Race Result

Racer:	Heather Rosso
Race:	Dewey Beach Tri
Date:	Saturday, September 15, 2007
Location:	Dewey Beach, DE
Race Type:	Triathlon - Sprint
Age Group:	Female 35 - 39
Time:	1:42:08
Overall Place:	277 / 314
Comment:	Never underestimate the power of applause.

Race Report:

Swim 00:30:16
T1 00:02:38
Bike 00:27:12
T2 00:02:45
Run 00:39:18

Overall 01:42:08, 277/314

I knew Dewey would be a milestone race for me. There would be hurdles to overcome that would move me to the next level in my racing–primarily there would be the Atlantic Ocean, a giant blue wave of intimidation. But I hadn’t quite anticipated the morning I would have.

First, there was the campsite I had to stay at the night before because I had no funds for a motel. I had only camped before one other race, and it was an ultra trail run. Other racers continued to come into the area throughout the night, kicking up an extra dry dust that created a layer of brown over everything. I started that race with lungs, nose, and eyes filled with that dust. I swore I would never camp before a race again. But by the time Dewey arrived, the funds had run dry and it was either camp or bag the race. I had my sights set on finally conquering the ocean waves, so I booked the campsite.

Then there were the storms that hit Dewey all through the night Friday into Saturday. While for the most part I slept through the night (albeit with some soreness from sleeping on the ground), once in a while I would wake up and lay there listening to the rain taunting me. I started waging battles in my mind between “I hope they don’t cancel the swim because of this” to “I cannot imagine going into the ocean with this falling on me.” It’s the lure of the challenge intertwined with the shear fear and dread of what I had gotten myself into.

The rain stopped literally 5 minutes before I got up that morning. But then the front tire of my bike wouldn’t hold air. My friend and I were going to bike to the race site, since the campsite was, we thought, only about 4 miles from the start (more on that in a moment). With my bike still on the rack, (everything soaking wet from the rains–what the heck, I was going to be wet soon anyway), I set up my floor pump and gave the tires a little extra air. When I took my bike off the rack, the front tire went flat. I pumped it full again. Two minutes later, flat. Emergency tube change. At least I am down to being able to change a tire in about 10 minutes max (actually managed 3 minutes once, but not while frustrated and anxious over a race).

Then we finally got on our way, just to realize as the minutes counted down, and it was almost 7:15 and I still hadn’t arrived at the site of a 7:30 race, that we apparently were much more than 4 miles from the race start. But things still kept working out for me (although I have to admit there was a small part of me that would have been relieved if any one of these had worked against me and kept me from racing–I was still scared to the bones of those ocean waves). The race was delayed and the first wave didn’t head into the water until nearly 8:00, and I was in wave 7. Phew! A little time to breathe, and not enough time to think too much about what I was about to do. I quickly got body marked and got my chip before heading to set up transition.

Then the rack holding my bike tumbled to the ground. I stood there a second wondering what to do, and decided to let someone else deal with it–grabbed a race volunteer and asked if he could tend to it. Thank you to all volunteers who help us with these things!!

Then there was the emergency last minute trip to the bathroom, because the stomach was still remembering how nervous I was even if I wasn’t letting my brain dwell on it. With that done, I squeezed into my wetsuit and rushed down the beach to the start. I had 15 minutes left to back out.

And there it was. The Atlantic Ocean roared toward me playing on my long standing fear of open water, waves, the shear hugeness of it. I watched as others jumped in before me in their waves. And I thought, “oh sh##!” So I focused on breathing calmly, staying focused, and running through my mind all that I learned the past few days (yes, only days) about ocean swimming. The closest I’d come to this before was Sandy Point. But these waves in front of me were HUGE! The storms the prior night hadn’t helped.

It came time, 30 seconds before entry, and I stayed as focused as I could. 15 seconds. Then we were in, and whoa! The first wave started to crash before I got the courage to dive under it. Swoosh–I was knocked back on my keaster. I tried again. Swoosh. Again, Swoosh, crash, and I was under water being pulled down and back to shore. Up and at it again, swoosh, crash, waves piling on top of me. Then two hit me right in the chest and knocked me down and under again. I stumbled back to the shore, and walked back in knee deep. Serious thoughts of calling it a day started to cross through my mind. The courage to dive under these waves that seemed to take great pleasure in knocking me around was nearly gone. And I knew if I didn’t dive under, I’d never get out to sea. Then I heard applause behind me and figured the next wave was about to go in. But I turned around and heard people calling out to *me*–go on! You can do it! Get on out there! Spectators and racers were looking my way and clapping and cheering! I turned back to the ocean, placed my hands on my hips, and spit salt water out into the surf (a good Dirty Harry scene). I took a good breath, and one of the surfers volunteering that day came over and said, “just dive under, watch me” and he proceeded to do with great ease what I had recently learned to do, but hadn’t quite worked up the courage to do. Then he turned back to give me another dose of encouragement. People behind me cheering, a guy out in front of me cheering me on. I stared at those waves and said, “here I come.” Another wave–duck, I was under and beyond it. Okay, not as graceful as a dive, but it did the job. Another, and I was able to ride over it before it crashed. One more wave, and I swam under it and out the other side, finally past the breakers and near the first buoy.

I was in. I turned and headed toward the next buoy, swam the half mile and reached the final buoy, and was able to stumble out of the water after being tossed around a bit again as I regained my footing. The swim was pretty cool, and once past the entry, I was fine, although exhausted. Riding the swells as I swam was a lot of fun (I’m a huge fan of carnival rides and anything else with motion–a benefit of having no motion sickness). But I was happy—oh sooo happy—to be out of the water.

After the swim, the race was pretty much like any other tri (with the added fun of cloudy, drizzly, cold weather). The swim, and especially the cheering crowd that got me through the toughest part of it, will always be my fondest memory of Dewey. I plan to do it again and tackle those waves until I master them. But for now I say, thank god it’s a whole year away!