Race Day Eve Eve

I planned to ferry up Friday afternoon but the dang work calendar kept changing, so by the time I knew my schedule it was too late to buy boat tickets. (This was doubly annoying as I knew I would be putting in notice at this time-consuming workjob as soon as I got back from Cape May.) I didn’t get on the road till about 4pm – not ideal for leaving downtown DC on a summer Friday. Once I made it out of the city though it was pretty smooth sailing. (Or not sailing, or ferrying, just driving. I still wished I were on a boat.)

Speed Sherpa teammates Colin and Jessica were kindly putting me up in their adorable beach house for the weekend. I got to their house around 8pm, unpacked the car quickly, and we immediately headed out to dinner at Harpoons on the Bay, an outdoor bar/restaurant that is the nexus of night (and day) life in North Cape May. (It’s even on both the bike and run courses.)

At Harpoons we saw other tri friends we know from Rev3 and general swimbikerunning, including Ed and Robert of Williamsburg fame and their beauteous wives respectively Dorothy and Marnie. We had a delicious dinner and a few glasses of wine and then walked the short two blocks home. We were in bed by 11pm and I enjoyed a surprisingly decent night of sleep.

Race Day Eve

We all had a leisurely morning, enjoying walks on the beach and good coffee. (And in my case deciding to finally finish and publish the previous summer’s Tri AC Race Report.) At 11am the three of us met local teammate (not Coach) Dave at check-in. As part of Delmo’s efforts to reduce its administrative burden race numbers were not assigned ahead of time – they were first-come-first-bibbed. By showing up shortly after check-in opened, the four of us ended up in primo position on the first row near bike out/bike in.

We collected our packets and did some quick Expo shopping as the sky was ominous and spitting. (I bought a sweatshirt because the weekend was already proving strangely cold for June in the time of climate change and I had not packed accordingly.)

We then checked out our excellent transition placement but did not rack our bikes. Another new(ish) and welcome feature of this race is morning-of bike check-in. Rather than have to leave our whips overnight and then hoof it or look for parking in the morning we were able to ride down race day and rack then. It’s a great move logistically and spares the surrounding neighborhood of parking wars.

After check-in, Colin, Jess and I got lunch at a great outdoor spot called Exit Zero – highly recommend. Then we hit the Acme grocery store to buy what we’d need for the race as well as for dinner as we had decided to cook. I had flashbacks of shopping there with Mike back in 2019 – one of my favorite race weekends ever before the world shut down.

Once home we saddled up and met Coach Dave at his rental a few blocks away for a shakeout ride.

Dave and Colin are both win-the-whole-race-outright fast. I tried to hang with them for a few minutes but as they were casually pushing 25mph on this supposed warmup I quickly remembered we were in different leagues and hung back.

I called it quits after 20 minutes, not wanting to overstress my hip and damaged nerves. The others carried on and then Jess did a ten-minute run for good measure but I headed back to the house, knowing my pain-free activity is a limited resource nowadays.

Again I thought of 2019, how cautious I’d had to be then when I’d just started running again after six months off and three months on crutches. It was weird and distressing to think that in a lot of ways I was healthier then than I am now – at least then I was on the mend with a clear course of action. Now I’m dealing with the other hip, needing surgery but trying to put it off till winter, and nerve issues that no one can figure out. I tried to put those thoughts out of my head over the weekend, focusing on the things I am still capable of, but I’ve been struggling mentally with the constant physical incapacitation, and flashbacks to 2019 didn’t help and were hard to avoid.

One of my 2019 roomies, teammate Steve, came over for dinner and hopefully I didn’t freak him out with a big emotional bearhug – he’s one of my favorite race buddies (and regular friends) and we hadn’t seen each other in 2.5 years – iI felt a little emotional when he appeared. He mentioned that he was planning to sleep in his car at a campground that night, but Jess and Colin were not having that and insisted he stay with us. My room had a bunk bed so we got to relive 2019 Escape the Cape Wayne Street shenanigans – I just wished Tiff, Clarice, Mike, and Russ had all been there too. (It was nice to not be sharing a single bathroom with six people though.)

After dinner we all kind of did our own thing race prepping. Jess and I spent some quality times in our Normatecs watching old Schitt’s Creek episodes, the dudes did whatever dudes do. I also spent time in the shower trying to stretch my long sleeve wetsuit which I hadn’t worn since Ironman Arizona in 2019 enough to sort of fit.

While getting ready we fretted nonstop about the forecast which I’d been refreshing obsessively. All week it had gotten worse and by Saturday night it called for unrelenting thunderstorms from 3am on. I was convinced the race was going to get cancelled – no way they let people jump off a boat in a thunderstorm. Any other race I would have been crossing my fingers for a cancelled swim but the whole draw of Escape the Cape is the ferry leap. Plus if the weather really turned out as bad as predicted they probably wouldn’t let us bike or run either. Colin and Jess were confident that the “Cape May bubble” would save us. Jess, a literal climate scientist, even gave us the meteorological run-down over dinner explaining the science behind the high pressure rain-deterring bubble phenomenon that tends to shield the area from storms.

A little after 9pm we parted ways for bed, but my internal clock didn’t get the memo. I tried reading, doing a crossword, mentally walking through the race, but nothing made me tired. Steve was on the top bunk and every time he moved around the bed creaked loudly, so for a while I knew he was awake too. But eventually his fidgeting stopped and I was alone in my insomnia. I tried for hours to will myself into a REM cycle. At 12:48am I got up to use the bathroom and I hadn’t yet slept. Once back in bed I finally drifted off for a couple hours but I woke again at 2:30, and then again at 3:30, at which point I stayed mostly conscious until the alarm blared at 4:25. I didn’t feel as ragged as I feared I would, but I didn’t feel great either as I got myself dressed and choked down my oatmeal and banana.

Race Morning

At 5:35am we biked our stuff down to transition. We arrived at 5:45, ostensibly with plenty of time to prep our spots and be out of transition before it closed at 6:30. As we rolled up and dismounted though, we were directed to the back of a very long line  to have our bags canine-searched before we could enter. This took about 15 minutes and would have taken longer but the police eventually just asked dozens of people at a time to put their bags down and step away while the dogs came through, snoots ablazin’. We were wheeling to our racks by 6am – more than enough time, but there were still a lot of people showing up and the line was long and getting longer.

At least the race was actually happening! The Cape May bubble had come through and broken up the impending storms. The forecast still called for rain starting between 9 and 10am – potentially while we were on the bike or even still swimming – and the three-mile swim had been shortened to a one-mile swim in case, but we were getting on, and then promptly jumping off, that dang boat.

With 15 minutes to spare I darted out of transition to hit the porta potties. There was a bank of 15 or so with a long line, but as I went to join it I noticed a lone potty off to the side of the mechanics tent, with only five people in line. I slid into the very short queue while the main porta line grew. Colin and Jess came out of transition and I discretely waved them over to the secret potty. When someone a few people ahead of me announced there was no toilet paper, Colin dashed back to transition and returned with a roll he kept in his bag – hero. After my turn I went back to transition and collected my wetsuit and goggles, and then rejoined our secret potty team party. We intercepted other friends, Steve, Sara, Coach Dave, Julie (Rev3 swimming superstar) as they were about to join the long line and inducted them into our glorious team bathroom. It was the height of triathlon glamour.

Once everyone had done their business we headed as a group to the ferry. Coach Dave was elated saying we’d timed things perfectly: he always wants to be the last ones on the boat and we indeed were, but we weren’t late or rushed. We boarded and headed to the stern where we were able to spread out, watch the water, and leisurely pull our wetsuits on.

As the ferry approached our jumping off point and slowed, people around the back of the ship were watching something. I joined the group and saw dolphins jumping maybe a hundred meters away, leaping in the runway of light where the sunrise lit up the wake. The sight brought such joy and helped me get in a good head space to start the race.

After wetsuiting – mine felt tight despite the previous evening’s neoprene stretching – the group broke into factions, with sprinters Sara and Dave hanging back as they’d be jumping later. Steve and I wandered slowly to the front of the boat where the oly was about to get underway.

We clearly shoulda wandered up earlier because we found ourselves at the end of the hoard of our competitors. Getting antsy stuck too far back in the hoard we were happy to run into Rev3 teammate Eric, who’d driven down from Canada to compete. (And win his age group.) We caught up for a while which was excellent, until we all got fidgety that the hoard wasn’t really moving. And there was really no way to weave ahead toward the front. There was no attempt to seed by swim times so we should have just lined up earlier.

Finally the mass started demonstrably surging forward. We gave each other final hugs and high fives and then filed into a few short demarcated lanes to await our call to jump. Steve was right in front of me and when the volunteers summoned him forward he marched confidently toward the bow, turned, and did a back flip into the waiting bay. I was feeling a lot more confident than I had in 2019, but still, when I was waved over and given the all clear (volunteers watch the water below to make sure no one lands on anyone else) I opted to gingerly step forward rather than try any acrobatics or extra propulsion beyond gravity, which I feel does good work on its own.

Swim

The race started at 7:30, but I didn’t step off the boat to start my day until 7:52am. I was very nervous about the swim and my lack of conditioning. I’d only been in the pool two times, and open water four times, since March, thanks to travel, Scott getting COVID, and the general deteriorating swimfrastructure in DC. But I remembered the very accommodating current from 2019 and told myself I’d have a great ocean assist.

As I stepped off the boat I tried to do a cool pose in the air, but the distance to water wasn’t far enough – I managed to briefly starfish before slamming my hands around my goggles. I also forgot to blow out my nose while entering the water, so I came back up to the surface sputtering. It didn’t matter, I didn’t get an aerial photo this year sadly.

The water was cold, 68 they’d announced but probably colder out where we jumped, but it didn’t feel too frigid. I was however immediately – and literally – struck by the condition of the water. The ocean was roiling, with swells several feet high. Somehow it hadn’t looked this rough from the boat. I didn’t stop to think about it though, just lurched forward into an awkward head-mostly-above-the-water stroke while I tried to acclimate to the cold and the chop.

I was surprised in the moment (and still surprised looking back) that I didn’t have one of my frequent mental swim spinouts, I just got to work. It did take about 100 meters before I could comfortably put my face in the water and try to work out a normal stroke, but even that went smoother than it usually does in chilly water. I can’t say enough for how helpful it has been to get in weekly open water swims – just a few days before the race in fact had been Wave One’s first weeknight swim of the season and it had been wildly windy and choppy. I have to imagine that helped keep me calm in Cape May.

The Escape swim runs mostly parallel to the shore for a mile and is timed to run with the current. There were no buoys to sight, and the exit arch was too far away – especially with such angry water – to be visible. For the first third I just sighted off the neon green swimcaps of my fellow athletes, and kept myself between the wall of safety personnel on kayaks and paddleboards. I couldn’t see the shore or where we were going, but I was among plenty of company so I didn’t worry about it.

Once acclimated to the water temperature I tried to find my stroke-stroke-breathe rhythm, but the waves made it difficult. Early on I swallowed enough saltwater that I worried it would turn my stomach for the next couple hours. I managed a few times to fall into a rhythm, breathing in the troughs and quickly pulling my face around to charge through the swells, but it was always short lived.

By the middle of the swim the tide of athletes and safety personnel had thinned and I realized I was pretty alone out there. I may not have been as alone as I felt, but the unrelenting waves still obscured my ability to see beyond a few feet. At this point I started breathing mostly to the left so that I could at least keep the shore in my limited sights and stay parallel-ish to it. This went on for five-to-ten minutes (I realize that’s a wide range but time means nothing while swimming) before I finally found a few other swimmers and was able to make out a bit of where we were headed again.

Around 2/3 of the way in things actually got a little congested for the first time. I started to overtake a lot of slower (stranger) swimmers (backstrokers) at the same time the fastest three-turned-one-mile-racers started to overtake me. I was hoping one of these lightning fast people was Julie, but I had to stay focused on charting my own course around several backstrokers who were zigging and zagging and windmilling their arms like an old-timey riverboat wheel. I’d encountered the same odd paddling at this race in 2019 but don’t believe I’ve ever seen it anywhere else – is this a local tri club thing?

I was more than ready to be done swimming when the course’s only two orange buoys and the black and white exit arch finally became visible. I had somehow blindly positioned myself well to swim right between the two large inflatables but heard from friends after the race that they’d gotten off course and had to backtrack through them. This was exacerbated by the fact that pre-communications had said you didn’t actually have to swim through the buoys but then on-course support said you did.

For the first time all morning I finally found a decent rhythm and swam hard toward the exit. As usual, my shorty arms allowed me to swim further ashore than most before I had to stand. Also as usual, but with more of an excuse this time, the only time I really worked for any speed in my swim was the last hundred meters, once I could actually see where I was going, I think some of the visibility challenges could have been ameliorated were the arch on the beach a color other than black and white. Also at least one or two buoys along the way would be welcome.

I swam until I had to stand, then trudged up the beach and through the understated camouflaged arch. I knew in 2019 I had swum a 27:40, and while I was prepared for today to be slower, I was not pleased with my four+ added minutes for a time of 31:44.

T1

But much like 2019, 2022 was going to be all about the bike, the only discipline for which I was in any sort of shape. I tried to run up the beach to get through T1 quickly, but we were in deep sand, which foreshadowed things to come. After a few attempted run steps I slowed to a briskish walk until I was out of the sandtrap and could jog the rest of the way into transition. It was easy to find my bike thanks to our primo first-rack placement.

I tried in vain to towel some of the sand off my damp feet but it was slow work so after a few seconds I just pulled on my socks and  bike shoes. I’ve tried biking without socks and my sweaty feet will not allow it. My sweaty hands also require bike gloves, so I fear my T1 will always drag because I then had to wiggle soggy fingers into my tight hand spandex. (SpHandex?) I swear I hustled as much as I could. Before pulling Koop off the rack I took a big bite of stroopwafel and swig of water, then made my way to bike out. T1 time was 6:52, which isn’t great but sounds worse than it was given the long beachy haul from the water.

Bike

Like always, I ran around the people who were clogging the mount line by boarding right on top of it. I got on quickly and weaved around a few newbie knots, knowing there was an almost-mile-long no-passing stretch to get out to the main course and I hoped to avoid getting stuck behind too many people. I was able to pick off a couple more before the single-file section started, but I still ended up behind a woman was literally coasting and eating for half a mile. I was so frustrated. This was my only real chance to go fast in the race and I was off to a pokey start. Honest question: is it wrong to ask someone ahead of you in a no-passing zone to at least actually pedal? I don’t want to be a race douche, but coasting when there’s an irritated peloton growing behind you seems remarkably obtuse.

As soon as we were off the narrow path and turning right onto Lincoln Blvd I called “on your left” loudly to the snacker and tried to fly ahead. I had visions of grandeur and 2019 when I’d been able to use this section to bank some 23mph time. This time though there was a headwind to put me in my place, my place being 20mph max and not without (probably too much) effort. I was chastened but didn’t back off, even as I felt my rate of perceived effort (RPE) surge too high too early.

We only had a couple miles on Lincoln before turning off this main artery and heading over a bridge into the southern Cape. We would hit this bridge four times over 22 miles, and these four crossings were also the only four climbs of the bike course. I overrode my instincts to hammer the first climb and instead shifted and slowed way down to save my legs. On the backside of the hill I rode the brake in anticipation of a very tight right turn at the bottom of the descent. There were increasingly frantic signs along the bridge warning riders of the impending u-turn and everyone I saw rode it responsibly. I heard Coach Dave’s booming exuberant voice cheering for me as he passed me going over the bridge. It was both awesome to see him and humbling to think how long after me he’d started and yet how early in the bike he was overtaking me.

The roads on this side of the Cape are pretty bad. Organizers had done a good job of marking the many craters in the pavement, but even the asphalt itself is rough, and the course includes a number of technical turns over three miles. I dropped into my big ring and aeros as soon as I was through the tight switchback and tried to pass people safely while avoiding the potholes that threatened to consume my little bicycle. It was already crowded, but I knew lap two would be even more congested so now was the time to work.

Halfway through this section my Garmin announced that my first five-mile “lap” had averaged 18.5mph – not nearly where I wanted to be. The quarter mile before crossing the bridge back onto the North Cape was straight and smooth so I took that opportunity to let rip and bank some speed, cruising around 24mph.

I forced myself to chill out while climbing the 2nd of four bridge crossings, then took the couple crowded turns right after the bridge conservatively. Once we were back on Sandman/Lincoln with its wide smooth lanes, I burned another match, holding 22+mph and easily overtaking swaths of people with a bit of a wind assist.

Around mile nine things got crowded again as the course narrowed to a single lane before a two-mile jaunt through some residential streets. I realized I had been so focused on speed I hadn’t sufficiently fueled, so I used the forced slowdown to make a dent in my Skratch-filled aero bottle, and then snacked on half a stroopwafel while we meandered through the neighborhood – passing right by Jess and Colin’s place. My watch declared a much improved 21.1mph “lap two.”

The last mile of the first loop is oceanside and shares Beach Drive with the run course. The crowd support was awesome including Ed, Dorothy, and Marnie. Their cheers gave me an adrenaline boost – and they got some great bike pics which the race photogs did not – as I neared the halfway point.

I knew to be vigilant as lap one ended with a fork – right for the finish and left for the second loop – as well as a merge with the people who were just getting their rides started. I called my place on repeat as I stayed left to move through the interchange.

Back on Lincoln I was again met with a headwind that hadn’t been there in 2019. The wind was also stronger for this second time through the course. Again I held my pace around 20mph, working harder than I would have liked and for less speed, but figuring that I should squeeze all of the juice out of my legs for the next ten miles as this was my only time to shine that day.

I used this same judgment to hammer the third bridge crossing a little harder than the first two, but still rode down the other side slowly to make that tight right turn. I tried to ride the couple rough and technical south Cape miles similarly but just a touch faster than I had ridden them the first go-round, but because of the growing congestion I ended up a touch slower. Lap three came in at 19.4mph, not really where I wanted it.

Navigating the crowds and the potholes and the turns was made more complicated over the second loop thanks to an older gentleman who kept waiting for me to slow to take a corner, and then passing me on the right, and obviously without calling his place ever, putting me and others in danger every time. Then he would get out in front of me and ride slower than I had been leading me to repass him. By the third time he pulled this dangerous bs I was furious, and we happened to be back on the smooth quarter mile straightaway leading to the final bridge crossing. I lit a whole matchbook up, screamed out ON YOUR LEFT, and flew by him.

I angrily charged up the hill, working harder than was prudent, and dropped into my heaviest gear as I crested this final ascent, ready to use all the gravity I could to hammer the downside. I was passing people on the descent – rare for itty bitty chickeny me – and calling on your left repeatedly the whole way. This apparently wasn’t enough for another gentleman, who suddenly veered left into my path even as I shouted my place. I had to quickly swerve around him and bounce uncomfortably at 30mph over a patch of rumble strips which rattled my brains and made me brake hard.

There were strips the whole way down the bridge aside from the shoulder where everyone was riding. I was forced to slow way down and slot in behind my almost-assassin. As I fell in a few feet behind him to avoid the next rumblers, a motorbike zipped by, the race official on the back scribbling in her notebook. I was afraid I’d just gotten a drafting penalty depending on how much of the action she’d seen or missed.

I backed even further off my attempted murderer’s back wheel until we were fully off the bridge and through the next turn and it was more than safe to pass. My stomach was flipping over whether I’d just scored a time penalty on my only potentially fast leg of the day. Either way I knew I needed to make up some speed and burn out the legs once we got back to Lincoln.

I was ready to get low and shift into my biggest gears as I approached the turn onto Sandman/Lincoln. As I started to make the left, calling “on your left” and leaving plenty of room for another women to safely turn, out of nowhere my earlier aging antagonist appeared, once again passed me on my right through the turn, not calling his spot, and nearly clipping the tire of the woman I had called left to. My blood was fully boilt but it was that woman who laid down the law screaming at him not to pass right and what was wrong with him. I was thrilled to not to have to be the person for once with the eggs to stand up to some jerky dude. Once through the turn I shifted and dropped the hammer hard as I could to get away.

I enjoyed a few fast minutes riding back toward the neighborhood. At one point I passed Robert who called out his encouragement, cheering me out of some grumpiness. It was a little dicier with so many people approaching the righthand swing into the residential area so I had to take it slower and keep calling out as I rode to the left of dozens of people. (All this spot-calling must add to the bike RPE – I know from years of teaching spin how much extra work it is to yell while you ride!)

With just a couple miles left to bike I used the neighborhood time to finish my waffle and hydrate. I also had the wild idea that maybe I shouldn’t actually burn every match left in my legs – beach-running Liz might really resent that. So I decided to conserve a little bit rather than pounding it home. The 4th lap buzzed a 20.7mph average around that time which felt decent.

As I got ready to make the turn onto the ocean-hugging Beach Dr – the last chance to go fast on the bike, who should reappear but old man douchebag (OMD) to cut me off from the right again. All my conservative plans left the building as I rode back past him down Beach toward the finish. I passed Ed, Dorothy, and Marnie again so I couldn’t stay mad. In fact I was feeling pretty good as I forked right toward the bike finish and back onto the single file stretch toward transition.

As I approached the dismount line I pulled to the right so that people could pass me if they needed and swung off my steed. As I did so, OMD appeared one final time, again to my right, somehow squeezing in inches from me as I was trying to dismount. At that point I was beyond done. “You just had to get in one more righthand pass did you?” I growled. He mumbled, “oh sorry” disingenuously. I took that moment to look at his bike and made a mental note that he was bib #458. So you can look him up and see his name and curse it if you’d like.

I grabbed Koop and wheeled away from the old ass. My final bike was 1:08:17, which was a minute faster than 2019, but slightly slower than the 20+mph I’d hoped to average.

T2

Running into transition my sweet first row rack placement felt almost vindictively excellent. I was quick about ditching my helmet and gloves, swapping out shoes and grabbing my visor, bib, and handheld water bottle. T2 came in at a much more respectable 1:34.

Run

I had done all of one brick leading up to the race and my legs felt heavy as I tried to coax them into a jog. I had no idea what to expect with the hip labral tear and sciatic neuropathy that won’t abate. Some runs feel remarkably ok despite the maladies, some feel remarkably horrible, and I never really know what I’m going to get.

Almost immediately I had a cramp in the left side of my stomach. Was it from the saltwater? The bike fury? No idea, but it persisted over the whole first mile and I feared it would stay through the whole run. Still that first mile I managed an 8:34 and my hip and nerve felt ok. Maybe the tummy ache was a good distraction.

I was relieved when it began to dissipate in the second mile. I was also relieved that we seemed to be getting quite a bit of street running, making it almost two miles before our first sand diversion. That happiness, and asphalt, was soon replaced though. At mile 1.8 we were diverted onto the beach and into deep, loose, unforgiving sand. Everyone was attempting to run next to the water, seeking compacter stuff. I remembered in 2019 how that plan hadn’t really panned out, especially on the way out when  passing right to right meant runners coming back in would get the best ocean-adjacent beach real estate.

I tried to pick my way through some vegetation farther upstage but it was still a struggle. The depth of the sand was difficult but worse was the steep rake of the beach which had me running with my right (healthier) leg uphill while my damaged left leg and hip had to do more work downhill. Every minute or so I would slip and have to catch myself with that left leg which was agony on the hip.

I limped along for half a mile like this, willing the turnaround to appear, sure that it wouldn’t be so bad once my right leg could do more of the downstage stabilizing. Mile two clocked an ok for being 1/5 on the sand time of 9:01. Finally at 2.3 miles we got to reverse course. Now I did take advantage of the (slightly) more solid ground next to the water.

At first things did seem to improve, with my good leg able to cover the harsher impact, and the tide-wetted ground offering better purchase. About halfway back to the road (so 3/4 of a mile on the sand in) I ran into Robert who was having a sit-down on a big sort of pipe that we had to either climb over or run around. When he saw me he smiled and waved and got back on his way, while I slowed to a walk to give the hip a break and tread more carefully over this weird obstacle. Everyone out there was struggling.

After the short walk and climb break I tried to find a job again until I was finally at the steep chute that led back up to the street. In 2019 Coach Dave had advised me to just walk the paths back onto the road from the beach and I heeded that wisdom again. Once my sneaker hit solid ground I got back into a jog and was relieved that my hip felt mostly ok.

I settled into an easy feeling pace for about 30 seconds when suddenly I remembered I was in a race and why the heck was I taking it so easy. I stepped on the gas and was surprised and excited to find that the speed felt good and I actually had some gas in my engine for it. We had a half mile till the next sand trap; I dropped into a sub-8 pace for that stretch and felt fitter than I expected. My watch did let me know that mile three had been a disappointing 11:14, but it had been almost entirely sand so I didn’t dwell on it.

The second stretch of sand was a much shorter jaunt, a little over a tenth of a mile. Again just about everyone beelined it for the shore, but I saw right away there were tamped down reeds (and dead horseshoe crabs) lining the way farther upstage. I dashed over the vegetation, in a few places having to leap a bit between the patches of reeds (and over the deceased crustaceans). It was still hard work but much better than the previous terrible beach mile, and I also cut out at least a couple hundred meters by not running all the way down to, and then back from, the water.

We were back on the road quickly and this time I wasted no time in dropping into as fast a pace as I could. I was able to pull an 8:29 out for the fourth mile, and considering 10% of that had been on sand I felt pretty good about it. There was just one mile to go, and remembering 2019 I thought we would get to run the road most of the way home. I was so wrong.

At mile 4.1 we were once again diverted onto the beach and given where and how we’d been rerouted I realized it was going to be beach almost the whole way home. And somehow the sand was deeper and looser and more aggressively pitched here than it had been elsewhere.

I tried running next to the water first, but it was barely more compact there and the waves kept threatening my sneakers, successfully wetting them a few times. I tried running up the beach a little further but the steep pitch was awful and I kept sliding down the hill. My hip was aggravated quickly and I had to walk a few times, wondering if maybe I should walk the rest of it – what if I was doing more damage?

After trial and error I ended up running further up the beach than most people, in the tread of some sort of four wheel vehicle. I had to walk numerous times in that last mile to rest my hip, and all the sliding around in now-damp shoes chafed my foot into a sizable blister. At various points I cursed Delmo Sports and swore to myself that I would never do this race again, it was miserable and stupid and I hated it and wasn’t ever coming back.

Three fourths of the way through the final mile we passed the inconspicuous swim-out arch and had to turn and run uphill in the deepest stuff of the day. (Second deepest? Since we’d already run through this same terrible stretch just an hour and change earlier.)

Finally, with .15 miles left we got to leave the sand for good. It was a few quick turns, including through the same marshy slippery stuff we’d traversed during T1. When my foot hit the boardwalk and real solid ground with about 150 meters to the finish I gave it all I had, vetoing my hip’s protestations. I was able to find the 7s one more time to run it home for a final mile time of 10:39 and and overall run of 47:54.

The Aftermath

Most of my teammates had already finished. I hobbled to them and when we realized that almost all of us had podiumed* in our various races and age groups (or overall for those mega fast dudes Dave and Colin)  we found a bit of field and camped out to wait for awards. Jess got 3rd and I got 4th in ladies 35-39, and she beat my by 16 seconds on the bike – maybe it’s because she wisely didn’t event try to hang with those speedsters the day before.

*Once again I made the stage thanks to the 5-deep age group podium at DelMo races, but at 4th place instead of 5th I’ll take the win and the improvement over the last one. 

We had a good time enjoying the beer tent and athlete food, and dodging raindrops at times, though the threatened storm never materialized – thank you Cape May bubble! Awards dragged on for a long time and we tried to win for team spirit by rushing the stage to holler and take pics for each Speed Sherperino as they collected their hardware.

After the literal hours of waiting and awarding we gathered our bikes and gear. Colin had brilliantly parked his car a block from transition the night before, so we didn’t have to walk or ride the mile home.

The rest of the day was spent celebrating and putting solid and liquid calories back in. It had been so long since I’d gotten to just hang out with Sara and Dave and we made up for lost time. I was very happy to have decided to stay over Sunday to participate in the revelry.

We ended the night around the fire in Colin and Jess’ backyard, and after hours of carousing still managed to be in bed at a somewhat reasonable hour making the Monday drive home pretty easy. That’s a real upside to day-drinking after a triathlon: after a 4am wakeup you can get plenty of celebrating in before a 10 or 11pm bedtime!

By Tuesday I had forgotten the misery and abject pain of all the sand running and gamely signed up for 2023 when all my friends did. Can’t wait to jump off the boat and then curse Delmo’s name as I limp across the beach again next year! Will 2023 finally be the year I have two working hips? (Nah.)