What was I thinking?
The Beginning
In February I was perusing the triathlon events in northern California to see if any races that fell on a Saturday interested me. You see, I like to have a goal to gear my fitness aspirations towards. It helps to kick me out of bed in the morning and get out on the road. I found the XTERRA TAHOE CITY triathlon scheduled for Saturday, June 25, 2011. Perfect right? Well, almost. The organizers only had two distances. The short course was a 750 meter swim, 13 mile bike ride, and a 3 mile run. The long course was twice all of that, a mile swim, 22 mile bike course, and 6 mile run, all of it off road in the mountains around Tahoe. I checked out the race profile of the course to determine elevation gain over the various courses. The first 2 miles of the bike course gained a little over 1,000 feet straight up the side of mountain, then you run around a couple loops in the upper alpine meadows, and blaze down that same mountain. The run did the same thing, up the side of the mountain, a short trot through the woods and back down the mountain. Easy enough right? How hard could it be? What was I thinking!
I was sufficiently scared by the course that I put into play a rigid training schedule that would prepare me for the difficulty of the course. However, that schedule came in direct conflict with work on more than one occasion. I found the urge to get into work early in the morning was winning out over the training regimen I had set forth. Not everyday mind you. I did my fair share of training and improved a great deal from where I was at when I signed up. That should be good enough right? Wrong.
The day before the race Kaci and I headed to
Reno to setup camp at the Peppermill. I got my gear all set up and prepped for the next day and we headed out for dinner. The morning of the race, we got up at 5:00 am and drove over the
Tahoe City where I checked in and got my race numbers and other junk. As I was checking in, I heard a couple people discussing the frigid water temperature. I had checked the water temperature online a few days prior and it was supposed to be between 51 and 53 degrees. Not being too familiar with water temperatures prior to the race I wasn’t sure what that meant and how my wetsuit would work. The couple discussing it also happened to mention that a few people had checked in, tested the water with their feet and went home straight away. That was my first clue that some may be wrong with this scenario and/or my thought process.
The Swim
Quickly, I set up my transition station, got my wet suit on and head down for race briefing which was my second warning that this race would not be what I anticipated. I stood on the beach looking at the other racers and for the first time realized that all of these people were somehow different that me. Could it be their physique, I mean, they all seemed incredibly fit. I could see six pack abs through a wet suit and bulging biceps, and that was on a female. Then men were just down right intimidating. I looked for other balding little men with somewhat of a belly so that I could be with my own kind. I found one, he was like 59 and doing the short course. Crap. This is a real deal race with point earning potential and a championship at the end of the series. Who cares right? I was not competing with these people. I was only there to finish the distance and enjoy the experience. What was I thinking?
I got in the water to climatize and wow, that water was COLD. Almost instantly my feet and hands began to ache. I promptly got out. Quite a few of the racers were discussing the water and more than a few donned neoprene booties, gloves, and swim caps in addition to their wetsuits. One short course guy asked me, how long till your face, hands and feet go numb, as if I, a “long course guy,” was somehow able to answer that question based on my vast experience. I told him my guess was about 4-5 minutes or half way to the first buoy. He smiled nervously and walked away.
Well the time was at hand, the horn blew and the long course crew took off I like a rocket. Hands and feet were flailing, heads bobbing, and water splashing. The race was underway. Within minutes I forgot about my cold hands and feet, not because they were numb, but because my face hurt so bad it took my breath away along with every thought in my head. About half way to first buoy, a guy next to me raised his hand and was done. A jet ski motored up next to him and carted him off to the warmth of the beach. I wasn’t sure what to make of that so I kept swimming.
I kept swimming and swimming and swimming. It is during those times that you get a good bit of thinking done. My thoughts mostly consisted of snow, ice, freezing solid and the Titanic. I suppose I saw myself hitting an iceberg and sinking to the bottom of the lake as I contemplated quitting the race after just one lap in that water. Then, I recalled a phrase I had heard uttered numerous times, “pain is all about mind over matter, if you don’t mind, it won’t matter.” So I swam some more. I completed the first lap, ran/hobbled/limped across the beach and jumped back in for a second lap. This time it was a little easier. My feet, hands, and face finally went numb, the pain subsided, I stopped thinking and swam to the end. Getting out of the water I was bit light headed so I slowly trotted to the transition area, doffed the wetsuit, donned my cycling gear and headed for the steep mountain trail as if the water was not warning enough. What was I thinking?
The Bike
Just like my naiveness regarding the water temperature, I don’t think I fully anticipated what that 1,000+ foot climb was going to be like in such a short distance. I would have had difficulty with that climb on a paved road but this was a fire road composed mostly of fist sized rocks that reek havoc on any amount of riding momentum. More that once I had to stop and walk up various portions that were too hard for me to ride up. I admit my mountain biking skills are still a little on the new side. My bike did not help much. I am still riding a bike I got for free about 7 years ago. It is a Motiv Stonegrinder (ironicly name as is was the stones that were grinding me to a complete hault in this race). Motiv is a Walmart/Sam’s club brand that is generally intended for little boys to pedal around the neighborhood. I had replaced some of the components with better quality pieces which I also got for free from a multitude of sources. The front suspension is horrible and worn out and there is no rear suspension.
As I was slowly ascending the first two miles I caught another brief glimpse of what a person should have in order to do well in this race. Since standing on the beach, I had started building a mental checklist of things I needed to obtain and/or work on in order to improve my performance in situations like these. So far my list included, neoprene cap and booties, bigger lungs, tighter abs, bulging biceps and now a new bike. A race front runner blew past me doing about 40 mph coming down the mountain I was going up. I never even heard him. My bike was clanking and clinking and creaking over the rocks so much that it was all I could to just to hang on. This guy flew by with nothing but a WHOOOOSHHHHH. No clanks, no creaks, no sound really at all, just a very nice, and probably very expensive, full suspension rig that was set-up for the course and piloted by a rider with considerable skill. Hey, there is another thing for my checklist, mountain biking skills to match the bike.
The rest of the ride went off without incident until about 10 miles in. I ran out of water. I started getting really worn down and tired. Of course with those symptoms comes those Titanic thoughts again. For a couple miles I began looking at other trails that headed down the mountain and once again thought about quitting this infernal and seemingly absurd race. Then, IT appeared. Like a beacon in the wilderness that would no doubt be my saving grace. It sat in a patch of snow next to the course (yes, there was a significant amount of snow on the course). Some poor rider had lost a water bottle. I stopped and starred at it then looked around. No other rider was around so I grabbed the water bottle and spun off the lid to see if anything was left. Sure enough, the bottle was half full of electrolyte replacement fuel. It smelled fresh and was still cold thus is had to be from a rider in this race, right? I could hear Bear Grylls telling me to drink it, after all this was survival. I agreed with the non-existent Bear and downed the delicious fluid and thanked that unknown rider out loud. I felt much better, threw the water bottle in my pack, hopped back on my trusty but creaky steed and pressed on. I rattled and clinked and creaked my way to the bottom of the mountain, bouncing off rocks and ruts, using my knees as shocks and cruised into the transition area glad to be done with that section of the course. I changed shoes, downed a Powerbar and some Gu energy gel, drank a bunch of water and headed out for the run. My whole body seemed the screamed, what are you thinking, just end it now, go back, sit down, no one will care, but I could not do it. So I ran.
The Run
The run went without incident. I trotted, jogged, and occasionally walked up the mountain and back down it. Running back down allowed for an awesome view of the area. Lake Tahoe in all her splendor gleamed and glinted before me. The outside temperature was in the low seventies and I could here the wind in the trees and see the snowed capped mountains around the lake. There was not a cloud in the sky. It was truly beautiful. I passed the transition area, crossed the highway and ran down the final few hundred yards toward the modest finish area. With that, the race was over.
It was so all so traumatic and stressful and yet it ended without much fanfare a short few hours after it all started without. The other racers milled about, ate food, talked about their times, complained about the course and began to pack up their gear. What was my time? I am not sure. I never looked and I don’t care. For me, it was a huge lesson. I have a list of improvements that need to be made before attempting this race again: new bike, new gear, more water (now that I have another water bottle...thanks again my forever unknown brother), new legs, new arms, and new shoulders. Will it happen before next time? Maybe.
The End
