(First Ever) Race Report: Smith Point Sprint Triathlon

[Note: This report was drafted but not yet posted when I first learned that one of the triathletes competing in this event, Vincent Fleck, suffered some kind of medical event during the swim portion of the race and passed away on Sunday.  I can only offer my sincerest condolences to his family and friends - I am truly so sorry for your loss.]

Welp, it's official - I'm a triathlete! 

An overly tired, under-trained, breaststroking, Huffy-riding triathlete who finished fourth-from-last.  (Whoops!)

As you can probably tell from that last sentence, my first ever sprint tri did not quite go as planned, but I had an absolutely amazing time and I cannot wait to do it again.  Unfortunately for me, I live in the northeast and don't own a wetsuit, so I think it's too late in the season to get another sprint tri in (and also, there's that little issue of the marathon I'm signed up to run on October 30 that I really need to focus on right now), but I'm already heavily researching bikes and eying a duathlon for October to try to assuage the triathlon bug until next season. 

So, without further ado, what went wrong:

• My plan to set everything up the night before and be in bed by 9 so I could sleep as late as possible (a whopping 4:15am) was completely foiled by ::insert boring personal drama here::.  Instead of going on a bike ride and then racking my bike on the car and then showering and packing all of my stuff up to go by 8:30 so I could take my time winding down before an early bedtime, I was scrambling around the house to pack my transition bag at 10:30, and ended up setting the alarm for 3:15am to give myself time to do all the things I hadn't done the night before, which came back to bite me in the ass because...
• I had never practiced racking the bike on my car, and I discovered, at 4:25am, that while the rack fits my car just fine, the bike (an old men's Huffy mountain bike with a weirdly shaped top bar) did not fit the rack.  20 minutes and 17ish bungee cords later, the bike was attached to the rack, although probably not as the rack-makers had envisioned, and...
• Then I could NOT get my tri tats to stick - I followed the instructions precisely, and yet nothing would stick to my skin.  Not a darned thing.  Hot.  Mess.  And also I lost 30 minutes on a task that should've taken five, so...
• I left almost 30 minutes late.  THIRTY.  FLIPPING.  MINUTES.  I was so late, I wasn't even panicking - I basically just assumed transition was going to be closed when I got there and I was going to DNS my first tri.  Like, I was so sure that was going to happen that I was already resigned to it.  Because, according to my GPS,  I was going to arrive at the race site at 5:53am, and according to my info packet, transition closed at 6am, and remember, I had 17ish bungee cords to untie.  (I did actually make it with time to spare, more on that below.)
• I hadn't practiced open-water swimming.  I'm a strong swimmer, I swam competitively in HS and have done open-water swimming in the past, and I just never made it out to the bay to practice, mostly because I figured "how bad can 500m be?"  And then I got in the water, and realized that every time I put my head down, it was pitch-freaking-black, and every time I picked my head up the rising sun kind of blinded me, and the current was pushing me in the wrong direction, and I kind of freaked and had to breaststroke the entire 500m.
• Also, I hadn't spent enough (read, any) time on the actual bike I was planning to race on (a 15ish year old men's Huffy mountain bike - yes, really).  So I discovered my handlebars were crooked at the mount line.  And then I discovered that the only gear that worked was third gear on the course's only hill.  And then I discovered that I had a slow leak in the front tire at around mile 3 of 10.  So, yeah, my bike was literally falling apart beneath me, and it took me 55 minutes to finish what should've been the fastest bike course ever, and I got to watch pretty much every person in the race pass me during the bike, even though I was pedaling twice as hard as just about everyone.

Could've been a total disaster, right?  Could've been the kind of thing where I would've walked away shouting NEVER AGAIN.  But then, there's what went right:

• "Transition closes at 6am," is, apparently, code for "please try to get here by 6am, please, we know it's early but seriously, please," because I rolled in at 5:51 and more than half the competitors were still arriving/had not yet arrived (which I guess makes sense since the race didn't start until 6:50, but I definitely felt better knowing I was far from the only one who was "late").
• I got to watch the sun rise over the beach - gorgeous.
• The volunteers and spectators were amazing - encouraging, excited, helpful, attentive, and understanding.  The course was incredibly well-supported for a sprint, and all of the support stations were just as well-staffed and well-cheered for me (as one of the last four people on the course) as I would've expected if I'd been in the front of the pack.
• My swim was actually reasonably good - only 20 minutes, swimming breaststroke the entire way.  (Breaststroke was my event back when I competed, so I guess my muscle memory kicked in or something!)
• My run was spot-on - even though I didn't have my music (headphones prohibited on the course), and even though I was coming off a tough swim and the world's worst bike, I held my usual training pace for the whole run, which was my only goal for the run portion.
• My transitions were solid - I only lost about five minutes in T1, and two minutes in T2 (and T2 could've been shorter, but I already knew I was pretty much last so I just didn't see the point in rushing through it).
• I had so.  much.  fun!  Even when my bike was falling apart underneath me, even when everyone and their grandmother was passing me (literally, at one point I got passed by a teenager and her actual grandmother), the other competitors were awesome and kind and I just felt this weird, uplifting, bone-deep joy at being part of the race.  I almost can't describe it - I just felt happy and at peace, even though it felt like everything was going wrong.
• I finished in (just barely under) two hours - since this was my first tri and I knew I was undertrained, "under two hours" was my only real goal, and given all of the unexpected stuff that happened in the lead-up and during the first two legs of the race, I'm proud I still achieved it.

So, in conclusion - my decision to sign up for this tri was sentimental and impulsive and I was totally unprepared in both training and gear, and in spite of all of that I wouldn't trade it for the world - a perfectly imperfect first triathlon, and there will definitely be more to come!

Another sign?

So, obviously (obviously, based on the title of this blog) my long-term goal is to get myself to and through an Ironman.  Considering I'll only be running my first marathon this fall, and I actually haven't done any triathlons at all yet, I know it's going to take awhile, but I have some interim goals in mind.

The plan so far:

• Summer 2016 - Sprint tri (already signed up, happening August 7)
• Fall 2016 - Marathon (again, already signed up, happening October 30)
• Spring/Summer 2017 - 3-5 Sprint and Oly distance tris
• Fall 2017 - First Ironman 70.3!
• Spring 2018- Second Ironman 70.3
• Fall 2018 - First Full Ironman!!!

I have a pretty good idea of which sprints and Olys I want to try, and there are a ton of options at that distance for me within about a one hour drive of where I live, but I've had a harder time figuring out my target 70.3 - the closest ones tend to be in the spring rather than the fall, and because I know I'm more likely to stick to consistent, time-consuming training during the spring/summer (when I can get everything except the swimming done outside), I know fall is a more realistic target date for me for my first half-iron, especially because I'm going to want to make sure I show up as trained as possible (I already know I'm not going to be fast, so if I'm not in top-form I'll likely be in danger of a DNF). 

With that in mind, I've been monitoring the 2017 70.3 calendar for awhile, trying to figure out what would make the most sense as a goal race, and feeling kind of frustrated to not have as many options as I would've liked in my little corner of North America.  And then?  Ironman announced Lake Placid 70.3!  I'll be honest, reading about it felt like a sign that I am on the right track.  I am SO.  EXCITED. for the possibility of LP being my first 70.3 - while it's not "close" to where I live, it's a reasonable driving distance (no bike shipping logistics!), and it's a region I've visited before and absolutely love (plus, it's a region I can go to for a quick overnight training trip to practice swimming/biking/running the terrain a few times over the summer leading up to the 70.3, which seems like it would be a good plan).  I also have a friend who has traveled to LP for the full Ironman as a volunteer before, so I have a little "inside scoop" on what to expect.  I'm now patiently eagerly nervously extremely impatiently awaiting September 9, when they expect to open general registration for LP 70.3 - Fingers crossed I get a spot!  (And fingers crossed I make it to the start line - I've got a heck of a journey in front of me between now and then!)

Sometimes, Motivation Costs $1.50

So, I've been on and off the "distance athlete" wagon for years.  It started in junior high, when I first discovered competitive swimming.  Although I was mostly a middle-distance swimmer, I also did my fair share of long races (especially long IMs, because I was one of the few on the team who could guarantee I wouldn't get disqualified for bad form on the butterfly stroke - my butterfly was slow, but my technique was *on point*).  I stuck with swimming through my first year of high school, but between getting teased pretty mercilessly by a particularly evil classmate for my "thunder thighs" and "bowlegs" (yup, really!  That girl was an asshole and I can only hope she grew up to be at least marginally less of an asshole, although if her Facebook page is any indication, I have serious doubts), and discovering that I was actually good at a bunch of time-consuming things like working on the school newspaper and competing in mock trial, I dropped the five-times-a-week practices in favor of more academic pursuits.

I intermittently dieted and rode an exercise bike to nowhere for the rest of HS, but never really found another sport to call home.  I discovered running in college, mostly because I was obsessed with burning calories at the time and moving faster = more calories burned in less time!  (Smart, college self, smart.)  Over time, I grew to enjoy running for its own sake, and by the time I'd gotten out of grad school and started my career, I was running half marathons for fun.  Then, well, I got hurt, and I got bored, and life got in the way, and, with the exception of a period of about 4 months around 4 years ago where I was running consistently again and a brief flirtation with CrossFit about two years ago, I haven't been consistently active since.  And every year, right around my birthday in early May, I start to think "I should do something!  I need to lose some weight!"  And I start a new routine for a few weeks, and then eventually it dies out - I don't lose enough weight fast enough to stay motivated, I sign up for a race I'm not ready for and either don't make it to the starting line or ruin some necessary body part in the course of trying to get myself to the finish line - and I give up.  I quit, and I hibernate, and I pack on the pounds, and that's just what I've been doing for the last 5 years/30 lbs.

So, what's different this time?  Honestly, I'm different.  I'm 31.  I'm not a kid.  I'm sick and tired of not being in shape, of talking about the activities I used to do.  I'm tired of not being fit enough to progress in my horseback riding lessons (because it's tough to move up to jumping when you get winded cantering!).  I'm done feeling ineffective and lazy.  

Also, I'm done trying to lose weight.  Counterintuitive, right?  But here's the thing - if weight loss is your only goal, and weight loss doesn't happen (or doesn't happen fast enough), where does that leave you?  I know where it leaves me - discouraged and sitting over in the quitter's corner with a pint of Ben & Jerry's and an entire season of Dance Moms cued up on my iPad.  This year, my goal has nothing to do with my weight - it's about accomplishing the things I've always secretly dreamed of - finishing a triathlon.  Finishing a marathon.  Maybe, even, in another year or two, finishing an Ironman.  I want to be a distance athlete - I want to be the kind of person who goes and pushes and (to borrow a catchphrase from the inspirational and inimitable Swim Bike Mom) who Just Keep(s) Moving Forward.  And maybe, in training for all of that, and preparing for all of that, I will lose weight.  And maybe I won't.  But I don't have to be a certain weight for my training to "count" - the miles I run and bike, the laps I swim, they count whether I'm fat or thin or anywhere in between.  

For the first time, I'm thinking of training not as war on my body, but as creating a partnership with my body.  I'm not running off fat, I'm storing miles in my legs so they'll be there for me when I need them on the back half of my first marathon.  I'm not swimming to get slim, I'm swimming so my arms and legs are ready to carry me through my first sprint tri (which is in two and a half weeks, because hey, go big or go home, right?).  I might never lose weight, but I WILL finish my races.  I WILL become a marathon runner.  I WILL become a triathlete - those are the things I can control, no matter my size, and those are my goals now.

It's funny, but just when I was coming to the realization of what I wanted to do, and how my training will be different this year, I stumbled across this magnet in a TJ Maxx:

And it was so perfect, so absolutely the thing I needed to see, that I bought it.  And every time I think about skipping or skimping out on a run, or not going to spin class, or skipping a swim, I take a moment, and I tap the magnet that now lives on the side of my refrigerator, and I head out the door and get my work done.  Because I know what I'll wish I had done today - and the daily reminder that the work I do today, in this workout, on this run, is getting me ready for the things I want to get done next week, next month, next year, was absolutely worth the $1.50.

Dani Mathers is Not the (Whole) Problem

[Author's Note: I wasn't planning for this to be my very first blog post around here, but, well, here we are.  I hope you'll stick around for more, I promise it won't always be a soap box and I will eventually get around to posting about my actual self/life/training/etc.]

I need to start this by saying that LA Fitness is my gym.  Okay, not *that* LA Fitness, the now-infamous one, but *a* LA Fitness.  (Three of 'em, actually - the one near my workplace, the one near my home, and the one I use on the weekends because it's next to my preferred grocery store.)  And maybe it's a function of where I live - suburbia central - or maybe it's a function of living in a climate that pretty much demands we all spend the winter getting fluffy and pale in semi-hibernation, but even in my fat-ish body, I've mostly felt okay in my gym.  At least, I've never felt as if I stuck out enough to provoke someone to Snapchat me to hordes of followers with a nasty caption.

But.

I've seen the looks when I approach the free weights section or the Smith machine.  I've heard the tone in the voice of the elfin 20-something behind the desk when I asked her about when spin class started and she took it upon herself to "warn" me that it was "like, really hard."  I've felt the lithe instructor's pointed stare at me specifically when she asked if "anyone here is new to yoga," even though I'd clearly been doing warm-up sun salutations before class started.  And I get it - I don't look like a weightlifter, a cyclist, a yogi.  But here's the thing - how our bodies look at any given point in time has very, very little to do with what our bodies can actually do, and it's inordinately frustrating to me to have to deal with size-ist b/s in the VERY place dedicated to improving physical ability.  It's bad enough to get the eyebrow pop from a coworker when I mention a seven mile training run I did over the weekend - I don't need to see it in the one place where I spend three to five days a week actively demonstrating what I'm capable of physically achieving. 

I don't know her, but I'd bet that Dani Mathers is, as so many bullies are, a profoundly damaged person at heart, one who for some reason doesn't know or never learned that we are all so much more than just what our bodies look like.  But the bigger question for everyone active in the fitness community to ask ourselves is whether and to what extent our own thoughts and words and actions feed and grow the Dani Matherses of the world.  It's easy to decry the heinous invasion of privacy she committed against an unsuspecting and innocent person, but smaller, subtler versions of this kind of body-shaming happen in gyms across the country every. single. day.  The patronizing stares when women approach the free weights or "heavy duty" weight machines.  The eye roll when an overweight person hops on the treadmill next to yours.  The comments designed to "subtly"* imply to someone that they don't belong in a particular part of the gym or a particular kind of class or event because their body doesn't match your stereotype of what a person doing a particular activity "should" look like.  We can't, as a community, commit (or stand by while others commit) endless micro- (and not-so-micro-) aggressions against people with non-conforming bodies and then act shocked and horrified when someone like Dani Mathers comes along and makes public our community's worst face.

Fitness should not be an elite and exclusive club - in fact, achieving fitness is arguably one of the few goals available to literally every body.  Dani Mathers either forgot that or never learned it, and that failing falls squarely on the shoulders of the wider fitness community.  There is a reason Dani Mathers didn't realize that what she was doing was wrong, and while it would be easy and comforting to write it off as a function of her own uniquely bad character, it would also be false (or, at least, partly false).  Because until we all acknowledge and internalize how deeply wrong it is to assume we know anything at all about another person solely from looking at his or her body, we're going to continue to create Danis, and continue to frustrate and discourage people with non-conforming bodies from reaching their fitness goals (whatever those goals may be).  Is that who and what we want to be?  As someone with a non-conforming body who also loves the fitness world, I can only hope the answer is no.

 

*Except, you know, not actually subtle at all.