Staying in My Own Race/How This Nut Rolls

I was signed up for the High Cliff half ironman distance race this Sunday. I didn't go. Now, I have a DNS to add to my illustrious triathlon career.

It wasn't an easy decision, nor one I'm easy with now. I am probably more exhausted from the rumination about going or not going than I would have been from travelling to and from the race and doing it. Factors ranged from a little medical issue that arose at the end of the week to feeling generally overwhelmed by the tasks-at-hand, to knowing that while I have now discovered I can swim a mile, I have no experience with pack swimming, to not knowing the course, to being tired from Horribly Hilly, to not knowing my new bike, to a deep cache of morbid fantasies about Things That Could Go Wrong Far Away From Home starring killer bees, massive blood loss, and keeping the race organizers in the park until midnight. I suspect, however, that all of this dramarama covered a simple truth: I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready, gentle reader, so I did not go. I was sad and frustrated that I was not ready, embarrassed to bail out on myself and on my loyal fan base, but it was the right decision, which I discovered when I held my own private 70.3 Sunday instead.

That's right: I swam a mile, biked 59, and ran 13.1 and some change. Why? Because I was ready for *that,* and someday soon, I'll be ready to do it in a crowd.

So: here's The Juice's 70.3 race report:

1 Mile Swim

Perfect weather and calm water greet me, a lone Athena, and a single age grouper when we assemble at Lake Wingra at 7:00 for a 7:20 wave start. I discover early in the race that my wetsuit is chafing me, so exit the swim course, apply body glide, and re-enter the course. Course marshalls are surprised by this maneuver, but couldn't find a USAT rule against it, so the event continued---my lead was such that it did not affect my relative ranking. At 8:20, the age grouper says she's had enough, so we declare the swim finished. My place: first Athena. Age grouper's place: 1st among all age groupers.

T1

After a certain amount of congratulatory chitchat among the racers, I go to my car, strategically placed in T1. Grab half a PB&J while unloading my bike; put wheels on bike; put helmet and gloves on ground; pump air into tires; put wetsuit on plastic cloth in trunk; lay out run clothes for T2. Discover running shoes are missing. Swear. Consider biking home, picking up running shoes, and biking back to T2, but reject this idea for various logistical reasons. Take wheel off of bike, put bike and wheel back in car, throw wetsuit in front seat, drive across town to house. Have a snack; rehydrate. Take a shower---hey, I'm home! Call Polly. Wanna ride? Yes! Put on bike clothes and shoes; lay out run clothes, including shoes and fuel belt; grab helmet and gloves; assemble bike; check e-mail one last time. Leave. Transition time: 1 hour 15 minutes. My place: first Athena.

59.5 Bike

Ride to Polly's. Greet Foz the dog and Ben the boy. Polly has picked a route and we get underway, playing Ironman trivia. Polly is very kind to me, knowing that I am in my own private 70.3. We ride around rural Wisconsin, practicing fueling and hydration. I am living on Pearson's Salted Nut Rolls left over from Horribly Hilly and Emergen-C that I am learning to drink without carbonation. At mile 30, I need to get more water on board. Polly's mother lives in the vicinity, in Stoughton. Polly asks me: "Mom's or Kwik Trip?" We go to Polly's Mom's house, visit with Peek-a-Boo and Heidi, the dogs, re-fill the water bottles, and talk about the last books we've read. Isn't this a nice aid station? These race organizers are great! We get back on the road and take a long way home so that I exceed my goal of 56.0 today. Hit home just as a thunderstorm breaks over us. Ride mileage: 59.5. Fuel: 1.5 salted nut rolls; Emergen-C; water. My place: first Athena. Polly's place: 1st among all other women and men.

T2

I finish off the second nut roll, discovering myself to be a bit hungry. Pop a couple of peanut-butter filled pretzel squares. Listen to the thunder, change clothes--hey, I'm so organized!--contemplate options: run outside; run on the treadmill at the Y, go to Sun Prairie Athletic and run on the track. Choose the track. Pack hydration belt and warm-up clothes for after this adventure. Talk with Polly, who has made it home; give her Garmin numbers; get her computer read-outs. Drive to Sun Prairie Athletic Club. Retrieve guest pass (that rocks!); and get directions to the track. T2 time? 1:10. My place: well, smokin', obviously.

13.1 run

So, the person on the phone had said that 9 times around the track a mile does make, so I had carefully done the math on my way to SPA. When I got onto the track, I saw a sign that said 9.5 times around equals a mile. No worries: I have plenty of time to do the math.

The track has three lanes: a walkers' lane, a runners' lane, and a passing lane in between them. The track surrounds a couple of basketball courts, but is fenced off from them, and is enclosed on the other side by an exterior building wall. So for 90 percent of the distance, the runner runs in a narrow tunnel--wall on one side, courts on the other; the three lanes are maybe 5 feet across--total. I threw my stuff down in a corner so that I could grab my water bottle every so often and dig snacks out of my fuel belt as needed. I'll let you calculate re: how many times around a 9/10 mile track makes a half marathon. Ironically, I turned in my best 13.1 time ever--honestly--and had no blisters, IT band issues, or other problems, save for the song lyrics, "You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy, But I Just Might Be the Lunatic You're Looking For" repeating themselves in my head. At some point, I begin to wonder whether the walking lane was 9.5 laps to the mile and the running lane was 9 laps to the mile, and begin to wonder whether I could go back to running 117 laps instead of 125. I recognize this inner mathematical saboteur for what she is, however, and am not going to let her steal my first 70.3 from me! 125 laps I go, on one Nectar Bar and one raspberry goo---jeez, let's just eat Hostess Fruit Pies! I did not use my ipod, lest a course marshall DQ me, though I amuse myself by counting the number of times I drop some guy wearing a "Grill Master" t-shirt and the number of youngsters who start their runs and then abandon them after only 5, 10, 15, 25, or 40 laps. I may be slow, but I can outlast them. I alternate run and walk laps.

13.1 run/walk time: 2:35. My place: first Athena.

Post race: stopped at the desk and asked for track distance clarification. "That's the first time anybody has asked," they say. Jeez, am I beginning to feel like a time-obsessed triathlete. Walk out into the rain and stretch. Drive home, shower, don't feel like eating, but eat soy yogurt with oats, blueberries, and almonds anyway. Check on Geek Girl at CDA, someone in a real race today; wonder about Waddler, someone with courage. Go to a party. Am amazed I can still walk, have no blisters, and feel pretty damned good. As I walk in, my friend says, "Here she is, just in from her first 70.3 race."

Kinda sorta. What's the difference between a 70.3 or 80.0 brick and a 70.3 race? Crowd support? A t-shirt? A medal at the end? What did I have today and what did I not have? Guts? Confidence? Four hours? Double my brick time and I'm in for a 24 hour IM.

Today I stayed in my own race. I also organized it, refereed it, handed out the penalties and awards, and organized most of the aid stations. It was a bit of a consolation prize for not having the juju for High Cliff. My body can go 70.3. It just has. I am still not quite ready to race it, but I learned some things today that brought me a few steps closer. It's coming.

So be it: that's the way this nut rolls.