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And don't forget a towel for heaven's sake...by Everyman Tri

Editor's Note: Next week we want to feature your most interesting race reports.

Did you have a terrific day or a horrible train wreck of a day? Did something crazy happen to you or did you have to overcome a a huge problem just to finish?

Click HERE to send us your best race day story or a link to it so we can share it with the rest of the team.

I didn’t think that a “Sprint” triathlon consisting of a 500-meter swim, a 15-mile bike and a 4-mile run would be a big deal, but boy was I wrong.

I showed up at the start of the Louisville Legacy Triathlon early. I had a mountain bike, three set’s of clothes (one for swimming, one for biking, one for running), and two water bottles filled with warm water, a funky old helmet (the white egg shell with the orange stripes you sometimes see old guys still wearing) and my new expensive glass Revo sunglasses, which I purchased just for the race. I thought they made me look cool.

I was immediately struck by my first problem, where to rack my bike? Just for the record for all you Newbies reading this, the best answer is as close to the bike exit as possible. This way you don’t have far to run in your bike shoes.

Of course I didn’t know this. I also didn’t know that you can rack your bike pointing outwards thus making it much easier and faster to get the bike out during the race. But most of all I didn’t know I needed a towel. Most other racers had towels, but I though they were just for keeping stuff clean on the ground.

I had encountered my first real “issue” even before the start of the race. What to wear during the swim? I was smart enough to know that I couldn’t change my shorts between the swim and the bike. I figured I had a decision to make. Swim in my bike shorts or bike in my swim shorts. I choose to swim in my bike shorts.

The error of this choice became immediately apparent when I jumped in and the fluffy bike short chamois sucked up about half the water in the pool. I was now wearing something that looked like a huge black swollen baby diaper.

When I tried to swim the shorts acted like a cruise ship anchor; slowing me way down while at the same time trying to a) pull me under and b) come off. The good news was that this in no way did this actually slowed me down. Because by the end of the first lap I was breathing so hard that could barely swim at all.

Let’s talk about training for a second. I had spent almost a full month getting ready for this race. And by a full month I mean I had run 3 miles about a half a dozen times. I gone mountain biking a few times, and I had swam once at a local recreation center for some unknown distance, which I hopes was at least 10 laps(the length of the swim).

Now I was on lap two of ten and I had switched from freestyle to the IM. Of course I didn’t know what an IM was, but I was about to invent my own IM. IM in swimming usually is “Fly, Back, Breast, Free, that’s the way it’s got to be,” as the saying goes. My saying went something like this, “Free, Back, Angel, Breath, that’s the way I won’t heave.”

By lap 5 I was almost reduced to walking. Which I would have done had my legs actually been 15 feet long, the depth of the deep end of the pool.

Instead I switched to my mother's favorite stroke: the breaststroke. And I swam it just like her with my head above the water. She does this to keep her hair dry. I did it to have unfettered access to air. Also the breaststroke enable me to do the froggy kick, which also happened to be the only kick that kept my swollen diaper shorts from sinking down to my ankles.

After what seemed like an eternity, I got the last lap signal and finished the swim. I jumped out of the pool, taking half the water with me. I wish I could say that I ran to the transition area but it was much more of a waddle, as I was out of breath, dizzy and a bit disoriented.

It was in this semi-lucid state of mind that I wondered over to the transition area and immediately figured out why I needed a towel.

My plan was a simple one. I would just thrown on my biking jersey and running shoes and head out for the bike. (I had no notion of biking clips) I immediately ran into trouble. My wet and now dirty feet made it almost impossible to get my socks on. After the proper amount of jumping on one foot, strenuous tugging and swearing, I managed to get the socks on over my wet feet.

By this point I was bright red from the lack of air and the epic struggle with the socks. On the verge of passing out I went for the biking jersey. You have to know that in the best of times a typical biking jersey fits me rather tightly. Back then, truth be told, I looked like a huge swollen yellow sausage bee in my “cool” tour jersey…even at the best of times.

This was not the best of times. The friction caused by my wet and chubby skin succeeded in halting the jersey about halfway down my stomach. And no amount of profusive tugging or swearing would get it down further. It was suck somewhere above my belly but below my nipples.

Now with the just half on yellow jersey covering the top part of my body, and the swollen black diaper bike shorts covering the lower half, I really did look like a huge fat yellow sausage bee with a bight red pimple head. What to do next? I plopped down on the ground and did what any experienced age-grouper would do in a similar situation. I stole my neighbor’s towel.

OK, I didn’t really steal it, I just borrowed it, and it did the trick. With my skin dry, I was able to pull down the jersey and continue the race.

I was a “cool’ triathlete again. I was back in the race and feeling better. The swim was over and I was heading out for a “short” 15-mile bike ride. I quickly grabbed my old-school helmet and threw it on my head.

Of course I had completely forgot that I had left my sunglasses in my helmet. This had seemed like such a good place to leave them earlier in the morning. As I threw the helmet on, the new Revos sailed through the air, over my head, over the next rack, and onto the cement ground. They hit the only way possible for expensive glass sunglasses to hit, that being glass first and shattered.

I didn’t know it back but I had just learned three important lessons.

1) Train like you race. In other words, don’t try anything new like swimming in bike shorts and…
2) Find a better place for your sunglasses. Today I put them on my water bottle holder by inserting one leg between the water bottle and holder. I don’t even touch them until I’m well into the bike. The less to worry about in the first transition the better and…
3) Don’t forget a towel for heaven’s Sake.

Mountaineer Triathlon: From First half Ironman to last place by IM ABLE

Editor's Note:  IM ABLE recently completed her first half Ironman race on her way to Ironman Wisconsin this year. The excerpt below is from the end of her race report.  As part of her first Ironman journey she is raising money for CPL (Canine Partners for Life). You may want to visit her Blog for the rest...no strike that...beginning of her story.

Have you ever been the last person in a race? It's a unique experience. I never really paid much attention to the mental side of racing, since the articles always seem to speak to those who were racing, rather than just trying to finish.

But there is a huge mental task to being last. Huge. You run the race solo. You often have limited supplies left at rest stops. Volunteers are surprised to see you. The miles seem longer, since there is nobody to pace off of. In shorter races, this matters less. But in a race of this distance, it weighed heavily on my mind.

And my body started to protest the prolonged effort. My nutrition was fine -- thankfully there was no bonk in sight. But there was a general fatigue that began to set into my bones on the second loop. I had to force myself to keep up a modest pace, because the natural inclination was to slow way down. I took the occasional walk through a water station, but I tried to run the whole way, remembering Jen's advice about momentum and continuing to move forward.

At the turn around on the tow path -- somewhere around mile 8 -- I finally took a bathroom break. I figured, what the heck? I'm last! And at the stop, they asked if I was the last one. I said I didn't know for sure, but I suspected as much. When I was about 50 yards off, I heard them yell back at me that there was another person.

Huh?

Behind me?

And, of course, they were right. There was one more runner who was plodding along about a 1/2 mile behind me. He looked like a very strong guy, so I assumed his bike sucked more than mine. He was friendly and it was a relief to know he was there.

The race director and I got to know each other well in the next 4 miles or so. Him, on his scooter with lots of reassuring words, and me plodding along at some god awful slow pace. I was starting to feel some generalized pain. Nothing specific, but my body was done. And I had at least 5 more miles to go.

At my darkest moment, I thought I would see Mighty M. On the first loop, he had been sitting under this one tree, near the finish. On this loop, he had moved and I missed him. I shuffled and kept running for another mile or so, wishing I could see his face. And then I did -- he was on the path ahead of me. He had been up talking to the college student who dresses up as the Devil on the big hill. He was cheering on those last few people in the race on the hardest section. He's that kind of guy.

He could see I was failing. Even in the pictures he took at that moment, I was clearly low, with my head down and left arm stretched out to block the camera. I wanted no more pictures. He ran along side of me for a little and I told him how tired I was and how I was the next to last person. I told him all those things I wanted to say when I rode past on the bike, what seemed like days ago. It all spilled out of me. And you could imagine his response.

So I did what he said. I kept on going. I had the hills left, but I already knew they would be walked. All I had to do was focus on finishing.

So I ran and ran. I walked the hills. I ran doggedly. My face all screwed with determination. I just kept going. The last mile was the hardest. I guess it always is.

And soon, I rounded the corner to the finish chute. No spectators were left. The race staff was busy, hunched over their laptops calculating placements, and were surprised to see me. There was no great announcement, and my name wasn't over the loud speaker.

But, let me tell you, I felt that finish line. I felt each and every inch of it. I pumped my thumbs up in the air for cameras that had packed up and left hours before. I smiled the biggest smile ever smiled in the history of smiles. Everyone in the med tent cheered and I was done.

It bears repeating.

I WAS DONE.

After 7 hours and 50 minutes of racing, I managed to complete my first half ironman. M was there to congratulate with hugs and proud words and I cried behind the lenses of my Oakleys. I didn't have a finishers metal to grip (we would find an abandoned one later in the, likewise abandoned, transition area) because they had run out.

But I was done.

And soon after, the very last person came down the shoot, with his kids and wife running along side. Turns out he was a Navy Seal. That must have been a hard bike for him.

At the end of the day, I actually was dead last. Once you accounted for who started when, I hold that distinction for this year's race. And I think my Mom would be proud. I really, really do.

When I think about this race, now that it's a couple of weeks behind me and I've gathered a little perspective on it, I think I was meant to finish that way. I think I needed to learn why that is just fine, and how irrelevant it is compared to why I am doing this.

I am doing this year -- the Iron training and the fundraising and the hours away from my "other" life -- do be a better person. Not to be a faster person, or a more competitive one. I'm doing it to grab hold of each moment I am alive and make the most out of it. Breathe each breath that I'm granted. Take full and complete advantage of the life that I have -- graciously free of disease and heartache and full of joy and wonderful people.

I want to serve as an example to Mighty M's nieces that they can do absolutely anything they set their mind to. I want my neighbor's kids to know that having dreams is truly living. I want my own girls one day to know that no matter what, they can touch every inch of this world. I want those things.

Someone joked with me recently about how they just don't know why I do this -- it's so hard and contrary to what comes easily for me, the other demands of my life and how my body is crafted. We had been talking about the Mountaineer race and the long march to the finish line.

And I realized I do this because it is the right thing to do. It's right to make the most of being on this earth -- being alive. My Mom had decades of her life stolen from her by cancer. But, she knew that you grab hold when you can and participate for the experience, not to avoid last place. Somewhere in those last 30 miles or so I dropped that knowledge and got distracted with numbers and expectations. Somewhere in those last turns and hills I forgot what she taught me with how she lived.

But I remember, now.

You do it because it is the right thing to do. You do it to place at all.

Click HERE for the beginning of the adventure and/or to donate money for CPL

The Devil Made Me Do It by Brian Hawkinson

It is the only explanation to why I would sign up for a marathon.  I had recently climbed Half Dome.  It took me 10 hours to climb the 17.5 miles.  I was sore, I was chafing, but I was alive.  I was also out of shape, 30 lbs overweight, but that didn’t stop me.  So why couldn’t I run a marathon?  Two weeks after Half Dome I was out drinking with the friends when I decided I would sign up for the San Francisco Marathon.  No biggie, right?  Well, it was.  I had absolutely zero training and the only running I had done was a mile or two warm up before I lifted weights.  And here is the kicker.  The marathon was three days away.  I had no clue about anything that revolved around a marathon.  I didn’t know people trained for months at a time.  I didn’t know anything about how to hydrate myself on the race, nothing about pacing.  Absolutely blank slate going in to this.  All I had was my drive to accomplish something that I had always wanted to accomplish.  So I went out and bought brand new running shoes.  Ha, lets compound matters.

San Francisco is about an hour and half away from where I live, and the race started at 5:30.  Suffice it to say, I didn’t get much sleep before the race, about three hours worth.  The anticipation, though, kept me awake and alert, and I felt ready to run a ton.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but race jitters got me and I had to go to the restroom about three times.  The lines were huge.  In fact the race started when I was still in line, but I wasn’t worried because my wave was way in the back.  Finally done, I joined my wave and we were herded to the start line.  Eventually we were off running and the first five miles felt great.  I was keeping a 9 minute per mile pace and hadn’t stopped to walk yet.  I thought that was pretty good for no training.  Then the first “mini” hill.  I walked.  From there on out it was torture.  Eventually we got to the Golden Gate Bridge and the view was amazing.  The sun rising, the fog lifting.  Amazing.  I walked a few more times and by the time I ran across the bridge and back I was already exhausted, and I was only at mile 7.  This was where I began plotting when I would quit.  I figured the Half Marathon would be good time to stop. 

So as I turned into Golden Gate Park I was slightly relieved.  My knees were hurting, my thighs chafing and I was out of breath.  To top it off, I wasn’t drinking enough fluids.  But then I had to make a choice.  The Half Marathon split off to the left and Marathoners had to go to the right.  I could see the finish line for the Halfers and I was so close.  My resolve stepped in and I knew that I had to continue on.  I mean, how can you go half way and then stop?  From here on out you were essentially on your way back to the finish line.  So I stopped and went to the restroom.  As I was standing at the urinal it felt like I was swaying, as though I were on a boat and it was rocking.  It made me laugh at the time. 

Slightly refreshed, I continued through Golden Gate Park and did a loop around the lake.  This was a dreadful part of the race because you can see all the runners and the distance that you must cover.  It felt like it never ended.  The scenery was great but I didn’t really have enough focus to enjoy everything around me.  Eventually we headed out of the park and back into the streets and gradually made our way back to Embarcadero St.  At one point I had someone yell out of a window, “There’s no walking in a marathon!”  I know now there is and it is a good tactic, but at the time I could only shake my head.  The streets were tough.  It was getting later into the afternoon and the heat was picking up.  The runners were getting more and more spread out so the miles seemed to stretch longer and longer.  I wasn’t doing to hot at this point.  People were passing me everywhere.  I mean, old overweight people were passing me.  I’m thirty and should be passing them!  But I couldn’t get myself to speed up and catch them.  I was done. 

The longest part was the last few miles.  Most of it I spent walking.  I could feel myself getting closer, but I didn’t have any energy left.  I could only shuffle walk every once in a while.  I eventually crossed the finish line in 5:47:16.  Sore, tired, chafed and could barely stand.  This was perhaps one of the most stupid things I have ever done without proper preparation and knowledge of what I was getting into, but I had done it.  I had finished a marathon.  In the end, the only thing that kept me going was my resolve, was my will power.  I knew I could do it, so I did it.

Click HERE to Visit Brian's Blog

FTE (First Time Ever) by Phoenix

With support like this, how can you go wrong? My dad, sister and my nephew came in from an hour away to meet Hubby and Boy Genius at the shuttle pick up at 7:00 in the morning. I could hear them cheering for me during the swim, on the bike, and at the start and finish of the run. They made me feel like a superstar.




My race really started last night, at my son's baseball game which started at 8:00. PM. Also known as "My Private Hell." Who in the hell schedules a baseball game for seven year olds at 8:00 at night? Boy Genius was grumpy before we even got there. And by grumpy I mean the "I hate you, I don't want to live with you anymore, your cooking tastes like vomit" variety of grumpy. These are exact quotes. So, yeah. I wasn't feeling real warm and fuzzy about the baseball game and the hours of sleep it was stealing from the Eve of my First Tri Ever. But, once we got there, he settled down, apologized, professed his love for me, and played a good game. He was especially good at hitting (he's probably the most consistent hitter on his team - Go Boy Genius!!) and kicking the dirt around so it got in the other players' eyes. He's crafty that way.

So, with about two hours less sleep than I would have preferred, I awoke this morning at 5:00 a.m. to the dawn of my (say it with me) First Tri Ever. Now, as you can probably imagine, I had opened my eyes several times before my "official" 5:00 a.m wakeup time. First at midnight, then 2:00, then 3:30. And probably a few more times before that. As has been reported by many other bloggers, sleep is not sound the night before a race. Especially not before one's FTE. Aren't you glad I didn't make you say it with me that time?

I was nervous bordering on Terrified Out of My Mind. But I ate about a half a bowl of oatmeal, a half a cup of coffee and a half a banana. Just before I left, I pulled up my training log and looked at the total number of running miles, biking miles, and swimming yards. "This is what you've put into this." I said to Self. "This is where you've been. Where you're going is a piece of cake compared to this." This calmed me down considerably and I was ready to go.

When I arrived at the race, I found I had a ton of questions and not a lot of folks to answer them. No bodymarking - so "Do we need our numbers on the bike?" No one knew. "Does transition close at all?" Again, no one knew for sure but there was a strong suspicion that, since there were a number of heats setting out from 7:00 in the morning until 8:45, that they would leave the area open to the athletes. So I set up my transition area to my satisfaction, made sure Pyro was all comfy on her rack, and slipped on my running shoes to head out for a warm up jog. It was cool but very humid - and I felt absolutely fabulous. I couldn't have been in better spirits. I felt tough in my uniform, my feet felt like they had springs in them and I was just totally psyched at the energy surrounding the race. I did my warmup without my socks and that felt so darn right that I decided to leave the socks off for the race as well. I smeared body glide all over the tops and sides of my feet and felt good to go.

The span of time between the end of my warmup and the start of my heat allowed me to find those butterflies again. And when you think of these butterflies, imagine about ten thousand eagle sized mothras beating around in my little tum. It was a little disconcerting. I was really going to do this - I was really going to swim/bike/run as fast as I could for an hour plus. That's when AJ's Race Phase No. ? began: OMG, OMG, OMFG!!!

Thankfully, it was soon time for me to go up to the pool and watching the other swimmers calmed me down. There were a couple of dudes breast-stroke/doggy-paddling/running on the bottom. And this one woman was doing the absolute slowest freestyle I have ever seen. That, my dear ones, is saying something. And you know what, though seeing them made me feel better, I didn't feel superior or like I was looking down on them at all. In fact I was kind of impressed that they were out there, giving it a shot. They were working a lot harder than the fishes on the other side of the pool, and they were doing it anyway. That was pretty cool.


The Swim

As soon as I got in the water, my nerves disappeared and I felt absolutely ready.
I started joking with the guy in my lane - we got lucky and the third person in our lane didn't show and it was just the two of us.




I'm the one in the blue swim cap with the shark on it.

And then, we swam.












Best swim ever - 300 yds - 5:44. A time that, for me, was, as our friend Bolder would say, stellah!









T1

1:30

Easy Peasy.




















The Bike













I cut a little time off of my previous trial runs here, but not a lot. My weakness, it seems, is cornering. I slow way down before approaching a sharp turn and I lose time on it. In fact, this one woman I cat and moused with for the entire last half of the ride passed me once and for all because I had slowed down to go down the chute into T2. And everytime she'd passed me before had been before a turn - I would slow for the turn, she would buzz past, I would catch her and blow by her until she caught me on the next turn. Something to work on. I got passed by four other people. Two chicks on the second lap, going up the only real hill of the course - and there was no way I was catching them. They were, without doubt, Out of My League. One dude passed me the same way - see ya dude, lookin' strong! And one chick who thought she had me on the uphill but I blew past her like she was standing still as soon as we crested the hill. See, I had a strategy. I was spinnin' up the hill to save my legs, not blowing all I had on the climb only to come out with nothing for the flats and the down hills. I didn't have time to give her that little pointer though, so I just said "On your left" in the most encouraging, positive, in your face sort of way I knew how. And after that, other than cat and mouse chick, I was the one that did all the passing. I passed on dude in a speedo on a nice road bike - like he wasn't even moving. And tons of folks on mountain bikes and hybrids. And two girls on road bikes - I heard one say to the other as I blew past, "I wish I could ride like that." I. Shit. You. Not. I wanted to laugh, thinking of all my rubber side down moments. Instead, I just stood up a little and pumped like I meant it to put a bit more distance on those two lovelies - cause that's what one of the Out of My League chicks did when she passed me. I thought it looked cool. Thank you, lovelies, you made my day. I hope you had a good race!

Final time: 31:37

T2 - :49

Yeah, baby!



The Run

As many of you know, after last weeks debacle, I was fearing the run a bit.

I started out conservatively -








And I just kept at it, grinding up the hills, encouraging and accepting encouragement from the other runners, and staying positive.

"OK, chica, this is where we started. The Run. You love to run. So, do it. Nice and easy. Relaxed like a Kenyan. You're going to do this. You're going to be a triathlete today."

And so it went for 15 minutes and change to the turnaround. The halfway mark came before I knew it and it felt great to turn around - especially since I knew there were more downhills than uphills on the way back. So, I started down the hill, and started to pick it up.

"All, right, lady, let's make hay while the sun shines, pick up that cadence, stay relaxed, you've got it."

A slight side stitch toyed with me throughout, but it was nothing I couldn't handle. I kept at it. I was encouraging the runners that were starting their run -"You're almost halfway, you've got this!" Until it occurred to me that if I had the breath to cheer, I wasn't going fast enough. So I picked it up some more.

When I passed the last water station, the one where this totally awesome lady had her garden hose on in her front yard and was spraying any runner that wanted it, I knew I was going to finish this thing. And, looking at the time on my stopwatch, I had a suspicion I was going to beat my 1:15 goal. So I picked it up some more.

The last 400 yards or so before the finish, I'm not sure if I was smiling on the outside, I was concentrating on keeping up the pace, pushing it a little harder, but on the inside, I was beaming.

"You're going to do this! You're going to be a triathlete, today!"

I could feel all the training, all the sweat, all the falls and the tears and the elation I had experienced on this entire journey - erupting as I crossed the finish. I did it. Today, I became a triathlete.






Run time - 28:33.

Final time - 1:08:15


I didn't win any bling. I was 7th out of 18 in my age group and 114 out of 200+ participants. Right in the middle of the pack. At first, I was disappointed with this. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that, at this time of my life, I like the middle of the pack just fine. Most of my life I've been first - or vieing for it. First born, First in the Long Jump, "Best Actress", "Best Singer", blah, blah, blah. In the theatrical world, I was always fighting to stay at the top - if you want to work, you have to be one of the very very best. Always pressuring myself to be more - letting my self worth depend on the latest review, the latest role, what the latest director had to say about me. It was exhausting. And I was pretty good at it. But I wasn't good enough to stay up there without a cost. And that price tag was getting just a little bit ridiculous.

Being in the middle is kind of cozy. There's not a lot of pressure and nobody other than the people who matter are watching you. Nobody is waiting with baited breath for you to fall. There are victories and triumphs and failures here too, but they are more personal, more about your own growth, your own happiness than about what the masses are saying about you. I like it here, in the middle. I have lots of great company.

Click HERE for more Phoenix

My very First tri!!! ♥ by Kelly

Editor's Note:  This week we'll be featuring stories that highlight your first race. Be it a swim, bike, run or triathlon, we want to hear from you.  Send us a link, or story, or race report, or youtube.com clip of your first race and we'll be happy to feature it by cliking HERE.

We want to know how your first race went and how you felt before, during, and after that big day.

Today we're starting with our team mates Duane's 12-year-old daughter Kelly, who just completed her very first triathlon.  As the saying goes...like father like son, but in this case...like father like daughter.

Congrats to both father and daughter for a great race and race report!

My first tri was the hardest thing I probably ever done!! I was OK till I had to get in the water and started swimming, then I got really nervous. I was the last person in the pool.

Then I went on my bike portion. The people said that it would be pretty flat, but it wasn't. It was down hill when you first started then it was all up hill when you had to turn around! I had to do four laps, I was really tired. When you drive the course it looks sort of easy but when you really get on it, it's really hard!

Then the run, when I first got off my bike I had very wobbly legs and then I headed out. I was lacking on energy, I felt as if I was going to vomit, and I really needed some water. When I took a little bit of the energy gel stuff, I was gonna throw up (literally) but I didn't. I had to do two laps of the run! A very sweet girl, named Hahna, she walked with me on the run. She was done already but it wasn't her first one and she started before my group. On the 2nd lap my sister and Maylice (the French student) ran/walked with me. I had just barely enough energy to run across the finish line. I was the very last person to cross it. But that's not the focus, it's that I finished!

For the transition I had a list of what to do in order, but I didn't need it. My Dad was so excited, maybe even more than me (just kidding). After the race we went home, my parents took a very long nap, I took a shower, and then we went out to lunch. We went to Sweet Tomatoes to celebrate my finishing!






Now I can say that I'm a Triathlete!