Altamont 5k

I met Marje Brown in 7th grade, and we've been best friends ever since. That's 42 years worth of ever since: High school, college, marriages, babies, divorces, jobs, houses, parents. We've shared it all. Last fall, Marje moved away to start a new career. She also started exercising and running. She took the running to the next level by entering some 5ks, and I believe she is hooked. She and I have been trying to coordinate our schedules in order to do a race together. Last weekend, Marje's daughter, Katie, was married in Albany, NY. Marje emailed me to ask what I thought of doing a 5k in a neighboring town the morning after the wedding. I said, "I'm in, if you're in." The race was the 16th Annual Altamont 5k in Altamont, NY. The race is a benefit for a local food shelf. We pre-registered, a very reasonable $16, in order to save time on race day. And, we reasoned, if we didn't go, it's a donation to a worthy cause.

The wedding was fantastic! Drinks, hors d'oeuvres, ceremony, dinner, drinks, dancing--as mother of the bride, Marje celebrated without reservation. So did I. We caught the 11:00 p.m. shuttle back to the hotel. Marje was feeling a little nauseous, and I definitely had a pretty good buzz going. I don't drink much anymore, so I was feeling it. Around 7:15 the next morning, I sent Marje a text asking if she was awake. She was and ready to go. I headed downstairs to the breakfast bar for my usual oatmeal and coffee. We met in the lobby and headed out. On the way, I remembered that the race website asked for a donation of non-perishable food items, so we stopped at a Price Chopper to pick up a few things.

The race start was at Bozenkill Park in Altamont. It was a beautiful, sunny morning, a touch cool but warming up fast. Good thing, because I had on a tank and running shorts, but neglected to pack even a sweatshirt. We picked up our race packets, did our pre-race stuff, and headed to the start. It was a pretty large event, with a few hundred people. The race started a little bit after the 9:00 start time. We positioned ourselves near the back. Before the race, I asked Marje what her target finish time was. Her PR was just over 37 minutes, so she was aiming for 37 even. I had my Garmin 910 on, which allows me to track current and average pace, distance, and time, all in one screen. I did some quick math and figured we'd need to average around 11:45 minute miles to achieve that. The course was a counter-clockwise loop from the park. The first mile and a quarter was a gradual gain in elevation of about 75 feet. We averaged 11:59 for that first mile. I hadn't looked at the map, so I wasn't sure of the course, but I thought if we were gaining at the start, then we should have a downhill for the second half. And we did. As we neared the end of the climbing, we approached a corner, and Marje remarked that she may need to walk, depending on the terrain. A moment later, I had a view around the corner, and it was down! We continued to run, and clocked the second mile in 11:48. I was keeping a close eye on my watch and was just talking, giving Marje some racing tips, talking about mental tricks that I use. As we neared the three mile mark, I had a good idea that Marje was headed for a PR, but I didn't tell her, I just kept looking at my watch and tried to push the pace a bit. We hit the three mile mark at the entrance to the park, and had run that mile in 11:28. We had 1:45 to run the last tenth of a mile, uphill, to the finish line. I asked Marje if she felt like she could sprint a little. She said, "I know I'm not going to PR," and I replied, "We'll see." I picked up the pace. Marje said she was giving it all she had. We could see the finish line, and I said, "You've got this, you're almost there!" I dropped behind her, and just yelled, "Go, go, go!" I stopped my watch as Marje crossed just in front of me, 36:47! We were both so excited! Our first race together, and the best outcome we could've hoped for. The whole experience was fantastic. They had cool t-shirts (one I will actually wear), water, iced tea, and cookies, lots of free samples, and a nice bag from a local sports medicine clinic. I would absolutely do this race again. And I believe this is just the first of many races Marje and I will run together.

Shelburne Olympic Triathlon

This past Sunday, I did an olympic distance triathlon in Shelburne, VT. This is the longest distance triathlon that I've completed to date, and part of my plan to step up to longer distance races. When I attended Coach Troy Jacobson's Lake Placid camp, he recommended that pursuing an Ironman finish should be a five-year plan. I did my first tri, a sprint distance at this same location, three years ago. It's taken me this long to finally step up to a longer distance. My hip injury and subsequent surgery set me back about a year. Since then, I've done a half-distance Aquabike, several "mini-tris", and a couple of non-conventional distance races between the sprint and olympic distances.

I felt I was as prepared for this race as I could be. My goal for the swim was under 40 minutes. I've been doing open water swims all summer, almost all of them around 1.2 miles, so I knew I could do a 0.9 mile swim. The bike course was 27 miles, a little long for an olympic, so my goal for the whole race was under three hours. I set my alarm for 4:15 a.m. We had to catch the 5:25 a.m. Grand Isle ferry to Vermont. I had time to force-feed myself a little oatmeal and brew some coffee to bring along. I had packed my gear and bike into the car the night before, so I just had to dress and eat. We were out of the house by 4:50 and at the ferry dock in plenty of time. I didn't sleep much the night before, and my nerves were in high gear. I let my husband drive; in retrospect, it would've been better if I drove. It gives me something to do and focuses my attention away from perseverating on the race, especially the swim. My stomach was bothering me, and I had a minor breakdown of confidence before we got to the race site. I hate those long, early morning drives on race morning. Too much time to think, and no outlet for my nervous energy. Once I get to the race site, I'm much better. I pick up my race packet, get body-marked, set up my transition. I like to take my bike for a quick ride to make sure it's in the gear I want. In this case, it was good that I did, because I had racked my bike by the handlebars, and discovered that the brake levers were stuck on the rack. When I returned with the bike, I racked it by the seat. I saw my friend, Mary Duprey and her family, and we talked for a bit. Mary's daughter, Tori, was doing the sprint race, her first triathlon. And Tori's boyfriend was doing the olympic along with Mary. We discussed whether to wear our neoprene socks. Zebra mussels are a huge problem in Lake Champlain. They are an invasive species, and besides all the problems they cause for indigenous lake life-forms, they are razor sharp and can cut your feet to shreds. I have a scar on my little toe from brushing a zebra mussel a couple of years ago that required a few stitches. We heard the swim start for this race had changed because of a zebra mussel infestation. We elected to wear our socks. I had time to do a warm-up swim. I'm glad I did. The water was a little chillier than I expected, and I swam long enough to get over that breathless feeling. We got refreshingly short race instructions--thank you, Rayne Herzog!--and we were back in the water waiting for the gun.

(I think that's me all alone in the center of the picture.)

Despite what I said after the Lake Placid mini-tri earlier in the week, I decided to position myself at the back and off to the side. I wanted empty water ahead of me, and I needed to have a successful swim. In other words, a panic-free swim. The race started, and off we went. I started out slowly to let myself re-acclimate to the water temperature. It was a triangular swim from the boat launch. There were only four buoys for the entire course; two for the sprint and two for the olympic. We swam past the sprint buoy to the first olympic buoy, made an acute angle turn to swim across Shelburne Bay to the other olympic buoy, then made a right-angle turn towards shore, swimming past the sprint buoy. The swim across the bay was a long stretch that truly needed at least one buoy. It was hard to sight across that stretch, that far buoy was so far away. The bay is shallow and weedy in spots, but I felt secure the entire time. I passed three people before the turn and felt like I was completely alone for the swim across the bay. I had to sight and correct often, and by the second buoy, I was feeling tired. About halfway from the buoy to shore, I heard a voice and stopped to discover that I was a little off-course. A very nice man in a kayak was alerting me to this fact, and I asked him if I was last. He said, "Oh, no, you're doing fine!" (Turns out, only three people finished after me.) It gave me a nice boost and I swam to shore without any other problems. When my hands touched bottom, I stood up to walk in. Problem was, I was still a ways from shore. The water got thigh deep again, which is very tiring to walk through. My feet touched shore at exactly 40 minutes. I hit a button on my watch, which turned out to be the stop button and not the lap button. I ran up the launch, a steep little hill, and to my bike. I had a good spot in transition, less than ten feet from the bike out. There's only one timing mat for this race, so T1 is part of your swim time, and T2 is part of your run. The bike time is the only pure time. As I sat to peel off my wetsuit, I realized that my watch was stopped, so I restarted it and hit the lap button to advance it to T1. I struggled getting my wetsuit off, because I had put the socks on over the wetsuit. Bad idea. The swim was hard for me, and I was feeling a little spent. Finally got the wetsuit off, shoes and helmet on, ate a mini-Larabar, shoved a gel in my pocket, and went. Turns out, my transition was only about a minute. Seemed like an eternity.

The first five mile lap on the bike was my slowest. There is a climb out of transition, and the first few miles are generally uphill. Plus, I had never changed the bike on my Garmin 500 from my road bike to my tri bike, so it wasn't registering my cadence. I fooled with that for a few minutes and finally got it fixed. I had the Garmin 500 on the bike because it's hard to see my watch when I'm aero, and I want to watch my numbers. Need to work on a better system. In any event, after five miles, I felt recovered from the swim, had everything working, and I started to hammer. The bike course is a couple of miles out, then two clock-wise loops with climbs on the 6:00-12:00 side, and some incredible downhills on the other side. There was also a charming little covered bridge, very New England! After the second loop, we turned away from the return to do a five mile out and back before returning to transition. I passed everyone I came to and felt like I was making up for the time I had lost on the swim. It was a nice downhill stretch back into transition, so I eased up a bit on the power, and spun a higher cadence to loosen up my legs. I had hoped to finish the bike in about 1:20:00. I ended up with 19.5 mph average speed, which gave me a 1:23:00 bike split. I don't think I could've gone any harder and still have legs for the run. I did another fairly quick transition, about 1:45. When you head out for the run on this course, you have to run away from the finish line, all the way down through the bike racks, and back up that distance again, but outside the finish line/timing mat. 

Again, the course is an uphill run out of transition. Thankfully, there is a turn after a half mile or so, down a cinder road which comes to a T, then a turn on a paved road for an out and back. The course is a mix of roller-type hills and flat sections. Whenever my watch beeped the one mile splits, I was happy to see times in the low to mid 8's and even high 7's. I passed everyone I came to once again, and this time, no one passed me on the run. I just tried to keep a steady pace, and stay focused on my form. It was getting warm. I carried my hand-held bottle, and grabbed water at the aide stations mostly to pour on myself. I felt strong and steady for the entire run, and was cruising the downhill back to the finish line. I saw 2:58:30-something on the clock, and kicked it up a gear to make sure I finished under three hours. I was ecstatic to be done and to have accomplished my two goals for this race--in control on the swim and an under three hour finish. When we got results, Mary had finished second overall, so I knew I had a chance at age group. I was second place, but was awarded the age group win due to Mary's overall finish. I won a medal and a beer glass. The t-shirt for this race was an extra $20, I think, but I ponied up for it because I heard it was a nice shirt. I wasn't disappointed, it's a nice tech shirt with an awesome graphic. They also do a raffle after. The grand prize was a wetsuit, which Tori won. I won a $25 gift card to Fleet Feet. I had a $10 off certificate from another race, and combined the two to get a new pair of Brooks Ghost 6 running shoes. Great day, I need to put this race, the sprint at least, on my yearly race schedule.

Race stats: Swim-40:01, T1-1:07, Bike-1:23:23, T2-1:47, Run-50:54. Total official time: 2:57:12. 19/20 women on the swim, 5/20 on the bike, 7/20 on the run, 8th place overall. 

High Peaks Cyclery Mini-Tri

High Peaks Cyclery bike shop in Lake Placid has been running a weekly mini-tri series for the past 29 summers. It's a 400 yard swim, 12 mile bike and three mile run, making it almost a sprint distance race. I've been doing triathlon for three years, and had heard about this series right from the beginning. My friend, Sandy, has been gently encouraging me to do one, and I finally did last night. The races are on Monday nights, starting at 6:30. Mondays are usually my rest days, and Lake Placid is almost an hour's drive from where I live, so I had a couple of easy excuses for not going. Last night's race was the last of the season, and I desperately needed redemption from my DNF at the Y-tri two weekends ago. I rode the Ididaride the day before, a 75 mile ride with over 4300' of climbing. I averaged 17.6 mph, and my average heart rate was just over 130 bpm, so I knew I hadn't gone too deep. When I woke up yesterday, my legs were feeling good, so I decided to go.

We got to Lake Placid early. The race director, Brian Delaney, set my bike up in the primo location in transition. I got my area set up, and took my bike for a quick spin. Decided to go with my shallower rear wheel with the 12/27 cassette. Put my wetsuit on and did a warm up swim almost all the way to the first buoy. I felt good. It was a beautiful, sunny evening and the water was smooth. I got out of the water and listened to the race instructions. Now, one thing I've noticed is when I get out of the water and don't remove my wetsuit right away, it "suctions" to my body. That's the only way I can describe it. I really should at least unzip my wetsuit after my warmup swim, then zip it quickly and pull the neck down to let some water in before I start swimming. I was all the way to the back, where I always start. Another thing I need to change. I only swim freestyle in races, and once I get into a rhythm, I'm fine. The problem is, I'm always swimming with the breast- and back-strokers, and I can't get going. The same thing happened last night. The race began, I started swimming, and I was immediately on the feet of slow people or whip-kickers that I couldn't get around. My wetsuit felt suffocatingly tight, and I was starting to panic. My heart rate was through the roof, and I could feel that weak, hypoxic feeling in my arms and legs. I entertained the thought of quitting for one second, but just couldn't stomach the thought of being a two-time loser. So, I just kept swimming. I somehow made it to the turn-around buoy, then managed to find some open water in front of me. Sighted a few times, only had to adjust once. I swam right into the exit, stood up and hit the lap button on my watch, and turned around to see how many people were still in the water. Shocked to see maybe 20 swim caps, and that only 11 minutes had elapsed since the race start. I always feel like I'm in the water forever, and that I'm last. Next race, I'm positioning myself about 3/4 of the way back. I think that's where I truly belong, and hopefully, it will keep me with the freestyle swimmers.

As I ran into transition, I yelled to my husband to grab a gel for when I finished the bike. That weak feeling was translating into a hungry feeling. I think I just imagined it, but it couldn't hurt to have a gel. I knew I had a 100 calorie bottle of Heed on the bike, so I should be okay. I did a quick transition, about 1:30, then headed out on the bike. I hammered it. I love the bike leg; I feel so strong, and I'm always so glad to be done the swim. Headed down Mirror Lake Drive to Northwood Road, a little climb there, then down to Route 86, and a lovely, fast downhill through the Notch to River Road. I passed everyone I came to. I was flying! After the turn on River Road, there is a little bump. I passed a couple of people there, then thought it would be a good time to grab another drink before I settled in the aerobars to time-trial River Road. As I reached down to put my bottle back on the seat tube, I muffed it, and my bottle went under the bike. Dammit! I just got that bottle at Ididaride the day before. I was only four miles into the ride, and there went my calories and fluid. It was a cool evening, maybe low 70's at this point, so I made an instaneous decision to leave the bottle. I had my handheld for the run, and my husband would have a gel ready for me. That would have to be good enough. River Road is made for me, with a few little rollers to work. I continued to pass people. I heard an admiring, "Whoa!," when I passed one young guy. I heard my watch beep a 5 mi lap and saw 12:56. The next beep, after turning from River Road to Route 73, and climbing the hill after the bridge back up to Route 86, showed 14:37. A spectator on that hill cheered my Team Placid Planet kit, and told me I had a cool helmet (Giro Air Attack with the face shield ). I did the math, and knew my ride would be about 35 minutes. Took the right on 86, back to Northwood and Mirror Lake Drive. My husband had the gel ready for me, and I was in and out of transition in about 45 seconds. I was worried that my shins would start rebelling, or I'd just suffer a general rebellion from my body because of the 75 miles the day before. I felt a little redlined as I ran that first mile on Mirror Lake Drive. I made the turn onto a dirt road just as my watch beeped a one-mile lap, and I was shocked to see 7:46. Holy crap, I was flying! The dirt road is a bit of a climb. A few people passed me shortly after transition, but then I started passing people on that dirt road. I made the turn-around, and had a nice downhill in front of me. Started to feel like I had my legs under me. Back to the end of the dirt road, my watch beeped again, and it was just two seconds slower than the first lap. I was back on Mirror Lake Drive with a mile to go, and I just pushed as hard as I could, keeping a good rhythm. Only two guys passed me after the dirt road. I heard my watch beep one more time before the finish (I can never figure out how to run the shortest distance on a race course), and I had run a 7:36 mile. Another tenth of a mile and I was at the finish line, so happy to have finished the race feeling so strong! My watch said 1:12:59. (Link to results)

Afterwards, everyone who races grabs a raffle ticket for some awesome prizes. I know they do the raffle every week. I'm not sure what the prizes typically are, but this week they had running shoes, fuel belts, beer from Lake Placid Brewery, shirts, googles, socks, gloves...all great stuff. I didn't win anything, but the age-group awards were coming up next. Before the raffle, I had wandered over to the table at the finish line where two formidable-looking women were entering results on a laptop. I tried peeking over their shoulders and got the hairy eyeball, and was told that Brian would give the results, so I slunk away, not knowing how I finished. After the raffle, Brian called out the age-group winners, starting with the youngest to oldest women, then the same with the men. There was a table full of items to choose from: Baseball caps, water bottles, nutrition and hydration, gym bags, etc...Again, awesome swag! Now, Lake Placid is a world-renowned vacation destination, which typically draws very fit people. Around 70 individuals and 10 teams did the race this week, and they were from all over. A woman from Far Hills, NJ won my age group. She beat me by about two minutes. When all the age-group winners were called, I started to leave, thinking it was over. I was half way to my car when I realized it wasn't over, and they were calling 2nd place winners. I got back just in time to hear my name, and I picked up a nice gym bag. I was very happy with my performance, happy that I toughed out the swim, and that I was walking away with some swag. It was almost 9:00 at this point (if you do this race be prepared for a long evening!), so we went to Wise Guys for dinner--they serve until 2:30 a.m. and the food is great. On the way home, I swung onto River Road and found my water bottle. Bonus!

**A Team Placid Planet group email went around the next day, and a couple of race veterans commented on how rough the swim was. One guy was sporting a bump on his head from being hit or kicked. I know I wasn't near that scrum, but there were a lot of people for this shoreline swim, so I don't feel so bad for feeling like it was a tight swim.

DNF or Die?

In my last post, I said that I had to quit a local race. I've signed up for a few races or events over the years that I didn't end up doing for various reasons (weather, illness, unexpected funeral), but I'd never quit a race I'd started. I've mentioned before that I'm not a strong swimmer. I never learned to swim well as a kid. We didn't have access to a pool. I took lessons for a couple of years at the local swim hole, which was basically a wide spot in the river. A farm bordered the opposite bank, and there were often cows drinking knee-deep in the water. A car had gone into the river off the bridge years ago, and wasn't removed until I was an adult, so we were always being cautioned to be careful. Lots of sliced feet on glass and rusty metal over the years from that car. The river got deep very quickly, so I could only wade out to my knees, and then it would drop away over my head. My mother grew up during the polio epidemic and wasn't allowed to swim at public beaches, so she grew up a non-swimmer fearful of the water. All-in-all, it added up to me reaching adulthood as basically a non-swimmer. I signed up for an 8-week course of adult swimming lessons at the Y when I was 47, then basically just worked and worked until I taught myself how to swim. I have a decent freestyle stroke; I look pretty in the water, but there isn't a lot of power behind it. It's mostly decorative. Means I'm also not a fast swimmer. If the water is calm, and I don't have a scrum of people around me, I can manage a consistent 2:25-ish per 100 meters. It gets the job done, and my real strength is cycling, so once I'm out of the water in a triathlon, I pass a lot of people. I'm a decent runner when I'm not injured, so I generally can maintain my position on the run.

The race this past weekend was a local triathlon that is put on every year by the Y. It starts with a half mile swim in Lake Champlain. Lake Champlain is a big, deep body of water, the sixth largest fresh water lake in the U.S. The bay that the swim takes place in for this race is a large, south-facing bay. There's almost always a south wind blowing into that bay in the summer. It's just a matter of degrees. Last year, it was a light wind, and I did the swim in about 22 min, which was excellent for me. This year, there were white caps. I knew I was in trouble when I saw the boat go out to reposition the third buoy, which had blown at least 15 yards out of position just minutes before the race started. That meant that no matter how rough it seemed from the shore, it was worse out there. I did a warm up swim with a friend, and the lake tossed me around at will. (That's me on the left).

 

My former master's swim coach came out from her warmup swim, and remarked how rough it was. I asked her for advice and she said to glue my chin to my shoulder when I rolled to breathe, so I could get air. Someone else said to stay long and glide. A couple of people told me to relax. That's not helpful advice when you know you're in a potentially dangerous situation. I know my abilities better than anyone, and "relaxing" doesn't smooth the water. The swim started, and at first I thought, "Okay, this isn't so bad." Then I heard my friend Sandy yell, and I looked and was swimming away and to the left of the main pack. I normally tend to swim to the right, but the wind and waves were pushing me left and I had just gone with the feel of the water. Unfortunately, the course had us swimming straight into the wind. As soon as I corrected, all forward progress became an enormous struggle. When you weigh 115 pounds and you don't have a strong catch and pull, the waves just pick you up and throw you back. Tucking my chin helped, I was getting air, I just wasn't getting anywhere. I tried back-stroking for a minute. It was ok, except I wasn't moving any further ahead than I was doing freestyle. Doggie-paddle, side-stroke, it didn't matter, the waves were winning. I had made it about half way out, and I was getting exhausted. I felt myself starting to struggle and I thought, "This is getting dangerous." There were only three boats in the water for about 55 participants. A larger, motor boat was out just past the last buoy. A young girl on a kayak had the outbound side of the buoys, and a young guy on a jetski had the inbound side. The kayaker was struggling to hold her position in the water because of the waves. The distance between the pack and myself and a couple of other swimmers was growing. I did the math and decided it was time to call it a day. I hung onto the kayak for a minute to recover, then told her I could swim into shore on my own, which I did. It was so easy compared to what I had just gone through. As soon as I stood up, and saw all those spectators standing on shore, staring at me, I immediately felt humiliated and regretted my decision. A very anxious-looking girl in a wetsuit was standing on shore. I surmised that she had been too fearful to even start the swim, and she glommed on to my side as soon as I got out of the water, two pathetic quitters, facing down the onlookers. A race organizer demanded our numbers. I couldn't remember mine, and had to peel off the sleeve of my wetsuit to expose my Sharpied shoulder. All I could think was that they wanted my number so they could put DNF after my name in the paper.  I walked up through the crowd, not speaking to anyone, nor anyone speaking to me. I saw my husband. He got stopped for speeding on the way to the race, talked his way out of a ticket, but arrived after the start. I said something very unkind to him, took off my goggles, but kept my hands up on the straps, covering my face, and started to cry. I'm sure many of my friends saw me. I didn't care. I just wanted to get out of there. My bike had blown over while I was in the water. I grabbed everything I could see in my transition area, and practically ran to my car, racked the bike, stripped off my wetsuit, threw everything in the car and left. I found out later that my helmet and sunglasses, which had been placed so carefully on my handlebars for a speedy transition, had fallen on the ground when my bike blew over. As soon as I got home, I went for a 4 1/2 mile run and a forty mile bike ride, crying from time to time. I felt humiliated and frustrated. I had worked so hard and wanted so badly to do well. I was a quitter.

The next day, I read an article by Tim DeBoom, castigating quitters, saying there are no excuses. The article was about pros quitting during a race because they were losing. Still, it stung. I felt like he was talking to me. People say DNF or die, but is that a mantra we really want to be promoting? How many people have died during the swim leg in triathlon this past year? How many people run themselves into a season-ending injury because they won't quit a workout even when something hurts? I would never quit a race once the swim is done. I'm always grinning like a maniac once I'm on the bike, happy to have survived the swim, and thrilled to be doing my favorite leg of the race. I'm fighting painful shin splints right now and have to parse my run workouts in order to be able to keep running enough to get me through my races. But, I'm still running. I'm incredibly disappointed in myself, but I've decided to let it go and move on. And I'm thinking we need to lighten up on the "DNF or die" message. What's the point here? I'm not getting paid to do this, and it is supposed to be fun. There was nothing fun about that race, but life goes on. I have another race in a couple of weeks, in a different, more-protected bay in the same lake. I'll be making sacrifices to Aeolus, God of Wind, to take a breather that day and let me redeem myself.

Going Solo

I did my first triathlon completely alone. It was a sprint tri in Shelburne, VT. My friend, Mary Duprey told me about it. It's a very "beginner" friendly race. The swim is a rectangular, mostly shore-line swim, in pretty shallow water. This was the main selling point for me. It was 2010, and I'd only been swimming a short time, with very few open water swims of any kind under my belt. I kind of wanted to do it under the radar, without the pressure of expectations from family and friends. I got up very early, caught a 5-something a.m. ferry to Vermont all by myself. Arrived at the site, didn't know a soul there, set up my transition, something I'd never done before, got my wetsuit on, and well, the details aren't really important. I did have some difficulty on the swim, but I survived, and finished in 1:30. As I was bringing my bike and gear back to my car, I started to cry, because I wished someone had been there to share it with me. Little did I know.

At the time of this race, I had been doing cycling races and events for about three years. Bike races aren't very exciting for spectators. They get to see the beginning and the end, and unless the race or event is long enough and the course is accessible by car, they aren't going to see anything else. As a result, I never asked my family or anyone else to come and watch me race. I was always racing or riding with my cycling friends, so I had them with me for support. Triathlon is different. Spectators see you at the beginning, at both transitions, and at the finish. That makes it much more exciting for them, and it's so motivating as a participant to see friendly faces (and hear their encouragement) during the race. I think it was 2011 before my husband first came to one of my races. He's been good about getting more interested and involved in my racing, and my son has even seen me race a few times. And...that's pretty much it. Now, don't get me wrong. I mostly do smaller, local races, and I do about one a month, from February to November, so I don't expect to have a posse at every one. I also understand that people have lives, and jobs, and children. I know it isn't easy. I'm just so wistfully jealous when I see a whole cheering section, complete with t-shirts and signs, thrilled to be at a race cheering on their loved one. I volunteered at Ironman Lake Placid last week for the 6th year in a row, and it always just amazes me how whole families--spouses, children, parents, siblings, friends--not only take the time to travel for the race, but stay on the course all day and half-way into the night to cheer on their Ironman. The whole reason I volunteer is to be on the course for the chance to see someone who is special to me, that I want to support. 

Which brings me to why I'm writing this tonight. I have a triathlon tomorrow. It's a local race, classic distance: half mile swim, 18 mile bike, and four and a half mile run. I'm a little nervous, per usual. I will know most of the other participants. It's a small town, we all travel in the same circles, belong to the same gym, do the same races. But, other than my husband, no one will go to this race for the purpose of watching ME race. Possibly my son, but not my father, none of my eight brothers and sisters (or their spouses or children), none of my co-workers, none of my friends. Very few of them are athletic, and they just don't value what I do. If the topic of my training and racing comes up, the usual comments call into question my sanity, my safety, and their own physical state of disrepair. There is absolutely no interest in the details of the race, how I did, how I train, what's my motivation...And I'm not that guy, poseur-data guy, boring everyone with my racing vitae. I just wish the conversation didn't always go something like this, Them: "Alicia, why are you limping?" Me: "Oh, I did a race yesterday." Them: "That reminds me, why do cyclists ride on the right-hand side of the road? Shouldn't they ride against traffic? Seems like that would be safer." Every year after I work Ironman, I consider maybe racing it someday. If I did, I know I'd be doing it basically on my own. If your family and friends wouldn't go to watch you do an Ironman, they're not going to understand the six months of 15-hour training weeks prior to the race. They don't get what I do, now. And, if no one who is close to you "gets" Ironman, then does it matter? If a tree falls in the forest...? 

Postscript: I DNF'ed the race. A storm was blowing in and there were one to two foot waves on Lake Champlain, coming head-on to shore. I'm just not strong enough to swim in that. I tried, made it almost to the second buoy, and I was just so tired, I had to quit. Couldn't get air, swallowed so much water. No credit for trying, everyone else did fine, except for one girl who didn't even start. My humiliation will be complete when it's in the local paper tomorrow. I left right away, so upset with myself for quitting. I knew it would be tough when I saw the water. I drove down early by myself, and my husband was going to take his motorcycle and get there before the start. I was so nervous about the swim, and I kept looking for him before the start, but he never showed up. The failure is all mine, but having one person there who cares about me would have been nice. I think I should stop dreaming about Ironman and just ride my bike.