SOMA Race Report: The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

WARNING: Really really LONG race report.

Race day, God sent me a reality check. I think I was getting just a little TOO confident with all my recent running PRs, and it was time for a reminder that I'm still a newbie to this whole triathlon thing. Not that I was expecting to place in this race, but I did have some high expectations for myself, and despite knowing better, I had begun to focus more on time goals than on my original (and most important) goal of finishing the race in and of itself.

Suffice it to say, I finished. Check that one off the list. But not in what I would consider Big Dawg, JFT² fashion. Rather than finishing strong, I limped in, whipped and dejected. More on how I got there follows…

The day started off as planned. We woke at 4 am (wow, that's early) to eat some PB&J sandwiches. Add to that a ½ banana and some water & Heed, a shower, and last minute gear checks, and it was time to head down to race start in the dark. Luckily, the guys at Red Rock Co put on a great race – the transition area was extremely well lit and humming with activity. When we'd racked our bikes the day before, each athlete's area on the racks was clearly marked with the bib number, so it was obvious where your area was. I dropped the rest of my gear in my spot, and went to one of the myriad of volunteers doing body marking throughout the transition area. Then it was back to my spot to lay everything out and get my wetsuit on (at least halfway). The only hitch to the whole pre-race routine was that they ended up clearing the transition before any of the waves started. Maybe this is the way it always works (like I said, I'm new to this whole tri thing) but since I was in the last wave (which was easily 25 minutes after the first wave), I wasn't really planning on needing to be out of transition before they could start the race. This put me on edge a little bit, but I pretty much had my gear laid out and my bike was ready to go, so I grabbed my goggles and swim cap and headed to the swim start.

Jason and I had done the test swim on Saturday, so I knew what to expect from the swim entry and exit, and the water. The water temp was fine (they said it was 68) but the water itself was kinda gnarly. Dirty and green, but I tried not to think about it. The swim had a floating start – each wave would enter off the swim bleachers (about 4 foot steps, with about a 30" rise), and then swim about 30 yards to the east where the start buoys were. Each wave started 3 minutes apart, with the Quarterman men and women waves going first, followed by the 6 Half Ironman waves. Jason was in the first Half IM wave, I was in the last. I was able to see him in the water and blew him a kiss, and then they were gone. I struck up a conversation with some of the other athletes in my wave around me, and tried to relax for my wave.

Before I knew it, we were climbing onto the bleachers, and dropping into the water. It wasn't cold, and I started making my way to the swim start. I felt calm and relaxed – but tried to stay towards the back of the group. Soon, the gun went off, and it was time to go. I don't really know exactly what happened from here, but it went south pretty quickly. I know I got dunked at least once (I think I was swum over) and knocked and bumped repeatedly. I had a terrible time finding any open water, and I couldn't catch my breath. I was breathing every other stroke, and struggling. At some point before even the first buoy, I decided I should just flip over on my back and try to calm down. I'm not sure if this was a good idea or a bad idea, but from that point forward it seemed like I spent more time on my back than on my stomach. The rest of the swim was a blur of just trying to get it done – and it got progressively worse. I never got to the point of even being able to breathe bi-laterally with any consistency (I just couldn't hold my breath for even 3 strokes) and the more I breathed on one side, the more crooked I swam. I couldn't catch my breath at all, and on every exhale I could hear my chest rattling as if it were full of congestion. On at least a couple of occasions, I noticed the kayaks starting to head my way to make sure I was ok. I flipped on to my back at least a dozen times (I think) and even at the end, rounding the final buoy with only 50 meters to go, I couldn't swim freestyle or even breast stroke (I just couldn't get enough breath) but had to flip on my back and double backstroke in. I felt horrible, desperate, pathetic. I wanted it to be over. Thanks again to great race organization, there were plenty of volunteers on the swim bleachers to help athletes out of the water. I had two pairs of hands grabbing my arms and pulling me up each step. Since I was so far back in the swim (being the last wave, too) there were far more volunteers than athletes, so I'd barely gotten on to the pavement and hadn't even found my zipper when I was grabbed by two wet suit strippers.

"Are you okay?" I nodded – "I'm fine"

"Give me your goggles" one ordered me – the next thing I knew, my suit was off my top. They grabbed my arms – "sit down on your butt" on the ground I went, and off came my wet suit. They grabbed my arms again, pulled me up, handed me my suit, goggles and cap and pushed me towards transition. I started moving in the right direction – I wouldn't call it walking, I wouldn't call it running. I was just glad to be done with the swim.

The transition area was full of volunteers directing traffic. I found my bike, toweled off as best I could, grabbed my helmet, glasses, pump, socks, shoes – Wow, that was the worst swim of my life – I kept thinking. Okay, shake it off – time to ride.

I started jogging with my bike toward the bike exit – "Careful on the cement" someone yelled. I made it out to the bike mount area, climbed on, and just tried to focus on bringing my heart rate down, calming down, and working on my nutrition.

It was hard – I felt like I was so far behind because of my swim – it was hard to think about just relaxing and riding – especially with the pros and age groupers whipping past me as they began their second, or maybe even 3^rd lap. The bike course was 3 loops, so I knew I was going to get passed quite a bit by the faster folks. Still, it was hard not to feel like I was going too slow when they passed me buy. The first part of the ride went basically uneventfully – I still had a hard time catching my breath, was coughing, and my nose was running like crazy. I tried to start drinking some water about 15 minutes into the ride, and started sipping on my 1^st bottle of Sustained Energy after about 25 minutes. The nutrition was tough going – my stomach was in knots from the swim, and putting anything in wasn't helping matters. The first loop went by quickly – I estimated just over an hour – but I looked down and realized that I hadn't been drinking enough of my nutrition, and I'd forgotten all about my Endurolytes. I downed a bunch of Endurolytes at the start of the 2^nd loop, and that went over like a ton of bricks in my stomach. At least I had the entertainment to see one of the male age groupers standing on the side of the road, hanging it all out for everyone to see, peeing. Nice.

Lap two went similarly. I saw a LOT of people changing tires on the side of the road during this ride – I just kept pleading "please no flat tires, I've had a bad enough day already" and that seemed to work. I felt like I was regaining some sense of control during the bike – I was riding well and maintaining a reasonable heart rate. Probably slightly higher than I should have, but still within what I was thinking was reasonable. My stomach wasn't getting any better though, and I continued to have problems breathing. Every time I took a deep breath, I went into coughing fits, which only made my stomach hurt more. It was easier if I just kept my breathing shallow. I was consciously thinking about getting my nutrition in, but was having a tough time doing it. I knew I should have been finished with my first bottle of Sustained Energy by mid-way through the 2^nd loop, but I was having a tough time. Finally at about mile 32, I ditched the remaining bit at a bottle drop (I'd probably gotten about 300 calories in, at best from that), and switched to my bottle of Heed.

The Heed at least tasted better. The third lap came and I started trading places with a 19 year old woman on the bike. We just kept jack-rabbitting on the straight away – she would pass me, and then I would find myself only about a bike length behind her, so then I knew I had to either pass her or fall back. I finally passed her for good at about mile 46. A couple miles later, I tried to choke down a Raspberry Hammer gel – I got about 2/3 of it in, before I couldn't stand it anymore. That and the ½ bottle of Heed I'd been able to get in brought my caloric intake to about 450 (if that), as opposed to the 600+ I should have taken in on the bike. My stomach was cramped (I could feel it as I tried to stretch out in my aero bars) but I tried to convince myself as I was finishing the bike that the run was going to be AWESOME.

So much for positive self-talk! J I got into transition, and had to weave my way around the Quarterman athletes beginning to clear their bikes & gear out of transition. Helmet off, hat on, change shoes, grab the fuel belt & race belt. Oops – porta potty stop. Try as I might to do the "triathlete thing" and pee on the bike, I couldn't do it, so the stop in transition was necessary. Tie shoes, grab belts on and go. Or try to go.

"Stay to the left" the volunteers yelled – I was joining the stream of runners who were rounding the corner and beginning their 2^nd lap, as I was starting my first. Ick. I made it about 25 yards before I made the fateful decision to drop my fuel belt. With my stomach in knots already, I wasn't sure I could run at all, let alone with that around my waist. I guess that could have been considered littering and cause for DQ, but I guess luckily I was still close to transition, amongst a big crowd of spectators, and just dropped it in a tree well right in from of the transition zone. Unfortunately, it was gone by the time I was done with my race, but I knew that's the chance I was taking.

Right from the get go on the run I felt terrible. I knew I hadn't had enough food, and I felt sick to my stomach. Luckily once I dropped my belt, I started to feel a bit better after a ½ mile, but my chest was bad and it was all I could do to shuffle along. I was trying to keep myself around AeT, but it was hard. My HR would float up to +10, I'd pull it back, shuffle shuffle shuffle. I made it to the first aid station at mile one & grabbed a water, coke, and put a gu in my pocket. Water was fine, coke was not. Okay, lesson learned there. I tried to take some of the gu about a mile later, but that went over like the Coke, so I knew I was down to only water.

I saw women passing me, running strong, and I watched them jealously. That should be me, I thought – I should be running strong. But it was all I could do to maintain a shuffle, walk through the aid stations, and start going again. I started up a conversation with a guy around mile 3 (his mile 10) – he was saying we were in the home stretch, and I said, "not for me – I still have 10 to go" yikes – I really didn't know if I was going to make it that far. I was beginning to doubt I had even the mental toughness to stick it out. Shuffle shuffle shuffle – past the horse barns, over the bridge again, then on the LOOONG (way TOO long, if you ask me) out and back on the dusty dirt & rock trail. Shuffle shuffle shuffle – I was fighting a side stitch / cramp off and on, sometimes it would hurt so much I would walk, it would fade, I'd start shuffling, and it would start up again. I kept thinking it was my body's way of reminding me to lean forward (shoulders over the balls of your feet!) – that was the only way I could keep it at bay. Right around mile 5.5, Jason caught up with me. It was his mile 12. I was walking.

I'd known going in to the race that with the wave timing and Jason's speed on the bike, there was a possibility that he would catch me on the run where he would be finishing and I'd still have a loop to go. I didn't think I would feel as badly as I did. He walked with me a bit, and I told him how horribly my race had been going. He gave me a pep talk, told me to keep going, told me he knew I could do it. He was having a great race, and I urged him to run on – he was going to beat his goal of sub-6:00 by a fair bit, and I was so happy for him. He handed me one of his flasks of Heed and off he went. I plodded and shuffled along.

I managed to shuffle the whole way from mile 6.5 to 7.5 without stopping, walked through the aid station, and then shuffled along to the next one. I kept recalculating the time I needed to do the 2^nd lap in if I was going to come close to a 6:30, but I knew it had slipped away. I kept thinking, "if only I could close my eyes, I could gut this out better" – but you can't really run with your eyes closed, can you? By the time I got to mile 9, I was hurting. I walked through the aid station, and had to berate myself into starting up again. The sun was threatening to break through the clouds. Up until this point, it had been perfect race weather – warm, but not hot, overcast skies and no wind. I knew I didn't want to be out on the course in the sun. I shuffled on to mile 10, and when I hit it, I just couldn't do it anymore. I walked, and somewhere in my mind a switch flipped and there would be no more running / jogging / shuffling today. My stomach was done, and it was just less painful to walk.

Just before mile 11, I saw Jason walking towards me on the bridge. I hadn't wanted him to come find me – he'd exerted himself quite a bit on his race, and here he was putting more mileage on his legs. We walked and talked a bit – he'd brought me some more water. I told him to stay and wait for me while I did the long out & back – there was no reason for him to do that extra mileage. I don't know how long it took – I think it was a mile – but he was there waiting, cheering people on, when I got back. I tried to shuffle a little on the out & back, but that was a bad idea. I realized as I was out there that even when I was walking, I was taking little gasping breaths, and even walking my HR was where I would normally see it for an 11:00 mile. I tried shuffling again when I met up with Jason, but just couldn't keep it going. Walking was just going to have to do.

We talked some more in the last mile and a half – he told me about his race. He'd been able to pace the entire run with a fire fighter from Phoenix, and basically ran the same pace as our PR ½ marathon, despite walking with me for a bit. I talked about how disappointed I was, how I'd wanted so badly to have a good race today. I cried a bit. He told me how proud he was of me for keeping going, for finishing. I didn't feel proud – I felt like I'd let myself and everyone who was pulling for me down. I know that's not true – I know that finishing is itself a huge accomplishment. But I also know I didn't do what I'd gone to Arizona to do. I wasn't able to race, and I was disappointed.

Jason walked with me all the way to the final turn to the finish chute. I managed a smile and jogged the final straight away down to the chute. I think I may have even managed to wipe my running nose before the photographer snapped the finish line photo. Someone put a medal around my neck.

Finally, the race was over. I could stop.

My official time: 6:53:31.

Swim: 53:39 (2:41 / 100m)
T1: 3:38
Bike: 3:12:59 (17.4 mph)
T2: 5:07
Run: 2:38:11 (12:05 pace)

Now that it's over and I've had some time to reflect, I'm working on focusing on the positive aspects. Every athlete has bad days – mine just happened to be race day. I know they happen, and it doesn't make me any less of an athlete. I'm going to learn from it and move on, and be proud of the fact that I stuck it out, even when I thought about stopping, even when I just wanted the race to be over. Even when I doubted my ability to go on, I did go on, I kept putting one foot in front of the other, and finished. Many people don't even dare to begin, and here I was finishing. I have every right to my gear, my t-shirt and my medal. I might not have been fast, I might not have had a great day, but through my pain, my sweat and yes, my tears, I earned it.