Filed under: Races
Race day June 14. As I grumble around (not, not, not, never a morning person am I) at dawn, I remind myself to be grateful that the Mermaid race is in
, not far from home base. The Pleasanton Tri had us setting out at 5:30 a.m. P racks my bike onto the car as I review gear and pack race food. Clif Blox now come in versions with extra sodium (Margarita flavor) or added caffeine (Black cherry, my favorite). Mojo bars with pretzel/peanut. Mom gave me a genetically modified behemoth of a giant
Fuji
apple yesterday, and I bring half of that with me too. Add some green tea in my Russian Starbucks mug, Propel, and I’m off.
At the registration table, they easily find my name of the list. I am handed the race number for my shirt, as well as the 318 sticker for my bike helmet, and a 318 double sided number to affix to the bike.
“ Go down the tables for everything else.” What else is there, I wonder?
I’m handed a timing chip attached to a Velcro band to wear around my ankle. Then the organic Mermaid T-shirt, then there is a table with a rainbow of little ovals on it.
“Hi, which swim wave are you?”
Apparently we are all being color-coded by swim caps. What a nice organizational notion. In my first Tri, I was informed that one does not, should not, race with a black swim cap in case you start to drown- it makes it difficult for them to spot you.
Oh. Great. That explained the obnoxious yellow and neon green caps out there. Since then I have swum in a bright blue cap. Today she looks up my age and hands me a lovely green one.
I always love the atmosphere at these races. Everyone is health conscious, not a cigarette or a soda anywhere despite the sold out 700 mermaids here and their families/friends. Dad pushing strollers and little kids holding “Go Mom!” signs abound. Volunteers mark our hands, and arm with a black sharpie. 318. They then ask my age, and write it on my let calf for the world to see. Funny. I will find myself looking at everyone’s leg age number throughout the race as I notice 24 years old and 45 years old passing me on the bicycle course.
It’s a full hour until my swim wave, we are second to last. I walk over to the lake beach to cheer on the current wave of 45- 49 year olds. A blonde woman dressed in a sequined mermaid gown is the announcer, describing the course, warning people to stay out of the way, reading off names of each woman who emerges from the water. I clap and cheer for these older women whom I so admire. I hope so badly I will be that healthy in my 48th year! They look exhausted already, yet strong. I munch my apple and make smiling small talk with the women next to me.
My heart starts to pound and in my head that old question arises, “WHY do you do these things?!”
The globular orange buoys that mark the swim distance seem unfathomably, dangerously far. The latexed swim capped heads of the women swimming out there look teeny, tiny, far away. I think back to my practice swims, all the cheating rest breaks I would take, and wonder if I am ready for this. We see a few swimmers go toward a lifeguard to take a rest upon one of the surfboards being offered. I notice a swimmer or two getting towed into shore. To make matters worse, after the quarter mile swim, each woman has to come up the rocky beach and run UP a grassy hill to reach the transition area where our bikes await.
Mom shows up. I get into my shortie wetsuit, fetch the goggles, and we take some pics. I notice that emblazoned on the side of my cap it reads “I am a Mermaid.”
Suddenly the tripped out Beatles tune “I am a Walrus” starts in my head:
“I am a Mermaid, Coo coo kachoo, coo coo Cachoo….”
I tell my mom this swim looks like it’s gonna take me 20- 30 minutes. She begins to look nervous in spite of herself. “Half an hour? That sounds tiring to death!”
The lake is relatively warm today, and once I am afloat my inner panic subsides. The waters are opaque, dark green and brown. The teenaged lifeguards sitting on kayaks watch us carefully. Songs drift through my head ranging from my new version of “I am a Mermaid” to Dorie the fish from Finding Nemo “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming…”
The faraway buoys are gigantic orange balls once one is up close. A lifeguard calls out to us in warning when a big wave heads our way. Another cheerily talks us through it, “you look great mermaids, great job, just think of it as a swim in a pool, a very, very, very big pool…but just a pool.”
I come out of the water near last in my age group,(which seems about right since next year I will be in the next age group up!). As I charge out of the water, I hear mom yell, “Not bad- 14 minutes!”
Many of the mermaids come out of the water short of breath, grimacing, but I am a grinning fool. Hahaha, I didn’t drown, the swim is done, the rest is fool proof!
The rest of the Tri is as usual, I covet other people’s sleek road bikes that weigh about as much as shoe. But I chug along on my heavy ass mountain bike and enjoy the 3 laps. P shows up at this point as I pass him in the street while he drives in. I wind up losing minutes by taking a necessary bathroom run between the bike and run transition (darn green tea!).
The run is along Quarry lake trails, and here I finally begin to pass people. I don’t know what masochist designed this course, but the last 150 yards or so of the run is in SAND. It’s like running in slow mo on top of pudding to the finish line, where Mom and P are now joined by my sweetheart and her hubby to be.
In hindsight, I realize I could have pushed myself harder. I was so afraid of bonking out in my 1st Tri of the year, that I paced it a bit too conservatively. The next day, I was not as sore as I had expected at all. I came in at 1:44. Not a good time really, but not bad considering my insufficient training schedule and lame gear. I’m happy to have started out my weekend with a challenge…and am already plotting the next race. Of course if I don’t lay off of that Korean fried chicken and the Haagen Daz (shopping at Costco while starving results in things like 15 ice cream bars in the freezer…) the next race could be a problem!
Fremont
