Race Result

Racer:	Jamie Roberson
Race:	Reston Triathlon
Date:	Sunday, September 11, 2005
Location:	Reston, VA
Race Type:	Triathlon - International Distance
Age Group:	Female 40 - 44
Time:	4:56:53
Overall Place:	508 / 508
Age Group Place:	9 / 9
Comment:	Finally...

Race Report:

Prologue:

After a lifetime of inactivity, I first decided to become a triathlete on a besotted summer day in 2003 by the Lake Thoreau pool. I read all that I could and trained on my own in preparation for this goal, only to fail the swim in an unexpected bout of swim panic.

I then made it my damn-the-torpedos goal to conquer Lake Thoreau. I followed Friel’s strength-building regimen and joined Reston Masters. I got stronger and improved on my swim. I also solved my nagging problems with high-ankle pain by consulting with Debi Bernardes. She took one look at my running “gait,” such as it was, made a few suggestions, and – ta-da! – no more pain. I was so happy that I asked Debi to coach me. The Jim McDonnell Lake Swim also was a milestone, when I swam the lake two weekends in a row.

But while things were improving in training, they also were unraveling professionally. I had been in a difficult work situation that contributed to inconsistent training over the winter months. It affected my health and my general outlook on life. Things continued to deteriorate until my now-former employer parted ways in the beginning of August. So there I was, a month before Reston, my A race, with a rickety foundation of base training and a diminished will.

It didn’t help that the night before the race, as I was cleaning up Gudzeelah (my silly name for my dutiful bike), I noticed a broken spoke. Crap. Two years of a fat girl riding and the spoke breaks now? I had dinner guests over, the Gator game was set to start in 15 minutes, and I’m praying that Performance is still open. As luck would have it, a diffident mechanic fixed me up, the Gators won, and we were on our way.

Race Morning:

I was unable to eat anything solid the morning of the race. I tried my usual favorite, Cheerios, but was unable to put the spoon in my mouth. Even the standby, a malt-nut Power Bar, which I usually love, was like an opposing magnetic pole. So I ate a gel, chased it with a Gatorade, and hoped for the best.

One thing I did differently this year was to ask for help. Instead of biking to T1 in total darkness, I asked Heather to drop me off after I set up T2. It definitely made a difference. I was able to set up, deal with body functions, and put on my wetsuit in a relaxed manner.

A good omen came in the form of a friendly voice. As I was walking my bike to its designated spot back in the hinterlands, a shadowy figure approached and said “hello.” I couldn’t see him and probably looked like an idiot squinting into the dark, so I was relieved when he said, “It’s me, Dave Glover.” Big smile on my part. Dave came over to me last year after the swim debacle, introduced himself, and was very consoling/encouraging, thus earning my everlasting appreciation.

I saw other familiar faces from RATS and saw new folks, too, including Aprille, whom I had met at the Thoreau pool the summer before. She had since become a triathlete, and I was very impressed. She has a great outlook, as does Emma, the Reston Sport and Health trainer who also was racing her first Oly-distance. Things were starting to look up.

Swim (Goal :50/Actual :56:19)

After taking a dip in the water to get acclimated to the temperature, I felt loose and ready. I gulped a gel, swigged some water, and said a little prayer. When the final wave was sent out, though, my heart rate spiked. Even though I didn’t “feel” panicked, my heart rate showed otherwise, registering in the 170’s (my observed max is 189 – and that was while running). I took it easy, breathed, and sculled through the water in the garbage stroke that I’d used in the lake swim.

When I dropped into the 160’s (keeping in mind that my swimming LT is about 146), I began a smooth breast stroke, with intermittent freestyle. At one point I saw Aprille over my right shoulder, swimming a parallel course. We exchanged “How are you?”’s, reminiscent of the fish tank in Monty Python’s “Meaning of Life” and continued toward the turnaround. By this time I was in the high 150’s, so I swam mostly freestyle on the return leg. I felt calm and confident at the end of the swim, ready to attack the bike.

T1 (Goal 5:00/Actual 4:27)

After sliding my wetsuit off over Body-Glided, Pam-sprayed legs and torso, I hopped on the bike and thanked the volunteer who offered to pack my T1 bag to save me some time. It was a little disheartening to see most of the racks dismantled by the time I dragged in, but BFD, I made it through the swim by the cutoff. That was a first.

Bike (Goal: 1:30/Actual 1:51:58)

On to the bike, with another gel (I prefer eGels for their larger size and inclusion of electrolytes, even if they do taste like spooning jam from a jar – not that I’ve ever done that – ha!). My HR was still way high, back up into the 160’s. For the first time, I felt winded, so I just downshifted and concentrated on the patch of road ahead of me.

As slow as I was, the bike actually was fun. I train on this course all the time, so the race felt like a party. I joked with spectators (“Hey! Did you bring me an Irish coffee? Anyone got a donut?”), thanked volunteers, and enjoyed the beautiful September morning.

I also got lots of encouragement from passing RATS. Many people said “Go Jamie!” or the ever-popular “GO GATORS!” while passing, but if I didn’t thank you folks personally, please don’t be offended, as it generally is easier to recognize you from your front side.  At one point on Colts Neck, an approaching rider sounded familiar, but I didn’t want to look back. The exchange went something like “Hey Jamie! Looking strong!” “Who is that?” “Sarah!” “Oh, hey Sarah!” as she whizzed by.

Also funny were the firefighters on Reston Parkway with their big “GO VERNON!” sign. “I’M VERNON!” I yelled at them, to which they responded (after initial confusion) with “Well, go, then!” So I did.

At some point in the second lap I realized that I was in trouble with the Evil Clock. I only was averaging 13 mph, when I needed to average 16. The big bummer came when I approached the flag lady directing riders toward T2. As she shooed me toward the turn, I said, “I still have another lap!”, at which time her jaw dropped and she gave me a pitying look. Shiite, don’t pity me, pity the poor volunteers who are still out here looking after my slow ash.

So I tried to think of Lap 3 as a “victory lap.” I profusely thanked the volunteers and the cops. The spectators who I’d asked about Irish coffee said (with a wink) that they’d have some for me at the end. I tried not to be bummed when the cop on the motorbike came alongside and chatted me up. I realized that he was the sag bike. Although he said that there were cyclists behind me, I started to question my ability to finish the race in four hours (adding to my concern was my inability to drink more than one Aero-bottle of water, though I had attached a second bottle on the bike).

“Why are you doing this?” the cop asked. “Because I’m stubborn! Be glad you’re not married to me!” I replied, which made him laugh out loud as he turned back toward the other stragglers.

T2 (Goal 5:00/Actual 1:53)

I really worry about T2’s. Because I’m so slow, most triathletes have finished their race by the time I’m ready to start the run. My fun-loving side usually says, “Aw, c’mon, just quit now and join the party.” But this time, my stubborn side was fully in charge, as I parked the bike, changed shoes, and put on my Fuel Belt, aka my “Mobile Mini-Mart.”

Run (Goal 1:30/Actual 2:02:19)

Unfortunately, the smoothness of T2 was no indicator of things to come. I was delighted that my legs didn’t feel leaden (thank you, Debi, for the brick workouts) and my ankle pain did not recur. But right at the top of the first rise near Terraset Elementary, right after my first walk break, my legs refused to run anymore. Oh, I tried every trick in the book, but it wasn’t to be. Peter, who had been behind me on the bike, walked with me for a little while. I gave him one of my hard candies and sent him off with good wishes. I tried to jog a bit as I passed oncoming runners and slapped hands, but I just couldn’t get it together. Put a fork in me, I was done.

I walked as hard and as purposefully as I could. I was especially grateful to the volunteers who stayed around to give me water, and I told them so. But the thought of drinking water made me want to vomit, so I felt especially guilty that these folks had given up even more of their Sunday morning for nothing.

The guy with the sag bike came alongside to chat as I made my way on the return. My neighbor Jill (the blonde volunteer who VERY enthusiastically cheered all of you on the run) joined us, as did another very cool volunteer whose name escapes me. We neared the Soapstone underpass when I saw a familiar-looking guy. In all of my fogginess I didn’t realize that it was my friend Chris until I was nearly in his face.

Chris joined our merry band, and then we saw RAT Keith, who also had stayed around. We all pushed toward the end, Keith and Chris helping me to find it within myself to shuffle-run to the end. I finished in a watch time of 4:56, almost an hour after the official cutoff.

Let me be honest here. I expected NOTHING at the end other than to see Heather and our dogs. But the folks from Set-Up Inc. had kept up the clock and the balloon arch over the finish line. And joining Heather were Greg, Michelle, Diane, Emma, and Jo. I was so happy that I wanted to cry. Heather promptly brought out a bottle of champagne, which she shook, uncorked and poured all over me. After a post-race pancake feed, I was napping by 1:30.

Epilogue

Clearly I bonked on the run. Having no solid breakfast and not enough water on the bike took its toll. Though I’ve bonked hard on the bike before, this was different, like a “soft” bonk. Or maybe it was my poor wintertime preparation. Either way, I’ll learn from the experience.

In any event, my final average HR was 150, meaning that I’d gone almost five hours at a near-LT pace. This bodes well for endurance, but clearly I’ve got to work on speed. I’ll be back next year, and will be faster.