« Post-Race Ouchiness | Main | To Nike+? Or Not? »

August 29, 2007

Accenture Chicago Triathlon

After sticking my toe into the deep and swirly waters of triathlon last summer with a super sprint event, I decided that I liked it enough to commit to an Olympic distance event this year. Choosing the event was a no brainer - I work for the title sponsor of the major tri here in town and as such was able to enjoy a significantly reduced entry fee. Why travel to an event I'd have to pay full price for when I could do the local race on the cheap? Sometimes, working for The Man has its benefits.

Shortly before running El Piggy (which, oops, I never wrote a report for. Bad Dawnie!), I started researching tri training plans online. I was assuming that they'd be about 18 weeks long, much like the standard marathon training plan, which meant I'd get a week off after the race before jumping into full time tri training. In my plan-ahead mind, this meant I needed to have a plan ready to go before I ran the Pig. In all of that digging, I wound up finding Max Multisport - a local company that offered full multisport coaching for a ridiculously reasonable amount. I signed up, met my coach and worked out a tentative plan in the weeks before the pig, and then once I was moved and recovered we hit the ground running. And biking. And swimming.

Throughout the summer, I kept waiting for the training to build into Big Huge Workouts, like it does with marathon training. Except it never did. Sure, I was doing 1.5-2 hour rides and/or runs every weekend, and I was working out 5 or 6 days out of the week (instead of 4-5 days), but I just never felt like the ass-kicking that I expected arrived. And while that certainly made maintaining a social life easier, it just felt... weird. Two weeks out from the race, I didn't feel like I was two weeks out from the race. I didn't feel like I'd put enough work in. I didn't feel like my training had really ramped up at all, even though it had (the increase was mostly in intensity rather than time). Couple that with your typical taper angst and I had a complete and total "OH MY GOD I AM SO NOT READY FOR THIS I AM GOING TO DIE" freakout.

As a result, I went into the race with fairly low expectations. I knew I could finish the run in an hour or so, and I was pretty sure I could get through the swim in slightly under an hour, but what about the bike? 26 miles? Ummm.... an hour and a half? Maybe? If everything goes really well? Maybe closer to 2 hours? So that would give me a finish time of under 4 hours? Eh, OK, I can deal with that.

Race day arrived and I woke up bright and early, even though there is nothing "bright" about 3:30 a.m. except for the blinding light from the bedroom lamp. I got the last few things together, got changed, packed my breakfast, and by 4:30 was heading out the door. When I got to the lakefront, I was only mildly surprised to see a whole slew of people riding on the path. Clearly, they were all going to the same place I was. I got to the transition area with plenty of time to find my bike rack, set everything up, and then scope out my best routes to and from the various entrances and exits. Once I felt comfortable with the geography of it all, I grabbed my "pre-race" bag, waved good-bye to my bike, and headed out.

As I walked down towards the swim start, I passed the swim finish, and I was surprised to see just how far apart the two were... and that was for the sprint swim! My swim would have an extra little loop south before heading north to the finish. I tried not to think about it. I met up with the rest of the sponsor employees and smiled in the group picture. Then I had about 3 and a half hours to kill before my wave would start, so I parked myself along the swim course and watched the sprinters swim on past. With 2 hours to go, I ate my breakfast. With 90 minutes to go, I hit the port-o-lets. With 45 minutes to go, I began the task of putting my wetsuit on, which I would stretch out until I zipped it up just before my wave hit the water.

Standing in the start corral, the familiar feeling of complete and absolute fear crept over me. It doesn't happen with every race, but with a new racing experience (such as My Biggest, Longest Triathlon Ever?) I can pretty much count on it. Sunday morning, I was focused on the fact that the swim had a deep water start, which meant I was going to have to jump in the water. With lots of other people watching. I had visions of needing to jump down from the concrete shore we were standing on, a good foot above the water level. I was nearly dizzy with fear as my stomach dropped to my feet. Swimming 1500 meters? No problem! Jumping down a foot into murky lake water with hundreds of witnesses? Hell no. Thankfully, when my wave got to the front corral I was able to see a set of steps that led down from the concrete to the water, so I just had a wee little jump off the last step. Whew. That? Was totally doable.

As the wave jumped in, a cloud of profanity arose from the group: the lake was cold. I'd missed the official water temperature announcement, but I'd heard that it was around the mid-60s. Um, no. I immediately felt sorry for the few people that weren't wearing wetsuits. Even in a full suit (which I was so very glad I had), my hands and feet were cold enough that I was feeling chilly. I moved to the back and side of the group, got my goggles on (very tricky when you're treading water, even with the extra floatiness of the wetsuit), and waited for the start.

The horn went off, and I had plenty of time to start my watch while the front of the wave took off. It took me a bit to get into a rhythm, but I took it nice and steady until I did. I discovered that back- and/or sidestroking in a wetsuit feels very strange if you're not used to it. Strange enough that I flat out didn't want to do it, and only did when I really needed to catch my breath. Before I knew it, I'd covered the 375 yards to the turnaround and was heading back north. This stretch seemed to last forever, but I realized something: for the first time in a tri swim, I felt calm and collected in the water. My heart wasn't racing, I wasn't gasping for air, and I felt pretty good. It was awesome. Sure, I was getting run over by the faster swimmers from the waves behind me, but I expected that. I stopped apologizing mentally for being in the way, and just worried about not hitting people in front of me. As I got closer to the end I could finally see the orange buoy by the water exit, and I picked it up a bit. I had absolutely no idea how long I'd been in the water, and I didn't really care. I was almost done, I felt good, and I wasn't going to be totally winded for the first part of the bike. Awesome.

At the swim exit, there were more stairs (we were swimming along shore in the harbor, not at one of the beaches). The stairs were full of volunteers helping us out of the water, and I was surprised by how much I needed their help. Getting my butt out of the water was tricky, and I was so dizzy that I needed help from the volunteers on the higher steps to keep from falling back in the water. This never ceases to amaze me - even if I don't feel dizzy in the water, I always feel dizzy when I stand up afterwards, but it only happens when I swim in the lake. Go figure. The jog to transition was super-long, which I'd been warned about. I'd placed a pair of old running shoes near the swim exit so I wouldn't have to do the 1/4 mile over asphalt in bare feet, but I couldn't find them when I jogged past the spot. Rather than spend time searching for them, I just said "screw it" and made a run for it. Not. Comfy. The asphalt was bumpy and broken up in places, and I was so, so glad when I got to the transition area and could jog on grass for a little bit.

Total swim time (including the long-ass jog): 46:06

When I got to my bike in the transition area, I got my wetsuit off as quickly as I could, threw on my shoes and socks, wolfed down some Clif Bloks and stuck the rest of the bag in the pocket of my jersey. Helmet and glasses went on, race number belt went on, I took a big swig of water while I surveyed myself and the transition area to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything, and I was off. It was kind of a trek to the bike exit, but not too bad. I could have placed my bike closer to the other end of the rack, but that would only have saved me 30 seconds or so. My bike, while placed nicely for the swim in and run out areas, was not in a good spot for bike out/bike in. Woe.

T1: 5:03

I got out of transition, moved over to the side to get on my bike, and then headed up the ramp to Lake Shore Drive. I would have to bike up to the north end of it, turn around, and then do that loop one more time for a total of about 25 miles. As soon as I got going, I realized that my stomach was not feeling good: it was crampy and hurty and I was not a fan. Thankfully, since I was sitting down and bent forward, it didn't bother me too much. I figured I needed electrolytes and fuel, so I started by drinking down the Gatorade I had on my bike. When I got to the first turnaround, I sucked down a Gu. As I was heading back south, I thought that maybe, if I stopped at the bathroom, I might feel better. Luckily, there was a port-o-let at the turnaround at the south end of the bike course. Let me tell you: using a port-o-let in the middle of Lake Shore Drive? While there were cars on it? (The left 2 lanes were closed in each direction for the tri, but the outer two lanes were open to regular traffic.) Was something of a bizarre experience. On the plus side, after all of the Gatorade and water I'd chugged down, I really needed to pee. On the down side, my stomach didn't feel any better. I got on the bike, turned back north, and decided that even though I was hurting, I still needed something solid. I reached for the Blocks in my jersey pocket, since the idea of an energy bar was completely unappealing, but they were gone. Nooo! It had been a tight fit to begin with, so I wasn't entirely surprised. But I was saddened. This meant I'd have to choke down the Luna bar I had. Ugh.

On the plus side, I was absolutely flying through the course despite my discomfort. Every time I looked down, I was moving along at 19 or 20 mph, except for when I was going up some of the steeper inclines. I couldn't believe it. I was way ahead of where I'd expected to be and completely thrilled about it. Visions of a 3:30 finish were dancing in my head, although I tried not to think about it too much until I got through the rest of the bike.

One thing I learned? Lake Shore Drive is not flat. It's not mountainous terrain by any means (this is Chicago, after all), but it's got one overpass or another every mile or so, so it was just constant rollers. I was completely surprised by it, and I was also surprised by my surprise. I mean, I've driven or ridden a bus down LSD a million times over the past few years - how did I not notice the hills? Apparently my powers of observation leave a bit to be desired. The good thing was I was ready for it. My coach had me riding loops around one of the beach parking lots by me that had the same pattern of overpass after overpass. It was on a much smaller scale, of course, but I think it did me a lot of good. More so than if I'd spent all my bike time on the perfectly pancake-like lakefront path. Before I knew it, I was heading back over the river and down the exit ramp to transition. The bike was done, and I still had something like an hour and ten minutes to get to a 3:30 finish. I could totally run a 10K in that time. As I ran into transition, my legs felt good, I had tons of energy left, and I was ready to rock it. I found my spot with no trouble at all, changed my shoes and my hat, grabbed another Gu and some more water, and headed out for the run.

Bike: 1:26:18, Avg speed: 17.6 MPH
T2: 4:51

As soon as I started jogging out of transition, my stomach spoke up to let me know that it was not feeling any better. It was, in fact, still crampy and angry about something. Gah. I ran most of the first mile, stopping to jog/walk when I had to, but it just wasn't happening. It hurt. It was the kind of pain that, had I not been in the middle of a race, I would have lied down and curled up into a little ball until it went away. Standing up straight was painful enough, and running was just about out of the question. I got myself to the next set of port-o-lets, convinced that if I could just get something out of my system one way or another, I'd be fine. Except nothing wanted to leave.

I. Was. Pissed. My nearly perfect race was being thwarted, and I didn't even know how to fix it! More Gatorade was making me feel worse, so I laid off the fuel for a while. I walked down the course belching like a frat boy, but that didn't help, either. I couldn't believe it. However, as I felt myself getting upset, I took a deep breath and tried to calm down. I told myself that getting upset now wasn't going to help me. If I wanted to be sad and angry, I could do that afterwards. For now? I had a job to do, and that job was to figure out how to feel better so I could get to the finish line as fast as possible.

A small ray of light shone down around mile 3, though. I wasn't feeling any better, but I looked at my watch and realized that even if I kept walking, as long as I kept up a decent pace, I could still finish under 4 hours. That gave me enough motivation to try and run anytime the pain let up even a little bit. At first, I'd only make it a few steps before I had to stop. But little by little, the run intervals got longer and longer. Somewhere around mile 5, I realized that even though I was a little uncomfy and wanted to stop running, I didn't have to. I started out just making to the next light pole, or the next curve in the road, and before I knew I was going pretty good. I didn't feel great, but I was running. As I wound my way from the lakefront path to Columbus Ave, I was going strong. I was almost done, and I was going for the big finish. I crossed the line right at 3:54 by my watch.

Run: 1:32:04
Total: 3:54:24

Now that I was done with the race, I was allowed to be upset about the horrible awful run. However, I just wasn't that annoyed by it anymore. Yeah, I was annoyed. Yeah, I would have been much happier if I'd finished closer to 3:30 than 4:00, but I still came in under 4 hours. Which is what I'd been hoping for anyway. More importantly, I felt good at the finish. I didn't feel wiped out or beat up. Sure, the race didn't go exactly how I'd hoped, but I'd finished and lived to tell the tale. I can always get that 3:30 next time.

You heard that right - next time. I had so much fun with this race, that there will definitely be more in the future.

Posted by Dawn at August 29, 2007 02:21 PM

Comments

Posted by: LeahC at August 30, 2007 11:03 AM

Posted by: ShoreTurtle at August 30, 2007 11:32 AM

Posted by: Leah Flickinger at August 30, 2007 06:45 PM