The wave preceding the women 17-39 takes off and into the lake I splash for 30 yards or so to warm up. Back to the line for the countdown. Figuring that, since I'm doing the long course, I'm probably racing with a bunch of real hardbodies, I seed myself conservatively toward the back. Big mistake! The horn sounds and I'm instantly embroiled in an unusually slow, crowded swim start. Oh well. I only get clocked once, but it's a struggle to avoid further bodily harm. I remain calm and unhurried. "It's gonna be a long day," I tell myself. "Don't sweat it, just work your way out of this mosh pit and find your stroke." This takes quite a while, but what the heck; I've got all day.The swim generally goes smoothly. I can't help but laugh when I find myself in a familiar position halfway out: the really good swimmers are off in a pack ahead of me, I've dropped the really lousy swimmers in my wake, and here am I, all alone, smack in between. Occasionally I catch stragglers from earlier waves, weaving sharply to avoid their hapless thrashing and poor navigation. Amazing how a single struggling swimmer in the middle of a lake will always manage to swim right into you!
I feel strong and smooth throughout the swim, breathing easily and bilaterally, taking long strokes, following through, rotating my body. I don't worry about time, just form and efficiency; all I'm concerned about is not tiring myself out for what's to come. In the last 200 yards I'm hindered by an annoying woman who keeps trying to draft me but invariably ends up swimming over my legs. Each time she does this I give a vigorous kick to discourage and shake her off, veering sharply to change my line, but she keeps coming back for more. You know, I really don't mind being drafted (it's actually rather flattering), but I do mind when someone does it so invasively. I keep hoping she'll come just close enough one time so that I can make my feelings clear...
Approaching the ramp now, my arms just starting to tire a little bit. Good, that means I've swum just hard enough but not too hard. Now, think about what you need to do next; do *not* get caught up in the adrenalin and forget to stop and remove your wetsuit in the water. Remember that you've pinned your swim tag to the front of your singlet (which I'm wearing under my wetsuit). Hit your split button the moment you stop to strip off the wetsuit.
OK, here we go; don't stop swimming too soon, just about 10 feet from the edge of the lake. Hit the split button--look at that, 37:54; pretty good, I had guessed around 37 minutes for my swim, and considering the lousy start, that's pretty darned close. Off goes the wetsuit; feels like it takes forever, but it's probably only about 20 seconds before I'm carrying it with me out of the water and up the timing chute. I hear Skippy yelling at me as I pause at the bottom of the stairs and fumble with my beat-up old Keds, slipping them on for the run through the transition area. "37:54, Skip, almost right on time!" I exhult. "Go, TriBaby!" she cheers back.
Up the stairs through a cheering throng of spectators, I begin the long trek to my row in the transition area. It's a critical moment, because I have to make a decision right now: Hit the bathroom and clock a transition time longer than Scott Tinley's career, or risk heading out on the bike with a little more liquid tonnage than I find comfortable. A few more jogging steps and my mind is made up; I make a beeline for the bathroom. Ah, a haven of peace and relative quiet amid the tumult of the transition area, but I don't spend a great deal of time appreciating it. In and out, boom! Straight down the row to my bike, and boy, do I feel better!
OK, don't rush. It's too late to have a quick transition now anyway, so just take your time and make yourself as comfortable as possible. Go ahead, be a wuss, pull on the bike shorts; you may be used to 25 miles in just your tri briefs, but 56 is a whole different ball game.
I'm practically dry by now, so yanking on the shorts presents relatively little difficulty. Socks, cleats, helmet, sunglasses, jam a PopTart into the singlet pocket, hop on and go! I hit the split button rolling out of the transition area: 7:16. Hmmm. Not too bad, all things considered.