This past weekend I raced in the St. Croix 70.3. From what I had heard, it was certainly not going to be an easy race. Although depending on who you talked to, you'd think you were going to have to climb Mt. Everest on your bike and follow it up with a run on the surface of the sun with hurricane-force winds. We all decided that if we heard the words "the beast" one more time, we were going to have to kill someone.
I had way too eventful of a travel day down there. The night before I got in a second, short swim since I knew I wasn't going to be able to get it in on my travel day. I got up at 3:30 on Friday morning to do an easy spin on my trainer and followed it up with an easy, 20-minute run with the light from my head lamp. Needless to say, I did not run into any cars on that run. But I was soon showered and ready for the 10-minute drive to the airport to catch my 7:10am flight to Philadelphia, which was where the start of my problems began.
The flight was boarded on time and there didn't seem to be any issues. However, the next two hours had me hearing the word, "unfortunately" said by the pilot many times over the next two hours. As in, "Unfortunately there is a lot of air traffic in Philadelphia," and, "Unfortunately, due to some rain in Philadelphia," and, "Unfortunately, they have told us to hold here," and, "Unfortunately, we did not anticipate any further delays," and, "Unfortunately, they have put us in a holding pattern." The only thing he did not say to me directly, was, "unfortunately, you are definitely going to miss your connection."
So after boarding the plane, sitting on the runway for about 35 minutes, taking off, then circling Philadelphia for another 25 minutes, we finally landed in Philadelphia. According to my original flight schedule, I was supposed to have a little over an hour between flights. I was supposed to be getting on a plane bound for San Juan at 9:40am. I got off the plane at about 9:30am, somehow still hopeful that maybe I'd make it. One thing they did say was that all of the planes coming into Philly were likely experiencing the same delays that we were, so there was a good chance we wouldn't have any issues. Unfortunately, I was pretty sure that a big, fat plane headed to the Caribbean likely had been sitting there waiting to leave since the day before.
Upon getting off the plane I found the nearest departure board and found my flight. I have never been so mad to see the words "on time" listed next to my flight number, and I tightened up the straps on my backpack and took off in a run towards my gate. I was fortunate enough not to have been at the satellite terminal that requires a shuttle bus, but it was still much more of a workout than I had anticipated I might have to add on for the day. I kept glancing at my watch, just hoping I'd make it. Finally, at the end of the terminal was my gate, and not a soul in sight other than the woman at the counter. She didn't seem to even notice me when I got to her and handed her my boarding pass.
"This flight is closed."
I exhaled a sigh of frustration, saw that my watch read 9:37 and saw the stupid plane still sitting there with the jetway connected to the plane. "You'll have to go to the service desk." Airport workers are incredibly unsympathetic people, and every word that they speak seems to scream, "I really don't give a crap about your problem and someone else is going to have to deal with you now."
I walked dejectedly to the desk, wondering not only how long I might wind up stuck at the Philadephia airport, but also if I'd even be getting to St. Croix that night. It's not like missing a flight to Los Angeles or Chicago, where tons of planes go on a daily basis. I was far from the only one who had missed that plane, which made me even more annoyed that they didn't hold it for say, 15 stupid little minutes. Also running through my head at that time was that the 50% chance of my bike getting there had probably just dropped to 0%. As they helped the people in front of me I heard that the next flight to San Juan was at 5:45 that night and I envisioned myself sitting in the airport for the next 7 hours, followed by sleeping in the airport in San Juan because surely by the time I got to Puerto Rico there wouldn't be any more planes going to St. Croix.
I heard several final boarding calls to other flights heading to various destinations in the Caribbean and wondered if maybe there was another way. One of the only lucky parts of my day was that there was a 10:05am flight to St. Thomas, and for some reason they decided to hold that plane for those of us who missed the San Juan flight. So instead I'd be flying to St. Thomas and then to St. Croix from there. That last part wasn't going to be so fun because after a 2pm arrival I was going to have to wait until like 7:15 that night to get to St. Croix. As long as I got out of Philadelphia, I was happy for the time being, so off I went.
That flight was completely uneventful, although I did contemplate whether or not St. Thomas was considered part of the US or if I was suddenly taking an unscheduled trip out of the country. I was glad I had opted to bring my passport - that expires in about 9 days - just in case.
I arrived in St. Thomas and was glad to at least have that part out of the way, even if I might have been stuck there for a while. I went to check in for my next flight. US Airways does not fly to St. Croix from St. Thomas, so I'd be flying on Cape Air. The nice woman at the counter decided she could get me on a 3:30 flight instead of the 7:30, which made me incredibly happy. She said she only did it because I was nice, and a lot of those other triathletes were, well, not so easy to deal with. I actually heard that quite a bit at the airports, and I really don't understand why people are nasty to those poor gate agents. They really don't have control over anything, except maybe whether or not they decide to charge you for the bike, but you can't really blame them for that either. But anyway...
I had to go through security again, but in St. Thomas it is not exactly the same kind of thing. I was the only one there and the guy was just talking to me and I'm not sure he even looked at the x-ray of what was inside my bag. Nothing left at that point but to go wait for my plane at the gate. At that point I was absolutely starving. Before I left home that morning I ate a banana, which was just about the last item of food I had left in the house. I didn't bother restocking anything before going away for 5 days. I obviously did not have the time I had anticipated to grab something in Philadelphia, so I was left with 2 Luna bars and an apple that I had in my backpack. My only option in St. Thomas was a vending machine, which didn't exactly fit with my dietary needs. The beverage one was broken so I couldn't even have any water. This is not the best way to precede a big race.
Waiting in the gate area there were a mere 8 of us, so it seemed pretty obvious that the plane we were going to be getting on was not exactly going to be a 737. I chatted with another guy who happened to be one of the photographers for ASI Photos, and then started talking with some of the other passengers who of course were triathletes headed in for the race. They were all amazed at how calm I was considering I was so sure that my bike had not made the trip with me. At that point I was honestly just glad that I was going to get there after what had happened. I was even going to get there at the exact same time as originally planned, which seemed impossible.
After waiting about an hour, a tiny little propeller plane pulled up to our gate. This was going to be interesting. Of course we had been asked how much we weighed when we checked in. I'm kind of surprised they trust people there and don't just have you step on the baggage scale, and it took me a minute to remember how much I weigh since of course I've been losing lately. One of my aunt likes to tell a story of how when she had to do that she told them she weighed 400 pounds, just to make up for the lies all of the people in front of her had told. My backpack was also weighed. There were two people who they had not decided whether or not they could make the flight due to weight. Considering it was a flight full of almost entirely triathletes, the weight limit probably wasn't as much of an issue as it otherwise might normally be. Although it seemed a little scary how they went about deciding if we would be ok. It seemed more like guessing than anything else.
We boarded a 10-seater plane with our carry-on bags stuffed in the nose. Someone even got to sit next to the pilot, who was the one who gave us the standard exits/seat-as-floatation-device speech. What a strange way to round out the trip. But 20 minutes later, I had finally arrived in St. Croix. Then came the really fun part: figuring out how to find my bike. From what I had been told, they lose bikes all of the time there because so many of the planes are so small they don't even fit. The triathletes on my plane had lucked out that there was another cargo plane heading over at the same time as our flight, so their bikes got sent that way and arrived at the same time.
Of course I knew that Cape Air, the airline I had gotten in on, had absolutely nothing to do with my bike not getting there. There was a US Airways counter, but since there is only one flight in and one flight out, there was nobody at the counter. So I had to file the claim with Cape Air, even though just talking to the guy there I knew that it was completely useless. But at that point, there was nothing left but to catch a cab and get to my hotel.
I was staying at the Company House Hotel in Christiansted, quite close to the transition area from what I understood. It was hard to tell from the brochure map that I had picked up at the airport how far things were from each other. I checked in, dropped off my stuff and pretty quickly went to check out "Jump Up" which was some sort of street festival they were having for the race. There was a lot of music, street vendors and I think even a parade at some point. I also needed to find some of my QT2 teammates who were staying at another hotel. This was going to be a lot more difficult once I arrived and discovered that my cell phone was not going to work. I tried to dial some numbers but it just kept telling me to redial the 10-digit number, blah, blah, blah. So that wasn't going to be useful that weekend. Other good news was that the phone lines in my hotel were not working, so I was going to be amazingly difficult to get in touch with.Luckily, while I was walking around checking out the scene and discovering that essentially everything was really close to everything else, I ran into a guy who was on my plane and he let me use his phone to call my coach so I could meet up with them. We had dinner right on the water, ordering the triathlete's special of pasta and some chicken. They ran out of bread after we had a little bit. We each had about $5 worth of food, but had to pay $35 each. We certainly did not expect that. I would've paid $100 at that point because I was absolutely starving. After that and a phone call to the airline where all I learned was that my bike was at least no longer in Philadelphia, it was time to get to bed.
My hotel room, although decent enough on the inside, was practically in the street. There weren't any real windows or screens, just venetian-blind-type glass and curtains that blocked the fact that my "view" was of tires of cars parked 2 feet from my "window." I had to go to sleep with my head phones on because of all of the cars and people, who might as well have been sharing my bed they seemed so close. This made me incredibly concerned for getting sleep the whole time I was there, but fortunately I think there were only that many people out and about because of the Jump Up thing, because even though there were always cars, it was never as noisy as that first night.
I slept fairly well that night, but was of course awake early. I decided to check out our "sister" hotel, where I was told I could participate in the free continental breakfast which would start at 7am. We were having a team breakfast at 9, but I definitely needed something before then. I was too early, but at least got a chance to use the computer over there and send an e-mail to my mom so she knew I was still alive, since at that point it was my only form of communication. After an english muffin and some cereal, I walked around a bit more to check out the much-less-crowded streets before going to catch a cab to the race host hotel where we had arranged a team breakfast at the buffet. Here's a tip, the host hotel is nowhere near the race itself, and therefore incredibly inconvenient if you choose to stay there. 3 of my teammates stayed there and it was something insane like $44 each way to catch the shuttle to and from the transition area on race morning.
We had a great breakfast and kept causing the buffet to run out of pancakes. We certainly got our money's worth on that buffet. We all headed back to town to register. This is definitely a much more laid-back race than any I've been to. Really it seemed that anyone could race as anyone. No ID, no USAT card, just tell them your name and they'd write it down on a post-it and send you to the various tables to get your numbers, timing chip, t-shirt and goodie bag.
After that I called the airport to see if my bike was there, which it wasn't. I was still completely calm at that point, and for some reason confident that my bike was probably just sitting there in some office waiting for me to come pick it up. Calling people didn't seem to be helping, so I did the only thing I thought would help, and took a cab back to the airport to wait for it to arrive or at least talk to some people face to face. Besides, it had to arrive at some point, and I might as well be there when it did. See, in St. Croix it's not like in other places, where they bring you your bags when they arrive. You have to pay another $25 to get back to the airport to get them, and another $25 to go back to your hotel. At least I had packed everything but my bike in my backpack and carried that on so I had all of my other stuff.
This is where I completely lost my calm demeanor and confidence that everything would wind up ok. The bike was not there. And nobody seemed to be able to help me find out where it might be. The US Airways counter was actually open, but they did not have the capabilities to track baggage. One of my teammates had loaned me her blackberry so I could try and make some calls, but I was getting nowhere. I thought maybe I'd at least try and put in a claim for the bag with US Airways since the bike never went through Cape Air anyway, and even if it had made it that far they don't even take bikes - a fact that they constantly reminded me of, but the US Airways lady said that you have to file the claim with your last destination carrier, even though they of course had nothing to do with anything. So my baggage claim was filed with an airline that doesn't even take the kind of baggage I was missing. Can you feel my frustration yet?
At one point I had gotten a bit of hope when I was told that Cape Air sends the bikes over on Seaborn Air, another small carrier that flies between the islands, but is big enough to handle bikes. They have their own satellite terminal hangar close to a mile down the road and it might have been there. So off I walked, eventually realizing that it was just a little bit scary to be walking down this sketchy road by myself, but I've always felt that a 6' tall female probably wasn't seen as an easy target. When I got to this warehouse building of course the guy inside had no idea what I was talking about, and I headed back to the main airport.
This was not the best way to spend the day before your half ironman. I had spent zero time with my feet up, instead most of it either standing at different counters not being helped, or sitting on a bench in the baggage claim area waiting to see if the bike might magically appear off one of the other arriving planes. I had brought a sandwich with me that I bought before I left town, ate the Powerbar nut naturals bar that had been given to me in my registration bag and kept feeding dollars into the vending machine to attempt to get enough water. There was obviously a large plane that had arrived as a whole bunch of people came into the baggage claim area. I thought maybe my bike would be on that plane. As the Atlanta passengers collected their stuff, one bike came off. But it was someone else's in another kind of case, and I was starting to think that I might not be able to race at all. The even more painful part at that point though was that I wasn't sure if I'd ever see my bike again, after either being lost forever by the airlines or maybe even taken by someone else the day before.
I decided to call Jesse, my coach, and let him know the status at that point so maybe they could look around and see if there might be some other bike I could use. I told him that there was only one flight coming in from US Airways that day, from Charlotte, and I was going to wait for that one to come in and if it wasn't on that one, I was just going to come back and forget about it. I had been sitting in the airport for about 3 and a half hours at that point. I was under-carbed, dehydrated, exhausted, and my feet were all swelled up. I was feeling hopeless and helpless as I sat on the bench while the passengers on the 3:15 from Charlotte started grabbing their bags off the carousel.
The woman from the St. Croix information booth, who was well aware of my situation at that point, came around the corner and said to me, "I think I see a bike." Now, I had seen my exact bike case 4 other times by then, so I still wasn't exactly convinced. I stood up and slowly walked over, noticing the black plastic before it came around the corner and revealed the bright red piece of tape on the top of the box that said, "ZAHR". I cannot express in words the incredible sense of relief I experienced at that point. My ordeal was over. My bike wasn't lost forever and I was actually going to be able to race. At that point any worries about the heat or the beast were gone. I felt like the hard part was over.
I called Jesse and my mother and told them that the bike had been hanging out in Charlotte (I don't know why you can't track these things like a UPS package and they could've told me that over the phone so I didn't waste over 3 hours waiting there for nothing) and I got a cab back to town. The cabbies have learned from the airlines about charging extra for bikes. I didn't even put the thing together right when I got back, I just needed to relax for a little bit. I went over to where Jesse, his wife Chrissie, Cait and Tim Snow - all also QT2 team members who were racing - were staying and in the span of 45 minutes ate nearly an entire bag of pretzels and literally drank a gallon of water. When I got back from the airport at about 4:30 I realized that I had not had to pee since 8:30 that morning, which in case you didn't know, is not the best hydration strategy. We went over my race plan, which now I could actually pay attention to since I knew I was actually going to get to race, and I finally went back to my room to put the bike together.
I had at least checked and made sure that everything was in the box. The only minor issue was that somehow the rear brake had moved so that one of the pads was resting against the wheel, and the Cervelo rear brakes are not as easy to adjust as the rear brakes on my Aegis are. So that took a little longer than I'd hoped, but I did manage to fix it. I got my stuff all laid out for the morning, put numbers where they were needed, had my small dinner and finally got to put my swollen feet up. I suppose I could've spiraled into another panic at that point, but that wouldn't have made things any better, so instead I just decided that what had happened had happened and I was still just going to try and do the best that I could.
On race morning my alarm went off at 3:45am. My wave was set to go off at 6:50 (pros started at 6:20) and I had to eat 3 hours before. I had to do some fancy math way too early in the morning when I saw that the jar of unsweetened apple sauce I had for breakfast was not 6 half-cup servings, as every jar I had ever seen was, but 5 2/3 cup servings. Huh? I was supposed to eat 3 cups, which is so much easier when it just means eating the whole jar. It took me a lot of staring into space to finally come to the conclusion that if I left a third of a cup uneaten, then I'd be perfect. Phew. At least my protein powder was pre-measured and 1 banana almost always equals 1 banana.
The whole day before had left me so far off from my usual pre-race self that I was moving incredibly slow that morning. I had to walk about an eighth of a mile to the transition area, which can sometimes make you leave a lot later than maybe you should. Also, suddenly I realized I wasn't wearing my timing chip and it took me way too long to find it velcroed inside a towel I had in my transition backpack. Transition had opened at 5, and although my wave did not go off until 6:50, at about 6 we were all supposed to swim over to this little island about 200 yards or so off shore to start the swim. I don't think I got to transition until about 5:45. at which time I found out that I couldn't get air in my tires. These are the kinds of things that come up when you have your bike 12 hours before the race start and spend 9 of those hours asleep. Luckily, Jesse got it all figured out and the bike was good to go. I was at a rack with Chrissie, Lauren and Michelle, 3 other members of my team. I never get to be in the same age group as any of my friends, so it was kind of nice to have people around, even if I was a little embarrassed at my seeming total lack of preparation! I swear, I am usually a lot more focused, but at that point just getting the opportunity to race at all seemed like a bonus.
I had my transition set up in no time and before I knew it, it was time to put on my Blue Seventy skin suit and swim over to the little island. It was kind of nice not to wear my wetsuit, even if it does make me a lot faster. Michelle, Chrissie, Lauren and I finally jumped into the harbor and did our forced-warm-up swim over to the island. That was actually kind of a nice little way to start the day. For a while it felt like there was no race. It was just a bunch of people in swim caps and speed suits sitting around in beach chairs drinking water and Gatorade.
The nerve-wracking thing at that point was that essentially I had no clue where the swim course went. Upon starting the swim we would be taking a sharp left merely 25 yards out and then disappearing to who knows where. There were only two minutes between each swim wave, so when the one in front went off, we would move forward and the race director had about a minute to tell us something about going through two sets of two buoys and then keeping the rest of the buoys on our right. Um, ok. Good thing I'm never leading the swim.
We lined up for the beach start, in a nice, small group of women. We heard the air horn and it was time to go. I don't know really when I came across those two sets of two buoys, but eventually I saw some other ones off in the distance and figured I might as well swim towards those. As usual, I found myself swimming almost entirely by myself. To the point where I thought maybe I was completely off course. The buoys were far off to my right, and I could see people swimming close to them but I couldn't seem to get myself over there. I really don't understand why or how I wound up so far away from everyone. Eventually I made it to a big tetrahedron buoy (anyone who does one of Keith Jordan's races knows that it is a tetrahedron buoy, not a triangle) and figured that must be where we turned to head in. For a brief period there I did get to swim with some other people, but they were all in waves ahead of me so there was no point in trying to stick with them since it would only slow me down.
I followed the faint hint of bobbing heads in front of me since every time I tried to see where I was going there was a wave in the way and I couldn't see anything. At least I was swimming with the current at that point and at times I actually felt like I was going kind of fast. I never looked at my watch because I was convinced that the swim was taking me about 45 minutes at that point. I came to the sea wall and was swimming in very shallow water, still wondering if this was where I was supposed to be swimming, but since there were finally some other people around, I figured I'd be ok. I came across another guy who not only had a snorkel but also some swim fins. I have no idea what that was about, but since I'm not even a fast swimmer and I passed him quickly, I didn't really care.
Finally I came to the swim exit and glanced at my watch to see just over 36 minutes. Obviously not a good half ironman swim time, but considering the conditions it was actually dead in the middle of my goal swim time, so I was on track. I felt a little dizzy as I ran through transition but it helped not having to pry an entire wetsuit off my ankles, and I was off on my bike pretty quick. How quick I don't really know though since the bike split includes both transition times and doesn't keep them separate.
It was really interesting doing a race where I had no clue what to expect on the course. Every turn gave me something new. This is the first time I've done a new race since 2006, so not my typical experience. It was pretty much as advertised. In the beginning it was kind of fun because we got to ride down these narrow alleys in front of all sorts of spectators. I wanted to ask them how many people they had seen crash there before I came through. After a bit of urban riding we went off into what seemed like the jungle at times, a canopy of trees overhead and a curve in the road that left whatever came next as a complete surprise. The roads were incredibly rough at times, rattling my aero bottle and making me hope that I didn't lose it or get a flat tire. A few times I got paranoid that I was losing pressure and I kept looking down to check, but luckily I was ok.
I was supposed to get down 2 bottles of fluid in the first hour, and I knew the beast was 21 miles in so I kept it as my goal to get down those 2 bottles before I got there. I had no clue how fast I was going because although I had set my speed sensor to work right with my race wheels the night before, for whatever reason it wasn't registering now. I passed my two faster-swimming teammates and continued on. You see, the bike is all I have, so I have to make it count! There were signs every 5 miles telling us where we were, so I at least had a general idea as to how I was doing. I did not do so well on my first left-handed bottle hand-up (we had to ride on the left in St. Croix) but from the second attempt on, I did ok. My watch was approaching an hour for the bike, and I knew it soon would be time. After lots of rough roads, warm-up hills, and sucking down sports drink, I made a sharp left out of the jungle and before I knew it, I was on the infamous beast.
I was sick of hearing people talk about it before, and after talking to a few more trust-worthy sources, so knew just to approach it like any other hill: just keep pedaling in your easiest gear until you get to the top. They make it all the more painful by spray painting the road and constantly telling you the grade, as well as marking every tenth of a mile through the 7/10ths stretch, as well as the halfway point. There were quite a few other people on it when I was riding, but I only saw two people I think who had to stop and walk. And only one guy near me passed me. Yes, it was absolutely the hardest, steepest hill I have ever had to ride up. But when you get down to it, it really is just another hill. I sat for as long as I could, covering the initial 14-15% grades before I hit 21% and finally had to stand to crank away at like 35rpms in my 25-tooth cog while the sweat started to pour off of me, my heart rate shot into the 180's, I wondered if I might fall backwards and I started to feel like I might throw up. But just when I thought my vision might black out, the grade "eased up" to about 17% and I was able to sit down again and recoup a bit before finishing out the final stretch.
Before I knew it, I was at the top. There is a combination of relief and sudden anxiousness because there at the peak is an aid station where you have about 5 seconds to get what you need with your hands that are all cramped up from gripping the handlebars with every ounce of strength your fingers possess before flying down the other side on rough, winding roads at 30+mph. I grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and squeezed it into my aero bottle as hard as I could, resulting in maybe half the bottle making it in there before I had to chuck it and get back to my handlebar death-grip, only this time it was keeping them near the brakes so I wouldn't fly off into the jungle, never to be heard from again. I am not usually one to be afraid of descending, but when you don't know how sharp the turns are because you have never seen the course before, the road is not much better than riding on gravel, and you are pretty sure about 2 feet on either side of the road is enough of a drop-off to kill you, you probably shouldn't just let it fly as fast as possible. However, I will say that the descent didn't wind up being nearly as treacherous as I thought it would be considering what was on the other side. As hard as it was to climb up the beast, I'd rather ride up it 100 times than ever have to ride down.
Somehow after cresting the peak of the beast I was surprisingly alone on the bike. At times almost to the point where I wondered if I was still on the course. This race is a lot smaller than most I do, and the intersections are not marked nearly as prominently. The next challenge came as I rode through a little neighborhood and while I was trying to make sure I didn't ride through too many of the huge craks in the road I looked up just in time to notice the ridiculous speed bump in the road. Had I not stood off the saddle and done my best to sort of absorb the shock I'm pretty sure I would've launched myself airborn and broken at least some part of my bike. That wasn't all, though. They just kept coming. One after another, speed bump after speed bump. I almost started laughing at how many of them there were. Finally I got to turn off onto another road and the obstacle course portion of the ride was over. Well, sort of.
The next section was on a long stretch of 4-lane highway. Of course these roads were rough, too. This is also where we passed some young kids, probably only 5 or 6, who were sticking their hands out for high-fives. I felt bad, and I will usually give a kid a high-five in a race if they want one, but if I tried to do it from my bike I foresaw a few possibilities, and none of them resulted in a successful high-five. Most involved an injured child, and some an injured me, so I kept my hands on the aero bars.
The miles kept on ticking away and my time checks with the mile markers left me knowing I was going a little slower than I was supposed to, but the course really is a lot tougher than most, so instead of getting mad at myself and trying to hammer too hard and blow myself up, I just kept on pedaling in the zone and knew my time would be whatever it was going to be. I was, however, thinking about how much fun I was having. The roads were rough and the hills were a pain, but it was just such a cool course. Well, cool is probably not the right word because actually, it was hot. I do remember thinking to myself at one point that it was definitely nothing like Hawaii, but it was still pretty hot and also fairly windy (again though, not like Hawaii)
The course continued to scare me at times about going the right way. Again I was all by myself and at one point I made a right turn onto this road and only realized when I saw another biker coming right at me that apparently on that particular stretch we were supposed to ride on the right. Would've been nice of them to have told us. But from there it was a lot of up and down and riding along the gorgeous ocean. In spite of my being behind my goal time, I still felt like I was riding pretty well, and in spite of the fact that it hasn't taken me that long to ride 56 miles in a race since 2003, I was happy with how it went.
I didn't really know where exactly the end of the bike course was so I didn't get a chance to take off my bike shoes before I got off. But I was in and out of the way-smaller-than-California transition area nice and quick and off on the run. In short, I felt like crap when I started that run. I don't know exactly what it was. I drank as much as I was supposed to, but my legs felt like crap and I think my head hurt. I was pretty sure it was going to be a very long 13.1 miles. In this race the aid stations are every kilometer apart instead of every mile, so we got more chances for fluids. I decided once I reached the second aid station that if I was ever going to feel better on that run, I was going to have to take in a lot of liquid right then and there. This was the first race I've done this year where I didn't go out too fast, actually hit the first mile 9 seconds slower than my goal, but I don't know that was such a good thing. So I walked through the next aid station and downed a cup of Gatorade, a cup of water, and dumped a bunch of water and ice over myself. I continued on and hoped things would get better.
After about two miles we approached the Buccaneer hotel and the golf course, where we ran one big loop. This section had about the 1 tiny section of shade on the whole course, which was a nice, brief reprieve since it was incredibly hot out. After all of the talk about the bike course though, nobody warns you about the run course. There were a couple of tough hills on that section, although we did get to give our legs a bit of a rest by running on some trails. In spite of how crappy I felt and how slow I knew I was running (barely managing to stay under 8-minute miles) I was actually mostly passing people rather than getting passed, so I tried to remind myself that it had more to do with the course conditions than anything else.
I'm not sure exactly when it finally happened, but somewhere on my way back towards town as I closed out that first loop I started to feel a whole lot better. It didn't make me run fast really, it just made it feel a whole lot easier and more natural. I wasn't really trying to push the pace at that point, more like just trying to stay relaxed and comfortable with my own personal version of good form (which really just means still really bad form, just not quite as bad as it can possibly get) My teammate Cait blew by me at one point on her second loop, making me feel like I was standing still as she offered some words of encouragement. And Cait, when you are running your way up to third, you do not have to waste your energy saying hi, I will understand.
I came to the turn-around and headed out for my second lap, no longer dreading running another 6 and a half miles or so, but knowing that I'd be able to get through it ok. I continued to drink a lot and dump a lot of ice down my jersey and I even got to continue to pass some people. I never really felt like my legs were giving out on me. Nothing else really exciting happened on that second loop. I enjoyed the scenery running along the ocean one last time, almost sprained my ankle when I thought it would be a good idea to run on the grass instead of the pavement down one of the hills, and just kept on running as much as I could. It had gotten cloudy for a bit, but the sun finally came out again and made it feel 15 degrees hotter. But I was almost done, so I didn't care.
They didn't have mile markers for the second loop, with the exception of mile 9, so I had to guess based on the first loop mile markers. That meant that at the mile 6 sign, I figured I had a little over half a mile to go. I approached the sign for the turn for the second loop and ran towards the finish, even after a suspicious-looking race director made sure to ask me and the few people around me if we were, in fact, heading to the finish and not still only on our first loop. We were heading directly for the transition area, and presumably about to cross the finish line. Then, due to some really cruel course planning, we inexplicably made two left turns and headed in the exact opposite direction from the finish line. There were only two people ahead of me in the distance, and I didn't know how far away exactly we would be heading. Had I known this is how things would go I might've been ok with it, but when you mentally set yourself up to be finished with a race in about 2 minutes and suddenly you have no clue where the finish line is, things get a little bit harder.
Some spectator yelled out, "almost there, just 7/10ths of a mile to go!" Seriously? Almost three quarters of a mile? When you thought it was barely a tenth, that kind of information can almost make you want to stop running right then and there and hunt down whoever it was who designed this finish so you can kick them in the shins. I felt like I was running in circles at that point. Even when we finally turned and headed in the general direction of the finish line I had no idea how much further it was because I couldn't see it. At least I didn't get passed on that stretch.
Finally up ahead the white arch of the finish line became visible, and I knew it was almost over. I crossed the line in 5:25, 10 minutes slower than my goal and way slower than I otherwise might go on some other half ironman course, but actually kind of happy with my performance. My run was way too slow, but my entire team had gone about 10 minutes slower than we were supposed to, so let's blame it on the conditions and the fact that leading up to the race I was unrested and dehydrated due to that whole missing bike thing. Jesse was right there at the finish, as was Michelle, my teammate who I had passed on the bike but who re-passed me on the run and finished a few minutes ahead of me. I was glad that I was tired, but definitely not in need of a medical tent. Chrissie came across not long after me and eventually we went to get some food.
The post-race spread was 100% the kind of treats your mom might stick in your school lunch when you were a kid. Snack-sized bags of chips, Doritos, Fritos and Cheetos, bags of Oreos and Nutter Butters as well as mini candy bars, which you'd think they would've known would not really survive the mid-day St. Croix heat. I'm going to have to admit though that I ate a couple anyway. We all decided that in spite of the tough course and slow times we had a lot of fun.
I walked the three minutes back to my hotel room to shower and change and take a little nap. After my rest I went back to meet up with the rest of the QT2ers to go get a few post-race treats. My coach Jesse is also my nutritionist, and one of the key things in my performance for the rest of the season is going to be losing the rest of what I like to refer to as my "injury weight." Kind of like pregnancy weight, only not nearly as good of an excuse, although maybe a bit easier to lose after since you don't have an infant to deal with. So when everyone else was getting ice cream, the world's most perfect food, I was surprised that he told me it was ok to have some. I was allowed one night of splurging, so I did. I only got a small as my own compromise.
After that we caught a cab up to the host hotel where the awards were being held. It was, like everything else on the island, incredibly low-key. Just a bunch of tables out by the pool and a couple of stations set up with our food buffet of hamburgers, veggie burgers, sausage, chicken, pasta salad, potato salad, cole slaw, chips, cookies and brownies. Pretty simple, but also pretty good. I am pretty sure I wound up 5th in my age group, although there seem to be some conflicting results that have me in 6th. Doesn't really matter when Kona slots go to 2, don't care about Clearwater slots and awards only go to 3. This was the first race where they put a 30 on my leg, in spite of the fact that yes, I'm still in my 20's. The worst part is that I would've won 25-29, and this stupid age-up rule only took effect for this race this year. I will probably like the rule when I'm 34, but for now it only makes things harder. In short, I am always in the wrong age group in the wrong race at the wrong time.
We had a nice night, Jesse got his award, Cait got her award for 3rd pro and her amazing run, and we caught another cab back to town. There was just enough time for one more splurge at Rum Runners there on the water, wher we always seemed to find ourselves. Each of us had our own peanut butter pie, which is probably the best dessert that does not involve ice cream. It was a good day.The next morning I was awakened at 4:30 in the morning to a garbage truck outside my "window". It was parked there for about 10 minutes before it moved on... about 10 feet down the street and started it all over again. I never get much sleep the night after a race anyway after spending the day fueled on caffeine and sugar. I waited at least a little while before going out and walking around a bit. I was meeting my teammates for breakfast at 9, so I definitely had some time to kill.
When we finally had breakfast - at Rum Runners, of course - I got to eat a veggie omelet and give away my toast and hash browns. Don't get me wrong, I actually like veggie omelets, but it's not as much fun when everyone else is eating really delicious-looking breakfast quesadillas, and you would've loved to have had some of those banana pancakes they had on the menu. This is why it's sometimes good to just stay home, you never feel like you're missing anything if you can't actually see it. We all agreed that none of us were really sore. I'd actually say that it is probably the least sore I've ever been after a half ironman. But I finally realized it was probably because my run pace on the half marathon was slower than my last recovery run as opposed to, you know, the race pace you're supposed to be running, so it makes perfect sense if you think about it.
Cait and Tim headed back to Boston after that and
Chrissie and Jesse were nice enough to let me hang around with them all day. Beats spending the day by myself. We went over to the island the swim had started on and had lunch at the restaurant there. We made it back to the mainland just in time for it to start pouring. I went back to my hotel for a bit before we all met up again. First for everyone to have drinks and nachos - the other world's most perfect food - while I sipped water. By the time we made it to dinner I thought maybe I was already at race weight from being starving all afternoon. But finally we found someplace that was pretty nice, I had a healthy, delicious meal that made my stomach stop eating itself, and we all enjoyed a nice evening.The next morning I had to get up at 4:15 again since my flight was at 6:30 and I had to catch a cab. The attitude there is so laid back that I honestly worried whether or not my cab I had arranged the night before - from another hotel phone since the phone lines at my hotel were still out - would actually be there. Luckily, he was. Although the torrential downpour that ensued just before I had to get the bike in the van did not help matters, nor getting to the airport. My mom would've been proud of me as I was the first person at the airport, and therefore the first person to get to go through customs, and this time almost 100% sure that my bike was going to be making the trip with me. Even the guy at the airport though thought that it was incredibly hot on race day.
My trip back was far less stressful. Made it to San Juan as predicted, San Juan to Philly, delayed in Philly but at least I saw my bike get on the plane to Manchester and I was only a little late when I arrived to rain and 48 degrees. In spite of the bike losing dabacle and the incredible slowness, I'd go back and race there. I'd just get there at least Thursday or earlier, and I don't think I'd make it a yearly event.
Now it is time for an incredibly easy training week before the really big push to Lake Placid. My priorities this week are sleeping a ton and eating hardly anything. I don't like having to continue to blame race performances on the extra weight I'm carrying around. Good week to have off too, since the weather is pretty crappy. Less than 12 weeks to Lake Placid!
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