The Monday after the Wild Canyon Games, I was driving home from a YoungLife barbecue and saw Stephen Campbell on a run. I waved him down to introduce myself. As we chatted about triathlons, training and the WCGs, he asked if I was going to be participating in the Pacific Crest Triathlon.
The more I thought about it, the more realized what a good idea it would be. Being a half Ironman, it would be a great race to practice nutrition and go half the distance of my August race. So I pulled in the driveway, parked my car, rushed inside, turned on my laptop and... realized my credit card was still in my car. After flying downstairs to grab my wallet, I tried again. Five minutes later, I was signed up.
Well, that was quick.
The race was this last weekend. I stayed up late the night before to pick up a friend from the bus station. The next morning, I felt confident. I woke up early, watched some Wimbledon and ate my oatmeal. On my way to the race start, I took a new route... and got really lost. I made it to the race start with 10 minutes until "Go Time". Well shoot. So much for setting up the transition area. My wetsuit magically appeared on my body (with some effort from my strong arms and some wetsuit shuffling) and off I went. The woman next to me asked how I kept such a calm face. Thank goodness my eyes weren't betraying my inner nerves.
Swimming felt amazing. I grabbed on to the feet of the man in front of me and drafted off of him for a good 400 meters before he kicked me off. The water was a wonderful 64 degrees. 1.2 miles went by in a flash with reggae music playing in my head. Every stroke felt efficient, my body placement was correct, my sighting was on for the first time ever. The orange swim caps around me bobbed up and down. I was in the middle of the gaggle, not the back.
I pulled out of the water and ran up to my bike.
This is not a race. This is a dress rehearsal.
These words reminded me to slow down, to savor the moment. I ate half of a Picky Bar and peeled my wetsuit off. My face turned green with envy as I looked at the bikes stacked next to mine. I thought mine were beautiful, but I was so wrong. My Felt DA4 is chicken scratch compared to the Cervelo next to me. But hey, it's the rider, not the bike, right? Too bad I was losing both those standings.
I started the bike going way too fast. 20.1 mph uphill compared to the 16 mph at which I usually train.
Once I made it to Elk Lake, it will be all downhill from there... or so I thought... I figured it would be okay to push hard on the false flat because I would have a fast downhill to reward me at the end. So wrong I was. Before that nice, rewarding downhill is a 20-mile uphill battle. Not just uphill. We are talking UP THE FREAKING BIG A HILL. As I started the climb, I shifted gears and felt my chain freeze; it had fallen off the chain ring. I unclipped and struggled to get it back on the ring. People passed me and asked if everything was okay- the same people I had just passed.
Grrrrr. I walked to a fairly flat area and got back on the saddle. Up I went. And up some more. And more. And... wait, there's some more. QUADS. GLUTES. GET ME OFF OF THIS DARN BIKE!!!
At the top, I found the descent. It was windy... so windy. As I gripped my aerobars, I feared a gust of wind would take my tires right out from under me and leave me with major road rash and a bruised ego... best case scenario. A man flew past me and screamed
WAHOO! I passed him a little later and said, "Tag, you're it!" He laughed and we kept the game going until the second transition.
The run started and I downed the rest of my Picky Bar. Three miles in, I realized my pace was way too quick.
Maybe I should walk for two minutes just to slow down, I told myself. Bad idea. I didn't have to walk, but once I did, the pain set in. I could not get my run back. Four miles later, in a fit of 8 minutes jogging, 2 minutes walking, I saw Robbie at the water stop.
Robbie!
Robbie is a runner and good friend. He cheered me on and I felt a slight amount of inspiration.
Okay, I got this. Oh, wait, no I don't. I was done. My legs were done. It would be a long "run". I trudged through the run path and gave up hope. Hanging my head low, my bike friend passed me and said hello. Well, shoot... now I was in for trouble. Am I really going to do a full Ironman next month? Yuck. No motivation left on the path.... until...
My mom's blonde fro peaked around from the corner of some bushes.
MOM! She jogged with me and suddenly I felt much more motivated. I took off toward the finish line. Not too much time passed before I was walking again. A man came to my side and said, "You and I are playing the same walk/run game. C'mon, there's only a mile left. Let's do this." Kevin, as the man's friends called him, and I jogged slowly toward the town center. I could smell victory. With 400 yards left to go, I encouraged Kevin to kick it up and finish strong with me. He declined and my legs kicked in. I dashed to the finish line, crossed with my head high then wobbled to get my medal... the prettiest medal I've ever seen.
Kelly and my parents were waiting for me at the end. It was a wonderful way to finish the most beautiful, yet most challenging course in which I have ever competed.
That night, Kelly, Megan and I went to Cruxapalooza and won the selfie contest! WINNERS!!!!!
And that's what it takes to be a Bad Ass.
