Nope, though I had no triathlons scheduled for 2015. Instead, my A race is to PR at Richmond Marathon in November. My B events are Mountains of Misery and the FANY (Five Hundred Across NY) bike tour in July - our first bike tour together since 2008. And the first third of the year was taken up with three fun WTF races. So if I was going to do a tri, there needed to be a good reason.
A few weeks ago, as the race talk started to heat up on the team, I started to toy with the idea of short course - a sprint or an Olympic distance. I hadn't done either of those in years. In fact, I thought I hadn't done an Oly in 10 years. I've since realized I did a race in 2007, but certainly pre Ironman changed my focus. And it's been for good reason. I don't like to hurt. I like to plan and strategize and fuel and go long - for hours and hours and hours. I don't like to think of shaving seconds or having to constantly battle the desire to walk or wonder if this tunnel vision I'm suffering is a prelude to fainting.
But my mantra for 2015, after such an athletically amazing 2014, is 'do different.' And short course is something completely different for me. Or at least it would be if I challenged myself to go hard. To hurt.
I made my first mistake my mentioning that I was thinking of racing Monticelloman Olympic to a friend. I'll call her Polly. In fact, since all my mistakes related to this race are connected to her, I'll call this one, Polly Mistake #1.
Polly, who'd previously done the race, tells me in no uncertain terms that if I went hard, I could podium (it's that small a race). Well, you know how earworms work. The word 'podium' had a similar affect and I found myself reviewing last year's results, and pouring over the bike elevation profile to see what sort of pace I thought I could maintain, and throwing out completely unrealistic and uninformed numbers for the final 10K.
So here's where Polly Mistake #2 comes in. I told Polly that I have NO idea how to race short course and what sort of strategy should I have? Oh boy, did Polly love that question! Here's what she told me:
- The swim: be uncomfortable
- The bike: want to barf/everything should burn
- The run: want to die
There were a couple of nuances to that, but really that's the guts of her advice.
OK. So clearly THAT was not going to happen. I don't like to hurt, remember?
But, because of that damned 'do different' mantra, I figured I should at least put together a plan and maybe do some time trials to figure how close to it I could get after nearly eight months out of the triathlon saddle and eight years out of the Oly saddle.
So I pulled out those profiles and spent some time categorizing the segments (lumpy, trending upwards, flattish, trending down) and estimating pace and speed. And in the week before the race, I did a swim time trial for the distance of the race, and a bike time trial for half the distance. All good and all confirmed my estimates.
Unfortunately - and this is where it being my C race comes into play - I also rode a hellishly difficult ride called Happy Happy Pain Pain which kicked my ass, and started a new speedwork run program aimed towards raising my top end - and hopefully therefore bottom end - speed for my marathon (my A race, remember?). Two track workouts kicked what ass I had left after the weekend and the time trials.
Monticelloman is near Charlottesville, VA. Everyone I mentioned it to said a variant on "oh, Charlottesville - that's hilly." Ah, yup. More on that later.
On top of all of the above, the weather had turned hot and so this would be the first workout in heat for which we hadn't acclimated, so I made sure to up my hydration and electrolyte consumption in the days before hand.
So, none of this was ideal to going hard on a race that would be close to 3 hrs. But remember - this was my C race. Eyes on the prize Mary, eyes on the marathon prize.
I drove the course on Saturday, confirming my categorization of the segments and got in the water (chilly but perfectly comfortable once I got going). A small but committed contingent of the team were there and it was neat catching up with old friends I hadn't seen in years.
On Sunday morning I think I had all my critical gear when I set up transition, although it had been strange to pare down my massively long Ironman packing list.
Thanks to a leisurely start time, I had plenty of time to chill, get in the water, warm up and stand around chatting with my friends.
Polly Mistake #3.
When I was talking with Polly in the minutes before race start, she tells me that since I'm going hard, I need to start hard and in fact stand in the shallow water and run in when the gun goes off. No - I was perfectly happy to be already in the water, thank you very much. Nope. She insisted. And because I was feeling cocky and because swimming has lately proven--much to my chagrin--to be my strongest sport, I figured that it was OK - if I start out in front, maybe I can stay somewhat towards the front. Remember - that P word was still floating around in my head, though I didn't mention it to a single person.
In the final seconds before the gun went off, I stand in the shallow water, finger hovering over my timex, heart rate quickly rising. And rising quickly. In fact, for the first time in over ten years of triathlon, I suffered a panic attack in the water. By my estimate, it lasted for about the first 200 yards of the race - maybe 5 minutes. It manifested itself as a shallowness to my breathing, and inability to catch my breath and feel comfortable in the water. I breast stroked for a few strokes a couple of times and by the time I reached the first turn buoy, the feeling had passed and I'd started passing people. But it was a strange and frightening experience and one that reminds me to ALWAYS race my own race and not someone else's.
Don't get me wrong - asking someone far more experienced than me about race strategy isn't a bad thing. In this case, I should have simply stuck to my own starting strategy, especially at the beginning of what is still a fairly long effort and a race where I was aiming to do things I'd never attempted before, and a race in which I fully expected to spend more time in Z4 than I ever had before. Why start out in Z5?
But there I am in the swim thinking my entire plan has gone out the door. If I wasn't so focused on keeping good form, I'd have been kicking myself all around the course. Ah well. It was a worthy experiment, eh?
In the end, once I caught my breath and found my comfortable rhythm, I found myself passing a lot of people . I pulled hard and tried to aim for 'just this side' of uncomfortable. I'd estimated a 30 minute swim plus run to transition and ended up at 31:27 for 6/21 in my age group. So definitely some time lost to the panic attack.
I'm happy to say that transition is still one of my skills (along with super fast peeing!) and my transitions were 2nd and 3rd respectively. This is short course - those seconds count!
After my second triathlon in 2004, I got beaten up in the swim so much that I never did an ocean swim again until the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim in 2014. But I distinctly remember getting on my then brand spanking new road bike and telling myself one word: strength. This is my strength and I needed to focus on that and not the swim behind me. I found myself again repeating that word in Monticelloman. Here was my element. I'd driven the course and I thought it would really suit Scarlett and me.
And so it did. I'd estimated an average of 19.2 mph, although I didn't think it would take so long to get to that average. Instead, the 'lumpy,' 'trending upwards,' and 'flattish' segments conspired to keep the average down until towards the end of the 6 miles of 'trending down' at the end of the 23.5 miles. My Garmin tells me I went slower, but the results say 19.2 so I'll take it. And now I was in 5th, having passed one woman in my age group. I didn't know that, of course, but I had hammered the bike, seldom dropping out of the big chain ring, pushing it up the hills when normally I'd spin. While I was sure that I didn't want to barf, I had aimed for a 'controlled burn' and had pretty much ridden the course smartly and strongly. And it was a pleasurable bonus too that nobody passed me the entire way around except one long legged gazelle who couldn't sustain the pass and I soon passed her back.
I only now needed to hold on for dear life on the run. 'Want to die.' I was fairly sure that this was impossible, but I'd aim to do my best.
I realized though in the first couple of miles that I had grossly underestimated the profile of the run. I hadn't driven it the day before so I didn't realize that even the downhills had uphills and that those hills were Never. Ever. Ending. My first mile was about as I'd planned, but it soon became obvious I wouldn't be able to sustain it and my splits would be nowhere near what I'd estimated.
Ah well. Plan B. Or C or whatever I was now up to, having screwed up my race in the first 400 yards. My friend (bless her - not Polly this time) suggested visualizing the supermarket and going through the alphabet selecting treats I'd buy myself if only I kept running to the top of this or that hill. I'd gotten to B on the bike, but went into overdrive on the run. But it worked and I stayed running for the full race. I ended with 'L for Lake' (yes, I know you can't buy a lake at the supermarket, but I didn't have a lot of time to think - those damned hills kept coming at me like the water in the Sorcerer's Apprentice - an equally nightmarish memory for me) and hung onto the idea of running through the finish and straight into the lake to cool off.
Actually, I'm pretty bloody proud of myself for running the whole thing. I did want to die. I did think I couldn't do it. I did have a short conversation with myself about the fact that if I walked, the woman behind me who would soon pass me could be the next place in my age group. That was another moment of triumph.
I'd estimated a 10K of 58 or thereabouts. In the end, it was 58:28. Two women in my age group did pass me and I was 7/21. In and of itself, this is huge. My normal race pattern is mid swim, mid-high bike and low run placings. I have never been in the top third of the run.
I hated every single moment of that run. Hated. I wanted to walk, but I didn't. I ran the whole thing and in the end left nothing on the course. To the point where when I finally stood up after laying down for a while after I crossed the finish line, I started to hyperventilate. I guess Polly was right - I should want to die on the run. And I did, believe me.
In the end, another thing I was pleased by was that my run time was only a minute slower than my last run time trial had indicated I could do on an Olympic 10K. And on such a hilly course on such a hot day - I'm pretty chuffed my that.
My final time was 2:47:41, good enough for 4th place in my age group and within 41 seconds of what I'd written down as my goal. Not too bad estimation for a race distance I hadn't done in nearly a decade. And only 24 seconds off the podium! The panic attack cost me third place, but my bike and hanging on in the run, and more than anything my transitions kept me in the game. I'm as far from disappointed as I can be.
This race was a test of how hard I could go, how much could I overcome, how much could I hurt? And I learned a lot. The answers are: fast, a lot, and more than I think I ever want to again.
Until, that is, the sprint I'm eyeing later in the summer ...
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