Post by oulobo on Aug 15, 2005 22:16:57 GMT -5
Thanks to Mark for the idea for this post as a follow up to his. I thought this might be a bit of a commentary from a newbie point of view.
A personal commentary on my 1/2 IM experience.
I was unlucky. I had set a goal in my tri training for an olympic distance event, but the weekend I was to race I was called out of town for business. I, however, refused to let my training go untested. I decided that the Greater Cleveland Triathlon would be my trial. It was a 1/2 IM event and a good jump above what I was training for, especially for someone that had never competed in any biking events and nothing more than a 5k in running, but I figured I would aim high. I had been training bricks almost every night and was in the pool every other night. I had the notion that this would be a real trial, but I could gut it out. Everyone that races at first gave me a sideways glance and then encouragement when they heard me say that the 1/2 was my goal, which was better than non-athletes telling me I was insane and betting on whether I would finish, much less make it to work the next day.
On the day of the race, the butterflies were there, but they were subdued. I mean the only thing I was competing against was myself and the clock on the wall. Still the prospect of a 6-8 hour strenuous workout was daunting to say the least. My transition set up was arranged in perfect order. I had run through my motions twice and I had all the fluids that I could hold in me already. I grabbed my cap and goggles and set off to the swim start.
The start was a mess. The storm of the previous night had shifted all the buoys and the officials were doing their best to get things modified. We finally got the course finalized and off we went. I swam at a moderate pace hearing all the people that gave me advice telling me to conserve my energy for the dry land segments. The water was a little choppy, with no breakwalls, and the buoys we were told to sight off of were hard to see and easily obscured by waves, but each stroke I knew I was going to finish. I made my zig-zag pattern down the beach to the swim finish.
I got to T1 and started gearing up with a muted sense of urgency. With the distance I was going on, I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed. I secured food to my jersey, gels to my bike and my helmet to my head. I pulled my bike from the rack and headed to the bike start. The first pedal stroke and my mind was saying I was going to finish.
Things were smooth until the dread Mulberry hill. I was cruising along on a little encouragement from the recent aid station, and then I saw it loom before me. I shifted all the way down and put my mind and legs to it. Every stroke felt like I moved an inch, but it was an inch I need to go to get to the finish, and I was going to get to the finish. I was hovering somewhere between anaerobic and hyperventilation when I felt my strokes pick up and the hill peak. I knew from others I had talked to that this was the worst. I was glad it was over.
The rest of the trip had me cussing at every hill I saw coming and in ecstasy as I coasted down each other side. The gray overcast weather was a blessing in that no sunscreen was needed, no sun to blind me and no extra heat and haze. The one bit of rain that hit was a gentle sprinkle, just enough to cool off and clean off. I made sure to thank every officer and aid station worker along the way, and did my best to contain and carry all my garbage. The worst parts were the strain on my neck and back. I used my aerobars as much as possible, but had to take breaks when my neck and back became too fatigued to continue. Worse off I was flying a little blind. Even being local I didn't recognize most of the course and had a pleasant surprise when I realized how close to the beach I really was. My tripometer wasn't lying after all. My body was telling me to call it a day as I got to T2, but my mind said, "You have to finish".
I grabbed some fluids ditched my helm and shades and headed out on the run. My ankles screamed at me for the adventure I was putting them through, but they were screaming so loud, that I thought I made out the words torture and sadist. I had read that some triathletes don't bother to stop at restrooms during races, but I don't think I'm all that comfortable with that yet (if ever), so I made a pit stop at a convenient park toilet along the run course.
At about the 1 mile mark I was cursed with a stitch. I knew it was going to happen. It was the curse of the last power bar from the bike, but I figured the energy would be worth the pain. I ran it out during a conversation with another competitor, where I again was given the "you must be a little crazy" look when I explained this was my first 1/2 IM and my first run of this distance in competition. I saw a few club members cheering me on at the next aid station and that gave me a boost, but I saw a few frontrunners coming into the end of their run and that hurt.
As I went on I hit a nice zone. I made it to about mile 7 and disaster hit. I had gone the whole bike without getting off to walk and wanted to finish the run without walking, but instead I crashed like a five year old on a bumper car. As I trotted to a walk, I tried to figure out what just happened. I knew I had enough fluids and electrolytes (water and Gatorade at the aid stations), so I guess it must be food. I hadn't eaten since a gel before T2. All I had were three gels on my race belt and no water to take them with. I didn't relish the next mile with my mouth stuck shut from the syrup. Then I realized that there was a Fig Newton in my jersey that I absently threw in from the swag bag at registration. It was the most valuable thing I have ever seen. I thought I saw a glow about it and choirs of angels singing as I pulled from my jersey pouch. The singing promptly stopped as I immediately tore it open and devoured it like a rabid piranha (if that is possible).
That was just what I needed. I was able to stride out of my walk with renewed will and body, and begin the journey to the next aid station and something to wash away the feeling of chewing 5 packs of crackers dipped in maple syrup. I don't think I ever felt so relieved as I did when I saw that station. The question was "Gatorade or water", the answer was "Everything you got". I took a GU gel, a Gatorade and 2 waters, and vowed to do the same at every aid station for the rest of the course, if they didn't have a gel I was lucky enough to brought a few extra on my belt. I just kept thinking, with this I can get to the finish line.
I found a good pace and was able to suppress the continuing and increasing protests from my ankles that had recently been joined by my knees (having a few screws in the one made it extremely pestersome). I kept looking at landmarks and remembering how far was left. Once I hit that last stretch of the beach I heard my self say we're really going to finish. At which point I think I actually answered, "What do you mean REALLY."
It was great to see the lake in view and the people watching us run to the finish line as I looked all tore up and in a mess. They all seemed to nod like they knew. I saw the last turn and all the people saying, "good job" and "you did it". It was nice to hear the beep of the timing computer as it read my race chip, and hear my name across the PA system. They took the chip gave me a medal and handed me a Gatorade and a banana. I promptly found the first parking abutment I could, fell onto it and started to verbally soothe my knees and ankles, assuring them that I would never do this to them again . . . . for a little while, and I thought to myself, quite simply, I finished.
A personal commentary on my 1/2 IM experience.
I was unlucky. I had set a goal in my tri training for an olympic distance event, but the weekend I was to race I was called out of town for business. I, however, refused to let my training go untested. I decided that the Greater Cleveland Triathlon would be my trial. It was a 1/2 IM event and a good jump above what I was training for, especially for someone that had never competed in any biking events and nothing more than a 5k in running, but I figured I would aim high. I had been training bricks almost every night and was in the pool every other night. I had the notion that this would be a real trial, but I could gut it out. Everyone that races at first gave me a sideways glance and then encouragement when they heard me say that the 1/2 was my goal, which was better than non-athletes telling me I was insane and betting on whether I would finish, much less make it to work the next day.
On the day of the race, the butterflies were there, but they were subdued. I mean the only thing I was competing against was myself and the clock on the wall. Still the prospect of a 6-8 hour strenuous workout was daunting to say the least. My transition set up was arranged in perfect order. I had run through my motions twice and I had all the fluids that I could hold in me already. I grabbed my cap and goggles and set off to the swim start.
The start was a mess. The storm of the previous night had shifted all the buoys and the officials were doing their best to get things modified. We finally got the course finalized and off we went. I swam at a moderate pace hearing all the people that gave me advice telling me to conserve my energy for the dry land segments. The water was a little choppy, with no breakwalls, and the buoys we were told to sight off of were hard to see and easily obscured by waves, but each stroke I knew I was going to finish. I made my zig-zag pattern down the beach to the swim finish.
I got to T1 and started gearing up with a muted sense of urgency. With the distance I was going on, I wanted to make sure I had everything I needed. I secured food to my jersey, gels to my bike and my helmet to my head. I pulled my bike from the rack and headed to the bike start. The first pedal stroke and my mind was saying I was going to finish.
Things were smooth until the dread Mulberry hill. I was cruising along on a little encouragement from the recent aid station, and then I saw it loom before me. I shifted all the way down and put my mind and legs to it. Every stroke felt like I moved an inch, but it was an inch I need to go to get to the finish, and I was going to get to the finish. I was hovering somewhere between anaerobic and hyperventilation when I felt my strokes pick up and the hill peak. I knew from others I had talked to that this was the worst. I was glad it was over.
The rest of the trip had me cussing at every hill I saw coming and in ecstasy as I coasted down each other side. The gray overcast weather was a blessing in that no sunscreen was needed, no sun to blind me and no extra heat and haze. The one bit of rain that hit was a gentle sprinkle, just enough to cool off and clean off. I made sure to thank every officer and aid station worker along the way, and did my best to contain and carry all my garbage. The worst parts were the strain on my neck and back. I used my aerobars as much as possible, but had to take breaks when my neck and back became too fatigued to continue. Worse off I was flying a little blind. Even being local I didn't recognize most of the course and had a pleasant surprise when I realized how close to the beach I really was. My tripometer wasn't lying after all. My body was telling me to call it a day as I got to T2, but my mind said, "You have to finish".
I grabbed some fluids ditched my helm and shades and headed out on the run. My ankles screamed at me for the adventure I was putting them through, but they were screaming so loud, that I thought I made out the words torture and sadist. I had read that some triathletes don't bother to stop at restrooms during races, but I don't think I'm all that comfortable with that yet (if ever), so I made a pit stop at a convenient park toilet along the run course.
At about the 1 mile mark I was cursed with a stitch. I knew it was going to happen. It was the curse of the last power bar from the bike, but I figured the energy would be worth the pain. I ran it out during a conversation with another competitor, where I again was given the "you must be a little crazy" look when I explained this was my first 1/2 IM and my first run of this distance in competition. I saw a few club members cheering me on at the next aid station and that gave me a boost, but I saw a few frontrunners coming into the end of their run and that hurt.
As I went on I hit a nice zone. I made it to about mile 7 and disaster hit. I had gone the whole bike without getting off to walk and wanted to finish the run without walking, but instead I crashed like a five year old on a bumper car. As I trotted to a walk, I tried to figure out what just happened. I knew I had enough fluids and electrolytes (water and Gatorade at the aid stations), so I guess it must be food. I hadn't eaten since a gel before T2. All I had were three gels on my race belt and no water to take them with. I didn't relish the next mile with my mouth stuck shut from the syrup. Then I realized that there was a Fig Newton in my jersey that I absently threw in from the swag bag at registration. It was the most valuable thing I have ever seen. I thought I saw a glow about it and choirs of angels singing as I pulled from my jersey pouch. The singing promptly stopped as I immediately tore it open and devoured it like a rabid piranha (if that is possible).
That was just what I needed. I was able to stride out of my walk with renewed will and body, and begin the journey to the next aid station and something to wash away the feeling of chewing 5 packs of crackers dipped in maple syrup. I don't think I ever felt so relieved as I did when I saw that station. The question was "Gatorade or water", the answer was "Everything you got". I took a GU gel, a Gatorade and 2 waters, and vowed to do the same at every aid station for the rest of the course, if they didn't have a gel I was lucky enough to brought a few extra on my belt. I just kept thinking, with this I can get to the finish line.
I found a good pace and was able to suppress the continuing and increasing protests from my ankles that had recently been joined by my knees (having a few screws in the one made it extremely pestersome). I kept looking at landmarks and remembering how far was left. Once I hit that last stretch of the beach I heard my self say we're really going to finish. At which point I think I actually answered, "What do you mean REALLY."
It was great to see the lake in view and the people watching us run to the finish line as I looked all tore up and in a mess. They all seemed to nod like they knew. I saw the last turn and all the people saying, "good job" and "you did it". It was nice to hear the beep of the timing computer as it read my race chip, and hear my name across the PA system. They took the chip gave me a medal and handed me a Gatorade and a banana. I promptly found the first parking abutment I could, fell onto it and started to verbally soothe my knees and ankles, assuring them that I would never do this to them again . . . . for a little while, and I thought to myself, quite simply, I finished.
