On Sunday, May 2, I proved the name of the race, and completed the Southern Saratoga YMCA's "Anyone Can Tri" triathlon. It was a combination indoor/outdoor tri, because it's still a little too chilly to do an open water swim (although it certainly felt warm enough on Sunday!) The whole event was a 350 yard (or meter maybe?) snake swim in the pool, followed by an 11 mile bike ride and 3.2 mile run outside. There was a central transition area just outside the pool, where competitors could quickly (or not so quickly in my case) switch from swim gear to bike gear, and finally to running gear.
Here's the thing. I've been so distracted by other happenings in my life lately that I hardly thought about the triathlon until the morning of the race. And then I didn't feel like racing. At all. It just didn't seem important, and I didn't feel hyped up for it. But I'd already forked over a $55 registration fee, and as you all know by now I'm cheap frugal and didn't want to waste the money. Seriously, I actually think $55 is a ridiculously high price for a sprint triathlon, but it's the YMCA, which is supposed to be a not-for-profit civic service organization, and is actually more like some exclusive health club. In my opinion. I just wrote a story about a local branch of the YMCA that was able to borrow nearly 6 million tax-exempt dollars because of its "non-profit" status, using an organization meant to give money to companies that actually serve the poor, not just pretend to. Anyway, tangent and rant over, I'd paid the exorbitant fee and I was going to get my money's worth.
I got up at 5:45 a.m. on Sunday, and ate half a banana and a piece of whole wheat toast with almond butter. I absent-mindedly (you'll find out just how absent-mindedly in a few paragraphs) gathered the things I'd need for the race. I put on a sports bra under my bathing suit, and packed a pair of long spandex shorts (that I bought in the little boy's section of Target) and my Pearl Izumi cycling tank. I stuck a pair of (mismatching) socks into my running shoes and threw them in the car. My Garmin was already in my purse. I stuck an organic toaster tart in my purse in case I got hungry. I filled up my 20 oz water bottle. I grabbed a towel from the heap of laundry in the attic, gave it a few sniffs, and threw that in the car. Bike and helmet were already in the trunk. I shoved my feet into my sandals, and off I went, dragging my sister along with me.
I got to the Y before 6:30, and stood in line to pick up my packet, bib, and chip, and get marked with a Sharpie. I was number 68, and as the guy was writing it on my leg, I started to wish I'd shaved within the last 3 days. If you're wondering what on earth I was thinking, just remember I wasn't thinking about the race. After getting all my stuff (lamest swag bag ever, by the way, the only thing in there besides some pamphlets promoting the Y was a mini men's Degree deodorant) I had about an hour to kill before my "safety meeting."
I went to the transition area to get a spot for my bike and set up my gear, but by the time I got there, the racks were full, so I just leaned the bike against a fence. I wouldn't have done that, but a few other bikes were already there, so I figured it was OK. I pulled out my garbage bag (the one thoughtful thing I packed), spread it on the ground, and put my shoes, socks, shorts, and shirt on top of it. I draped my towel over the handlebars. I gave my water bottle to my sister.
I spent the next 30 minutes or so standing barefoot in the hallway of the Y, surreptitiously picking the bathing suit wedgie out of my butt crack every time it rode up, because the sports bra underneath it made it a really tight fit. Finally it was time for my heat's meeting. The triathlon was going off in heats, and the heats were going off in waves. Each heat had to go to a meeting first, to find out how the snake swim worked, and to be told to watch out for cars while biking and running, because the roads weren't closed.
We all filed into the pool in a single line, in numerical order. The first person in the heat would start, and 30 seconds later, the announcer would tell the next person to go. I had been getting worried that people would need to pass me during the swim, but it seemed like 30 seconds was a decent head start. The announcer said "68, go!" and I slid into the pool and went on my way. I felt tired almost immediately, which was not a good sign. I just tried to focus on keeping my breathing even and my form smooth. I was doing a pretty good job of it until I was swimming one way in my lane, and someone else was swimming in the other direction, and we collided. Ooooops. I made it a point to stay super close to the lane marker from then on. I think I caressed it a few times after that.
I finished up the swim and my breathing was a little labored, but nothing too horrible. I ran out the door to find my bike, and after adjusting to the blinding sunlight, I quickly toweled off my feet, shoved myself into my shorts, tank, and socks, and laced up my sneakers. Then I realized I had no water. My sister had my water. And she wasn't allowed into the transition area. Shit. I saw her running near the fence, waving the bottle. One of the race officials saw her too, and took the bottle from her and gave it to me. How nice of her. But then I realized I still had an 11 mile bike ride and a 3.2 mile run to finish, and I hadn't eaten for over two hours. Where was my toaster tart? In the car. In my purse. With my Garmin. I made a wild "nibbling" gesture to my sister, intended to mean "Go get me my bar!" but she didn't understand, so I had to tell to her to go get it. While she was doing that, I put on my cycling gloves and helmet. She ran back, threw the bar to me over the fence, and I frantically took two big bites. Then I had to wait a minute while I tried swallow with an incredibly dry mouth.
OK, transition one was finished. I shoved the other half of the bar into my waistband, jogged my bike over the timing mat, and climbed on. About seven pedals later, I heard a faint "thwumping" noise, looked down, and realized the bar had fallen out of my waistband and was now lying in the road with my bike's tire track sliced through it. I probably should have stuck the bar in the back pocket of my cycling tank, since, you know, that's what it's made for.
Someone told me the bike course was "relatively flat." Well that someone was a LIAR. Seriously, their pants are on fire right now. It was actually rather surreal out there on the bike, because everyone was so spread out that it was like I was just out for a jaunt by myself. Every once in a while at an intersection an official would point me in the right direction, but for the most part it was just me, my bike, the road...and my thoughts. Mostly those thoughts went like this: "What the F? It's so hot out here. There's no shade. OMG. Is that a huge hill coming up? Seriously? Another one? Ow. I think I just got a bug in my eye. I hope it doesn't crawl into my brain. Am I going the right way? So. Hot. OMG, another big hill. Pedal. Pedal. Pedalllll. Don't. Stop. Quads are burning. Pedal. Pedal. Pedalllllll!"
Thankfully I didn't have to stop in the middle of a hill anywhere, because that would have been really embarrassing. Though there was one point, in the middle of a hill, where I think I was averaging one full pedal every 30 seconds, and some guy flew by and said "Good luck." In that tone that really means, "Ha, good luck sucker!"
Anyway, I made my way back to the transition area after what seemed like an eternity, hopped off the bike, and jogged it over the timing mat. Now, being an extreme amateur, I had actually worn my running sneakers for the bike ride, and didn't have to change them during transition two. I just gulped some water, briefly considered dropping out of the race, and ran over the next timing mat to start the run.
I have just one word to describe the entire run: HOT. It was brutal out there. The high that day was 87 degrees, and there was seriously no shade on the course. Luckily there was a random water stop, which consisted of one volunteer handing out warm cups of water, and what I can only assume was a resident of a neighboring house yelling out "Congratulations! You can do it!" in a thick Spanish accent.
My legs felt like rubber bands that might snap at any moment for at least the first mile of the run. They were wobbly and I felt like I couldn't control their direction or pace. Were they even still attached? I couldn't tell. I did have the extreme pleasure of passing the sarcastic "Good luck" man during the run, and trust me, I wished him some luck himself. Ha.
I had absolutely no idea what pace I was running. At all. Usually I'm really good at feeling out a pace, but I could have been running anywhere from 7 minutes per mile to 15 minutes per mile, and I don't think I would have known the difference. It was too hot to even care. I just wanted to finish.
And finally, finally I rounded a corner to see a woman ringing a cowbell (the only crowd support on the course besides the Spanish congratulations lady!) and the finish line was in sight. I'd like to say I "kicked it in" but I really didn't, because it was so hot, and also I couldn't feel my legs.
I got my medal, got some water, and said, "Hey, I'm a triathlete!" And then I went to Starbucks and got an iced coffee.
Here is the breakdown of my results:
Swim (350 m) + T1 - 10:58
Bike (11 mi) - 42:59 (approx. 17 mph)
T2 - 1:39
Run (3.2 mi) - 25:16 (7:54 per mile)
Total time - 1:20.51
