9 Months to Tri

Time: 0:00 - 7:50

First of all, I wanted to say that I had intended to complete this part of the race in under 10 minutes. So, at 7 minutes, 50 seconds, I would say the race started well. On target if not a bit ahead of target, in fact.

We started the swim portion of the race in 2 waves. Men first, women second. Some of the race-proven faster women started with the men, but only a handful from what I could see. The swim was a box. We swam straight out from the beach between a dock on our left and a rope on our right to a white buoy (you can see it just above the left edge of the dock in the photo above). Going AROUND the buoy, we would take a left and swim parallel with the beach to the next buoy, then take another left and swim into the beach. Once we hit the beach, we were to run up to the transition area, get geared up and start our ride.

It was only a quarter-mile. 18 lengths of the pool. I can do this in my sleep. Right?

What I had done in training and what I was now doing in practice are day and night. I’m not sure I’ve ever actually been more terrified in my life. I certainly had no idea what I was getting myself into. A swimming pool is more or less placid and clear. You can see the lane lines at the bottom of the pool. Swimmers occupy predefined lanes in which they, and they alone, swim in. And if things get bad, you can just swim to the nearest wall, or if you’re in the shallow end, just stand up. People in a pool, as a rule, will not run you over if you have to stop for some reason.

We all started into the water, swimming in the general direction of the buoy. At first, that’s enough, since you’re dealing with large, manly bodies bouncing off of each other and trying to work out a space. Hands and arms land and slide around your sides and back from time to time, and shoulders bang into your sides more often than not. This was NOT any sort of relaxing swim. This was a quarter-mile sprint, and everyone was going for the gold.

After about a dozen strokes I realized that I would somehow have to ’see’ the buoy, so I lifted my head out of the water, which is NOT a standard swimming move. Egads, I was swimming straight for the dock, and the guy to my right was going the same direction. I needed… he needed… WE NEEDED to start edging right or we’d get stuck at the dock. So, I started bearing right, PUSHING him with every stroke and kick in the direction we needed to go, and him pushing back, probably figuring I was a total jerk.

As we neared the buoy, everyone who was too far to inside on the left started edging right to try to go around the buoy, and everyone to the right who didn’t want to go way to the outside started edging left towards the buoy, and we all ended up on top of each other squeezing around the turn. I was actually so tight into the buoy that my left shoulder brushed it as I went around. At this point, I was also no longer vertical. I was more or less upright through the turn until I could find room to lay back down again. While I was upright, though, I noticed that several dozen swimmers had cut the corner short. I’d call them cheaters, but realizing that they’d basically be queuing up just to get a turn to tread water around the buoy is reason enough to fudge things a bit. I guess.

The bottom of the lake had long since disappeared into the depths. Any hope of holding onto something was a distant memory. All you could do was keep swimming and hope not to get buried beneath the crowd. I even thought I saw some odd light-colored shape sink into the depths of the lake out of the corner of my eyes and my first thought was “oh my god, did someone just drown?”

I love the water. I LOVE swimming. But at this moment, I felt more exposed, more in-danger than I ever recall feeling in my life. I needed OUT of this crowd, and the only way I knew to do that was to swim faster and leave them all behind. So, that’s what I did.

About half-way to the next buoy, I was in the clear. I wasn’t in the lead, but there just weren’t many of us out here. I stretched out my strokes and tried to get my breathing under control. I started feeling my natural rhythm. It wasn’t exactly a ‘pleasant’ swim in, but I was out of the crowd, feeling much better about things and moving strongly.

My wife, who took these photos, was a first-time spectator. She tried to tell me about the whole thing from her point of view. The entire triathlon was unlike anything she’d ever witnessed before in her life. In fact, she remarked later that she couldn’t believe that no one had drowned. When I told her that people called the beginning of the swim ‘The Washing Machine’ because of the way the water gets all churned up, she agreed whole-heartedly.

You’ll notice that there are kayakers out on the water to the left in the photo above. Also, there are officials on the dock watching for people in trouble. But still, a single head disappearing beneath the water is just far too easy to miss. Seriously, I can’t think about it too much or I might not ever do this again.

Finally, I hit the beach and began running. I was out of breath and felt hardly able to stand, but I kept moving.

We crossed the road into the transition area and I grabbed my tank top (I simply wasn’t going to ride for 5 miles with my gut hanging out) and my glasses. Then I went for my shoes and socks. But my socks weren’t in my shoes where I thought I’d left them. I looked all over, under, and around everything. I couldn’t believe it! Someone had stolen my socks! I didn’t even want to imagine the blisters I’d get for riding and running without socks.

Now, if I’d had a clear head, I would have remembered the cotton socks still in my duffle bag for AFTER the race, but no. So, as I stood there and began to put my right sneaker on, out of the corner of my eye I spied my riding socks sticking half-out from under my duffle.

It was just too much. I was already still recovering from the swim, then almost had a panic over a pair of socks. I sat my butt flat on the ground, put my socks and shoes on, then stood up, put on my helmet and hurried my bike out of the transition area and over the timing plates.

I’m having a tough time wrapping my head around that little bit of information, actually. So, both my swim AND my transition time equalled only 7:50?!? If that’s true, and based on how much trouble I had in my first-ever transition, that swim must have been 6:00 or even less. That’s pretty amazing to me if its true.

Its really late. I’ll write up the bike and hopefully the run tomorrow night along with some more photos.

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