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.