I will not pretend to be someone who knows everything. Or to even be someone who is a seasoned veteran in the triathlon world. I have only raced for 3 short years, but in that time I have learned countless lessons. Each race brings a new experience for me, and I have walked away from every race feeling more prepared for the next. And most importantly, I have walked away having finished the race.
However, I learned a very real, and very hard lesson after my race at Liberty Triathlon 2 weeks ago. I had my first DNF.
I have spent the last year pouring my entire heart, many tears and copious amounts of sweat into training to complete my first 70.3 race. Liberty Triathlon was my chance to see all my work come to fruition. I was so incredibly excited at the opportunity to race and completely expand my comfort zone. I thrive on pushing my boundaries, which is also why the sport of triathlon speaks to me in a way that nothing else ever has.
When I woke up that Saturday morning I felt great. I got a lot of sleep, which I was not expecting, but was pleasantly surprised by! I ate my normal english muffin with almond butter and honey, had my half a can of Mountain Dew, and I was on my way. (I have used Mountain Dew as my morning jolt of caffeine for years. I am a coffee addict, but I know my body well enough to know that coffee before a race is just asking for disaster.)
The temperature was already beginning to skyrocket as I arrived at Lake Rebecca. I believe the forecast was for a scorching 95 degree high for the day with 80 percent humidity. Nonetheless, I had my salt stick tabs, I had plenty of gu, and I was prepared with NUUN tablets for days.
I got my transition set up, did my pre race warm up, and got ready to head down to the water. I was focused and clear on my plan for the day. I spent some time chatting with my coach, Mike, as he was competing that day as well on the Olympic course. It was comforting to have him there, and I even had my husband arriving to see me off as well. (He's the best race husband a girl could ask for. Still no idea how I got so lucky.)
When the countdown began and I launched into the water I felt more calm than I ever have before a race. I know its cliche that they say if you put the hours in, you will feel prepared, but today that was true. I've put the work in, today was my day.
I kept my pace the whole swim course, and despite my wetsuit rubbing a bit aggressively on my neck, I felt strong and very smooth. I exited the water at 38:00, which was right in the range of my 35-40 minute goal Mike set for me. The hike up the hill to transition was just as annoying as I had remembered from last year, but seeing my hubby was a nice burst of sunshine on my march up the steps from hell.
I took my time in transition making sure I had all my nutrition for the bike, as I knew that would make or break my day. I sprayed a generous amount of sunscreen, which incidentally helped me locate where the wetsuit had rubbed the skin raw on my neck. Everyone around me heard me say some less than appropriate words at that point. I put my helmet on, and was on my way.
I hopped on, got clipped in and got my legs under me. The elation of having crushed the swim was riding with me for those first few miles. I had a great rythym and my legs felt strong. I typically am a bit weak on the bike, so as I got onto the course it was encouraging to be averaging 17-18 mph on the first 15 miles. My coach and I had planned on being more conservative for the first 30 miles, and then to drop the hammer a bit on the last 26. I am a strong runner, so we planned on having me save some energy to gain time on the run. Of course, competing a race with temperatures that rival the surface of the sun sort of blew my entire race plan up. However I am a competitor and I wanted to see a podium finish today.
I knew this course had some confusion on the turnaround, as I heard at packet pick up, and from countless athletes from previous years. I had studied the map, and I was sure I had a good idea of the turnaround specifics. A little side note, I am the most directionally challenged person you will ever meet. My husband and I joke about how if I think we should go a direction if we are lost, we should go the opposite.
As I got to mile 29 and approached the turnaround, I officially lost my sense of what direction to go. The maps I had studied were entirely useless at this point. I slowed down, stopped and chatted with a volunteer. I asked him, "If I am going into my second lap for the long course, which direction do I go?" He confidently told me, "Go this way!" , and gestured towards the road. Now, I asked him 2 more times to be sure we were on the same page, and I put my trust in this complete stranger. All my hard work was hinging on this guy not fucking up his directions. This was a scary moment.
I got back up to speed and started getting into my groove. I felt better than I had in a while on the bike, and my brain was in a great place. Instead of dreading the upcoming miles, I was exilerated.
As I kept moving, I started seeing several people coming back opposite of the way I was going. Which was weird, because I knew at that point that everyone in the Olympic race should have already been past that point. I kept going. I started to feel uneasy as I passed a road sign that said mile 48. My GPS said I was on mile 34. I knew something was wrong. I pulled over and asked another volunteer where the heck I was supposed to be. A horrible and sad look crossed his face, and he said "Oh man, another girl got turned around too. You want to go back that way." Que the absolute worst feeling you could imagine.
I turned around and absolutely crushed my pedals to make up some time. As I got going and started to think, I had the uplifting thought that I could maybe still make the cutoff and finish. I was only 8 or so miles out of the way, and I am a reasonably fast cyclist, right?! However, it must have been the heat that was making my brain screwy, because that was a huge deficit that I was not going to make up in time. I knew when I circled back to the mile 30 marker, only a half mile from where I was incorrectly directed away from, that my day was probably done.
It was getting hotter, and I was seeing absolutely no other cyclists on the course I was on. I had lost a lot of time, and things were looking bad. As I crossed a roadblock, I had a volunteer policeman cheer me on "Good job biker, you got this!". It was the cheer that people give when people know they are struggling, and things arent looking good. I had never been on the receiving end of this pity cheer, and it felt terrible. I immediately burst into tears as I passed him, and I ugly cried for a solid 2 miles. My day was over. I had no chance of finishing in time, let alone ending up in a podium spot.
I was onto course mile 40, my GPS mile 48, and I was determined to finish this damn course. I continued on my way and kept moving. I definitely lost a lot of steam, and dialed back my intensity. The sun was hot, I felt myself getting a sunburn, and I was running low on nutrition. Plus the HEED they gave out was like drinking dirty bath water from Satan himself. Note to race director: The mango flavor is awful,
I arrived back to the end of the course going on over 4 hours. I was tired. I was burnt. And I was sad. Only 2 miles to go, and I was mentally preparing for having to get off my bike and pack my stuff up and go home without a finisher medal.
Then it happened. I heard the air whoosh out from my rear tire 1.8 miles from transition. I immediately started crazy person laughing. It was just the nail in the coffin of a craptastic day. I got off my bike, checked it out, and sat down. I thought about spending the time to fix it, as I was smart and brought all the necessary tools. Instead I took the opportunity to get up, and walk back to transition. It was shady at this part of the course, and I needed a little bit of therapy time before I got back to my coach and my husband.
I approached the parking lot, and saw my dad and husband walking towards me. I got to them, and tried to explain what happened as I tried to stifle my tears. My dad gave me an amazing big hug, and my husband consoled me as he as done so many times before. My coach/brother came running up, and I filled him in. He said that as soon as it got to 3:30, they started checking medic tents as they knew something was wrong.
I told them all the story of my first 70.3, and the epic DNF. We laughed, I cried a bit, and they helped me pick up the pieces.
We all left together, and my big brother did the best big brother thing he could have done in that moment. He gave me his bottle of coke that he had in the cooler of his car, and said "You earned this today."
I may not have had a chance to run my 13.1 miles that day, and I have come to terms with that. It wasn't my day to do it. Luckily for me, I have Ironman Racine 70.3 in only a few short weeks. And you better believe I am going to train my ass off, STUDY THE DAMN MAPS, and come back stronger than ever.
Not every race is going to go well. But I refuse to let that define me and who I am as an athlete. I am going to come back and continue to race hard. This will roll off my shoulders, and I will be better because of it.
I will end this long blog with a quote from always awesome Andrew W.K, as I find that it is truly fitting. "Do what you love. Pursue what you love. And when you get discourages, stand back up and dive back in."
Racine in 27 days. Bring it.
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