Following the sale of our 70.3 races to Ironman and the dissolution of our official team, a large group of the Rev3 crew signed up for Escape the Cape, seeking a chance to be together at a locally-owned, non-Iron branded race. Everyone was doing it so I quickly registered too without thinking much on it. (If all your friends jump off a ferry, would you jump too? Yes. Obviously.)

Then a bunch of Speed Sherpa teammates also signed up including Tiff, so suddenly all my tri worlds would be colliding in the best way in New Jersey. As I crutched and sat through this awful winter and worked to get better in physical therapy, as I dropped out of race after race and weathered disappointment after disappointment Escape the Cape became a beacon of hope. I couldn’t finish a half ironman in early May, but surely I could finish an olympic in early June. And I’d get to do so with dozens of my favorite tri people.

Several Rev3’ers proposed getting an airbnb and I am always game for a tri-team group house. Teammie Mike found us a pad on Wayne Ave right next to transition and as we worked out who all was staying with us there the numbers shook out so that I could invite Tiff to shack up. It was going to be a tight squeeze but the more the merrier – even if it turns out to be the more the smellier.

Race Day Eve Eve

Wanting to make the most of a weekend with so many friends at a race I could actually finish all of I took the Friday before race day off to drive up early. I planned to be on the road by 10am so of course I was on the road at 10:57. (I considered the 3 minutes by which I beat 11am to be a major victory.)

The drive up wasn’t awful but every inevitable Friday afternoon backup felt like torture because I wanted to get to Cape May so badly. And eventually because I needed to pee so badly. (The bathroom talk is starting early in this report!)

I waited to pee until I was off the Jersey Turnpike and onto smaller local highways where pulling over wasn’t such a headache. I found a gas station and hurried inside where the guys working the counter informed me, snickering, that the only bathroom presently functioning was a porta potty on the side of the building. They were smirking as they told me, I think expecting this female to flee, aghast at the prospect, but apparently they don’t meet a lot of trichicks. A porta potty was perfect! I’d actually parked right next to it so it meant less time out of view of my bike and compared to a post-race porta this one was a dream!

In my exuberance and sort of punctuality I managed to be first to arrive at the little blue house on Wayne Ave just after 3pm. I found the lockbox and let myself in, and then gleefully unpacked the car and claimed the the bunkbed room for the ladies and the largest bed for myself – all 58 inches of myself! (Russell resented that choice later when he had to fold himself into one of the children-sized bunks but I slept great and it’s his own fault for making a pitstop in Atlantic City on his way down from New York.)

Mike arrived second and we decided to hit the Acme grocery a few blocks away for just a few things, which turned into quite a lot of things because duh, hungry triathletes at the supermarket. When we got back to the house Russell was waiting on the stoop, locked out. Haha! We unpacked all the groceries, fixed dinner, and got to actually enjoy each other’s company with some wine and beer without the limitations and anxiety of race-day-eve.

After eating we walked a mile up the road along the beach to meet up with teammie Robert and his family at Harpoons on the Bay. We stopped on the way and watched an epic sunset over the Atlantic. Dolphins, literally fuckin dolphins, leapt off shore in the pink glow on the waves. It was i-frickin-dyllic. We each had a beer, but I guess Russell, Mike, and I are not the super fun members of team Rev3 because we headed home early and were in bed at a pretty triathlon-friendly hour. (Russ especially just cannot hang!)

Race Day Eve

I had a great night of sleep and woke up around 9 and made breakie for Mike, Russell, and myself. Tiff and Clarice both arrived around 11am and finally we had some more ladies in Chez Wayne. Clarice wasn’t racing Escape but was a week out from her Kona Qualification conquest at Ironman Boulder so while most of us only had short bike-run shake-outs on our plates she had to go ride 40 miles and then run. Tiff, Mike, and I all opted to go get our packets early while Russell accompanied Clarice out on some of her bike workout – only fair as he was the one assigning those 40 miles after all.

Tiff and I ran a circuitous mile to packet pickup getting that bit of workout done. We met up with Mike back at the house and the three of us went out for one lap of the next day’s bike course. We took it really easy and it was great to get a look at what we’d be riding. It was however a little intimidating with a lot of cars on the course. There was a nice wide shoulder through most of it fortunately and the drivers were respectful. Still, my confidence and handling were both challenged by several heavily trafficked intersections but we made it safely through and I felt ready for the next day when the course would be car-free. We then racked our bikes, took some Speed Sherpa group pics, and headed back to the house.

With our workouts done by mid-afternoon and only one (indoor) shower at the airbnb we took turns bathing and we ladies sat around in our sweat and filth for a while, much to Russell’s dismay. We also discovered that the pilot light had gone out on the hot water tank so most of us had freezing showers which I just chalked up to good ocean water preparation.

At 5:30 we met up with a massive crew of Rev3 teamies and family for dinner at the Mad Batter Restaurant in the quaintest charmingest little downtown area – it was a far cry from the trash city that is Old Orchard Beach, Maine.  (Sorry for the OOB shade, but loving on where you’re racing makes the weekend that much sweeter!) Most of our table ordered the same linguini and between the ten of us we must have been served twenty-some pounds of pasta. As if that weren’t enough we gluttons hit Ben & Jerry’s too before returning to the house to get ready for the morning.

Jumping off the ferry meant the start of the race had to be timed with high tide, and this year that meant a nice late start of 8:30am. We had to be out of transition by 7:30 and aboard the boat by 8, but even with those time restrictions this was just about the latest-starting race any of us had ever done and we were STOKED. It made for a more laid back race day eve without having to stress about rushing to bed for pre-dawn wake-up calls.

I for one had a great time getting ready for the next day. The living room was packed with six people laying out clothes and nutrition and burning through nervous energy. We had Law & Order SVU in the background per Tiff and my race eve tradition. I made it to bed around 10pm as usual, but this time, with a 5:50 alarm rather than  4am, 10pm seemed pretty responsible.

To make room for the extra people in the house Saturday night – and to make room for his legs – Russell moved out of the bunkbed room and Clarice, Tiff, and Steve moved in. Clarice shacked up with me in what became a very cozy double bed. (So cozy she clocked me hard in the face at one point but we’re still bffs cause I’m mostly sure she didn’t mean it.) Other than blows to the head, I slept pretty well and resented the race morning alarm clock less than I think I ever have before.

Race Morning

We got ready quickly, making good use of both the keurig, and, relatedly, the one-and-a-half baths. (Mike and I were very happy with our decision to buy a massive 32 pack of coffee pods instead of a 12 pack.) Around 6:30 Tiff, Steve, and I headed to transition. Mike was meeting up with some of his Pennsylvania teammates, Clarice wasn’t racing, and Russ was playing fast and loose with the clock so the three of us hoofed it together. It was only a ten minute walk so we were there with 45 minutes to leisurely set up.

The racks were really tight but I happened to be squeezed between two incredibly nice guys. One of them very kindly helped me untangle Koopa Troop from the mass of bikes and held my steed while I filled my tires – with his pump! My other rackmate noticed my Rev3 kit and got nostalgic about those races that have been bought by Ironman – he was even at Escape the Cape instead of in Connecticut because he couldn’t bear to do the race-formerly-known-as Quassy under its new ownership. After comparing our fond Rev3 memories he left and I readied the rest of my things. When everything was set up I left my bag by the side of transition along with everyone else’s to try and salvage as much space as we could under our racks.

Tiff and I were out of transition a little before 7:30 to hit the porta potties before boarding the ferry.  Once on line for the johns we were joined by Steve, Clarice, and Rev3 teamie, Billy. Our race began early as we challenged each other to bathroom faster and Clarice stood outside cheering us on. That’s probably weird; I thought it was hysterical and great.

My belly actually felt pretty good so I did this one last bit of business quickly (beating Billy in the next potty! Victory came early!) and Tiff, Steve, and I got on the ferry line which wove all the way around transition and ended only a few yards from the porta bank. It moved quickly and when we were almost to the ferry terminal we happened upon Coach Dave who was just sitting and waiting for people he knew to happen by. He jumped into line with us which ended up being a huge stroke of luck.

In addition to being Speed Sherpa’s head coach, Dave is old hat at Escape the Cape. He was generous with his expertise leading us to the back of the boat where we found space and sat down. He gave us lots of advice for the jump and swim to come and kept everyone entertained and calm as the ferry pulled away from the harbor and out to sea. Being with him kept me from thinking about the jump or really any of race day.

At one point Dave even guided us in a group pee on the sides of boat which, um, was actually really fun. Steve, Tiff, and I each found some space around the railings and wee’ed into our wetsuits, then passed around a bottle of water to rinse our legs. Non-tri-friends may find this appalling but it was great to empty the bladder right before go-time – I didn’t have to go at all during the race – and tri people are well-aware that in a situation where there are over a thousand of us wetsuited up and barefoot on a ferry about to jump into the ocean, we’re just gonna basically be walking through (thoroughly hydrated) pee the whole way.

At 8:30 we heard the crowd toward the front of the boat cheer and knew the race had started. With that we hugged Coach Dave goodbye as he was racing the sprint and we were all doing the olympic, so we had to jump first. Tiff, Steve, and I zipped each other into our pee-suits and joined the jump line. Music was blasting and people were dancing and having a blast. I joined in some of the move-busting figuring nothing better than a little twerk to get the heartrate up a bit. (Actually it’s really hard to twerk in a wetsuit – nothing jiggles in neoprene.)

We inched forward for about 15 minutes until we hit metal barricades that split the group into several single file lines. Tiff was first, then me, then Steve. As we were funneled into queues everything started to  feel real very quickly. Fifteen feet away people were gleefully leaping off the boat into the waiting Atlantic like it was nothing. Suddenly our trio was at the front and then volunteers were calling out to Tiff to move to the edge of the boat.

Swim

Tiff marched confidently ahead. She’s new to this sport and yet seems to have no fear. The volunteers at the boat’s edge gave her some sort of direction and then quickly she was disappeared over the side and they were calling me up.

I hadn’t thought about this jump ever really. Not when signing up or in any of the days leading up to it; I had managed to push it from my mind and not dwell and thus not freak out. But now as I approached the edge of the boat and looked down I was scared.

A volunteer told me to wait until I saw the bubbles from the person ahead of me but looking down I had no idea what he meant. The current pulled everyone who jumped away from the boat almost instantly so there wasn’t really any danger of jumping on top of anyone. Between my confusion and my apprehension I stood there a little long until I finally realized I’d already crossed the timing mat and my race had technically begun. The desire not to waste anymore seconds finally propelled me forward and over the edge.

I didn’t do anything cool or exciting as I jumped. I wouldn’t even call what I did “jumping.” I just stepped off the boat into the air and grabbed my goggles with both hands as Escape veterans had shown me, afraid that if I tried to pose for the cameras I wouldn’t have time to get my hands back on my headgear. A cool picture didn’t seem worth having to swim a mile back to shore blind. In reality I felt suspended in the air a moment and the twelve foot descent into the surf was enough time to ham it up and still grab the gogs. Next year.

Dave had warned us on the boat to not be freaked out by how deep we would sink into the water so I was anxiously expecting some scary and disorienting plunge, but Dave has probably close to a hundred pounds on me so I shouldn’t have been surprised that this was not my experience. I hit the water, clutched my goggles and blew out my nose, and dipped beneath the waves only a few feet. I tilted my head up when I’d stopped descending and could see the surface near and clear. I popped easily back into the air and got to swimming.

The water felt very cold at first. I’d gone back and forth over whether to wear my sleeveless or long-sleeved wetsuit, ultimately opting for the latter hearing the 64 degree reading race morning – it was about the same temperature as Maine and I’d been very happy in my sleeves there. Hitting the chilly chop I was so glad for the decision I’d made. I spent a hundred or so meters swimming with my head above water, dipping my face in  a few times to acclimate. The sudden cold can trigger my asthma really quickly, and having been through heart surgery in my twenties to repair a defect, I play it very conservatively with open water swims*. My ears felt numb from the cold and I wished I’d doubled up on swimcaps. After a few minutes it started to feel better though, and I felt comfortable enough to put my head down and try to work out some sort of rhythm.

*A man did in fact pass away in the cold water that day of a heart attack. He was participating in the three mile swim and was only 36 years old. His death prompted me to visit my cardiologist for a check up which has led to some new tests to explore an abnormal echo I had a few years ago. It’s likely no big deal, but we should take extra care and control the things we can.

I tried to put my recent Swimbox lessons to work with a focus on my catch, on forming a paddle with my arms, and working into my shoulder blades rather than my rotator cuff. This exercise kept my mind occupied and the time rolled by easily. Dave had advised us not to worry too much about sighting for this race. There weren’t regular buoys – just two near the exit. We just had to point ourselves toward the shore, keep the kayaks on our right, and go.

I heeded this advice only looking up every 13 breaths. (My favorite number because why wouldn’t it be?) There was a large group of people on shore next to something red that I assumed was the exit. I pointed myself that way and glanced up periodically to make minor adjustments. I felt like I was doing great until ten or 15 minutes in when I looked around and realized the rest of the race was pretty far away from me. I paused my swimming, peered toward shore, and realized what I’d been sighting was probably a quarter mile before the actual bright red swim exit. I was somehow off course in this straight-line boat-to-shore contest.

I quickly hooked a right and began desperately paddling toward the actual swim exit. I had been feeling like I was doing so well and now the end seemed newly so so far. And I feared my diversion had cost me the best part of the current as I had to swim more parallel to shore.

The swim seemed to take forever after my off-course sojourn. And once I rejoined the other athletes on-course I was surrounded by sprint swimmers and could see that the ferry had moved in closer to let them off which was so disconcerting. I was convinced in that moment that I was just about the last place olympic swimmer.

Lending support to this dismal hypothesis, as I swam on I found myself surrounded by clearly new or very uncomfortable swimmers: people breast-stroking and swimming heads above the water and pausing every few meters to look around. I had to dislodge myself from the self-conscious tangle a few times. At one point an absolutely oblivious guy doing the most bizarre and disruptive “backstroke,” windmilling both arms at the same time, zigged across my path, startling me. I treaded water for a moment and watched him “swim” mindlessly over a few more people including a woman who screamed at him. I wanted nothing more to do with that nonsense so I put my head down and tried to get ahead of him, only to have the fool somehow zag in front of going the other way. This time as he collided with me he seemed to shocked to have found other swimmers on the course. I doubt he caught my eyeroll through my Rokas, but I hope he did. I buckled back down and got ahead of him once and for all.

Finally after what felt like hours I saw the only two buoys of the day. I passed between them and swam until my knuckles brushed sand. As a mini human I swam into shallower waters than most until I finally was forced to my feet. I stood, a little dizzy, and trudged onto the shore. Passing under the bright red arch – the thing I thought I’d been sighting to the whole swim – I saw my swim time was 27:40, which meant nothing to me because I had no idea how far I’d gone but I knew it was more than the prescribed course distance. With the benefit of the ingoing tide though I was in the 1:20s/100 per my garmin and 1:30s/100 per the race results so thank you DelMo Sports for timing this thing that way.

T1

T1 was a long haul uphill through sand. I started to run but within a few steps I thought better of it and walked. I wasn’t as terrified of running as I’d been at Ironman Virginia the month before, but I still didn’t want to mess with the transitions. Again my ego took a hit as everyone around me ran or jogged but I just walked through the dunes.

As the ground leveled out the sand gave way to a parking lot. People were pausing on benches to get their wetsuits off. I saw Rev3 teammate Daniel pulling off his neoprene and I plopped down next to him to do the same, happy for the familiar face. As I yanked the suit over my ankles I looked up and saw Tiff coming up the sand behind me. We always manage to hit T1 together!

Once free of my wetsuit I tried a very measured jog over the pavement – it seemed safer on the joints than the uneven beach. We had to run through a bit of swamp at one point that I’m preeeetty sure was sewagy but it was just a few wet muddy steps so I tried not to think about it.

The trip back to transition was about a third of a mile. Once finally back at our racks I took a little time to rinse and dry my feet before pulling my socks and bike shoes on. I didn’t take T1 aggressively at all and it showed in the seven minutes and 12 seconds I took to get through it. (Not twenty minutes like Virginia but I was trying to actually finish this one so not great.)

Bike

Once I got to the bike mount line I was ready to make up for all the time spent dawdling through T1. We had to get through a tight winding path before hooking a right onto Lincoln Blvd where the road opened up. Navigating around people I decided then and there to fully send the bike. I had no run fitness to speak of and with large sections of the run course being through deep sand even if I were fit fast probably wouldn’t be an option. So I figured I had nothing to hold back for and if I was going to have any shot at the podium I had to take that shot on the bike. As soon as I swung onto Lincoln I felt fired up and ready with this new plan in place. I shifted down, found my aero bars, and hammered.

I passed Tiff who’d been much more efficient than me in transition. She later told me she’d tried to follow and keep up for a bit but that I was clearly gunning for something. I was all adrenaline charging down that straightaway holding around 21 mph average minus some tight turns. The course is mostly flat and fast with a number of tight, technical turns, and four hills, all of which are going up and down the same bridge twice each way. The first time up the bridge is at mile three so my pace was forced lower. Thanks to our pre-ride the day before I also knew not to gather too much speed on the descent as there was a hard almost 180 degree right at the bottom of the hill.

That tight turn pulled us onto New England Road which wound next to the Cape May Canal for what I thought was a very scenic bit of riding. I heard others before and after the race bemoan the bad, bumpy condition of New England but I thought it was fine. It wasn’t as bad as large chunks of Ironman Virginia, or a sprint I had done a few weeks prior, so I just dropped back into my bars to make up some time after the first climbing and all that tight turning.

Oh the turning. I think my only complaint with the course was that it was crowded with novice triathletes (which is great! Welcome!) who seemed to think you needed to come to a full halt before taking anything nearing 90 degrees or tighter. Even on the first loop, probably thanks to all the sprinters, it was hard to navigate around the new cyclists choking every curve in the road. We hit five such turns in the first five miles of the course alone. Despite holding steady over 20 mph on each straightaway I averaged only 18.5 mph over that first five mile lap.

I knew that wasn’t good enough for a podium or, more importantly, for a happy me at the end of the race so I was determined to pick it up. Happily that ended up being my slowest “lap” of the morning. As I tried to kick up the effort I was able to mostly stay low and pick people off. Despite feeling like I need a new bike fit since the hip fracture (seems like my body has changed after three months on crutches – weird, huh?) I was happy to find I was feeling more comfortable out on my aero bars than I had in recent weeks. Miles five through ten back tracked over a lot of the terrain covered in the first five miles, including taking on the bridge in the other direction. I maintained a 19.6 mph average over that second “lap” which felt more on track with what I wanted.

Around mile ten the course passed right by Wayne Ave and wound a few blocks through the residential neighborhood where we were staying. I used this as an opportunity to sit up and get some fuel in, sucking down half a gel and then trying to put the still half full packet gently back into my bento box at just the right angle so it wouldn’t leak all over everything. It was pretty crowded so I was slightly nervous grabbing my gu and then my water but all went smoothly and I was instantly proud of my one-handed handling. Calories in I dropped back onto my bars and got back to work. I was reasonably pleased with my first loop but I wanted a lot more out of the second.

Halfway through mile 11 that second loop started back on Lincoln Blvd and the course became even more congested as athletes beginning their first laps merged with those of us beginning our second. It was challenging to navigate through the throng but I just kept calling “ON YOUR LEFT” and managed to stay low and mostly fast a bit over 20 mph for that long straightaway.

Soon I was back to the tight turns and then again up the bridge for the third of four times. I turned in an average of 19.7 mph for miles ten through 15 – pace still trending up but I decided I had to average over 20 for the next five. I was facing a crowded course and a number of tight turns so I got to work hammer dropping, balancing assertive riding with safety, not trusting (for good reason) the skills of the many new cyclists around me. I kept calling my position and at one point I think I even yelled outloud that you don’t need to come to a halt to take a corner. (Get off my lawn!)

I got it done, riding 22-23 mph where I could to make up for the traffic jams and the fourth and final trip up and down the bridge. Soon I was back on the straight stretch toward the final few miles of the bike leg. My watch buzzed announcing I’d hit my goal for 15-20 with 20.2 mph average. I was feeling good and accomplished as I passed Wayne and hooked the right to wind through our little residential hood again.

I had energy and didn’t feel hungry so I almost forewent the remainder of the gel I’d opened during the first lap. Plus I didn’t want to slow down when I was riding so well so close to the end. But I knew the run course was going to be treacherous and hot, so I pulled back and miraculously fished the rest of that gu out without getting it all over myself and my bike. As I ate and washed it down a couple guys who seemed to be riding together (not cool dudes) passed me aggressively and pulled directly in front of me. I rolled my eyes and thought, ‘you don’t even know who you’re up against bros.’ I replaced my water bottle, dropped back into my aero bars and blew by them. In my periphery I could see one try to draft and keep up and I was not having it. Two tight left turns brought us all back on the last few blocks before the turn off for the finish. I grabbed a pace in the 20s and booked it home, and my hanger on drifted back.

At mile 22 the course split, with finishers to the right and second loop straight ahead. I slowed and pulled right onto a very narrow path back to transition. As soon as I did I found myself behind a guy with no helmet on. “Where’s your helmet dude?!” I called out. He explained he’d run out of T1 without it and no one had said anything the whole way. I think he was doing the sprint but that’s still nuts. I stated as much and then shouted, “ok, on your left” and he pulled over as I rode as quickly as I safely could the quarter mile back. I was afraid he was likely about to be DQed when he showed up back in transition with no helmet but I wasn’t waiting around to find out.

I dodged a lot of dawdlers who I presume were coming off the one-loop sprint bike course as I tried to floor it into transition. My final bike time was 109:39 which gave me an average speed of 19.6 mph over the just-under 23 miles. I was really happy with how I rode though I had no idea or expectations about how my  performance would stack up against the rest of 35-39 field. I knew I’d busted my butt though, ridden hard and smart, been strong through the technical aspects of the course, and fueled myself well, hopefully setting myself up for as strong a run as someone with my lack of run-conditioning could hope for.

T2

My second transition was much shorter than the first at 2:43 but still not particularly strong. While I was happy about my cycling I really didn’t harbor any real hopes of making the podium so I wasn’t particularly disciplined as I swapped out my shoes and pulled on my number.

Run

In not too much time I was jogging down the run-out chute and bracing myself for what I knew were going to be five very difficult miles. The temperature that had felt chilly on the ferry and mild on the bike suddenly felt sweltering.

It took a third of a mile to reach the main drag of the run course – W. Beach Drive, the same ocean-parallel road that had ended the bike course. I took that first drag in the low 8s, having no idea what sort of pace I should expect out of myself on these non-beach sections and on these non-run-trained legs. Even hot like it was, in a normal olympic distance I would have expected something in the 7:30/mile range but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. What I didn’t know was whether I could hold onto something sub-9.

For the first few minutes I was indeed holding steady sub-9, uncomfortable of course but managing. Then just .3 miles in we were routed over our first set of dunes and onto the beach for a quarter mile slog through the sand. I’d heard that people usually either tried to run on the harder packed damp sand by the water, or ran farther up on the reeds and beach grass for a little more traction. For this first beach stretch I decided to go with the former strategy.

I headed toward the water, but there were runners coming in the opposite direction to finish their race, and we had to pass right-to-right, which meant the people heading home got most of the benefit of this harder pack. I stayed as close to the water as I could without getting in anyone’s way but with limited shoreline real estate the sand felt just as deep where I was able to run as it did higher up on the beach and my pace dropped into the 11s. When the course finally veered back over the dunes toward the road again I heeded Dave’s earlier suggestions and let myself walk about .05 miles. The sand was so deep and trudging uphill and still against oncoming finisher traffic was too hard.

When my feet mercifully hit the pavement again I tucked back into a run trying to work myself back into the 8s as quickly as possible. When my watch buzzed to announce one mile down I was pleased to see 9:08 as the average even after walk-jogging on the beach. I was not however pleased to discover I was buzzing .1 miles before the first official race marker. I realized that not only had running to the shoreline yielded no pacing benefit, it had also added distance to my run. I would not be going with that approach again.

Through mile two I tried to keep myself in the 8s as much as I could to make up for another quarter mile of sandy walk-jogging. This time when we were routed back to the beach I stayed away from the water and jogged awkwardly over the reeds and beach grass higher up the shore. The grass grew in patches which meant it wasn’t a straight shot to the beach exit, and I had to concentrate to keep my balance over the uneven terrain – I was terrified to overstress my hip – but I did feel like this strategy worked a little better than running by the water; and at least it didn’t add any unnecessary mileage.

Again I walked up the dune to get back to the road and as I hit pavement once more my watch tolled 9:15 as my second mile time. I didn’t love that my time was slipping, but I was really relieved to be averaging in the 9s with all the walking. Maybe my run-walk approach at IM Virginia had prepared me for the mental drudgery presented by these sandy walking interludes.

Mile three was a mixed mental bag with more sand but also the turnaround which meant we were halfway there. I ran into Robert near the turnaround and got to see Tiff a few minutes after heading back for home. Seeing my people was a great pick-me-up before heading back to the beach for the billionth time. I was still maintaing a mid-8 pace on the pavement but with two treks though the sand my average for the third mile dropped to 10:08 which bothered me.

The good thing about this five miler is that there are only five miles where there are usually 6.2; the bad thing is that there are only five miles so you have to show up for each one. With two miles left I wanted to pick it up to make up for that 10 minuter, but I was starting to fade hard. It was really hot out. That 8:30am start that had seemed so great when we set our alarms seemed less great when we were running mid-day with no shade. (Let’s keep this two sides of the same coin thing going:) The good thing about coming home was that I was retracing my steps from the first half and knew exactly what to expect; the bad thing was that what to expect was more tedious terrible beach running off and on the whole way back.

Exiting the beach to start mile four I had to dig deep for my 8s. Where I’d been holding low-8s earlier without too much anguish, now I was struggling for mid-8s. My legs were cooked and the rest of me was cooking under the sun. Luckily this fourth mile had less beach running than the rest. When I did find myself back at the sand though I was dismayed to see the beach grass and reeds section totally clogged and impassable with runners heading out on their runs. I reluctantly headed toward the water to give it another go there. People heading out were not being particularly gracious with the limited space though, and as I tried to stay to their right I was forced into an oncoming wave by an oblivious guy and my right sneaker filled with water. With a difficult mile and a half still to go I now had a soaking wet shoe squelching with every uncomfortable step.

I was admittedly pissed as I run-walked up the dune back to the road, but fortunately Robert’s and Danny’s wives, Marnie and Yvonne, were there spectating and screamed for me as I emerged back onto the blacktop. I couldn’t stay mad. These two had been out on the course the whole day yelling for me every time I passed by on the bike or on foot. They were amazing cheerleaders and with their encouragement I smiled and picked up my feet for the last fifteen minutes home. I got myself back to a 9:14 average for that fourth mile and charged ahead – as much as I still could charge at that point – for the last mile of the now sweltering day.

For the first .25 of that fifth and final mile I struuuuuggled to maintain just a 9 minute average. I felt like hot death and my legs were so over the sand. We had one final .3 to go on the beach though and I found room for myself once more on the reeds and grass when I got there. My heartrate was too high and my feet too low, so I compromised with myself and ran 30 second, walked 15 to get myself back to the road. Once I was past that final sandtrap I fought for 8s once more and mostly maintained them till the end.

I had nothing left for a sprint over the finish line which I say is a win for me. I went as hard as the course and my fitness would allow and I ended the 5 mile run with an official time of 47:51 and an overall of 2:35:07. I’ve put down actual 10k (6.2 mile) oly runs in less time, but even at 5 miles this was so much harder than any full oly distance run I’ve ever done.

Aftermath

As soon as I had grabbed my medal and water and gotten a few feet from the finish line I yanked off my waterlogged shoes. I had a helluva blister along the bottom of my right foot from that final stretch in a sopping wet sneaker. I wandered around the ferry terminal back to the Speed Sherpa tent and found Clarice and those teammates who had already finished. We got to cheer in Tiff a few minutes later and then all hit the food tent.

I also wandered over to the results tent where Russell was up at the front. I shouted my number to him and he pulled it up quickly as I walked up. I glanced at the results with zero expectations after five miles of 9 min averages and swimming off course. I was really happy to see 5th in my age group and headed back to the Speed Sherpa tent to eat and wait for everyone else, feeling content with my efforts and ranking. So close to the podium at such a big race!

As I sat down I told some Sherps that I was really pleased with a 5th place AG finish, and (different, not coach) Dave said, “well the podium here goes five deep so that’s awesome!'” I was stunned; I thought only Ironman went five deep. “Are you sure?” I asked him and he was pretty positive. I asked Sara and anyone else with Escape the Cape experience and everyone who knew the race assure me it indeed went up to 5th place. I seriously couldn’t believe it and I was over the moon.

I was in such terrible run shape but I’d given it all I had, and I had really laid it out on the bike not expecting anything but my own gratification. After the terrible winter and all the letdowns and the depression, the weight gain and anger, and the painfully, infuriatingly slow buildup back to some semblance of fitness and training a podium at a race this big was more than I could have  hoped.

A number of other Rev3 and Speed Sherpa teammates also placed. Housemates Russell and Steve both got age group awards, Mike’s relay team won their category, and Coach Dave won the whole damn sprint. We all decided to wait through the award ceremony before packing up and heading back to the house. The awards started at noon and we felt like we had plenty of time to get our prizes and make it back to Wayne Ave for  before our 2pm checkout.

They started with the sprint awards which seemed odd, and Dave was nowhere in sight so Sara had to go accept his award for him. We heard some of the olympic results were still be formalized hence the sprint race – which started later – going first. It seemed to take forever to work through the sprint awards, probably thanks at least in part to the five-deep podium, so eventually Steve and I decided to go pack up transition and bring our bikes back to the Speed Sherpa tent and award ceremony. We hustled to get back in time only to find after the sprint awards they also did awards for fastest swim, and bike, and run, and then moved on to the three mile swim awards – a race that had started a full hour after ours!

Mike and Russell had seen the writing on the wall and actually collected their bikes, went back to the house, showered, packed their stuff there, and then rejoined us at the awards stage. I was so jealous of their clean clothes and wished I’d done the same. (At least when I’d packed up my transition area I’d been able to put on flip flops so I was no longer barefooting it through the questionable mud around the finish area.)

I was getting very cranky and stressed out by 1pm. I wanted so badly to stay and collect my award and go get my picture taken on the stage. This felt like such a massive milestone in the midst of a terribly hard year and I wanted my moment. But I was also afraid we would never be able to pack and vacate the house by 2pm. Tiff had been keeping me company too and I was feeling really guilty knowing she was getting stressed about the time crunch. We agreed to wait until 1:30 at which point we would have to give up.

At 1:25pm they finally got to the oly 35-39 and 40-44 divisions on which Steve, Russell, and I were all waiting. I was so relieved and excited to get to climb up on that stage and stand next to those fast women. Sara and Dave were still there with us manning the Speed Sherpa tent so we had a solid little group to take pictures and cheer each other on. Once we all had our hardware we quickly collapsed the tent and raced back to the house.

Back on Wayne Ave we learned we had an extension till 3pm before we had to be out. Still we made quick business of showering and packing, divvying up the food and booze in the fridge, and lamenting that we had to say goodbye so soon. I think we were all in agreement that this little collective we’d established was the perfect race-crew. (Even pain in the ass, Russell!) We made plans to racecation together again, maybe at Ironman Atlantic City in September which Tiff, Steve, and I are racing and the others are hopefully spectating!

Around 2:30 we finally hugged goodbye and parted ways, with 2/3 of the crew headed, all in separate cars, for NYC. (We’ll plan that better next time.) The drive home was uneventful except that I was sad. The weekend had been perfection: the company, the house, the beautiful backdrop, the race itself, and my racing. And it had gone by so fast.

When I got back to DC I dug into my age group results a little more and discovered that I’d come in second on the bike by just 13 seconds – and the woman who’d come in first had been 16 minutes slower than me overall. I had a brief moment of, ‘damn where could I have made up 14 seconds’ but really I was ecstatic. The four 35-39 women who beat me overall had all biked slower than me – and by several minutes each! The one woman who had beat me seemed like she must be some sort of cycling ringer based on her much slower swim and run times. Given all that I kind of felt like I’d won the bike – at least in terms of those of us who’d been battling it out for the podium. And shit did that feel amazing.

I’ve known for a long time that if I want to reach Kona one day (which I do!) my bike needs to start looking a lot more like my (healthy) run. (And I’ll just have to do downstream swims.) When I’m not all broken, like I am now, I can usually place in the top few runners in just about any tri; but my bike hasn’t been anywhere near that. To have come in second on the bike felt like a breakthrough. While I’ve known for years what my bike needs to look like to accomplish my goals, I’ve wondered for just as long whether I’m actually capable of ever getting there. Escape the Cape was the first time I’ve ever felt like I can become the cyclist I need to be, that these legs are capable of getting me there.

I really needed that confidence boost and I’ve been riding the surge of cycling inspiration I gained in Cape May on every ride since. Those 23 glorious miles in the saddle have helped keep me energized as I deal with more running injury issues and have had to focus on my bike as I continue to heal my bones. Riding that wave of bike fire and race withdrawal, when registration for Escape the Cape 2020 opened brifely a few days later, I didn’t think twice, promptly registering along with a number of Rev3 and Speed Sherpa teamies. The only thing I’ll do different next year is stay till at least Monday!