This was a race dominated by the numbers. The first magic number: 30. Despite being several months away from that milestone in my life, I was aged up into the 30-34 year old group. The second magic number: 57. That's what was posted on the "today, the water temperature is_____" sign hanging at the entrance to Wellington State Park. Race splits, paces, calorie intake--sure those numbers all mattered too, but that's par for any race. For the Mooseman international distance triathlon held this past Saturday, June 7, on beautiful Newfound Lake, NH, it was the magic numbers that would make this race extra special.
I arrived at Wellington State Park bright and early at 5:45 a.m. My early arrival netted me a sweet parking spot, easy access to the transition area, and open porta-potties. Scheduled for a 7:30 swim start I set up, ran for about 10 minutes down the run course, stretched and, at 7:00 began the task of getting into my brand spankin' new wetsuit. At 7:15 I took a gel and then began the long march down the beach to the swim start. Now, before going further, something needs to be said about expectations.
Based on an email that went around from the race directors the previous Monday, I was expecting chilly, but bearable 63-65 degree water. These hopes were quickly dashed when the aforementioned sign at the entrance to the park read a much chillier 57, though the race director did try to boost our spirits by telling us that it was, in fact 60 in there. A few brave souls decided to "warm up" in this ice bath, their necks red like boiled lobster when they came out of the water. This was not encouraging and all of us waiting there agreed that the "60 degree" announcement was more for encouragement than for giving accurate information. I was also expecting a hot, hot day and so had been drinking a lot of fluids.
This began to backfire when we were told that, due to heavy fog, the swim start would be delayed--initially for 15 minutes, but it really became an hour. This became a problem for my eating and drinking strategy. My transition bag was a good 400 yards from the swim start and there was no real sense of when things would be getting under way. Finally the race directors made the decision to shorten the swim course due to poor visibility (everyone, as you can imagine, was really upset by this inability to swim a full mile in the 57 degree water) and I made the decision to hurry back to transition, grab a cliff bar and some gatorade, and wolf it all down--just as things were about to get under way.
We all lined up out in the water and, just standing in it, it didn't seem so bad. But once the gun went off (okay, there was no gun, but there were bagpipes) it became a struggle. I found some open water, but just couldn't keep my face down in it without recoiling in shock and pain. The cold was taking my breath away, and I was swimming very inefficiently. After struggling for about 50 yards I slowed way down, got my breath back, and got my head in the water. One acclimated, it was fine. I found a rhythm and rounded the first buoy, now swimming nearly parallel to the beach. This stretch was fine but once I rounded the buoy to head back to shore I ran into problems. Foggy air and foggy goggles do not work well together. I was pretty far off course and having a hard time finding my way. I would take five strokes, stop, find some splashing feet, and aim for them. Eventually I got back on track, but I know my time suffered for it.
Once on shore I struggled out of my wetsuit (I need some serious practice in this department), grabbed the bike and related gear, and headed out on the course. Again I tried the "bike already in shoes method," but struggled with it more this time since I was soaking wet, making it hard to get my feet all the way in. My sunglasses had also fogged over quite a bit. This was a problem because the first leg of the bike was on some pretty terrible road and I just could not see all of the bumps (and at least try to avoid the big ones). Eventually, after a couple of miles, I settled in and my glasses cleared up. A big mistake that I had made was to use my aerobar water bottle. The roads were just so bumpy that nuun-infused fluids were splashing all over me, which wasn't contributing to the fun factor.
Between miles 10 and 18 there was some decent road to ride, but for the most part the winter had really torn things up. The last five miles or so back to the start were a real mess. At this point, my legs were so covered in nuun that they were sticking together on every pedal stroke. The bumps had even knocked my bike computer loose so that it was just hanging by a cord (now I have to replace that screw!). Needless to say, I had really lost focus at this point. I wasn't enjoying myself and just didn't have it in me to want to push the ride. Now this ends up being one of those valuable lessons learned, particularly on the mental side of racing. Everyone has to deal with the same crappy roads--the trick is to find a way to deal with it so that you can stay focused and keep riding hard. Always something to work on. Why can't I just punish my body and let my brain take the day off?
I had a nice dismount into transition and headed over to my running gear. I had laid out my flats and socks on my towel but, when I got there, discovered that one of my socks was missing. Not good. I quickly decided against going sockless on the 10k and instead took the time to dig another, unmatching sock out of my transition bag. This did not help my T2 time, but I got out of the gate and, after about 100 yards of beach running, hit the open road. I felt slow and shaky from the start, but was breathing comfortably. There was a guy right on my shoulder who was huffing and puffing like a mad man--I wanted him to pass me just so I wouldn't have to listen to it any more. Heading out it took about 2 miles for me to get my legs going, but once they did I felt a lot better. By the time I hit the turn-around I had found a good stride. Feeling a bit optimistic now I even passed a couple of people with big '29's written on their calves. I regained some hope (which had more or less been dashed as everyone blew by me on the bike course) of placing in my age group.
With two and a half miles to go I found myself getting a bit lazy. The dude in front of me (the huffer and puffer) was not in my age group, and there was no one on my tail, so I just settled into an easy rhythm. Again, the brain thing. I could have pushed, and I should have pushed, but I didn't, except for the last mile. I picked up Mr. Huff and Puff and a couple of other people at the end and crossed the finish in 2:18:01.
With the race over, the beauty of the freezing lake now revealed itself--cold soak time! Standing in the chilly water felt really good, as did grabbing some food and assorted beverages. I hung around for an hour or so and, with the unofficial race results posted, discovered that I was, in reality 30 years old. Apparently someone had been misleading me all these years. I still wouldn't have placed with the 29 year olds, and finished 38th overall and 7 out of 80 in my new age group. I wasn't thrilled with my performance, mostly because I was well aware of my own mental breakdowns.
Now I'm starting down IM Rhode Island in five weeks knowing that I may be racing with the tridectarians and so I'll need to step it up. People always told me that turning thirty was rough, but I never expected it to be quite like this.
