Yes, I did it! I raised over my fundraising goal -- $2600 total -- and completed my second annual Olympic-distance triathlon with Team in Training. This all happened May 3. It's now May 11. Frankly, that's not a bad delay. Somehow it feels like an eternity has passed since the race. I have been going through my usual "now what?" phase in which instead of congratulating myself on completing what I set out to do I immediately begin thinking about what I should do next and how far behind I am on whatever it is. Although there has been a considerable amount of resting going on too, while I exercise my cranial worry and self-instrospection muscles.
The whole reason I decided to do Team in Training again after last year's great experience was because a nice woman/motivational speaker in my running group convinced me too. She told me I should join up despite the economy and my rocky finances, because fundraising was a form of "acting in abundance." Bless her soul, she quit the group after a few weeks (I still like you, if you're reading this), so for a while I was fond of saying she tricked me into joining.
Ultimately, I did raise the money, though it was harder this year and I had to make a large charge on my American Express to cover my minimum goal before all the donations came in. That charge will theoretically be reimbursed to me in a few weeks, which is a good thing as I don't have any money with which to pay the stupid AmEx bill.
We packed the family up and got down to Lake San Antonio (3.5 hours south of the Bay Area) Friday around noon -- much earlier than last year. The kids were excited. We pitched our tent as far away from my team as possible. I didn't want to make enemies with the loud kids and snoring we have going on. Then I rode my bike down to the lake and did our coach's designated workout with the group: 20 minutes swimming on the course in the wetsuit, followed by a bike ride back up steep Lynch Hill (about a mile) and a 10 minute run.
The next day, coach wanted us to do a 20-minute run. I did that too, although I worried it might be too much. I told an athlete on another team what he had us do. "What, does he have you running repeats on Lynch Hill?" he asked sarcastically. Last year, I rested for two days before the race. This year, I exercised, although admittedly it wasn't much.
Also, my husband wasn't too happy to be there. Basically, I was dealing with three kids, not two. I've been married a long time, however, so it's not the first time nor will it be the last that my spouse and I aren't in sync. And I know, I am not blameless when it comes to our relationship. But I slept OK, surprisingly. Woke up a bit sore. Packed up and got down to the race area. The previous day I had watched the elites as they did their transitions, and that proved quite helpful. I set myself up. Started feeling incredibly nervous. Over and over, I worried that I hadn't trained hard enough this year. Also, my quads felt a bit sore. I don't feel sore that often these days. Not a good sign.
The race began with the college men and then women. It's so exciting to watch them take off, swimming out in an inverted V with the leader closely followed by her rivals. Then at the very back are the stragglers. There's always one who looks like he or she didn't prepare, or perhaps has never learned to swim. I'm not sure what that's about. Do they complete the swim course, or just dog paddle back to shore? Meanwhile, the top competitors finish the 0.9 mile swim in 17 minutes or so (23 or so for women).
This year, I was starting an hour earlier than last year, as I'd managed to get into the first TNT women's wave, which also included women under 24 years old. I was happy to be with younger, more competitive people, as I hoped it would give me an edge in the run by inspiring me to work harder than last year's walkers and kibbutzers. The downside was I knew no one in my starting wave.
We pulled up to the start and warmed up in the water for five minutes. I felt great -- my wetsuit was really loose around my neck and shoulders. The water temperature was in the high 60s. Warmup ended, we stood at the starting line -- I stood in the back, on the inside "lane" -- and the starting horn went off. We jumped in. To my surprise, I did not get winded in the first five minutes. In fact, I never felt the struggle of "going aerobic" as I did last year.
I stroked out, quickly finding my rhythm, and pretended I was Michael Phelps. Rounding the first buoy, I began the straightaway. I was still with other swimmers -- this too was different from last year, when I found myself alone almost immediately as all the other swimmers passed me. I was absolutely enjoying myself. There is no feeling I like better than being in the middle of a giant lake, swimming. Eventually, to my surprise, I felt less splashing around me and thought, "great, it's opening up, and I'm passing some swimmers." After a minute or three I looked up and realized that I had swum out into the middle of the buoys, off course. I had to take a diagonal course back to rejoin the other swimmers. I wondered how much time that had cost me. As I rounded the second buoy, beginning my return journey, my watch read 20 minutes. I began thinking that I should not get upset if I didn't beat last year's time -- there was a whole race to do, and this was just the first part. Sure enough, when I finally stood up on shore, I saw that I had swum one minute slower than last year -- although I felt a million times better. Then I began running up the hill, yanking off my wetsuit. My legs felt like jelly.
After a quick transition to the bike, I took it easy on the first hill. The ride is so gorgeous. I was digging being out there with faster bikers, and glued myself to a woman 10 years younger than me (everyone's age is marked on their left calf). She passed me on the uphills, I passed her on the downhills. I clocked myself at 38 miles per hour -- my fastest ever -- going downhill. At the 13-mile halfway point I wasn't sure how well I was doing. But then three-quarters of the way, I began envisioning myself running across the finish line, ecstatic because I had come in five or 10 minutes faster than last year. I had to snap myself out of it: "Come on Alexa, it's not time to celebrate yet -- the race isn't over till it's over."
At the top of the hill, just before the mile down Lynch Road, I had a broad smile. I was so happy to be done with the bike. Again, I felt great. I knew I was within a minute of last year's time. Spectators yelled out "Great smile!" I love the spectators. I flew down the hill and did my fastest transition yet, thanks to observing the elites: 1:40 to change shoes and grab my hat, number and water bottle. I began running. My water bottle was hot. I ate a Cliff Shot, swigged water -- then tossed it away, even though the bottle cost $14. It has a giant red cow's nipple made out of some strange rubber, though, which I and my husband have never liked, so I figured I'd get a new one.
Now things got ugly. My vastus medialis, a little muscle on the inside leg above the knee, began to cramp on both legs. I'd only run a mile of the 10K course. Last year I started to cramp on the last hill. Now I was cramping at the outset. I stretched and swore loudly like a sailor, causing several people to turn and look at me. I ran, walked, ran, shuffled, drank electrolytes, stretched. I knew my run was going to go badly. But after another mile it was clear that walking was worse, as it seemed to make me overstride and cramp more. So I stuck with the shuffle.
The good thing about the run was this: Mentally, aside from the cramp, I was much more focused. I think all the running I've done in the last year has helped in this respect. In the end, I made it to the last hill. They called my name as I crossed the mat at the top of the hill -- "Alexa Morales, from Oakland" -- and I picked up my speed. I pushed myself down the hill, passing five or more runners. A woman in front of me was a bounder, and I couldn't catch her. The finish chute seemed to go on forever. I reached out for high-fives to keep myself motivated and slapped hands almost all the way. I crossed the line, held my hands high in victory, then stopped. I felt totally overwhelmed. My family was nowhere to be seen. Another athlete I knew gave me a hug.
I wandered to the TNT booth, checked in and got my finisher's pin, then saw the medical tent. I started crying behind my sunglasses. There were strawberries on the ground outside the med tent, and I remembered there were more inside. I went in. Strawberries were gone, but there were bananas. I picked one up and asked for ice. They brought me two packs for my cramping muscles. I sat there feeling sorry for myself. I had finished in 3:33, two minutes slower than last year. But then I looked over and saw one of our young runners being rehydrated via IV, crying. Another guy was on a respirator. Things could be way worse, I thought. Our TNT manager came over and patted me on the head, which nearly caused me to lose it. A gesture like that sometimes touches me so much.
After a few minutes, I felt better. A man sitting next to me suggested some exercises to strengthen that pesky vastus muscle. Eventually I left the tent, spent an hour unsuccessfully locating my family, packed up my transition area and rode the shuttle back up the hill. My husband and boys were sitting in the car, waiting for me. They'd been there for hours and were none too happy about it. I quickly changed clothes and we joined the massive traffic jam to leave the park. All I could think of was In-n-Out Burger in Salinas. After a half hour, my husband asked how the race had gone, and I started babbling about the entire experience.
We drove past scenery that was breathtakingly green, with painterly clouds and folded hills everywhere. The odyssey was over! The burger joint was packed in Salinas, but worth the wait. Several hours later, we arrived home and were surprised at how much we felt like we'd been on a long vacation.
I can't wait to do it all again.
