Saturday, July 26, 1997
1.2 mile swim (ha!)
56 mile bike
13.1 mile runCruising along around the 44 mile mark of the bike at the Half-Vineman, a searing pinpoint of pain on my belly served notice that I'd displeased a local yellowjacket. Don't ask me how, but the angry insect somehow found its way inside my singlet. I flicked him away and pulled the stinger from my flesh, laughing wryly to myself; what is it about this race? I'd like to do it once without getting stung!
I'd already had two close calls today. In the first 3 or 4 miles an enormous bumblebee bumbled into my helmet and thunked down over my chest, and a little later a smaller one glanced off of my Oakleys. I escaped those encounters unscathed, but the yellowjacket got lucky.
In a way, I, too, was lucky. That sting sort of woke me up. Midway through the bike I had begun to wilt a bit, even seriously entertaining thoughts of finishing up the bike and then bailing on the run. I'd been feeling lousy in the days before the race (what else is new?), and when I got going on the bike I failed to heed the practical inner voice that kept admonishing me to slow down and take it easy. All right, so I'm a hopeless adrenaline junky, I admit it. I get on my bike in a race and I can't help but put the hammer down (as long as there aren't any enormous hills to slow me down). Consequently, by the time I was rolling through Geyserville around 32 miles, I was feeling pretty bad.
"No way, there's just no way, I can't run after this; my legs are shot, my head is fuzzy, just forget it. Just accept it and finish up the bike. Remember, you've got Canada to think about; don't leave your Ironman out here on this course."
At that point I eased back on the throttle somewhat. Then that bee got in my singlet.
I'd had an exceptional swim, due in no small part to the fact that the swim was one-way downstream this year. The bridge construction going on just above Johnson's Beach necessitated the course change, and I had no complaints. The narrow channel left for the river made it impossible to have two-way swim traffic going through the opening, so we all hiked or drove a mile upriver to start at Burke's Beach.
The Clyde women started in the 13th (and penultimate) wave, along with the women 40-44. The beach looked almost desolate by the time our little group lined up for the start, now that the majority of athletes (and their supporters) had already taken off downstream. The river was ridiculously shallow at this point; attempting to do butterfly for a warmup nearly rewarded me with a faceful of riverbed, oops! We were out there waiting for the horn, making jokes about running all the way down the river.
The horn sounded and we were off. I was swimming alongside tri-buddy Karen Wells who is a much stronger swimmer, and I wanted to try to stay with her as long as possible. I lost sight of Karen early on, but the motivation to remain somewhere in her general vicinity kept me stroking along furiously.
This had to be the most civilized swim I've ever done. Our wave wasn't huge, and as usual I had lined up near the front on the left side. I think I only experienced contact with another swimmer two or three times, tops. Right on! That left me free to concentrate on good technique. I visualized being towed straight down the river by a boat to get the feeling of pure linear speed and momentum. Seemed to work pretty well. The pack spread out quite nicely, I was churning along, the sun was beginning to emerge from the fog and overcast, things are going great!
Cruising through the channel at the bridge construction site was a hoot because there was a serious current pushing us through there. Wooohoooo, what a ball! This must be what it feels like to be a really fast swimmer! Of course, beyond the channel where the current died down, you got to feel like a slug again, darn it. But the finish line isn't too far now, so stay smooth and strong, focus!
Churn, churn, splash, breathe, sight; almost there. Take the short line here, those girls are going too wide, there you go, almost to the beach. OK, now, stand up, hit your split button....WHOA! Yeah, that swim was seriously short (the current didn't hurt either). 27 minutes? I don't think that was 1.2 miles...
Peel off the longjohn in the water. As usual, hordes of athletes stream past me as I struggle with the neoprene, but in a few seconds I'm free and carrying it up through the timing chute with me. My transition row is straight up from the swim exit; I had put my Keds out at the end of the chute anyway, 'cause that gravel is nasty, but now I just grab 'em and run. OUCH! Yow, oops, yuck, ow, ouch....
*whew* Drop the Q-Roo, step in the water basin, wipe the feet on the towel. Go through the usual motions---dry off a little, pull on the socks, the bike shorts, the cleats; Oakleys on, helmet on. Dump out the basin, stuff the towels, wetsuit, etc. into it and shove the whole shebang into my numbered bag. Pull it tight, now grab the bike and crunch through the gravel with it. Ugh, should I roll the bike over this crap? Should I carry it? Athletes are employing both techniques, but neither is very satisfactory. I *knew* it, I knew I was actually better off last year when I was "stuck" at the far end of the TA, darn it!
Crunch, crunch, crunch....when at last I reach the solid asphalt at the end, I joke to a nearby athlete, "Geez, I hope I still have some cleats left!" "Yeah, that's pretty nasty stuff," she agrees. Ugh!
What a crowd there is heading up the hill to the road...whew, it's dangerous! One guy hadn't set his bike in a low enough gear and nearly fell over into several of us. Whoooops! Snake around the confusion, try to get out of here in one piece. All right, up on the road now, let's go!