and the crowd would have cheered on
Mychal and Axel took an epic journey on Sunday. Three modes of transportation--by foot, via the coffee shop, to BART, and then on a MUNI to meet me in the Presidio where I was competing in the Golden Gate Triathlon. Even though Mychal and Axel detoured through Peet's and some tony neighborhoods above the Presidio, we weren't quite sure who would get to the finish line first.
I knew this race would not be my best race; I'd woken up with another breast infection the day before and was still kicking it on Sunday. Of course I wasn't about to call the doctor, but my voice of reason squeaked that I probably shouldn't race all out when fighting an infection. No problem. I'm still building my base anyway.*
Golden Gate was a particularly small tri (smoking gun!); I usually have the luxury of starting in the last or second to last wave, which gives me at least an hour or so after the official start before my wave starts. Not so for this race: it was so small, that everyone started together in one wave at 7:30am. I'd arrived at 7:20, which meant I put on my wetsuit as I got numbered. Four hands, half the usual time. Still, I was the absolute last person to arrive at the swim start.
The swim was freezing but beautiful. Also choppy and somewhat funny, as the out-going swimmers and the in-coming swimmers shared the same path. I'm going to blame the distractingly beautiful scenery for my slowest swim ever. And perhaps the little chat I had with a fellow swimmer somewhere in the middle:
Wow, this is hard!
No kidding!
I don't think I'm even moving!
You're not.
After the swim, I could not seem to communicate to my hands and it took me nearly ten minutes to get out of my wetsuit. Also an all-time record.
The bike route was also stunning; four loops of an out-and-back along the ocean, which allowed for nearly an hour and a half of mesmerizing waves, shifting blues and grays in the sky and water. Geese flew over-head in the most perfect formation, wings flapping in unison. All of the wings. I pointed it out to a fellow racer, but he did not seem as impressed. So I biked (two climbs per loop, four times), dodged a dog, saluted a hand-cyclist, alternately froze and sweated and vowed to myself that if my shin splints hurt too much, then I didn't have to finish the run.
All was good: I had a plan.
Until I got to the transition area and heard a woman's friends cheer her on:
You're doing great! There's practically no women in front of you!
Shit. Now I had to finish--I may even place. So I ran, down the beach, up the stairs, over the bridge, dodged tourists wielding cameras and strollers, policemen talking down a jumper or climber, bikes who'd taken the wrong path--all of this was on numb feet--finished the run just as my toes thawed. There were no more medals at the finish line, and my cheering team hadn't arrived yet, but it was all good because I got a trophy instead: 2nd place in my age group.
Somewhat anticlimactic, to get a trophy for my slowest time ever not pregnant, but what the hell: my first trophy ever. And really, the trophy should go to Mychal for the three hours spent on public transport just to get to the finish line.
*I think this is where I mention that I was riding on semi-deflated tires as well, since my stem had broken off in the tire pump and I didn't have the energy to change my tires on Saturday. This isn't the place to mention that my bike computer was broken, but I think one footnote is sufficient for this race.
I knew this race would not be my best race; I'd woken up with another breast infection the day before and was still kicking it on Sunday. Of course I wasn't about to call the doctor, but my voice of reason squeaked that I probably shouldn't race all out when fighting an infection. No problem. I'm still building my base anyway.*
Golden Gate was a particularly small tri (smoking gun!); I usually have the luxury of starting in the last or second to last wave, which gives me at least an hour or so after the official start before my wave starts. Not so for this race: it was so small, that everyone started together in one wave at 7:30am. I'd arrived at 7:20, which meant I put on my wetsuit as I got numbered. Four hands, half the usual time. Still, I was the absolute last person to arrive at the swim start.
The swim was freezing but beautiful. Also choppy and somewhat funny, as the out-going swimmers and the in-coming swimmers shared the same path. I'm going to blame the distractingly beautiful scenery for my slowest swim ever. And perhaps the little chat I had with a fellow swimmer somewhere in the middle:
Wow, this is hard!
No kidding!
I don't think I'm even moving!
You're not.
After the swim, I could not seem to communicate to my hands and it took me nearly ten minutes to get out of my wetsuit. Also an all-time record.
The bike route was also stunning; four loops of an out-and-back along the ocean, which allowed for nearly an hour and a half of mesmerizing waves, shifting blues and grays in the sky and water. Geese flew over-head in the most perfect formation, wings flapping in unison. All of the wings. I pointed it out to a fellow racer, but he did not seem as impressed. So I biked (two climbs per loop, four times), dodged a dog, saluted a hand-cyclist, alternately froze and sweated and vowed to myself that if my shin splints hurt too much, then I didn't have to finish the run.
All was good: I had a plan.
Until I got to the transition area and heard a woman's friends cheer her on:
You're doing great! There's practically no women in front of you!
Shit. Now I had to finish--I may even place. So I ran, down the beach, up the stairs, over the bridge, dodged tourists wielding cameras and strollers, policemen talking down a jumper or climber, bikes who'd taken the wrong path--all of this was on numb feet--finished the run just as my toes thawed. There were no more medals at the finish line, and my cheering team hadn't arrived yet, but it was all good because I got a trophy instead: 2nd place in my age group.
Somewhat anticlimactic, to get a trophy for my slowest time ever not pregnant, but what the hell: my first trophy ever. And really, the trophy should go to Mychal for the three hours spent on public transport just to get to the finish line.
*I think this is where I mention that I was riding on semi-deflated tires as well, since my stem had broken off in the tire pump and I didn't have the energy to change my tires on Saturday. This isn't the place to mention that my bike computer was broken, but I think one footnote is sufficient for this race.
posted by aelis at 4:41 PM
1 Comments:
HA! I like that you were told you weren't moving. Harsh. But funny!
;)
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