A complaint up front about the lack of pictures from the course. Race organizer Delmo made a big deal about everyone getting free pictures for this race, but the race photographers apparently packed up shop once the sprint athletes were done so those of us racing the olympic distance (unless you were one of the very first or very final finishers) didn’t get any on-course pics. I’m not ungrumpy about it. I did go ahead use a bunch of those free course pics here but after a big race hiatus it’s disappointing to get no pics with me actually in them – free isn’t a great deal in exchange for nothing.

Race Day Eve

Scott and I loaded up the Subaru (Scooby [Scubaru]) mid-day Friday and headed toward New Jersey for the Saturday race. On the way we dropped the dogs off with friends in Maryland, thinking it would be an easy, on-the-way detour. Our roadtrip woes started early when what should have been a 30 minute drive to their house took closer to an hour. Things didn’t get better from there.

We thought we’d left early enough to avoid some of the Friday afternoon turnpike drama, but we couldn’t outpace the construction on the way. I had hoped to make it to a 4pm athlete briefing. Instead we arrived at Bader Field, the site of check in and transition, around 5:15. Fortunately check-in was a breeze (though I was the only person masked in the tent which struck me as crazy) and I was wheeling Koopa Troop to transition not too long after we arrived.

My bike rack placement could not have been better, in one of the first racks next to the bike in/bike out, meaning minimal cleat running. I let a little air out of the tires and then we got the heck outta there to go find our Airbnb and some dinner. The meticulous timeline I’d planned for myself in terms of athlete briefings, call with the coach, and early dinner had gone out the window hours ago and I was feeling pretty stressed about it.

I had learned during Ironman Atlantic City in 2019 that the place to stay in the area was the town south of AC, Ventnor. There hadn’t been many rentals available under $1000/night but I was able to find one in the perfect location for a very reasonable price. It had a few recent very negative reviews (mixed in with mostly positive,) so I was a little bit nervous as we pulled up and let ourselves in. I was thrilled to discover the place was adorable and had a huge front porch from which you could see the beach or the bay. In emailing with the owner I learned that the negative reviews had come when he had been in the hospital with COVID and unable to monitor the upkeep and cleaning of the home! I felt terrible for him and so happy we hadn’t been dissuaded by some mean people on the internet.

It was after 6 by the time we unloaded Scooby. I had ordered dinner while in the car so fortunately that arrived shortly after we did. Then Scott and I hoofed it to a Wawa a few blocks away for bananas and pretzels and other goodies – both needed and desired.

Coach Dave called at 7 to talk through the race – he gave me solid heart rate targets to shoot for: 155 max on the bike and about 10 more bpm for first few miles of the run with permission to build from there. Mostly the call was about Dave trying to get me out of my head – to stop seeing the next day’s performance through the lens of my previous, 46/47-minute 10K self. Learning to stop comparing myself to pre-hip fracture me was a big theme of 2021. (And sadly 2022 and for the foreseeable future because I still haven’t figure out how to stop.)

Dave was excited and optimistic about the next day, he said he thought I’d surprise myself. While we talked he mentioned that the race looked like it would be wetsuit legal – how did he know more than me? I’d hoped to glean that info at the athlete briefing that I’d missed and I’d just assumed it wouldn’t be legal – very few races I’ve done in the past 4 or 5 years have been. (I swear I can observe climate change in how little action my wetsuits see.)

After hanging up, and about 10 hours before the race, I decided I should probably check to see whether my wetsuit still fit – I hadn’t worn in since the last time I was in Atlantic City racing in 2019. I got it on over my shorts and sports bra but it felt tight so I decided to get in the shower and try to loosen it up a bit. I spent about 20 minutes in the shower (still with shorts and sports bra under the wetsuit) soaking it and pulling on it, urging the neoprene to give a little more to accommodate my COVID-adjusted waist-line.

Eventually I succeeded in coaxing a little forgiveness from my wetsuit. Before bed Scott and I watched the end of the  women’s Olympic marathon – Molly Seidel! – which proved incredibly inspirational, even though it did make me mope a bit further on my late run speed.

I tucked myself in at 10:15 but felt wide awake. I tried reading for a bit to make myself sleepy, then stared at the ceiling, trying to will myself to sleep for at least an hour. I’m a natural night owl and my circadian rhythms will not march to any other drum.

Race morning

I woke up at 4:15; the alarm went off at 4:25. I really could have used those extra 10 minutes of sleep – Garmin said I only slept just over 4 hours and I felt it. I also felt as unhungry as I’d felt unsleepy the night before – cruelly this was probably due to my lack of sleep. I staggered around our cute Airbnb, a mid-REM zombie, trying to remember what one brings to a triathlon and nibbling on a banana and pretzels.

We left house at 5:45 and arrived by 6am. Not only is Ventnor City the place to be to avoid the trashy chaos of Atlantic City “proper” (ain’t nothin’ proper about it), the neighborhood also sets you up well to approach Bader Field from the west rather than east which means no waiting to park.

There was no line at the transition-adjacent portas so I hit them right away. It doesn’t seem fair to have tummy tantrums when you haven’t successfully eaten anything but I I apparently don’t get a vote. I then fumbled through setting up my transition area and was happy to learn I was racked a few down from teammate, Margie and that another, Leslie, was spectating. We got some cute teammie pics and I was happy to know someone else on the course…even if she would probably be finished with the whole thing by the time I hit the run.

I was already out of transition when it closed at 6:45, hitting the large bank of portas next to the Back Bay where the swim takes place. The sprinters headed out first, for the oly we had a 45 minute wait till 7:30.  The water was indeed wetsuit legal at 75 degrees, and I was indeed able to zip it over my kit and not suffocate.

Scott and I hung back from the crowd until it was time to line up. I once again was the only one who wore a mask in the dense crowd – outside doesn’t matter when you’re sardined with a couple hundred other anxious, hard-breathing people. I wore it until I was almost to the front and then tossed it to Scott, pulled down my swim cap and goggles and marched down the ramp.

The Swim

Self-seeding. Ugh. Without any pace signs for reference it just doesn’t work. I slotted myself in somewhere about ¾ of the way back in the swim crowd. My swim-ambivalence is well-documented but I didn’t actually mean to be this unambitious, it was just hard to find space in the crowd. And in the absence of pace signs I’d rather go out in a too-slow group than too-fast – especially after a year-plus out of the water.

We were sent down the boat ramp into the water in groups of 5 every 10 seconds. The water temp felt good and I’d forgotten how much buoyancy a wetsuit adds. Some of that may also have been the Back Bay’s higher-than-recollected salt content. With the added weightlessness, for a moment I thought this swim might actually go well.

Then the four other people with whom I’d entered the Bay all swam quickly by me and the wetsuit I hadn’t worn in years started to feel stiflingly tight, and my brain started its familiar swim refrain of, you-can’t-do-this, you’re-having-an-asthma-attack, get-out-get-out-get-out-just-quit-get-out-now! At least I’m used to this song by now. It’s such an earworm. (That’s another thing you have to be wary of in open bodies of water!) I tried to calm my breathing, focus on a stroke-stroke-breath rhythm, and took a few pauses to tread water and collect myself. Within a hundred meters I had found my groove. (It was a slow jam though.)

For the first straightaway – about 700m swimming east away from the boat ramp – I could get in a few minutes of head-down swimming in that groove. Then I would hit a clump of unhurried athletes (dudes) breast-stroking or generally wafting along far too slowly for where they’d apparently seeded themselves. I got tangled up with these sluggish Icari (that was the plural of Icarus, did anyone get that?) at least three times before making the right around the first turn buoy – at which there was also a traffic jam.

After 100 more meters we hooked right again to swim the 800 for home. Have I mentioned this was a mile swim course rather than the standard Olympic 1500m? (And my Garmin had me a touch long at that! [Ok now I’m just being defensive about my pitiful swim pace.]) As had happened at the (almost identically-swim-distanced) IMAC 70.3, I got comfortable on this back half and tried to start picking up the pace. I hit a few more slowpoke-snags but the course was much clearer in the second half and I was feeling optimistic that I was making up some time.

Halfwayish down this half-mile stretch home a gentleman I had just passed tried to swim overtop of me. He ended up punching my goggles off and, disgustingly, cutting my right foot knuckle bone with his toenail. Effing gorilla. So gross. I coughed up water and could feel a little flap of skin hanging off my foot which of course inspired thoughts of blood in the water, sharks, bacterial infections, (ear worms?) and murdering that ape man. I couldn’t exact revenge though because I had to tend to my goggles which, even after multiple pauses to reaffix them, were now leaking into the left lens.

I tried to get back into my groove, letting rage and disgust fire me forward. I was very happy to see (out of my right eye) the final turn buoy and swing right for the swim exit. In the last 50m toward shore I tried in vain to get past one last dude-clump. I tried to figure out if my attacker was one of the dawdlers but wasn’t sure. In attempting to maneuver around a few people to reach the boat ramp I committed my own accidental swim violence colliding with one person who then physically pushed me away. (Fairly I’ll admit.) I gave up trying to get out of the water quickly after that and just paddled easily toward the volunteers helping athletes out of the water.

I stepped gingerly up the ramp, unable to see the bottom through the brackish water. I looked at my watch as I hit the sensors marking T1 and saw a very disappointing 38 minutes. (38:33 per official results.) I tried not to let my spirits to fall too much but I was immediately saddened by such a glacial swim.

T1

It was a bit of a trek to transition, and particularly to my bike-out-adjacent rack. (It’s great to have a short run with the bike but this does generally mean you’ve got a longer slog from the water.) I tried to move deliberately but felt like I bumbled my way through getting out of the wetsuit and into my bike accoutrements.

I have got to figure my T1 out, it’s a mess. I’ve tried the whole biking without socks thing and I just can’t do it. And my hands have been getting so sweaty that I’ve been putting bike gloves on recently too. The sock and glove application is taking so long, adding at least a minute to my T1.

Once changed I wheeled out of the grassy transition and up an asphalt shoot for the bike mount. Four minutes and 17 seconds after exiting the Bar I was in the saddle and pedaling out of Bader Field.

The Bike

The mount line was pretty messy. There were people (duuuudes) mounting before the line and volunteers just watching. I ran ahead, past the (apparently just-a-suggestion) line by a few meters to get my own space to mount. My T1 bobbling continued as I fumbled to move my watch to the bike portion of the race and to get my bike computer going as rode away from the melee.

My bike directive from Coach Dave had been to keep the heart rate at a max of 155 – he’d predicted it would live in the upper 140s to low 150s – and we agreed not to spend everything on the bike to see if my run legs would start coming back to me on the run. (Again, this plan was borne of his attempts to balance my nostalgia for faster days.)

I scrolled my watch to the heartrate screen as soon as I mounted and saw that my heartrate was already way up at 153 and I had barely clipped in. I felt a jolt of panic that 30 seconds into my ride the plan was already out the window. I reminded myself that I’d just engaged in swim fisticuffs and then run about a half mile from the swim exit to the should-be-penalty-laden mount line, so of course my heart was pounding a bit. I tried to slow my breathing and focus on getting my butt out onto the actual bike course – it was absolutely too early to freak out. (Though admittedly after that sluggish and slugging swim I already felt disappointed in the day.)

The first half mile of the bike serpentines through the Bader Field parking lot out to the Atlantic City Expressway (ACE). It took about three minutes and as I swung right pulling onto the course proper, I glanced at my watch and saw that my heart rate had dropped into the 140s. At least one crisis (momentarily?) averted.

Most of the Tri AC (and Ironman AC) bike takes place on the ACE, a busy highway that stays open and busy during the race. Athletes get the shoulder and the right lane out and back. It sounds scary describing it, but it feels like a closed bike course as long as no one does anything stupid*.

*Somebody** always does something stupid – meaning trying to pass people outside the cones and into the highway vehicular traffic. I saw this more at Ironman AC but also saw it here.

**(DUDES.)

It was windier than I expected based on both experience and the forecast. During Ironman AC it had been pouring rain during the bike and had I had still averaged around 23mph on the ACE sections, even in the deluge. That day had been all about the bike so, planning to ride a little easier, I didn’t expect to lay down that kind of speed, but I was hoping to hold a 20+mph average for the 22 miles. As I rode into the wind on the ACE I found myself working harder than I remembered working in the rain two years ago – and I was only holding around 21mph, expending a not insignificant effort.

Given the surprising wind I made an executive decision to give myself a max of 160bpm rather than 155. With that call made I settled into my aero bars – and my recently-adjusted fit – and tried to pick off some of the many people who’d gotten out of the water before me.

Glancing at my heartrate from time to time I focused more on RPE and tried to walk (ride) a line where I was working but definitely holding something back. I stepped on the gas a handful of times to pass people in the few spots that got a little congested – mostly the course was a good balance of not lonely but not crowded.

The ACE section heading north exits and then quickly reenters the southbound highway at exit 5. Heading south there was a big truck at one point taking up most of the right lane and diverting cyclists onto the shoulder. To get there we had to traverse unpleasant rumble strips that rattled my brains and made me worry for dear Koopa. Once on the shoulder I was very unhappy – it was covered in little rocks and in some places glass and other scary debris. After a few minutes stressing for my tires I decided to brave the rumble strips again and get out of the shoulder and back into the right lane. This assuaged my flat tire fears and allowed me to more easily keep picking off slower-cyclists-but-faster-swimmers.

The Olympic course included two runs through this section of the ACE. My second time through I wasn’t playing that game again. As I approached the truck I slowed enough to ride the narrow sliver between its side and those dreaded rumble strips to stay in the right lane. I’m not sure why that truck was parked on the course, it seemed to be there intentionally but I couldn’t tell you why. (It certainly wasn’t housing photographers since I didn’t get any on-course photos.)

I went into the ride planning to try to get calories in at least every five miles, wanting to set myself up for run success. The wind threw me though. I knew eating on the highway would stress me out a little bit, but I thought halfway in, when we exited the ACE for a jaunt through Atlantic City, that I would have some time to eat a full stroopwaffle. Instead that jaunt was much shorter than I thought and demanded attentive bike-handling the whole time, so 12 miles into 22 I realized that, while I wasn’t hungry and had been hydrating consistently, I wasn’t setting myself up for a good run. As we headed back north on the ACE I slowed up and tore into a waffle, but only had time to get part of it down.

Over the second lap I tried to finish the liquids I had on board while minding the wind and the active highway to my left. I was still working a little harder than I had expected for a little less speed, but I’d been averaging over 20mph so I felt ok about it. When I saw the sign to veer right off the ACE for the bike finish I was feeling a lot happier than I had at the end of the swim.

Then the course meandered back to Bader Field and I was forced to slow my roll a bit. I lost my 20+mph average and played annoying games of leap frog with the other athletes who were finishing up their rides.

Eventually I was riding back through the parking lot toward the awkward asphalt chute to transition. As I dismounted and ran the bike in I hit my Garmin and saw a 1:07:41. Official results put me at 1:08:07 – either way, just under that 20mph mark. I did later learn I had the third fastest bike in my age group though, which made me feel a little better.

T2

As usual, T2 went a little better than T1 at 2:36. I still felt pretty out-of-practice bumbly. I also struggled a bit with what to carry nutrition-wise on the run. Delmo races have moved to more eco-friendly cupless aid stations, so for the first time ever I was running with a handheld water bottle. It was filled with a Skratch electrolyte drink, but I wasn’t sure what else I would need for a mostly unsupported 10K. I had salt tabs packed into a pocket on the water bottle and stuffed another stroopwafel in my kit and hoped I’d be ok.

The Run

The run back out onto the Bader Field asphalt, followed by most of a mile to reach the Atlantic City Boardwalk was hot. But then the  Boardwalk was hotter. My legs felt pretty heavy as I tried to hold something in the 8:30s. I was very unhappy with how difficult that pace felt and hoped I’d warm up into easier, faster running as I usually did. This did not feel sustainable.

Mile one came in at a meh 8:37. I had every intention to try to get faster from there but my legs had other plans. I was struggling to bring my heart rate back down a bit and drinking regularly from my handheld bottle. The pattern of the boards in the sun made me a little dizzy, I had to keep my focus up and away from the ground. Then we were diverted out onto the beach and the sand for a spell I found myself missing those hypnotic Boardwalk planks. Mile two was a messy, vertigo-y 9:18.

There had been one aid station as we first entered the Boardwalk, about .75 miles into the run, and I had topped off my water there briefly but otherwise I’d been relying on the fuel I had on me. The second aid station didn’t appear until we were almost through our third mile, and it comprised two water coolers – one of plain water and one with electrolytes. And also a line. I waited about 10 seconds to top my handheld off which was very frustrating when I was struggling to get back into sub-9 territory. Thanks to that inefficient water pause, mile three came it at a 9:08, and I was barely more hydrated for it.

In mile four I started to feel like I was really bonking. I’d eaten half of the stroopwafel and by then had realized I could not rely on any course support for more calories. The sun felt much hotter than the low-80s forecast, and the singing “We buy any care” billboards along the Boardwalk were turning Liz into a dull girl.

At this point there was a lot of lane confusion too. DelMonte, the race organizer, had admonished athletes, in person and online, to run right-to-right at this point in the course. It was counterintuitive and a lot of people clearly hadn’t watched any briefings or had forgotten. I tried to heed his words but it was pretty impossible and led to a lot of swerving and chicken playing with oncoming foot traffic.

The next aid station appeared just before the turnaround, most of the way through mile four. The line was even longer and I discovered one of the two coolers was actually empty at this one. I still had some beverage – now a much-diluted electrolyte situation – so nursed that and threw back the rest of my stroopwafel as I gratefully ran around the cone and back for the final two miles to the finish. Mile four was another 9:08.

I was very happy to be in the penultimate mile and the waffle added a little pep to my step. As did, maybe cruelly, being able to now run toward the finish and past many athletes still trudging toward the turnaround. I also now knew that the aid stations were unhelpful and so I didn’t even stop at the second one as I passed it again. Mile five was a slight improvement at 8:45.

In the sixth and final mile I tried to dig deep and remember what it was like to suffer on a run course. I didn’t have much left in the tank but mustered a bit more – as much pace as I thought I could manage without fully falling apart before the finish. The sixth and final full mile of the day was my fastest at 8:32.

For the final .2 miles to the finish Delmo had sadistically routed us back out into the sand for a beach finish. (The kind of finish that would have been really picturesque had there been photographers.) I picked my feet up high and wobbled across the line as fast as I could for a final 10k time of 55:30. Disappointing but good enough for 4th in my AG probably in large part thanks to the sand and lack of aid stations. This run was bonk city.

The Aftermath

Scott met me at the finish line, but sadly not in time to take a picture.   I collected my medal and walked straight down the sand into the ocean to cool myself. The water was chilly and felt so good. I used the opportunity to take a pee, though I’m not sure how I was hydrated enough to need to after that dry run. After a few minutes I collected myself and we made our slow way up to the boardwalk to find some grub.

The after race nosh was actually great, with hot dogs and fries from a food truck, and big soft pretzels along with the other standard post-race goodies. The awards ceremony was going on near the food trucks but I didn’t think to pay it any mind given my terrible swim and crawl of death run. I did run into Margie who had been second female over all. We exchanged some sweaty hugs, and then Scott and I proceeded to the shuttles back to Bader Field to collect Koopa and Scooby. (We masked, no one else did. You all saw that coming though.)

While on the shuttle I pulled up the race results and saw that I’d somehow come in 5th in my AG which was better than I thought. I reveled in this news over the short bus ride back to transition. Then, while emptying sticky water bottles and gathering my things a thought occurred to me: this is a Delmo race, and at Delmo races, like Ironman, the podium goes five deep.

My pride deflated. I pulled up the race schedule and saw that the awards ceremony was now over and, while I could have picked up my award, it seemed like a long way to go back – especially to ask sherpa from heaven Scott. I decided to just finish packing up transition and head back to the Airbnb. There was wine and jalapeño  chips waiting for me there. I was really disappointed and annoyed with myself though. After so long without racing it would have felt really special to stand up with my AG winners. (And it would have afforded me at least one frickin picture from the day.) And I wish I could say this is the first time I’ve missed a podium ceremony I was part of because I was too down about my own performance to think I could have earned such a thing…but it’s not.

Scott and I returned to our rental and got cleaned up. That evening  we had a colleague of mine and his wife who live nearby over for drinks on the porch. He had started with my firm during COVID so it was our first time meeting in person. (Even with remote work he had quickly become one of my favorites – let’s just say on a team on which I’d been the political outlier for years it was great to finally have someone who shared my ideology.) He brought over some very delicious Japanese whiskey and then the four of us stayed up way too late enjoying a summer night a few blocks from the ocean, and the ability to be with people again – even if we decided to keep it outdoors.

Because it was a Saturday race Scott I didn’t have to rush back to DC, we got to have a nice night with new friends and then hit the beach for a few hours on Sunday. On our way home we collected the pups and went straight to our favorite ice cream spot once we were home.

I know I aired myriad complaints, but it was a mostly positive weekend even if the lack of aid stations and photogs (and athleticism on my part) detracted a bit. I think the issues were mostly growing pains from so much time away from racing and trying to adopt new green policies – policies which I support, but there’s got to be a way to cut down on plastic cups while still offering athletes enough aid to keep us safe. Grumbling and dehydration aside, I still love Delmo races and will absolutely continue to prioritize them on my schedule.