it's not just about having good hair: The last 6 weeks

Have been occupied with me trying to overcome my fears.
1. of water
2. of no longer being a real athlete

3. of generally falling into mediocrity
Jonny believes that I came face to face with item #2 & #3 on Sunday. I'll let you decide.
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Stonebridge Ranch Sprint Triathlon. My first ever...5 weeks after learning to swim
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#1: I finished and did not drown. Amazingly. Could've fooled the guys in kayaks, though. They thought I was near-death.

#2: I am definitely doing it again.

#3: I will decimate my prior performance.

Here is how it went down.

The night before
Given that nearly every bike race I’ve done has been a “sign in before the start and get your number” kind of thing, I expected the same from a triathlon. How wrong I was. Apparently you people are three times as anal as bike racers and have to hold multiple pre-race packet pickups and expos and speakers and pasta dinners; all of which are located in suburbia. Where I neither live nor frequent if I can at all avoid it.
So that is annoying.
The night before the race (correction, approximately 10 hours before I was to stage), I meander to the website and find that not only was I supposed to get my packet somewhere north, in the wilds beyond I-635; but that I had to pay an additional $20 to pick it up on race day. That sounds like something along the line of the fees my bank charges me for sneezing. Lame.
So I warn Jonny (who was miraculously in town for the weekend) that before he went out to hammer some beers that we needed to be out the door at 5:30 to get my packet before 6ish. I forgot that McKinney is nearly in Oklahoma, but I give myself credit for looking at the website at all. I mean, really. I checked in for A WORLD CUP BIKE RACE IN MONTREAL an hour before the start. C’mon.
I packed my race bag twice and checked again for my gear. I bought an ankle brace for my bum ankle/foot (thanks, co-ed soccer) so I had to make sure that was in tow. I toyed with my wardrobe and decided on a sports bra and Zoot shorts for stealthy intimidation. Who wouldn’t be afraid of my skinny little arms? I packed an El Gato long sleeve jersey to look pro as I stood around before the start and pretended I wasn’t nervous.

The morning
Jonny had stumbled in sometime around 2, and my alarm went off at 5:20. The cat was sleeping on my ankles so I had to nudge him off, then nudge Jonny. Jonny pretended to get up but was totally faking. Thank god he’d loaded my bike in the car the night before or I would have never gotten out of there. I grabbed my leftover Garden Café omelet and began driving. Jonny snoozed, probably deep in a REM cycle.
I arrived and grabbed my packet, got a temporary USAT license (which is good for 365 days from issue, instead of USA Cycling’s communist policy of expiring at the end of a calendar year no matter when you buy it), and staged my bike. I did as Coach John instructed and found a support post on my rack, set up my gear, and acted generally pleased with myself.

The waiting
The Olympic distance went off around 7…I had to wait until 9. Might I interject how annoying it was to read the race website and see the athletes doing the Olympic distance referred to as “Olympic athletes”? Okay, people. It may be semantics, but there weren’t any Olympians schlepping about that I could see. Having done an Olympic trial…you know them when you see them!
But I digress.
After fueling Jonny with coffee and donuts from the 7-11, we stood around. Jonny gave me endless crap about how I was launching my new career of “being good at exercising”. He has a point. It was hard to do a sport that my former sport of pro bike racing had made so much fun of. I used to laugh right along with everybody when we said “tri-geeks can’t corner”. Jonny shared a photo of me standing in my El Gato jersey with the Tweetosphere and we amused ourselves with our bike racer friends’ comments. They were numerous and expectedly obnoxious.

Swim
We queue up for the swim. Gold caps and all. We are all rather adorable. The girls next to me talk with some embarrassment about being the few with toe cages on their bikes. I ask them to do me a favor and not look down too often. Don’t want them to ram into someone from behind. I’ve seen it. Head-down riding never got you anywhere except scraped up. They ask me how I know and I tell them. Their eyes get wide. But then I mention I just learned how to swim 5 weeks ago so they won’t see me again. I was wrong but it made them feel better for a little while, I guess.
We all jump into the water and tread for a minute or two before they count down. It’s freakin cold outside (waaah. 70 degrees) but the water is much warmer. Now, to do something about the muck.
I do as you advise and wait 15-20 seconds. I notice that my ankle brace has come unlaced and have to reach down and try to remove it without drowning. The pack is pulling away from me so I breaststroke to keep up. I try to swim freestyle but inhale a bunch of water. Thinking of the massive amounts of duck poop in my sinuses, I go back to the breaststroke. Forgetting everything you ever told me about being competent. I just couldn’t function as in the pool (I knew it would be the case) so I switch to survival mode. I breaststroke, freestyle a few strokes, flip over onto my back (surprisingly soothing). Anything to generally move forward. I make it to the first sighting buoy with less than 1 quart of pond water in my gut. I carry on. The gold caps are receding into the distance, but a few girls are still behind me. They must be really struggling if little Mandy is basically doing water ballet en route to buoy number two.
A few kayakers ask me if I’m okay. I must really not look okay. But I am okay. I’m calm. I’m sucking and slow. But I am calm. I forget trying to do much freestyle and just try to go forward. I am not tired, which is encouraging. Buoy number two and the corner. I swim straight for it just as Coach John taught me. I make the turn and try to freestyle again. Sucking again. Float on back and feel calmer. More kayakers ask if I’m going to die. I tell them “No. I just suck.”
I see the orange caps heading toward me of the wave after me. I make it to the final 250m before they catch me. Doing the math in my head I think that they started 5 minutes after me. Oopsie. I am burping up pond water and generally grossed out by swimming in the toilet of thousands of aquatic and avian creatures. Cow crap I can handle. Bird and fish poo I’m not used to.

Finally
I finally make it out of the water (swimming all the way to the ramp, just as Coach John instructed), and laugh and jump out. I am seven minutes or more off the leader in my age group. Hilarious.
I run up the muddy slope, thinking about cyclocross. I miss having a bike slung over my shoulder and maneuvering up a muddy run-up with thousands of screaming, beer-saturated fans surrounding me. Those were the days.

Bikin
But these are different days. I haul a$$ to the transition, do a slow transition (I find out later), and motor out to the course. I pass everybody I see and keep going. A courageous UNT kid in a flappy jersey is attempting to keep pace with me and his gumption is admirable. He’s about 85 lbs and “givin’ er”. I love to see that. He has no aero equipment, only heart. I pass him many times and he claws his way to pass me again. We part ways when he finishes his final lap and I begin my second. I grab the Hammer gel Jonny has taped to my top tube; rip it off, and down half of it. In true pro fashion, I stick the remainder in my leg seam. A few minutes later it’s seeping down my leg and I remember it’s chocolate. Looks mighty suspect so I waste a few seconds trying to hose it off with my water bottle. Vanity strikes again. Don’t want to look like I had colon issues out there. You never know when you’ll be photographed ;-)
I am not tired at all during the bike, which isn’t a good sign. I definitely went about 70%, and know now that I need to have some data in front of me. I generally go by feel, but have done plenty of training with a PowerTap, splits, and heart rate. It might be time to dork out again.

Transitioning…again
I make my transition to the run and rewrap my ankle brace. I put my socks on (sorry, Coach), and head out. Number belt and everything. $9.99 for a reflective stretchy thing. Man this sport is expensive!
I don’t let anybody pass me on the run though my foot is killing me. About a mile from the finish a 43-year old zooms by me and I figure this is a good rabbit. I follow her in and put in a time that isn’t shameful (8:16 mile) but I know I can reduce that significantly with a little determination. It would help, too, if I were to finish the swim anywhere near the front, as my position in the bike and run leg merely made me the tallest midget. Time to get up with the big girls.

I was not at all tired, which means I didn’t go hard enough. Wouldacouldashoulda. "Almost" only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.
Final placing: 3rd in my age group, 15th out of the 92 women, and 109 overall
Swim – horrendous. Something like 249 out of all sprint competitors (311). It felt like an hour.
Bike: only two women in the entire sprint event beat me on the bike. And I wasn’t even trying. Honest!!!! So, I’ve learned that the bike isn’t the most important part.
Run: not bad considering my gimpy state. I think I was 13th out of all the women or something. No more soccer.

I tried to scrub the numbers off my biceps and calves. It worked. Jonny laughed at me and said something about being able to scrub off the ink but not the shame. Ah, bike racers. He means well.

So yeah, now I’m obsessed with beating my past performance (clearly not difficult) and applying energy to training while maintaining a sane life. This will be a new twist. I’m excited to learn a new sport and look forward to doing a few events with you guys!

After loading the bike into the car, I went to Donna Romeo's house down the street for a yummy brunch, then home to lay in the backyard in a totally-not-high-performance-but-brand-spankin-new Lisa Lozano bikini (yeah, the Lozano family is incredibly talented) with Zipper. Life is good.
And my foot hurts.