Back in the yesterdays, when I first registered for Team in Training, I thought it would be wise to have a pre-tri tri of shorter distance before racing the big race in September; I registered for the SheROX Triathlon in Philadelphia.
SheROX is an all female sprint distance triathlon in its second year. For those of you who are, as I was once, blissfully unaware of the distances of triathlons, sprints can vary slightly, but run generally in the 1/2 mile swim, 15 mile bike, and 5K (or 3.1 mile) run arena.
There were 1600 women (both relay and individual racers) athletes that crowded the swanky boathouse row in Philadelphia the Saturday before the race for "packet pick-up", the "mandatory" athlete meeting, and the "Expo".
I received my packet - full of lots of numbers (858), a time chip (to be worn around the ankle), a fluorescent pink swim cap (the color designated for my age wave), and my complimentary t-shirt. I bought elastic laces (clever things that let the triathlete just slip on their sneakers) and treated myself to a brand new pair of tri-shorts (they were 25% off and as discussed in a previous post, these chamied bottoms, once worn, smell regrettably similar to livestock, no matter how many times you wash them. I only owned one pair, so I treated myself to a new one for the race).
The meeting, was basically a citing of the rules for USAT, the governing organization for triathlons; and darlin' let me tell you, there are RULES!
If I could remember all of them, I might treat you to a recitation, but around this time, I began to feel as if an elephant was sitting squarely on my chest. I watched the Schuylkill river rush by, felt the presence of hundreds (and I mean that literally) of sort of sticky women and thought that this was perhaps the dumbest idea I had ever had in the history of my existence.
This is, I was informed by trainer Joe when I called him at home in ranting hysterics (sorry Joe), a completely normal reaction (gee, now I feel better). His advice was to get out of there, go home, eat some whole wheat pasta and meatballs, lay out my gear, and go to bed early.
I did.
Going to bed early is not sleeping, however, and what rest I got was spent in one of two dream activities, cycling or falling prey to any of the rather humiliating body responses to extreme activity or both of these at the same time, so I guess that's one of three activities.
I gave up at 3:30 AM, got up, shaved my legs, put on my Sunday-go-to-races tri-shorts and top, and with the littlest Stink and her father tucked snugly into the car, headed Northeast toward Philadelphia.
I arrived at the transition area (this is where you begin your race, and return after each leg to switch gear) at 6:45, had my body graffitied with permanent marker, and began the set up as outlined in the aforementioned phone conversation with Trainer Joe.
Note here the white feet. This is not, as you might have guessed, an odd symptom of some rare disease, but rather the sad, sad side effect of hours of training on bike and road - oh, the sacrifices we make for sport. ;)
I digress.
Spectators are not allowed in the transition area, so I had a bit of alone time to get my bearings, attempt to familiarize my surroundings, and angst at the "water support" (roughly 4 guys on surfboards, 4 in kayaks, and several in motorboats) .
I'm glad they were there, of course, but their mere presence suggested that I might need them. Did I mention that one of the "rules" covered at the meeting was "If you cannot complete the swim, remove your swim cap and wave it frantically above your head"? Okay, the "frantic" part is an add in - a giving in, of sorts, to my dramatic tendancies - just trying to help in the visualization of the moment ;)
The bullhorn sounded for the seven professionals right at 8 o'clock. The rest of us followed in waves set 8 minutes apart (4 to get in the water, and 4 minutes to tread prior to the start - this is called a "deep water" start.
1600 women were divided into heats by age group (or, in the case of relays and pros, by their category).
The husband remarked at the resemblance of my group to a bunch of floating strawberries - lovely.
That's the beginning of my wave -
I've really been training my swim hard, so aside from the visions of sinking unceremoniously beneath the pull of the current, I thought I'd be in pretty good shape.
I did not account for the full contact effect of swimming with hundreds of other women. In training, I had been working on my stroke cadence; it went like this: stroke, breathe, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.
At race time it went like this: pummel, stroke, tread tread tread, breathe, stroke, choke, gag, smack, kick, kick, gag... you get the general idea I'm sure.
When I mentioned this particular experience to Trainers Bob and Joe, this clip from YOUTUBE was forwarded to me:
I think it's a fair representation of the swim portion of a triathlon.
T1, or the first transition is from swim to bike. Before I even exited the water, I was saying this little mantra: "helmet, shoes, glasses, bike". If you remove your bike from the rack without your helmet BUCKLED, you are disqualified. (As a side note, they don't tell you you've been disqualified until AFTER you finish the entire race.) So, HELMET, shoes, glasses, bike, and off I went.
The bike was a 2 loop course which means that you complete the course twice before you are finished. I spent the first loop catching my breath from the swim, but the second loop, I was able to focus a bit more on speed and cadence, and to get into a bit of a groove.
I did not, you will all be astounded and amazed to hear, fall off my bike - even at the dismount ;)
T2, or the second transition is from bike to run. For this one I said this mantra: bike, helmet, shoes, belt. I really didn't want to leave for the run still wearing my bike helmet, and by belt, I meant the belt that held my race number - that's another disqualification point.
The run is where I felt most comfortable, and interestingly enough, by my times, is where I could stand the most improvement in pace!
It was a smooth run, and the day, even by this last leg, was not too hot, so I really should have pushed the envelope a bit, but I remind myself now, as I work intervals on run days, that my goal was really just to finish standing.
I heard the littlest Stink before I saw her. She was screaming "MOM! MOM! That's MY MOM!" She high fived me as I ran by and threw herself at me as I crossed the timing pad and finish line. They took off my timing chip as she held tight to my neck, riding my hip as she hasn't done since she was much younger, her face buried in my neck. "Mom,", she said, wrinkling her nose, "You really stink".
"You betcha'." I said. "I really do."
As an aside, and for inspiration, you'll remember that I mentioned the relay teams that participated in the SheROX. One of those teams was made up of 5 gals with prosthetic legs. One of them did the swim leg, one the bike, and the 5K was split between the last 3, each of them running a 1 mile leg. This brave little Miss crossed the finish line to a deafening roar.
She was running to raise funds for folks who need prosthetic limbs and cannot afford them.
Word about the grounds was that she had just turned 6.
