditions I was afraid if I hung around I would just be another obstacle or get into trouble myself so I manueverd around the vessels, resighted as best as I could and kept moving.

Every few strokes I choked on lake water, unable to acclimate to the waves’ rhythm. I tried breathing bilaterally like I usually do but it wasn’t helpful; I tried breathing to the right thinking toward the beach made sense but still I got mouthfuls. Eventually I tried holding my breath as long as I could and basically pausing to breathe and sight.

I had to fully stop anyway every time I wanted to check my position in relation to the next buoy. While actively swimming each time I tried to look up I found I was in a trough and could only see 360 degrees of water, so I had to pause and get myself on top of a wave to have any real view. After an eternity that was really only around 400m I finally found the next buoy and hooked a right toward shore, thinking the worst was behind us, literally, and we should be swept quickly in by the current now.

The breathing did become easier on the way back in but with the tide actually running diagonal to the beach it wasn’t entirely helpful. I had to point myself to the left of the swim exit as the lake kept trying to wash me to the right. At least this time there was a large smoke stack in the perfect position behind the exit so I no longer had to stop and crest a wave to have something to sight off.

I did have to pee though so I slowed down, stopped kicking and squeezed. I really struggle to pee in the restrictive wetsuit though and hard as I tried I never got anything out. Eventually I gave up and swam in, hoping I’d bathroomed sufficiently earlier and that I would be fast enough on the bike and run to make it without having to find a porta. (I’m still working on being able to pee while on the bike and I fear peeing while running is seasons away.)

T1

Exiting the water I actually felt really good. I just about never enjoy or ace a swim, so I felt pretty ambivalent about this one. I figured it was hard because I’m just not a great swimmer so oh well and onto the next thing. Later in the post-race note-sharing I learned how wildly unhappy everyone had been. In this case I think my swim-bivalence was an actual benefit as I didn’t feel upset or stressed leaving the water. I hit the transition button on my Garmin and was unmoved by my dismal 40:49.

(Later my data – and everyone else’s – would show that the buoys that had looked so far to me were indeed way long, with the course measuring over 1800m rather than the olympic-distance prescribed 1500. My time still was not great but less embarassing at least!)

Running up the long sandy chute to transition I heard my name and saw my friend, Charleen cheering and taking pictures. Seeing a familiar face as soon as I was on dry land was an instant boost. A few steps later I heard Coach Dave yelling and Sara and I think Madi. I hussled toward my bike feeling loved and supported by my tri family which left me ready to ride. T1 was a pretty slow 5:13 but some of that was due to the long journey from lake to transition. Yes I dawdled a little but not too much.

The Bike

Approaching the mount line I heard volunteers yelling that the first runner was on his way out. I whipped around and saw a guy sprinting out of transition and into the run chute. Even though he’d started 40 minutes before my wave that’s pretty damn epic and I loved seeing this lead elite athlete out killing it. It made me want to get on my bike and go fast. (Granted my version of fast and his are two different things.)

Turning back to my task at hand which was 25 miles of cycling before I got to go running I found some space in the congested mount area and took extra care throwing my leg over my newly-raised seat.

This is embarrassing but after my crash I lowered the seat on Koopa Troop and never touched it again. (Wasn’t that four years ago now? It sure was!) It was I think forgivable for the first season after busting my head and my confidence but I’ve know my fit was a problem I should deal with for some time. A few weeks before Nationals I finally went to see DC bike fit staple, Smiley, to fix it – or start to at least. It’s a work in progress and I have homework from him to get my hips and hamstrings in order, but to start he lifted to the saddle back up and dropped the handlebars. It’s a more aero ride than it was but my own inelastic, all-torso-no-limb body has to adjust so we can get it more aggressive.

I’d ridden the new fit a few times but Nationals was my first chance to test it in a race. Heading out I felt strong and I was starting to enjoy the more aggressive position. The first few miles were along a nice stretch of mostly fast and flat road so I got to drop into position and feel out my legs. I passed plenty of people – thank my shitty swimming and not my great cycling for that – and was optimistic for the next couple dozen miles.

Not far out from transition there was a (literally) stinky stretch that reeked of sewage and I couldn’t help thinking of how Edgewater Beach where we just swam had been closed a few days before because of raw sewage runoff. At that point though it was too late to worry about it and I was mostly enjoying myself.

Mostly.

I knew from driving most of the bike course over the previous few days and from videos posted by local Sherpette, Kim, that there was some rough “pavement” coming up. That knowledge stewed in a corner of my brain keeping me from fully enjoying the moment.

Six through eight were the problem miles as they took us onto a pockmarked highway overpass which was winnowed down to a single lane thanks to construction. In particular I was hungup on the impending inescapable chasm where the overpass would spit us back onto the regular thoroughfare – traversing it in our Subaru and even Justin’s giant truck had been jarring, and I was afraid it would eat me up and spit me out – or at least loose my water bottles from their cages.

I sat up, slowed down, and let people I’d just passed, including Rev3 teammate Jen, retake me as we began climbing the single lane bridge. The hill slowed us all down some, and the ride was uncomfortable even as I weaved through and avoided the worst potholes. As we descended I unabashedly rode the brake but tried to stay loose as Josh had instructed when I saw the dreaded crater. Koopa handled it like a champ and I immediately felt a little silly for how bent out of shape (and slow) I’d become. With the road opening back up in front of me I dropped back into my aero bars and tried to repick off the people I’d let get ahead.

Miles 10 through 20 were a mostly pleasant out-and-back with little elevation lost or gained apart from a descent into the turnaround which was of course, immediately followed by an ascent up the same hill. This seemed a little mean of course designers, having to brake downhill for a u-turn, thereby losing momentum right before flipping around to climb back up the same hill. It wasn’t as tough as the down hill turnaround in NYC though and I didn’t lose too much steam on it.

Miles 10 through 20 were also very familiar as our Airbnb was at 14/16 and we’d been driving through this neighborhood for a couple days. It was weirdly comforting since we’d only been there since Thursday, but I perked up each time I rode by our little street.

Around the second pass, with about ten miles left to ride I was starting to get very uncomfortable in my shiny new fit. My neck and shoulders were excusably achy, but my hips were starting to seriously rebel. Josh had talked about a shorter crank but I hadn’t yet looked into it and now I understood why he’d recommended it. With the seat higher my already-chronically locked up thigh joints were absorbing so much more work and at a different angle than they were accustomed. I began alternating a few minutes in areo and a few minutes sitting up for relief. My time started to slip but by mile 20 I didn’t care. All I could think was, ‘how am I going to be able to run if I feel like this?’

We had to ride the same barely-paved overpass around mile 22 to get back to transition, at which point I just sat up and took my foot off the gas, opting to save my hips enough to still have a good run. Once again hordes of people passed me – including Jen again – and I just let it happen. Back on the better road I tried to hammer it a little bit the last two miles in but I couldn’t ride in aero anymore so my efforts fell pretty flat.

I felt a little deflated as I rolled into transition, but I was also very happy to have survived that hole-y mess of a highway. And thankfully once I’d unclipped my legs started to feel better quickly. After a promising start my bike was a kind of disappointing 1:18:08.

T2

Without the long run from the Lake T2 was a much shorter 2:08. I still had to hoof it through the massive transition, but I got Koop quickly racked, grabbed my number and got on my way, ready to make up some time.

The Run

The run course was two crowded 5k loops through Edgewater Park. Course designers had taken pains to wring as much distance as they could out of the Park so there were a lot of tight turns, and there was probably more elevation gained in those 6.2 miles than on the entire 25 mile bike course. I don’t know if the (very cute) surrounding neighborhood objected to our presence but it would have been a lot more pleasant to have run out onto the street there more to have a chance to find some speed – it was really difficult to maintain any sort of pace around so many tight corners.

Pulling back over the last third of the bike allowed me to hit the run hard from the first step. Usually it takes at least a few minutes to get my legs under me, but they were ready to go as soon as I crossed the run out sensors. I didn’t question it, I just  grabbed hold of something in the 7:20s and cruised until the hitting a sizable climb a half mile in.

I knew it was coming and I wasn’t intimidated, plus I saw and got an exuberant high-five from Coach Dave right as I arrived at the wall so I was feeling mentally and physically good. I let the ascent back me off my pace some but still took the opportunity to pass at least a dozen people. I was happy to find that at the top of the hill my heartrate came down to earth quickly and I was able to step back into the 7:20s. With that quarter mile of hill gumming things up a bit Mile 1 came in right at 7:40.

Mile two is where things started getting twisty and turny and also included another decent climb. I was feeling strong but I think all of the tight turns, and the bobbing and weaving I was doing to pass people slowed me down more than I realized and so I clocked a disappointing 7:51 heading into the last mile of lap one.

Aside from the convoluted course-contortions (runtortions) I was generally enjoying myself.  The two-lap design and the staggered start to the age group waves meant the course was populated by atheletes of all ages, men and women. I overtook a lot of them as I usually do on the run but I was also getting passed more than normal by all the younger guys and elite athletes out there. In most races I hate getting passed by anyone during the run but on that day with zero expectations about placing well and surrounded by the best of the best in the sport I actually got a kick out of it.

Around the end of the second mile a young man came sprinting up on my heels. While he was passing me his coach approached from I don’t know where and yelled at him that in the last lap he’d gone from 9th to 6th and he was 2:23 behind the leader in his age group. I was close enough to the speedy 20something to see him set his jaw and mentally commit to his last push (he was on his second lap). As he visibly stepped it up in front of me I yelled him on, inspired by his talent and his determination.

After that athletic soap opera played out right next to me I was ready to drop the hammer, but mile three continued to snake absurdly through the park hampering my efforts to get and stay fast. Fortunately it also included a serious descent – the sister of that first mile ascent. Through the serpentines I struggled to drop below 7:50s and 40s, but this downhill was mercifully straight and I let rip as much as I felt safe to finding my way into the low 6s for a bit and turning in a 7:30 overall.

If you consumed that last paragraph thinking lap two would probably start up that same big quarter mile climb you have, I dunno, not terrible reading comprehension? Not only that but we had to flip a very tight u-turn to get back onto the uphill.

I was 5k into the 10k run and apparently the day was starting to catch up to me. Where I’d felt so strong bounding up this same ascent just a few minutes before now I felt like the climb was having its way with me. My pace dropped off considerably more than it had the first time around and my heart did not recover as quickly. But I was more than halfway through and I forced myself back into the 7:20s once the road flattened back out, ultimately holding for a 7:42 on that fourth mile.

Maybe I shouldn’t have forced it so much though, because mile five was a struggle. The sharp corners, hitting that second (fourth) hill, and understaffed aid stations where I kept missing my attempts to get water or gatorade all came together to whoop my ass into the 8s. I was aghast when my Garmin buzzed and flashed an 8:04 for the penultimate mile of the day.

I was determined to redeem myself with mile six but the damn course refused to give me a straightaway to pick up the pace. Winding around the crazy hairpin turns and so many bodies clogging the narrow path I kept glancing at my wrist to see that I was still stuck in the low 8s and 7:50s. Finally with half a mile to go the road unfurled itself and I stepped on the gas toward that blessed descent. It was still distressingly hard to drop below 7:40 until I was headed back downhill, and even then I only dropped into the 6:40s.

I charged ahead and heard people calling my name but the crowd was huge and boisterous and I couldn’t tell who it was so I just put my head down and ran. As the way flattened back out toward the finish line it took everything to keep myself in the 7:20s and 30s, and then course designers threw an absurd dog agility course-looking up and down ramp at us 100m from the end.

I really wish I had a picture of this stupid thing. It was practically a stair case up, 10m across, and a stairase down. I felt like some sort of food-motivated spaniel navigating it. I stomped up the dang thing but couldn’t floor it on the way down as the pitch was too steep. As soon as I stepped off the cursed obstacle I sprinted with all I had left for an average of 7:21 over the last mile and change and a 46:10 7:41/mile average on the run overall.

Post-Race

I collected my medal and a mercifully cold wet towel – not as good as the giant Rev3 ones but still welcome – and wandered away from the finish chute. Perhaps I hadn’t given the course my all because my legs felt fine and I wasn’t my usual summer-race drenched self thanks to missing all those aid stations. Nevertheless I made gear check my first priority so I could find my phone and my friends.

Gearcheck had been a breeze before the race, and once I got myself on the correct line (after standing obliviously in the food queue for an embarrassingly long time) reclaiming my things after the race was easy too. I had a number of messages from people who had seen me finish – in person or on the tracker – including Erica who was long done having started in the second wave. She and I figured out where to meet and were also able to collect Josh as he finished.

Erica and I then made our way back to the food queue (I knew right where it was!) and got on a line that had grown from irritatingly to unacceptably long. It moved along ok but it still took at least 15 minutes to get to the calories. Once acquired the athlete food was great: tacos with plenty of omnivorous toppings and lots of fresh fruit.

Dishes adequately-laden we met up with Sara and Kim and Kim’s fabulous husband Larren who made sure each Sherpette had her own Linenkugel brew at some picnic tables near the lake. That became our spot for the next several hours as we hashed out what had become quite the ordeal for Scott, Deb, and the youngins.

While we athletes had thankfully made it out of the house before the roads around the Airbnb closed, Scott and Deb got stranded with the girls and a course-locked location. They tried every side street in the neighborhood to get out but kept running into roadblocks. Ultimately they all missed the whole race and it took them hours to get to the downtown parking area where USAT was running a shuttle to the race. Once they joined finally us we had to wait until all athletes were off the bike course for Scott and Josh to then return via shuttle to the cars, come back to the race, load the bikes, before we could head back to the house.

In better news, Madi had the race of her life coming in 23rd and earning a spot to represent the US in Switzerland at Worlds in 2019. And this was despite her youngster wave not starting until 9:30am when most of us had started between 7:15 and 7:45! We were all done long before she was so we got to track her impressive progress and celebrate her incredible day once she was done.

Eventually we all made it back to our big house where we decompressed and bathed. Scott and I took a field trip out to the school that raised 6th and 7th grade moi, which left me all sorts of nostalgic. Most of the Speed Sherpa convened at a brewery for dinner but Scott and I opted for a grownup fancier dinner; he’d been such a patient saint with the kids all weekend so I figured he might need some adult time. And some wine. (I needed wine anyway.)

After dinner we reconvened at the house for some more wine, dessert, Normatec, and Jurassic Park (the original, duh) which Madi had never seen! (And she still hasn’t because we talked through the whole thing.)

The next day we all parted ways for our drives and flights home. Scott and I stopped in the little town of Chagrin Falls where I’d grown up, had lunch at the same Chinese restaurant I loved as a kid, and even drove by my childhood house. It was very emotional for me and if I decided to race Nationals which will be in Cleveland again next year it will probably be because of this draw to my one-time home.

At some point in all of the post-race reverie I did look up my results, which were as laughable and humbling as I’d expected. I finished with a 2:52:27, 96th out of the 162 women age 35-39. (But maybe 1st out of those women who aren’t actually 35 yet? Ok fine, I’m a tad bitter.) I hadn’t had any misconceptions about my chances against the best triathletes in the country, but I guess I’d had a vague, unspoken goal to be in the top half which I was not. I’d also hoped my run would be in the top 25 to know that I was at least Worlds-qualifying material in one of the three disciplines. Instead my run was a disappointing 37th. I knew I had a lot of work to do to ever qualify, but I hadn’t realized just how much. For the next few years I think I’ll have to satisfy myself with just making it to Nationals. And if we keep going back as a group and staying in a big team house than I don’t think I’ll have too many complaints. (Maybe just next time we won’t stay on the bike course.)

We also learned in the days after the race that a 75 year old gentleman passed away during the swim. I don’t know if it was a heart attack as swim deaths usually are or if he drowned, but based on the timing of his wave and the scene I witnessed after the first turn on the lake, I think he must have been the one who went under right in front of me. Not that I need any reminders of how dangerous this sport can be, but I walk away from that weekend doubly grateful for my health and friends and family. Nothing – not even T1 – is promised.