2008: Is That Soggy Meat?!

2008 was my first year training for triathlons. I sucked it up royally in my first triathlon, the Issaquah sprint, and also did pretty sucktacular that year at the New Balance Victoria half Ironman (I should put up belated race reports for those two — maybe I’ll do a “throwback week” on Mediocre Athlete and publish old race recaps). Seafair was the first time I thought, “Hey, I’m not so completely horrendously awful at this!” I did get a flat before the race when I inadvertently bent my valve when pumping up one of my tires. After freaking out, I managed to change the tube before the race started.

Swim Recap
I remember looking at the swim portion and thinking that the buoys were so far away from the shore. Even though I had completed a half Ironman-distance triathlon, swimming still felt pretty daunting to me (oh hell, it still does). The athletes all got in the water and the race organizer started to explain for the 17th time that we were going to swim counter-clockwise and keep the buoys to our left. While he droned on, I looked down and saw a piece of styrofoam floating face-down in the water. I picked it up to chuck it away from where the racers were standing, only to discover that the piece of styrofoam was actually the bottom of a meat package that had been soaking in the lake for God knows how long and had turned soggy and gray. I started hollering in typical “Ew ew ew this is so gross what the shit I just touched soggy lake pork” fashion, and some bitchface turned to me and said, “Could you please keep it down? I can’t hear the instructions.” Really? You’re too dumb to understand “counter-clockwise” that’s been repeated ad nauseam? I should have chucked the meat at her stupid swimcapped face.

It’s what’s for dinner (unless it’s been marinating in lake water for a few weeks)

When my wave took off, I kept a steady swim pace and felt like I survived the swim with minimal freaking out. (And indeed, it ended up being my best swim of the season.)

Bike Recap
Two years ago I was still riding on my coworker’s blue Giant bike, so it was a little ghetto but still probably a middle-of-the-pack bike among the other Seafair participants. I had clip-on aero bars and was finally starting to get more comfortable hunching down into aero. At one point I almost ate pavement when I leaned down to get my water bottle and ended up swerving like a spaz, but thankfully I managed to keep it together and pull off a decent bike time.

Run Recap
The run is a short 3.1 mile loop around Seward Park. At one point you have to run up this shitty hill and then turn around and run back down it to the finish. We had practiced on the run course a few times before the race, and I remember thinking how horrible the hill was. I could barely get up it during our practice runs — I was huffing and puffing like James Gandolfini doing step aerobics. On race day I was able to plod up the hill without stopping or dying. I paused at the top to grab some water at the aid station, but other than that I stayed fairly steady.

2008 Results
Swim time: 17:56 (2:14/100 meters)
T1: 2:17
Bike time: 39:28 (18.2 mph)
T2: 1:52
Run time: 26:13 (8:27 min/mile pace)
Total time: 1:27:47
Total place: 583 / 1408
Division place: 19 /72

Overall, I felt pretty good about my times. My swim was slow and shitty, as it always is, but my bike was solid considering it was my first triathlon season, and the run was pretty consistent.

2009: I Hate This

Last year, I signed up for Seafair once again and expected to PR since I had another season of training under my belt. Since 2008’s race I had done two more half Ironman races and was in better shape. We got to the race and were able to bypass the ridiculously long body marking line when a friend of ours spotted us and gave us a sharpie so we could DIY mark ourselves. Huzzah!

Swim Recap
When I started my swim, I felt like I was going so fast and swimming so hard. “Man, my swim time is gonna be soooooo good!”, I kept thinking. When I finally dragged myself out of the water, I looked at my watch and was like, “WTF, I was only 30 seconds faster than last year.” What a disappointment. To make matters worse, I felt pretty out of it as I wobbled over to my transition area. I couldn’t get my wetsuit off and felt kind of dizzy/faint. This was not a good feeling, especially when it’s such a short distance race.

Bike Recap
I took off on my bike (my new fancy Cervelo time trial this time around!) and felt miserable and uncomfortable the entire 12-mile stretch. In the beginning I thought I was going to choke on the obscene quantities of snot and phlegm I had somehow managed to accumulate during the 800 meter swim. Thankfully, I managed to clear my airways of the grossness and kept pedaling. I remember feeling as bad during these 12 miles as I’ve felt during half Ironman distances. I don’t know what the deal was, but I couldn’t get comfortable. I actually considered quitting because I felt so crappy, but then I remembered I’m ridiculously stubborn and don’t quit races, so I trudged on.

Accurate analogy of me when the thought of quitting crosses my mind. Stubborn Goat Becca is stubborn!

Run Recap
When I finally got off my bike and hurled it towards my transition area, I was so tired and irritated that I just wanted to curl up with something horrible and fried and drown my sorrows in food and naps. Unfortunately, I had a run to finish. I took off and continued to feel like shit, breathing hard and willing myself not to pass out or puke. I know you’re supposed to push yourself and feel miserably anaerobic during short distance races, but I was feeling especially shit-tay. Thankfully, I was able to plod along and finish.

2009 Results
Swim time: 17:27 (2:10/100 meters)
T1: 2:32
Bike time: 37:21 (19.3 mph)
T2: 1:32
Run time: 25:01 (8:04 min/mile pace)
Total time: 1:23:54
Total place: 559 / 1460
Division place: 22 /124

I was really surprised to see that I biked better this year than last year — I had felt so shitty during the bike portion that I thought for sure I was going slower. The run was kind of funny because I had actually run three seconds faster than a standalone 5k I did a couple weeks prior to Seafair — maybe I run better coming off a bike. I was so close to running a sub-25 minute 5k; I should have dived across the finish line and done a barrel roll. Oh well. I still PR’d, so I was happy and forgave Seafair for making me feel so miserable that day.

2010: Yeah Baby

This year I didn’t have very high expectations for how I’d do. I wanted to race a sub-1:20, but it was a lofty goal and I had been training all year for endurance races, not sprint distances, so I wasn’t sure how fast I’d be or how strong I’d feel. Plus, I was coming off a disappointing Boise race and a couple of craptacular rides in a row, so I was feeling very “meh” about the whole thing. I did a brick workout (a swim, bike, and run) the day before the race and felt pretty stiff throughout most of it, which did wonders for the psyche going into a sprint race.

Swim Recap
I gathered near the swim start with some teammates and waited for my wave to start. As with previous years, I was able to watch the “elite” wave start and finish their swim well before my wave started. I saw Teresa exit the water like a champ and dorkily cheered her on before I got in the water and peed in my surroundings all jerk-like (you may be faster than me, fellow age groupers, but have fun swimming through my urine! Suckers!).

When the gun went off, I just went a steady pace. My neck was a bit aggravated due to a chafe mark from a long swim I had done a couple days prior to the race, but I was able to mostly ignore it since the distance was so short. I felt pretty solid during my swim and was able to pass some stragglers from the wave before me. My goal was to finish the swim in under 17 minutes, and when I got out of the water and checked my watch, I was happy to see I succeeded.

Bike Recap
After I emerged from the water, I waddled over to transition and had some difficulty taking my wetsuit off. My new suit has padding that goes so far down the leg that I can’t cut the cuff at all, so the material is much tighter down by the ankles and can be a pain in the ass to yank off quickly. As with last year, in my mind I felt like I was taking forever trying to get the wetsuit off. I finally wrestled free from it, shoved my shoes on my feet, helmeted and sunglassed up, grabbed my bike, and took off. During my graceful exit out of transition, I inadvertently kicked the weird running toe shoe of the dude who was set up next to me and sent that sucker flying. I felt bad, but not bad enough to stop and retrieve it.

I had a strong ride and only needed to hoark up one post-swim loogie (hooray!). When I neared the little hill climb up to I-90, I saw an arrow that signaled we were to stay on the road to the right, yet I saw a bunch of cyclists taking the road to the left. Both streets take you to the bridge and I had raced the course enough times to know that the path to the right was the correct way, but somehow I just went into auto-pilot and followed the other cyclists onto the technically wrong street. I think a volunteer yelled at me, but it’s about the same distance so no harm, no foul.

My bike portion was going well, and I was able to pass a lot of people. I only got passed by one dude who was decked out in an aero helmet and looked like Elitey von ProRacer, so I wasn’t too bummed out. When I turned around on I-90, I felt a cross wind pick up but it felt pretty cute compared to the bullshit I had to endure at Boise, so it wasn’t a huge deterrent.

I got log-jammed going down the little hill to get off the bridge, and from there I got stuck behind some douchetard who was riding in the middle of the lane with his ass crack hanging out of his shorts. I kept trying to go around him, but I don’t know if he kept swerving or if I was just grossly distracted by his hairy, un-manscaped arsehole, but I was unsuccessful. Eventually I got really frustrated and just shouted out, “On your left, MAN!”, and he finally swerved over to let me pass.

Why does my back look like an alien is about to burst out of it? Aero is not an attractive/photogenic pose.

Eventually I rolled into T2 thinking I had biked well. I wasn’t sure what my time was since I thought I borked up my watch, but I felt pretty good. On the way in, I saw Teresa (who had already finished the race and ended up taking 2nd — story of my life, she races so fast that she has time to finish her race and probably shower and hit up a breakfast buffet before I’m even back from the bike) and my teammate Brent (who wasn’t racing that day) cheering me on. She exclaimed that I was doing GREAT in her unique Teresa way, and it made me smile and pumped me up for the run.

Run Recap
T2 felt pretty fast and smooth thanks to the racing Zoots I planned to run in — those suckers are nice and easy to slip on quickly. I puttered out of transition and started running at a good pace — it was fast enough for me to feel like I was pushing it, but not so hard that I felt like yakking and burning out. Some freakish 14-year old girl who I blew by on the bike returned the favor and owned me on the run, but aside from a few dudes who zoomed by me, I was surprised to find that I wasn’t getting passed by too many people. I guess my run has gotten better.

I got to the hill and climbed it pretty steadily, passing a number of people who were tired and walking up it. All of those runs around Capitol Hill have conditioned me to be a somewhat better hill climber, so my 2010 run up the little incline felt much less pathetic than the 2008 attempt. I got to the turnaround spot and ended up getting passed by a girl in my age group. Frick! I sprinted down the hill hard to try and catch her, but by this point I was starting to get a bit of a side cramp. Boo, hiss. Fine, go ahead and beat me. (I ran into her later and told her I unsuccessfully chased her on the run, and she laughed and said she had done the same to me on the bike, which made me feel better knowing I passed her on the bike portion and she couldn’t keep up.)

When I reached the final stretch, I heard my teammates who had already finished cheering me on, and I saw Jason giving me the “I’m proud of you but don’t want to display too much emotion so I’ll just nod stoically in your direction” look of approval. I turned on the burners and crossed the finish line.

Blurry photo of me nearing the finish. I don’t know why my left arm is all Gumby bent.

2010 Results
Swim time: 16:54 (2:06/100 meters)
T1: 1:55
Bike time: 35:23 (20.3 mph)
T2: 1:11
Run time: 23:31 (7:35 min/mile pace)
Total time: 1:18:54
Total place: 213 / 1104
Division place: 7 / 85

I wasn’t sure what my finish time was when I crossed because I messed up my watch splits, so when I checked later I was pretty surprised by my performance. I thought it was going to be difficult to break 1:20 this year, but I was able to do it and improve across the board over last year. I was happy with the swim but kind of hoped I’d be low to mid-16s (although Teresa swears that the swim course was a bit longer than 800 meters due to the elites’ slower than expected swim times). Maybe next year I can finally do a sub-2:00 / 100 meters.

My bike time made me quite happy — I was 1 mph faster than last year’s time, which was a huge confidence booster after all of the shit rides I’d had lately. The run was huge for me. I’ve been trying to run a sub-25 minute 5k and was able to smash it. (Technically I ran a sub-25 minute pace at the Mt. Rainier duathlon, but that was for 3.7 miles and part of me still doubted I could run that fast for 3.1. I know, it makes no sense. I’m just not used to how well I’ve been running lately.)

Overall I was really stoked with my time and my age group placement. Jason also took 7th in his age group and raced a 1:12. I honestly think next year he could place in his age group or maybe even win if he pushes it hard since the times that beat him were all so close together (less than a minute, I think). I, on the other hand, would have to shave quite a bit of time off to place but hey, you never know what could happen.

We celebrated our good day by eating an irresponsible amount of dim sum and taking a glorious nap. It was the third year in a row where I really enjoyed racing the sprint distance and had a lot of fun both competing and cheering on my teammates. I’d like to do it again next year but am considering doing the Vineman 70.3, which usually falls on the same weekend. I kind of hope I’ll be around to do Seafair since it’s such a fun race and it’s always been a good luck charm for me. :)

Traveling to the Race
As per usual, Jas and I loaded an obscene amount of gear and fuel into the Subaru and trekked across I-90 at a glacier pace thanks to various construction areas and generally crappy traffic. We stopped in Yakima (the self-proclaimed “Palm Springs of Eastern Washington,” which means that either Palm Springs is a total dump or the entire town of Yakima is severely delusional) for lunch, and when I checked my email I noticed a message from someone who reads the Mediocre Athlete blog and had signed up to race Boise this year. Hooray, another fan! Pretty soon I’ll be autographing people’s gu packets and reading celebrity gossip about myself (“Rebecca Kelley Caught Skipping Workouts, Pigs Out Instead”).

We continued on for a while before stopping to get gas. When I got out of the car, I was nearly blown over by strong gusts of wind. It was at this point where I thought, “Hey, this sucks…I hope this wind dies down before the race.” [Insert ominous foreshadowing here]

Pre-Race Preparations
We rolled into town and checked into our hotel. The next day we stopped at a bike shop so Jason could get his front brake wire replaced (he noticed it was out of commission during our drive over and had a momentary freakout until we got it fixed), then headed over to the Expo Hall to pick up our packets. We got ushered from section to section until I got corralled over to a volunteer to confirm medical details. When I looked at the printout of my information, I started laughing. A couple months ago, when I had signed up for the race through Active.com, I quickly grew irritated by the incessant onslaught of required questions I had to answer before submitting my race entry. As a result, I filled out some silly and stupid answers that I had forgotten about until I was asked to review my race information:

I like how my jokey answer is juxtaposed with the serious response to the “medical allergies” question. The best part is that the volunteer who reviewed my sign up sheet didn’t even notice.

Finally I got ushered over to pick up my race packet and was given my participant’s t-shirt. The upside was that this year we got an actual performance shirt, whereas last year we were simply given a cotton tee. Unfortunately, the race organizers must have ordered this year’s shirts in child sizes. My size small shirt would have comfortably fit a ten-year old but looked decidedly less flattering on someone with my adult stature.

A bit tight for my taste (notice the full-on cling in the jelly roll midsection area)

My “fat guy in a little coat” impression

After we picked up our stuff, we headed to T1 to drop off our bikes and to meet our teammates for a swim. Race officials wouldn’t let us swim in the reservoir, so we resorted to practicing in the park area below the race start. It was cold, but I rocked the thermal cap and was able to get in a decent pre-race swim.

Yes, I’m the only one with my eyes closed. Go figure.

After meeting with the group, we headed back to the hotel, grabbed dinner, and prepped for the big race by organizing everything we were going to need.

Sugary goodness for the race

Race Day
I got a good night’s sleep and felt pretty confident about the race. We grabbed breakfast and I was able to eat more than I did last year. I had some stomach issues but didn’t hoark up any foamy vomit, so that’s an improvement over last year. We headed over to T2 and set up our run gear, then hopped on a bus to get shuttled over to T1, having learned from last year that it’s better to take the shuttle bus (even though they shamelessly charge athletes $8 to ride it) instead of relying on Jason’s dad to try and navigate through multiple closed streets and drop us off at the race start seven minutes before transition closes, as we had done last year.

We arrived at the race start with plenty of time to spare, so we set up our transition area and hung around in what little shade we could find. It was a warm, sunny day with a slight wind (notice how I say “slight” at this point since it’s only 11 am and the race doesn’t start until 2).

Seeking refuge in the shade of a giant truck. (Don’t ask me why one of my pant legs is rolled up — I’m guessing it’s a pathetic gang sign or I was just being dumb)

My bike at T1. I managed to score a sweet end spot on the rack.

This year we had to put up with a “clean” transition, meaning we weren’t allowed to have anything laid out of our assigned transition bags. This was a considerable change from last year, where we were allowed to lay out our shoes and other items and just had to make sure that we didn’t leave anything out before taking off from T1. The modification meant that athletes were going to have to dig in their bags for their shoes, helmet, and glasses, and would then have to shove all of their swim gear inside before leaving. It was going to slow people down a little bit for sure.

Another big change was a new USAT rule stating that you couldn’t have your bike shoes already clipped into your cleats at transition — now you have to run out of transition already wearing your cycling shoes. One of the athletes racked near me complained to several volunteers and anyone else with ears standing near her about this rule change. I later checked her finish time and saw that she took first in our age group, so clearly it didn’t slow her down that much.

It’s Go Time
As with last year, I was in one of the later waves. The race started at 2:00 but I wasn’t scheduled to go until 2:30ish, and Jason was once again in the last wave at 2:45. I stood around baking in my wetsuit, my feet burning on the hot pavement, watching wave after wave take off and start the race. As I waited, the wind started to get stronger and stronger. Much like last year, I had the distinct pleasure of watching helplessly as the weather slowly but surely turned to shit, only this year it wasn’t a rain and hailstorm and frigid temperatures that we athletes would have to endure, but 20+ mph wind gusts. Joy!

Swim Summary
By the time my wave got into the water, I was so hot from waiting around in a neoprene sausage casing that the cold water felt pretty good. We started swimming and I felt pretty strong swimming to the first turn buoy. My group was pretty rough, but I followed the advice of my teammate Connie and fought back whenever I got bumped or kicked (some douchette who was kicking like an epileptic frog nailed me in the ribs at one point, but I shook it off and swam over her).

When I got to the first turn, the water got considerably choppy and it became harder to navigate in a straight line. I was blown off course from the wind and the chop and didn’t take the straightest route to the final turn. I eventually rounded the bend and swam to shore at a decent pace before emerging to finally peek at my watch and see how I fared.

Goal time: Anything that started with a “4″
Actual time: 47 minutes. I was pretty stoked by my time. Loyal readers (all four of you!) know that I’m a craptacular swimmer. In three years of triathlons I hadn’t broken 50 minutes in a half Ironman swim until now — my previous best was 52 minutes for 1.18 miles at Victoria, and last year’s Boise swim was 57 minutes thanks to the stupid storm. I think I could have swam a 43 or a 44, but since the wind churned the water a bit and threw me off course, I was a bit slower than I think I could have gone. Regardless, it felt damn good to finally escape the 50’s. I’m still a painfully slow swimmer, but I’m happy to have graduated from “tragic” to truly “mediocre.” Huzzah!

T1
I tried out the wetsuit strippers for the first time in a race, figuring I’d give them a test run before Ironman Canada. It felt weird to run up to someone and lay down at his feet expecting to be disrobed, but the process was relatively quick and painless. T1 felt slow due to the “closed” transition rule. Last year I blew through T1 in 2:34, but this year I had to rummage through my bag and dig out all of the random crap I’d need for the ride, so that slowed me down a bit.

Goal time: Mid-2’s
Actual time: 3:07. Oh well.

Bike Summary
I’ve been putting in more bike time this year to prep for Canada, so I was prepared to bust out a much-improved time over last year. Unfortunately, the wind blew a major wrench into my plans. As soon as I started riding, I could feel the gusts man-handling me all over the road. The worst thing is that the bulk of the ride was spent battling a side wind — I could have probably dealt with a head wind since it would have been frustrating but safer. The side wind, on the other hand, was absolutely brutal.

Within ten minutes of the ride, my left hip flexor cramped up and I had to stand up to stretch it out. By mile 30 the top of my hamstrings and my butt were aching and screaming for mercy. My forearms were getting sore from the constant death-gripping of my handlebars whenever a gust blew me four feet to the left. The wind never relented — we got a tail wind for probably about five minutes of the race, but that was about it. Even the descents were pretty pathetic due to the gusts — when you’re only going 18 mph down a steady decline with a cadence of 73, you know something is seriously wrong.

This was the second year in a row where I felt like an idiot for getting race wheels. A couple pros with disc wheels actually got blown off their bikes because the wind was so strong, and one guy even got blown off a freakin’ bridge (it was a bridge that crossed over a pedestrian footpath so he only fell about 7-10 feet, but still…). I would later find out that Chris Lieto, arguably one of the best cyclists among the pro triathletes, stated that this was the toughest bike leg he’s ever raced, and that it was worse than any year he’s raced Kona (the World Championship bike course is known to be very windy). Of course, I didn’t know all this at the time; all I was thinking about was how horrible my race was going and getting more and more discouraged about Ironman Canada. If I felt this miserable riding 56 miles, how was I going to survive 112 and a marathon?

When I was nearing town (right around the spot where I almost creamed a squirrel last year), feeling shitty and wanting this stupid race to be over, I saw another racer pull up beside me. The guy looked at me and said, “You wouldn’t happen to be the bloody shoes girl, would you?” I laughed, surprised that he was able to recognize me, and said “That’s me!” Wouldn’t you know it, I ran into another reader of my blog. He told me he loved Mediocre Athlete and that I was part of the reason he was racing today. Then he paused and joked, “I hate you” (presumably because he felt as great about the wind as I did at this point), and we both laughed and pulled into town. He found me at precisely the right moment in the race — just when I didn’t think I could hate life any more, this guy came along and perked me up when I needed it the most.

Goal time: 3 hours or less
Actual time: 3:27. I was eight minutes slower than last year’s bike time, despite the fact that overall I’m a stronger cyclist this year. My teammates (along with most of the other athletes racing, I presume) also biked much slower than expected, with many people finishing a half hour slower than usual, so I guess 8 minutes isn’t too bad in comparison.

T2
T2 went pretty well — I was in and out in 2:01. This time, I made sure to pull on some socks so I wouldn’t have torn up feet this time around (although since it wasn’t pouring rain this year, it probably wouldn’t have been an issue but I didn’t want to take any chances).

Run Summary
Most of the time when I race, I don’t typically run into nutrition problems unless the weather is exceptionally abnormal (like in Cancun when I battled 98 degree temperatures, obscene humidity, and unrelenting sun). During the bike I battled both the wind and the heat, so as a result I don’t think I fueled properly while cycling. When I got to the run, I had the dreaded bloat belly. I was also uncomfortably hot — it was in the 80s and sunny, and I tend to run warm even when the weather’s mild, so the heat combined with my little Somalian stomach made for a less than ideal run.

I came up with a relatively good strategy to deal with the heat. At every aid station I’d grab a sponge and shove it in my top, then take a cup of ice and pour that down my shirt. The ice/sponge combo would last me a couple miles until I’d eventually replace them with a new sponge and some more ice. I’d also dump water on my head and guzzle Gatorade and water every so often (in hindsight, the guzzling probably didn’t help the belly bloat — I think I have to reassess my drinking habits for Canada).

At the end of loop one, I rummaged for my Endurolytes and looked up to see my non-racing teammates cheering and yelling at me, which made me grin like an idiot:

One of my teammmates/friends shouted out, “Show us yer boobs!”, which snapped me out of my race lull and made me laugh and go, “What?” I don’t think my sweaty, nasty chesticles were something anyone wanted to see at that point.

Speaking of nasty, I’ve never seen so much carnage on a run before. The ride really must have taken its toll on the athletes, because I saw people puking, hunched over, walking with dazed looks on their faces, you name it. I saw people on stretchers, people lying on the ground waiting for medical assistance, people shaking — it was a rough day. Craig Alexander, who won the race two years in a row, ran 11 minutes slower than last year. That big of a gap for a pro indicates how tough things were this year.

Jason caught up to me halfway through loop 2 and we ran together for about 4 miles before he took off in the last mile so he could unchivalrously (yes, that’s a made up word) cross the finish line before me (kidding — he was ahead of me in time, anyway, since he started about 14 minutes behind me).

Nearing the finish and getting high fives from my team

Goal time: 2 hours or under
Actual time: 2:08. My best half Ironman run to date, but I know I can do better. Damn that gut rot!

Goal race time: 6 hours or under
Actual race time: 6:29. Sigh. I really expected to PR by much, much more, but considering how difficult the race ended up being and how I was one of two people on my team who PR’d at all, I’m happy I at least managed to shave off 9 minutes from last year’s time despite the tough conditions. Still, it’s a hard pill to swallow when I think about how I won’t be able to do another half Ironman until next season. Oh well, I guess that means I have another year to train hard and finally achieve that sub-6.

After the Race
Jas and I headed back to the hotel to shower so we could meet our teammates for some late night pizza. I inspected my feet and saw that the only real damage done this year was a blood blister that ended up healing pretty quickly:

Gross, but still a marked improvement over last year’s carnage

The worst souvenir I got from the race was a nasty chafe burn from my race belt. Here’s what it looked like when I finished:

And here’s what it looked like a couple days later:

The scab is gone now but I have a dark mark on my side that will probably end up leaving a scar. It looks like a doctor with questionable credentials removed my appendix. Blerg. Also, thanks to racing in the sun all day, my weird forearm tan I picked up in Penticton evened out a bit but, unfortunately, the watch tan continued to grow even stronger:

Final Thoughts
Okay, I gave Boise another try but honestly (and I mean it this time, damnit!), I’m not going to do the race again next year. Maybe one day I’ll do it again, but I really dislike the afternoon start time. It throws off your pre-race nutrition and, more importantly, it leaves too much time for the weather to turn. Both years, the weather was much better in the morning. If the race had started at 7 am (or even before 11 am), most athletes would have been off the bike by the time the wind got really bad. After talking to some locals, I found out that they often have strong wind gusts in Boise, and that the wind gets worst by mid-afternoon. Why the hell would race organizers plan a race to start at the worst part of the day? If they want it to be a challenge, why not just make the race in December so we athletes can battle snow and freezing temperatures?

I know that there’s really no such thing as a perfect race and that the weather is definitely something organizers can’t control. However, if you know that weather conditions tend to worsen as the day grows longer and you still opt to plan a race that starts at 2:00 pm, you’re often screwing athletes out of a decent race. Since I have no control over what time the race starts, my only option is to skip Boise next year and shoot for a different race instead. I’ll likely come back at some point just so I can try and end on a high note, Costanza style, but for now, Boise, I think we need to take a break.

Last year I raced a 1:36:37. My only goal this time around was to PR and to try and bike 50 minutes or under (I biked a 51:22 last year). Jas and I showed up and set up our transition areas. It was cold but sunnier than last year, and it ended up warming up fairly quickly so I just raced in my usual tri gear and threw on some arm warmers for good measure. Some of my training buddies raced in bike shorts, which I cannot fathom how comfortable it is to waddle-run with a huge cushy load near your ass and taint.

Not ideal for running

Most of my teammates raced the long course but five of us represented Team Shorty. We started the race and I pushed myself to run a good but not super strenuous first leg so that I wouldn’t feel like collapsing once I got to transition. After the first 1.6 mile run I grabbed my bike and embarked as fast as I could. I felt pretty good and kept mentally telling myself to push it during the bike part of the race. When I got to the Mud Mountain Road hill, I had my best climb to date. Don’t get me wrong, it was still kind of crappy and I got passed by better climbers, but I felt pretty good and steady and was able to scale it without feeling like I was going to crap myself afterwards. (Plus, I re-passed just about everyone who passed me on the hill, so suck it.)

When I got back to transition, a couple of my teammates who weren’t racing that day shouted some words of encouragement and told me, to my surprise, that I was the third female to finish the bike portion. I clickity-clacked into transition to rack my bike and pull on my Zoots, and Jason’s parents cheered me on. Jason’s mom said, “I think you’re the first female!” When I responded with, “I heard I was third,” she said, “Oh…those must have been some manly looking women then.” I chuckled and started run #2.

My pace felt a bit fast but steady, and I just kept thinking push push push. I still felt good and just wanted to have a good race. At one point I passed a female and got excited, but then another female went blowing by me and I never caught up to her. She ended up beating me by about 30 seconds. *shakes fist* Anyway, I was maybe less than a mile from the finish when I thought I heard someone shout “Bec!” I threw a side glance over my shoulder but didn’t want to turn around and lose momentum. Shortly after that, someone emerged beside me and said, “Good job, you’re doing great!” To my surprise, it was Jason.

“How am I ahead of you?” I asked incredulously. He should have been done with the race by now — I estimate he’d have finished about five or six minutes ahead of me. It turned out that Jas had a great first run and bike, but during the second run he missed turn #2 due to half-ass course markings. I guess quite a few racers missed the turn. Jason ended up running about six minutes extra (three out, three back to the correct course), which is a big oops when the run distance is only 3.7 miles. The competitive, non-chivalrous side of Jas didn’t want me to beat him, so he turned on the afterburners and passed me. I’m used to chasing him during runs, so puttering behind him wasn’t anything new for me.

At one point I looked down at my watch and noticed that if I hauled ass, I could finish in under 1:30, so I took it up a notch, Costanza style, and ran a bit harder to the finish. I clocked in at 1:29:36, sixteen seconds behind Jason and a seven minute PR over last year’s time. Huzzahowie! I later found out that I took first in my age group and was the third overall female to finish. This was a race to go down in Mediocre Athlete infamy, as I’ve never really legitimately placed well in my age group. Sure, last year I took 3rd in the duathlon, but it was out of 5 girls so it kind of put me in the middle of the pack (a placing I’ve more than grown accustomed to). One time I took 2nd in my age group at an Olympic distance triathlon, but that was out of 3 and the third girl never even showed up to race. Thus, my top finish was the first time I placed well and actually beat people who showed up. Pretty awesome.

Me with the 2nd and 3rd place age groupers

For winning my age group, I received the following trophy courtesy of what I’m assuming was the Enumclaw junior high woodshop class:

Yes, that is indeed a block of wood with a cassette gear shoved into it and a piece of chain crookedly glued onto it. My first homemade 1st place trophy! (I make fun, but I’m proud of it — it’s a fitting trophy for this mediocre athlete.)

When I got home I checked the official results and found that I had improved across the board over last year. Both runs, my transitions and my bike time were all faster (I biked a 48:15 and hit my under 50 min goal); in fact, my runs averaged out to be a 7:31 and a 7:25 minute mile pace. I’m not accustomed to seeing my run pace not start with an ‘8′ — it seemed as if I was stuck running in the 8s forever. I guess those track workouts are starting to work wonders for me.

The duathlon was a nice confidence booster for me and a good assurance that I was on the right track with my training this season. However, there is a downside to my good race — I know for a fact that Teresa’s going to make me do the long course next year, where all of a sudden I go from being a big fish in a small pond back to a mediocre fish in a pool of elites. Long course racers are pretty hardcore, so next year I get to look forward to resuming my regularly scheduled mediocrity. Ah well, for now I shall bask in my win until April 2011.

I haven’t hit all my workouts but have managed to get most of my long runs in. I’ve done most of my training runs in Capitol Hill, so I think the hilly terrain has proved beneficial. I’ve also been doing heart rate zone training and have dropped two minutes off my mile pace when in zone 3. The one thing I’m worried about is how to pace myself for race day — I’ve gotten used to slowing things down for zone training, but I’ll have to speed up a bit to try and hit my goal time, so pacing is going to be a bit tricky. I’ll have to consult the coach this week for her opinion.

I think I’ve got a sub-4 in me for sure, but I might have to train a bit harder to hit it. Work’s been a bit stressful lately, plus I’m trying to squeeze in the beginnings of triathlon training, but if I were to just train for a marathon I think I’d do alright. In any case, we’ll see how the race goes on Sunday. I’m in taper mode this week but have a few workouts here and there, plus a (gulp) body composition test + diet analysis on Wednesday (it’s part of Operation De-Chub for Canada). I don’t think the Super Bowl gorging and beer guzzling will make my trainer too happy, but hopefully burning thousands of calories this weekend will counteract my bad habits. :D

We packed up some things for the weekend and were just about to leave when Jason randomly decided to call his dad and see if he wanted to tag along. Brief aside: Jason’s dad is awesome. He’s the kind of spectator you want watching you race because he’s genuinely interested in athletics and sports. He’ll show up at 5 am to watch things get set up and will wait around all day until the race ends. Best support system ever. [See also: Robyn Nelson]

Anyway, surprisingly enough, Jason’s dad wanted to tag along at the last minute so we headed to his parent’s house and picked him up for the long haul to Penticton. (Or, rather, we drove to Jason’s parents’ house and Jason’s dad drove from there. Woo hoo, free ride!) The area in and around Penticton is gorgeous — huge lakes, rolling hills and valleys, wine country galore. I’ve also never seen a town embrace the Ironman like Penticton. There were signs everywhere welcoming athletes and advertising the Ironman. Hell, the town Subaru dealership is even called “The Ironman City Subaru.” After coming from the most redneck, anti-Ironman Ironman race I’d seen, Penticton felt like I’d died and gone to athlete heaven.

I should wipe my ass with this postcard and send it to the fine townsfolk of Lake Stevens

When we got into town, we made our way to the house that we were staying at for the next couple days. My friend/chiropractor/fellow triathlete Nathan was racing Canada and had rented a house, and he had an extra room to spare. What I didn’t expect was for the house to look like the family who owned it had just left hours before we got there — personal photos and whatnot were left out, making me feel like I had just broken into someone’s house and decided to crash there, Goldilocks-style.

Undoubtedly because Nathan despises me for canceling so many chiro appointments, he decided to save this room for me and Jason:

That poster of Zac Efron holding the camcorder was pointed right at the bed. Ew.

It’s like the Disney Channel barfed all over the walls

Okay, that’s just fucking creepy

Not only was this girl obsessed with Zac Efron…

…she also seemed to side with Team Brown:

Awkward

Jason’s dad opted to sleep on the floor since he was a last-minute house guest, so the three of us spent the night inside a 13-year old girl’s room, surrounded by glossy two-dimensional teen heartthrobs, nightmare-inducing clowns, and a lavender phone shaped like a pair of lips.

Race day arrived, and we awoke to find an amusing checklist left on the countertop by one of the racers staying in the house:

Gotta remember to glide that chode!

We headed to the start to watch the race and to support our friends.

Swim course

I was absolutely blown away by the crowd of people who showed up to support the race. There were groups of spectators everywhere, and they cheered just as loudly for non-pros as they did the pros. It was by far the most supportive fans I’d ever seen. (No joke, Jason, his dad and I even got cheered on by people when we went for a 6 mile run. It made our wimpy little workout seem like a major accomplishment.) The race was amazingly well organized, too — I’ve never seen anything like it.

All day long I saw all sorts of people racing Canada. There were pros, old people, young people, overweight people, (lots of) skinny people. I even saw the guy who races each year with a new “gimmick” — I’ve heard that in previous years he’s raced dressed as Elvis and using a fixed-gear bike. This year he once again went the costume route:

I’m not sure if he’s supposed to be a leopard or a cheetah, but either way, that is one impressive getup considering how swelteringly hot the day was.

My favorite race outfit, however, was the guy sporting the Life with Louie t-shirt:

I could only snap a shot of the back of the shirt, but still, that is an awesomely dated and obscure choice of attire for a 140.2 mile race (who runs a marathon in a cotton t-shirt?!).

Eventually my teammates started to pour in. Mark was first, and he absolutely spanked Canada (and deserved to — he trained so hard all year-long and exceeded everyone’s expectations). This picture pretty much sums up how other racers felt to see him nearing the finish:

It was so awe-inspiring to see my triathlete buddies approach the finish line one-by-one. Everyone had a phenomenal race, and I was so excited and proud for them.

The next morning we got up early so Jason and Nathan’s friend could head over to the Expo Hall and sign up for the 2010 Ironman Canada. After much deliberation and a bout of temporary insanity, I did the unthinkable and signed up with them (it only took 3 G-D hours to do it too, and there wasn’t even a rollercoaster at the end of it). I hadn’t planned on committing to a full Ironman so soon, but Penticton really won me over with its beautiful course and the incredible support and organization. So I HTFU’d, plopped down an obscene amount of money, and began counting down the days until next August.

I’ll keep you all updated on my training regimen from now until D-Day — it’s sure to be rife with complaints, blisters, sunburns, near-drownings, early morning grumblings and prep races. Hopefully you’ll come along for the ride and experience a year’s worth of prep for a full Ironman race. I’ll try to make my journey as amusing as possible for you. :)

Her haircut is still considered trendy in Lake Stevens

The town literally consists of this skeezy restaurant, a Subway, a crappy foodmart, a burger shack, and, inexplicably, a town museum (maybe they wanted to commemorate the day they scored a Subway franchise). To answer your next question, no, there are no hotels in Lake Stevens, so if you’re thinking of flying in to do this race then lucky you, you get to stay in Everett or a neighboring city. (And no, Seattle is not “twenty minutes away,” as I heard one race official tell someone over the phone; it’s more like 50 minutes.)

Secondly, the “lake” part of Lake Stevens is filthy. It smells terrible and is full of garbage. When Jason swam in it the day before the race, he said the bottom of the lake was littered with beer cans and junk. Teresa said she spotted a chair during her swim. Jason and his dad once saw a half-submerged mattress in the lake after they finished a bike ride, and I had the pleasure of experiencing an obese kid with a rat tail throwing firecrackers into the lake as I was standing in it for a post-workout ice bath.

This is a form of child abuse, people!

This lake is the town’s urinal — they don’t give a crap about it and they certainly don’t take care of it, so excuse me for not wanting to pay a couple hundred dollars to do a race that involves swimming in it for 1.2 miles.

Thirdly, the bike course is horrible. It’s two loops and is a challenge for sure, with a few tough hills, a lot of false flats, and many twists and turns. However, what I hate most about the course is that the town’s inhabitants are so mean and inconsiderate to cyclists that it makes for a stressful, miserable ride. Every time I’ve ridden the course I’ve had some redneck in a Ford F-150 angrily honk at me as he passes me at 50 mph. And surprise surprise, Ironman didn’t close off the course during the actual race so my friends said they kept getting passed by jerks in cars who would angrily swerve and honk at all of the cyclists who were racing. Jesus Christ, this race is one day out of the year — you’d think that these a-holes could show some courtesy and put up with a few hours of inconvenience, but no, they’ve gotta get to Walmart or a monster truck rally or a Larry the Cable Guy viewing party or wherever the hell they’re rushing to.

And yes, this is the type of place that would likely have drivers who buy “truck balls” for their vehicles

The cherry on top of this turd sundae was the expo hall for the race. Race organizers had the expo hall in Everett, because, as I’ve already mentioned, there is nothing in Lake Stevens. Fun fact: Everett has an events center. Logically, you would think that the packet pickup, race briefing and expo hall would be at the events center or somewhere similarly sized…and you’d be wrong. Apparently the organizers decided that they wanted the expo hall to match the ghettoness of the actual race itself, so they held it in a Holiday Inn that was simultaneously hosting a Cash for Gold trade show. The lobby was a mess of athletes running into old, obese people who stank of ashtrays and were trying to turn in their gold brooches for fifty bucks.

Typical Cash for Gold customer at the hotel

Organizationally, the expo hall was a disaster. There were nearly 900 people signed up for the race, and the organizers were forcing each athlete to attend a mandatory meeting before they were allowed to pick up their race packet. There were four meeting times, one of which was reserved for the elite triathletes. The meeting room held about one hundred people. You do the math: clearly, not everyone is going to be able to squeeze into the room for the meeting. Did they think about this obvious logistical nightmare?

No, of course not; instead, they had some pissy volunteer with a beer gut and a 70′ porn ’stache angrily turning away athletes at the door when they tried to squeeze in and attend the meeting, sighing as if it was a huge personal burden. “Jesus Christ,” he’d whine, “There’s no more room. You have to come back in an hour” before shutting the door in their faces. Fuck that guy — the whole point of a volunteer is to make the athletes as comfortable and as prepared as possible. When you’ve got volunteers being rude to the racers, they’re creating a hostile and unwelcoming environment. Racing that distance is stressful enough as it is — you don’t need a poor man’s Burt Reynolds with a power trip barking at you and telling you what to do.

“Go away, we’re full.”

Speaking of the “mandatory meeting,” that is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard. I’ve done three half Ironman races and I’ve never been forced to go to an athlete meeting before picking up my packet. There is nothing unique about the Lake Stevens race to where athletes have to be subjected to hearing someone drone on for forty minutes about the course and the token safety information. Oh really, the swim starts here and ends here, and the bike is a two-loop course, and the run is ALSO a two loop course? Wow, I haven’t heard that information since I read it on the goddamn website! Thanks so much for rehashing this for me! Seriously, offer the meeting to people who are nervous and haven’t done a race of this caliber before, but let the veterans and pros skip it — that’s what waivers are for, people.

I honestly have never seen a race this ghetto, unprofessional, cheap or poorly organized — not a half distance, an Olympic, a sprint, or any running races. There’s no way this race is worth a $225 sign up fee. My advice to anyone who’s not raced Lake Stevens before and is considering it — skip it. And to the Ironman race organizers, my advice to you is to either lower the registration fee by $100 or move the race altogether. Lake Stevens is a shithole that doesn’t respect athletes or take care of the course. Washington has better locations for a half Ironman. If the organizers want to maintain the prestige and value of the Ironman brand, I suggest they do something to improve the image of the Lake Stevens race.

Jason’s itching to do a sub 1:40 and I think he’ll pull it off because he’s pretty stubborn and has been doing great with his training this season. Plus, even if he does pass out, at least we’re in our hometown so I can just drag him over to Harborview, get him pumped full of IV fluids and head home.

So…those are our Saturday morning plans. I’ll post another entry letting all five of you who read this blog how well we did. If you’re watching the race, be sure to cheer on the TN Multisport runners and give us plenty of encouragement. :)

Traveling to the Race
Jason and I loaded up the Subee, strapped our bikes onto the hitch and drove the 8 excruciatingly boring hour drive through eastern Washington, most of Oregon and into Boise. The drive pretty much consisted of the following:

• brown nothingness
• brown nothingness
• brown nothingness
• ridiculous thunderstorm
• brown nothingness

Pre-Race Preparations
We finally got to Boise, and the next day Jason and I headed to the Expo Center to pick up our registration packet. I had to sign up in person and was forced to bequeath my unborn child over to the Ironman brand (Jesus Christ, race-day sign up is so freakin’ expensive). I also decided to rent race day wheels to see what they were like. They were kind of pricey but still tons cheaper than buying a set of race wheels (which can cost $2,000 and up).

Check out those sexy race wheels

After Jason and I finished up at the Expo Hall, we drove over to the swim start so we could drop off our bikes at T1. After a test bike ride, we got in the water for a 10 minute swim, and holy hell was that water cold. I flailed around for a couple meters before running into a group of idiot kids who thought it was a good idea to take a dip in the sub-60 degree water in bikinis and swim trunks. I had the following conversation with one of them:

Him: “Are you still cold even in your scuba suit?”
Me: “Yeah, this water is pretty cold.”
Him: “I’m freezing! How much did your scuba suit cost?”
Me: “It’s not a scuba suit, it’s a wetsuit.”
Him: “Oh…how much did your wetsuit cost?”
Me: “$650.”
Him: “Really? I only have $5…how much does it cost to rent a wetsuit?”

At that point I was thinking, “Screw you, junior, I’m not lending you my suit,” so I swam off and finished my miserable workout.

Race Day
The next morning we woke up and went downstairs to eat breakfast in the hotel’s dining area. I grabbed a bowl of cereal but upon looking down at it, I felt a sudden wave of nausea overtake me so I only managed to poke at it with my spoon and not eat anything. When we got back to our room I promptly threw up. Twenty minutes later I yakked again, barfing up water and foamy stomachy goodness. Jason looked at me with a mixture of empathy and disgust, asking if I was feeling okay and if I should race. I called Teresa for advice.

Teresa: “Was it something you ate the night before? Do you think it’s food poisoning?”
Me: “I don’t think so. If it were, I would have been sick last night.”
Teresa: “Yeah…do you think it’s nerves?”
Me: “Maybe. I’ve never had this happen before.”
Teresa: “Hmmm…you’re not pregnant, are you?”
Me: “Dear God, I hope not.”

(I’m not.)

I eventually managed to stop barfing and was able to choke down a protein bar. We got our stuff packed up and Jason’s parents took us to the IHOP for a pre-race meal. I ordered whole wheat pancakes but had no appetite and couldn’t eat any of them. Feeling miserable, I looked over at Jason and saw him with his head in his hands, looking exactly how I felt at that moment. We were jittery, stressed, and unable to eat.

After lunch, Jason’s parents started driving us to T1. Ten minutes into our drive, I realized that I had taken the computer off my bike the night before and had accidentally left it in my hotel room. I started to panic, thinking about how I needed my computer to check my cadence and ensure that I was keeping between 85-100 rpms, and that if I didn’t know how fast I was going I was gonna go insane. Jason’s parents said they’d go back and grab it for me and would try to pass it off to me when I got out of the swim.

I was already stressed about having puked twice and forgetting my bike computer when we decided to add “getting lost on the way to the race” to the mix. Since a ton of roads were closed because of the race, we had to take this ridiculous detour to get to T1. We finally got there, only to get yelled at by race officials that we weren’t allowed to get dropped off at the top of the hill where T1 was. Jason’s parents had to drive us all the way down to the bottom of the hill and drop us off at a park that was about 3/4 of a mile away from where we needed to be. I started walking up the hill with two armloads of gear, my heart pounding from the nerves, when I heard a far-off voice announce, “The transition area will close in FIVE minutes.” At that point I thought I was going to pass out from the stress.

Thankfully, Jason’s sister caught up to me and offered to serve as my gear mule, helping me carry some of my stuff up the hill with me. I got to the start and got marked in record time, then ran over to my bike and frantically began setting up my transition area and shoving anything remotely edible into my bento box. The entire time I was rushing and getting yelled at to exit T1, I kept thinking over and over how bullshit a 2 pm race start and two separate transition areas were.

Swim Summary
The race started but my wave wasn’t going for another 45 minutes, so I sat around and had the distinct pleasure of watching the waves get choppier and choppier due to the increasing winds and ever-darkening sky. By the time my wave rolled around, the reservoir looked like a washing machine on spin cycle.

It doesn’t look bad in the photo, but that water was choppy as hell

Finally, we were off. Waves were hitting me from the right, which is the side I breathe from, so I immediately cursed myself for not following Teresa’s training instructions and practicing bilateral breathing more often. The swim was by far the roughest I had ever done — not only were there ridiculous waves and wind to deal with, but people were running into each other and throwing elbows left and right.

I managed to get to the first turn buoy relatively “quickly,” but it seemed to take eons to get to the second turn point. I later found out that it was so windy that the turn buoys were drifting further and further out, and the race volunteers were telling some swimmers to just forgo the big buoys to save time (they didn’t tell me this — effers!). I swam and swam and swam, and finally I dragged my half-drowned ass out of the water, having swam probably about .2-.3 miles more than intended.

Goal time: under 50 minutes
Actual time: 57 minutes (wind + waves + drifting buoys = terrible swim time, though I’m pretty sure I actually swam closer to 1.5 miles instead of 1.2)

T1
My T1 wasn’t actually that bad — I managed to bust out a 2:34 even after waddling over to Jason’s sister with my speedplay cleats to grab my bike computer from her and tap dancing the length of the transition area to the bike mounting spot. (I really need to learn how to hop on and off the bike with my shoes already clipped in — these thick bike cleats are killing my mobility.) I hopped on my bike, put the atrocious swim behind me, and started pedaling.

Bike Summary
Less than three miles into the 56 mile bike it started to rain. Hard. Really hard. Then it turned into a thunderstorm. Then it started to hail. I was a shivering, snotty mess. Every ten minutes I had to wipe snot from my face onto my tri shorts. My bike was soaked and sticky, and I battled slick roads, pelting rain and hail, and unforgiving headwinds the entire miserable ride. By the end of it my crotch and back were screaming at me to stop and I was actually looking forward to seeing downtown Boise. (I never thought that would happen.)

I was probably about a half mile away from T2 and pedaling as hard as I could when I saw a tiny squirrel shoot across the street. It let out a ridiculous squealing noise right when I got to it as if it anticipated its inevitable demise, but somehow the little bastard managed to escape death by race wheel squishing and barely got out of the way as I barreled down the street. Stunned, I uttered a loud “HOLY SHIT” and the person biking behind me started laughing really hard. (This is not the first time I’ve encountered a creature while racing or training — one time a furry black critter ran across my feet during a half marathon, and during a training ride I almost got hit in the face by a bat. I must give off some sort of pheromone.)

I finally got to T2 and breathed a sigh of relief. Now all I had to do was finish the run and I’d be done with this bullshit race.

Goal time: 3:00 to 3:10
Actual time: 3:19 (Slower than I wanted, but what can you expect when you’re biking through a goddamn thunderstorm. The bike course itself was relatively flat, so I imagine I’d post a better time in less inclement weather.)

Dropping off my snot-coated bike at T2

T2 and Run Summary
I busted through T2 in 2:17 and started the run. I packed socks in case I wanted to wear them for the run, but I’ve raced sockless before and haven’t had any issues, plus everything in my transition area was soaking wet so I figured socks wouldn’t help, anyway, so I ran out with naked feet. The first couple miles felt pretty good, and I was keeping a steady pace through the giant puddles with my wet feet and shoes. At mile 3 my shoes started to rub my feet in certain areas and my feet started to sting a bit. Each mile after that got worse and worse. I knew I had formed blisters and that they had probably already popped from the constant rubbing. Every step started to hurt more and more, and my run deteriorated to a Hillary Biscay-like gait (only much, much slower).

At mile 5 I stopped at a tree and took my right shoe off to assess the damage. To my surprise, the outer rim of my shoe was covered in blood and my foot was rubbed completely raw in two spots. I sighed, put my shoe back on, and limp-ran to the end of lap one. A volunteer was standing between the split (where you either run ahead and finish the race or turn to the right and begin your second 6.5 mile lap), and he shouted at me, “Great job, keep it up!” I stopped when I got to him and said, “I need medical.”

His smile faded and he said, “Okay, okay, we can get you medical attention. What’s the problem?” I told him that my feet were bleeding. He looked down, saw my bloody shoes, and said, “Yeah…um, I have band-aids. Will those help?” I said sure and he started fishing them out of his pack. Then he looked at me and said, “Do you want to drop out of the race?”

I kind of blinked and looked at him like I didn’t quite comprehend what he was saying. I survived a near drowning, rode a miserable 56 miles in the pouring rain, and just hobble-ran halfway through the run. All I had left was one more lap. Why the fuck would I quit now? I muttered a “No, I should be fine thanks byeeeeeeeeee” and ran off to begin my second lap.

The band-aids actually did help immensely for a few miles, and I was able to temporarily forget about the stinging pain and focus on running. My optimism was short-lived, however, and I Robo-Cop’d the last couple miles with a single driving force: medical. Unlike Thomas the Tank Engine’s mantra of “I think I can, I think I can,” the only word that repeated in my mind over and over again was “Medical. Medical. Medical. Medical.”

I finally lurched across the finish line, got draped with a space blanket and was forced to pose for a stupid finisher’s photo before a volunteer guided me over to the medical area.

Goal time: 2:00 to 2:05
Actual time: 2:17 (I hobble-ran a 10:30 pace, which isn’t too bad considering the state of my feet)

Time for Medical Attention
Jason caught up with me and gave an encouraging “Good job!”, then grew concerned when I told him that I wanted to hit up the medical area ASAP. I assured him that I wasn’t suffering from cramping or dehydration and just pointed down at my feet, at which point his mom uttered an “Ohmygod.” (I felt pretty bad-ass for eliciting such a reaction.)

We headed into medical and a volunteer came up to me and asked if I’d been helped yet. I said “No,” and she asked what the problem was. I pointed down at my feet and she went “Ewwww…by the way, I’m not a doctor, but I’ll get one for you.” I laughed and told her that I figured that either she was just a volunteer or she was a doctor with the world’s worst bedside manner.

Jason’s sister’s rendition of the medical area (where it was “athletes only”)

The doctor/medical dude cleaned my feet with saline solution, burned the hell out of them with some sort of devil’s liquid, smeared some ointment on them and wrapped them in blue bandages.

It’s a good look for me

My bloody shoes (the inserts are pink Superfeet, not bloody soles)

Bloody right shoe (the worse of the two)

After the Race
The funny thing about the 2 pm start time is that the race organizers wanted the finish in downtown Boise so the athletes could enjoy a “post-race party” downtown and eat, drink and hang out. This is a good idea in theory, but since the weather was apocalyptically bad, everyone finished the race and immediately began packing up their stuff to get the hell out of there and change into some dry clothes. Jason and I were no exception. I returned my race wheels and we gathered up our gear and headed back to the hotel (after making a stop at Wendy’s, of course).

Once I finished inhaling my burger, I stepped into the shower and serenaded Jason with a lovely slew of expletives and “MOTHER OF GOD”s as the hot shower water hit my raw feet and stung the shit out of them. We changed and headed over to Teresa and Mark’s hotel to hang out with them, drink, and, of course, scarf down more food. Naturally, Teresa had a kick-ass race and not only took 1st in her age group but was the first amateur female. She’s a mighty good triathlete. Mark also PR’d and did a sub-5 hour race, and Jason PR’d by 40 minutes and finished in under 6 hours. I, of course, brought up the rear and posted the slowest time in our group.

Goal time: low 6 hours
Actual time: 6:38

I’m pretty disappointed with my finish time. I really wanted to get 6:00 to 6:15, with the ultimate goal of hitting under 6 hours. I still managed to PR by about 20 minutes, but I think I could have done up to 30 minutes better if the weather were less ridiculous and if my feet weren’t bleeding. Oh well.

Final Thoughts
All in all, I think that Boise is a potentially good race that turned out pretty shitty for the following reasons:

1. The 2 pm start time. Like I said, a later start time is good on paper, but 2 pm is too late. I wouldn’t mind a race with a 10 am or a noon start time at the absolute latest, but when you start at 2 you have too much time to sit around and get stressed out and worry about everything that can possibly go wrong.
2. The two transition areas. Two transition areas is a pain in the ass. You have to run around the day before and make sure all your bags are properly packed and drop them off in different areas, and when you’re racing you have to make sure you don’t leave anything out or it’ll end up getting left behind. Also, Teresa learned the hard way that you can’t trust the organizers with your various bags of gear when she realized that someone had stolen her ring out of her bag. That’s pretty shitty.
3. The freakin’ weather. The Boise website summarized the day as such: “Participating athletes saw light rain for a majority of the bike and run course, with temperatures hovering in the low 70s.” That’s the most ridiculous euphemism for “torrential thunderstorm and 60 degree temperatures” I’ve ever seen. Granted, apparently Boise averages an inch of rain the entire month of June so it seems like we just had bad luck this year, but still, don’t frickin’ lie about how terrible it was.

I’d probably still do Boise again in the future, but only if they move the start time back to the morning. I can probably put up with the separate transitions and there’s a strong chance the weather has to be better than it was this year, but in my opinion the late start time was a failed experiment. I can’t say I had fun doing the race this year, but at least I learned a lot and can show off my war wounds to everyone.

Cut #1

Cut #2

Cut #3

Cut #4

I’ll probably try and do another 70.3 later this summer as a redemption race. Hopefully it’ll go better than Boise did. :)

Artist’s rendition of me and Jason at the finish since we didn’t get a picture together (I loved medical attention more than my boyfriend that day)

When the race officially began, Jason and I both spent the first two miles dodging people and trying to run at a decent pace. Much to Jason’s annoyance, he had to pass a ton of people who had no business being at the start of a half marathon (like people with walking sticks who had positioned themselves among the 6 minute mile runners). I, meanwhile, got freakishly overheated in the balmy 60 degree weather despite my attire of shorts and a sleeveless shirt. I attributed my Hot Head Syndrome to the visor I was wearing, so I stripped it off and ran while holding it for a bit before getting tired of carrying it and chucking it into a bin. With my head blissfully naked, I was able to concentrate on running.

Or so I thought. Even though I did the customary pre-race Glide application and despite the fact that I had worn these shorts on plenty of runs in the past, for some reason during the race my shorts kept riding up on me and I had to do an awkward shimmy shake every few hundred feet to try and yank the fabric back down. I can only imagine what it was like to run behind me the entire race. I waged this battle for the entire 13.1 miles, cursing my thighs and these godforsaken shorts.

The run itself went pretty well. I had the usual ups and downs and would suck down Gu and water whenever I felt an energy lull. At mile 10 I was running hard and had a Jason moment where my vision temporarily tunneled and I felt light-headed for a few seconds. I wondered if it was my turn to pass out, but thankfully the feeling subsided and I was able to resume running. Hooray for staying upright!

I approached the finish line and saw Jason at the sidelines wrapped in a space blanket, so we went 2/2 on the “no passing out” goal. I finished the race in 1:52 and some change, which is a 4 minute PR from last year’s time and a 12 minute improvement from my first ever half marathon. Yeah, beeyotch! Jason also achieved his goal, having finished in 1:41 and sparing his veins from invasive IV needles.

I celebrated my achievement with an ice bath, a Wendy’s bacon and cheese baked potato, a dim sum lunch and the coveted post-race nap. Later that evening we caught a movie and ate gigantic steaks at Gotham. (Post-race gorging is easily the best part of training and competing.)

All in all, the race went well for both of us this year (aside from excruciating chafing, which I’ll cover in the next post). Huzzah for improved times, healthy bodies and great food. We’ve set new goal times that we’ll strive to hit at the Seattle Rock ‘n Roll Half Marathon next month (Jason wants to do under 1:40 and I’d like to hit under 1:50), but that half marathon is shortly after the Boise 70.3, so we’ll see how things go.

On our way up to Vancouver, Jason starts noticing that he’s feeling a bit “under the weather.” It’s no big deal — just a little stuffiness and a bit of a headache. We get through the border, check into our hotel, walk to the Expo Hall to pick up our packets, have dinner, and go back to our room to relax and prep for tomorrow’s race.

This is where things start to get a bit icky. Jason’s symptoms start to worsen and he begins feeling downright miserable. I’m not sure exactly what’s wrong with him, but I figure that once someone starts excreting goop out of his eyes, he’s probably not in the healthiest state to run 13.1 miles the next morning.

Jason’s laying on the bed sounding congested and miserable with a warm washcloth draped over his gunky eyes, and I think, “There is no way he’s running tomorrow.” He’s sick and seems like he has a sinus infection, so the last thing on his mind should be hitting a PR for a half marathon…right?

Oh, how I underestimate the competitive nature of men. The next morning, Jason rolls out of bed jacked up on adrenaline and race jitters. He pops a bunch of cold medicine like they’re Tic Tacs and suits up for the race. I keep asking him if he’s feeling well enough to race and he assures me with his husky, congested voice that he feels a lot better and will be fine.

We meet our racing buddies in the hotel lobby and head to the start of the race. Since the finish dumps into a large stadium and there are thousands of people racing, we set up a meeting landmark for after the race: a giant inflated Ronald McDonald. It’s easy to spot the frighteningly huge clown, so we figured it would make for an idiot-proof meeting spot. We all wish each other good luck and I kiss my sicky boyfriend before the gun goes off and we all begin the race.

I don’t feel great on the run — my main mistake is that I’m wearing pants instead of shorts because I mistakenly thought that race day would be colder than it actually was. I immediately get too warm and feel kind of miserable as I plod along, one foot in front of the other. Despite the wardrobe misstep, however, I finish the race in about 1:56 and feel pleased that I beat my previous half marathon time by 8 minutes. Wahoo!

I run into two of my racing buddies who finished less than a minute ahead of me and we make our way to Ronald McDonald to meet Jason, who should have finished about ten minutes before we did. We get to Ronald and Jason’s nowhere in sight. I think that maybe he’s using the bathroom or grabbing food, so we sit tight and wait for our final friend to finish. Our friend gets done at around 2:14 or so and Jason’s still MIA. What the hell? Did he get mixed up somehow? It’s not like there are 15 giant Ronald McDonalds floating around the stadium, for crying out loud.

Kind of hard to miss this dude

We wait around a bit longer and he still fails to show up. At this point I’m thinking that one of 4 things has happened:

1. He’s dropping gut bombs in the bathroom
2. He’s pigging out on mini bagels and orange slices…and then he’ll drop gut bombs in the bathroom
3. He wasn’t feeling well so he went back to the hotel to shower and lay down
4. He’s passed out in the medical tent

I loiter around the men’s room like a creep for about 10 minutes until I’m convinced that he’s not in there, then I head to the food area. No Jason. I poke my head into the medical tent that’s inside the stadium and check to see if there’s a 6′4″ pasty white dude getting an IV drip while curled up on a stretcher. The volunteers tell me that nobody fitting Jason’s description has been in their tent. At this point I’m convinced that he’s back at the hotel, so my friends and I head back to our rooms and part ways to shower and check out. I rummage for my key, swipe it, open the door and pop into my room, expecting to hear the shower running or see Jason sleeping soundly on the bed.

The room is empty. I start to get worried and begin mentally formulating a game plan that will gradually escalate in urgency (think of it as a Flow Chart of Panic). Shower. Change. Leave a note in case Jason returns to the room while I’m gone. Tell the front desk that if they see a 6′4″ pasty white dude come in while I’m out, they should tell him I went looking for him and that he should call my cell phone. Head back to the race. Look for Jason. Check hospital. Call his parents and tell them that I’ve lost his son somewhere in Canada and that it’s not too late to adopt. Etc.

I scrawl a note and tape it to the wall opposite the room’s entry way, leave, call the elevator, step in and ride it down. As I’m mentally going through my Checklist of Escalating Scenarios (he’s at the race, he’s in the hospital, oh god he’s dead), the elevator doors open, I look up to step out and run directly into…Jason.

He’s sweaty, pale as a sheet (well, paler than normal), has a cotton ball taped to the inner crook of one arm, and is sporting a huge bloody scrape on his knee. “What happened?!” I ask. “I was just going to go back out and find you!” He looked at me and says in a sheepish manner, “That was a mistake.”

Here’s what happened. Jason runs a hard, fast race. For most of it his body feels achy and his head is pounding, but he toughs it out and mentally pushes himself to continue running hard. He keeps checking his watch and sees that he’s on pace to finish in his goal time, so he keeps pushing and pushing. The cold medicine has left him dehydrated and he can barely breathe from all the congestion and general crappiness. With a couple miles left to go, his body starts feeling even worse but he knows he’s almost done so he pushes even harder. Then, with about 100 yards left to go, Jason races towards the finish line…and finds himself flat on his back as a bunch of medics run towards him. Yes, in true “slow-motion Chariots of Fire” fashion, Jason collapses right before the finish line, going down like a 250 lb sack of potatoes. He even makes the medics carry him across the finish line so that he can have an official finish time. Man, I wish I could have seen that.

Earlier when I checked the medic tent inside the stadium, I was unaware that there was another tent outside at the finish line. While I was poking my head into one tent, Jason was sprawled out onto a stretcher inside the other one. Go figure. Apparently he tried to get someone to go find me, but somehow the medics didn’t feel that complying with a dehydrated and semi-delirious runner’s wishes to find his shortish dark-haired girlfriend who’s “near Ronald McDonald!” was high on their priority list.

Anyway, the medics pump Jason full of IV fluid and tend to his scrapes before he’s finally able to convince them that he’s well enough to leave. (He wasn’t, but he wanted to get the hell out of there.) When he leaves the stadium he feels woozy, light-headed and lost, but he ends up making his way back to the hotel. We have our big reunion and he showers. Checkout isn’t for another couple hours, and Jason is still feeling pretty miserable so he wants to take a nap. I’m pretty hungry but lay down with him because I’m a damn good girlfriend.

We wake up and check out. I ask Jason if he wants to stop and get food, but he says nothing sounds good and he doesn’t want anything. I’m hungrier than before, but Jason looks pretty pale and sounds exhausted so I get behind the wheel and we head out of town. Before we get to the border, he remarks that he’s feeling really dehydrated and asks if I can pull over and get him something to drink. At this point the only store in the area is some random Asian food mart, so I stop there and ask what he wants to drink. He says, “Orange juice sounds good,” so I head inside and grab an orange juice, a couple Gatorades and scrounge around for some food. The only thing this Asian store has is crap like shrimp-flavored chips and bean paste dumplings, neither of which sounds remotely appetizing after a long run. I end up buying a bag of bulk trail mix, figuring I can munch on it until I get across the border.

I pull out of the Asian store, hand Jason his orange juice, and drive for approximately 20 seconds before Jason says, “Pull over. Now.” He had opened the orange juice and took a single sip before demanding that I stop the car. I pull onto a side street and slow down. The car’s not even at a complete stop before Jason jumps out the passenger side and starts hurling on the other side of some homeowner’s fence. I’m so exhausted and hungry that I just sit there and mechanically eat trail mix while staring at my boyfriend puking with what is probably a disinterested and bored look on my face.

Artist’s rendition of Jason hoarking

Eventually he stops christening the side of the road and gets back in the car. He tries to convince me to book a room at a hotel so he can lay down and sleep, but at this point I just want some goddamn food and don’t want to spend $80 so my boyfriend can take a nap. I refuse and continue along to the border, hoping Jason doesn’t puke on the Peace Arch or yak onto the border patrol’s boots. Thankfully, we get through with no issues and I’m eventually able to stop at a Subway and wolf down a sandwich while Jason sleeps in the car.

So what was the result of the 2008 half marathon? Well, Jason was sick all week, and the real kicker is that even though he got carried across the finish line, since his foot never actually hit the timing pad his chip never registered…so he has no actual race time. All that for a DNF. At least I can boast that I beat my boyfriend in a race.

That’s why Jason insisted we sign up for the 2009 Vancouver half marathon. He wanted vindication for last year’s debacle, and he was hellbent on finishing the race this year with no trip to the medical tent. So how did we do? Tune in for the next post to find out. :)