Imagine a place where your local postman is the state’s third fastest swimmer. Or your doctor jogged up and skied down one of the local fourteeners this morning before work. And your boss cycled the entire Continental Peak to Peak Highway at lunch. Welcome to Boulder, Colorado. The Mecca of all things sacred for eating healthy, living well, and being active. In a land where taking the dog out for a walk involves summiting a peak, cycling is done as a break between running and swimming, and skiing just isn’t fun unless you hiked an hour into the backcountry for fresh tracks, it makes no sense that this born and raised Boulder girl would wait until she leaves town to start doing triathlons. Hmmmmm….
Just what did this elevation junkie do when she moved to an island who’s tallest point is 259 above sea level? After taking a deep breath of fresh salty ocean air, I put on my oh-so-flattering swim cap and pink goggles and jumped in head first (ok…it was feet first…and I took my time scanning the water for possible jellyfish, turtles, sting rays and sharks). Well, there may not be miles and miles of roads to bike (it’s only a 21 square mile island after all), nor are there a lot of hills to get that quad-burning sensation (I use the term “hill” loosely), but there is plenty of water to stretch out those arms and start kicking. Never mind that it has no helpful blue line to follow. Or the fact that there are no lanes, only open waves tossing you around like seaweed. And that your fellow “swimmers” are a bit faster than you due to their tails, fins, and ability to hold their breath for more than three seconds.
So it is, that in my effort to stay occupied in my new found volcanic rock of a home, I decided to embrace my Boulder genes and do my first triathlon. Bike? Why not. I used to lead bike trips through Europe. That surely gives me an edge, right? Run? Not bad. At least I didn’t cry during soccer practice when we had to do a few laps. So there’s potential. Swim? I’m sorry…what? Anyone catch my story about my swimming technique, or lack thereof? Right. Well, two outta three ain’t bad.
I first heard about the triathlon from our volleyball team’s physiotherapist. She was doing one “this Sunday” and suggested I “think about it.” Hmmm. Minus that whole swimming thing, it really was tempting. But hey, I had a good five days to practice, so no room for excuses Tobey! I decided it was a good idea to speak to a seasoned triathlete in order to get a glimpse into this challenging new sport. Modifying her advice from the usual Ironman details (bless her), this world class athlete told me how to spot while swimming (a concept I completely understood, yet had failed to master), how to navigate my way through transitions (something that can never be taught, only experienced!) and to just relax and have fun (assuming no injuries and you are not crying because you were last out of the water). Ready. Set. Go! With my professional advice, my sexy new one-piece spandex tri suit (yes that is an oxymoron), and two solid swimming sessions, I was as prepared as I was ever going to be in five days!
After loading up on carbs the night before and getting absolutely no sleep (just a wee bit of nerves), I was up and ready to go for my first triathlon. Bike shoes. Check. Running shoes. Check. Socks, goggles, cap, helmet, sunglasses, race number, race belt, water bottle, Gatorade bottle, transition towel, bike, hat, and adreline. Check. Butterfiles. Double check.
I arrive at Clearwater Beach on the eastern end of Bermuda. The parking lot is already full of people in similar sexy spandex suits scurrying back and forth. I see racks of bikes. I see a booth with electronic foot bands. I see race numbers being drawn on arms and legs. People are stretching. People are jumping and down. Do I join them? Do I check in? Where do I put my bike? The sheer number of bikes in such a small area makes it look like a massive sale where the cheapest bike there could pay a few month’s rent.
After getting a big 95 marked on my arm and leg, I wrapped my electronic race band around my ankle (no backing out now…my every move will be monitored…) and headed off to set up my bike in the transition area. I scanned the bikes and their owners and finally decided to park right next to a woman with a time trail bike, which is an aggressive bike slightly thicker than a sheet of paper with only two aerodynamically facing racing handles. The racing bike aside, I knew this woman was serious when I saw her silver bullet-like helmet that looked like a cone from the future and noticed that her quads were larger than those of the Denver Broncos. I knew that I would have plenty of room with her as my neighbor, because there was no way this pro was going to still be here by the time I dragged my butt out of that water.
The preparations were done. The race briefing was…brief (almost too brief for this first timer). Time to get into the water. Sticking to the back of the crowd (I was not foolish enough to assume I belonged in the front of this water start), I had my finger on the timer of my watch and my heart trying to pound itself out of my chest. On your mark…Get set…Go!
Where am I? Above or below water? Hard to tell as I can’t breath, and I can’t see through all this sputtering white foamy water. Ow. Foot kick in the face. Ok…I must be in the water then. Good to know. Now..Kristyn…focus. Think forward thoughts. Right arm. Left arm. Breath. Whoa…inhaled water, not air. Try again. Breath. Ok. That time was half water, half air. Constant improvement. Right arm. Left arm. Don’t forget to spot! What is my target??!? How is a girl supposed to see that tiny white buoy through this rough water?? It looks as if red meat has just been thrown in the middle of a swarm of piranhas. Kristyn…focus. Right arm…ow! Stop kicking me in the head! How in the world am I supposed to survive seventeen more minutes of this? I can do this. Focus. Breath. Stroke. Right. Left. Right. Spot. Kick! Land! I see land! Keep kicking. Is there anyone behind me? Am I last? Don’t look back, just keep running toward the bikes…
Well, I wasn’t last, but by the time I got out of the water and back to the transition area, I didn’t have to worry about silver-bullet-helmet woman being next to me. In fact, seeing as there were virtually no bikes left in the transition zone, I had plenty of room to change into my bike gear and get on the open road! Cap and goggles off. Spray feet with my water bottle (as much as I like to run and bike with grains of sand exfoliating my feet, I think I’ll sacrifice the extra 20 seconds). Helmet and glasses on. GO!
Now biking…here is something I don’t mind doing. Besides the fact that I can breath whenever I want, and there are no feet in my face, I enjoy biking. And I enjoy passing people even more. Thankfully for me, the biking is the longest section of the race, which means more time for me to catch up! With my salty braids flying behind me, I overtook riders, took a loogey shot in the face from a male biker in front of me, and avoided flat tires and derailed chains. When I arrived back at the transition zone for the second wardrobe change, it was now a good thing there weren’t very many bikes there.
Bike shoes and helmet off. Running shoes, hat and race belt on. GO! Whoaaaaa!!! What is the world is below me??!! They are big and heavy and kind of wobbly. They won’t go away! They…oh…they are my legs. Hmm. Ok. Well give it a mile or so and maybe I will get my land legs back. Just keeping running. Man it is hot. Am I sweating that much or am I still wet from swimming? Focus. Ignore the burn. Push forward. See that runner up there? Let’s pass him. Good job. Keep going. Lap one done. There’s my boyfriend with the camera. Smile. Look like you are not in pain. Like I am having fun. Like I am enjoying this. Wait…I am having fun. I am enjoying this. Wave for the camera! Now run. Run hard. Finish line. Finish strong. Finish!
And with just a bit of sand in my shoes and a huge smile on my face, I completed my first triathlon. Second in my age group. Fifth woman overall. Well, maybe with a bit more time in my open ocean of a pool, I can edge even closer to the top. They say that triathlons are addicting. They say that once you start, you can’t stop. They say that despite the pain, the tears, the sweat, the frustration, you just keep pushing forward. They…would be right.
If only flippers were legal,
Kristyn
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