monday - got home at a decent time, around 6:30pm
tuesday - got home around 7:30pm because our clinic went long; this was fun, especially because over lunch is when i realized i hadn't prepared for the next day's strike - no food, no clean scrubs, no school stuff done = awesome
wednesday - let's see, the day started at 3:15am; to the hospital by 4:20am; finally got my first break at 2pm; started the hour+ drive back home at 7:15pm
thursday - later start at 4:15am, at the hospital by 5:20am, worked til 6:30pm and drove home
friday - got up, made the 6:15am train, worked til 12:30pm when dave picked me up; headed to our fav bike shop in santa monica to have my much-needed bike fit; we get there, find out the bike fit guy felt like shit = had to reschedule. again = awesome.
friday into saturday i slept for 14 hours straight. in the afternoon we headed over to the race expo for packet pickup and run bag dropoff, where we had a shitty time. we were both in bad moods, we needed coffee, and it was just all a little much at that point. NOW we can do the race report.
45:09 / 4:26 / 1:33 / 3:51 / 1:26
k, i'm a little mortified that these are my actual numbers. but, whatever. let's start at the beginning.
we got up on time for once, and had devised a plan. we didn't want to mess with the shuttle since it was a point-to-point, so we drove both cars, dropped mine off downtown and then took his to venice beach. we found a remotely decent parking spot, 50% of us did our business in a not-so-legal spot (notice a theme? la tri seems to be the race of illegal poo locations), and then we rode to T1. the racking situation at this race is always a mess, so i just set up camp against the fence right next to the bike out spot. we mingled, found a few friends, the remaining 50% of us visited the lovely porta-potty. they "closed" transition at 7am, but dave's wave didn't go off til 7:40, and mine at 8 so kiss my ass "closing" transition. we did a bit of stretching, played in the water, and then it was time for dave's wave and he was off.
the swim was so much more calm than in '09. my pack headed out quickly, and i found myself with 2 other girls in my wave, in last (from what i could see - when you're open water swimming, you just never can tell without stopping and picking your head up out of the water) but i didn't care. at the turnaround i realized we'd dropped one, so it was just me and the other girl. well into the way back in, i lost sight of the other girl, i believed i'd dropped her somehow. i felt good for most of the swim. i was able to hold freestyle for much longer than at santa barbara just a month ago. which is humerous since i only had maybe 2 pool sessions between the two races. but still, felt good! the water was the nastiest brown color though, i find that worth mentioning. the swim in from the last buoy was uneventful, aside from the mass group coming in. in '09 this was where i did the backwards pretzel, so i already was ahead of that one...
T1 wasn't surprisingly long. from the timing mats at the top of the sand runway to my transition area was quite a ways. no biggie. but i was STARVING and had to eat within minutes of getting on the bike. this isn't something i've never had before. i was eating at 6 minutes. '09's race i think i was still inundated with adrenaline that i wasn't hungry yet. i ate my first uncrustable, took 3 enduralytes, and downed 90% of my first bottle, all without thinking twice. WTF? hungry much? lordy! weird.
bike wasn't bad. i felt like there was a steady stream of people with me. towards the turnaround i started paying attention to the people going the other way - there just weren't many of them. that got me wondering. where the hell did everyone go? my swim was slow, yes, but i didn't feel like it was THAT slow. i felt like it was in the 46 min range, and in my mind i couldn't understand how/why that meant that i'd be doing the second lap essentially all alone. but i did! i was passed by one 46 year old guy on the 2nd lap. that's it. one. i passed a few, but not many. it was lonely out there. eery.
i came into T2 feeling like i'd put up a decent bike split too. solid, my bike comp read 1:28ish, i was happy. i knew it was slower than '09, but what part of me wasn't these days? that's when i saw dave. dave, eating, with no medal around his neck. instantly i computed this to mean that he'd already A) finished, B) taken at least one pass through T2 looking for me, decided to ditch his medal, and so C) was on at least his 2nd pass through T2, if not his 3rd. i didn't know the logistics of the finish line in proximity to T2, but i didn't take this well. do i expect to be fast, even remotely in comparison to him? absolutely not. but the fact that he'd already come through T2 numerous times showed me how long he'd be in, and i was crushed. i started freaking out. he walked me to my rack, where i told him i thought i'd done well up to now. i asked if he thought there was a cutoff, and he said he didn't know, but it was probably noon. i looked at my watch - 10:33am. i decompensated. i told him i had no idea i had been that slow, i felt like i'd done so much better, the tears started flowing. i told him there was no way i'd make the cutoff, my 10k times were now consistently late 1:20s, and that was just running, not at the end of a race. he tried to snap me out of it, but it just wasn't happening. he came with me on the run. my HR was all over the place, the big ass hill shot me to the 170s just walking it. he kept trying to talk to me and i just kept getting more annoyed. not at him, but at the fact that i just didn't want to be doing this anymore, and i didn't want to feel like i did at that moment. crushed, defeated, angry. especially after turning in good splits in my own mind. i told him i needed to do the last lap on my own and he understood. i went out on that lap and tried to reset myself. epic fail. and that was because i saw that i was literally one of like 7 people still out on the course. 2 of which were in the 300lbs+ range. at the turnaround, i was watching for how many were behind me. came up to a black guy on the side of the road clapping. he told me i was almost there, and it was all downhill left. i told him as long as i wasn't last i didn't care. he told me that it didn't matter if i was last. i was out there, i was doing it, and i was getting it done. i'd finish it. now, looking back, i so wish i would've allowed his words to really enter my brain. i accepted them, thanked him, got teary, and kept on going. when i crossed the line, i was happy. happy that it was over, mostly. it just wasn't fun like it used to be. but i'd finished.
now, looking back, i'm still perplexed as to what the hell happened. i feel like everyone else found that spot of pavement that fast-forwarded them to the finish (like mario kart), and i just kept on pedaling. wtf? i can't rationalize it at all. did i finish the swim with all the sprinters? is that why i was on the second bike loop all alone? must be. it just makes no sense at all.
i've done lots and lots of soul-searching about this race. i talked to my coach all the way home, and sobbed the entire time. i never want to feel those feelings again.
by monday, i'd decided for sure i don't want to do Soma 70.3 which i'm already registered for. monday morning i told dave, and it went over a lot better than i thought it would. he understood. during the day on monday, i'd finally come to terms with my performance. most people on sunday morning were either bible thumping it, sleeping off a hangover, or waiting for football to come on. i did a race, and finished it. was it my best race ever? no. but i wasn't expecting it to be. i hadn't seen my official splits yet, but i felt good about the swim, and the bike. in fact i realized i probably pushed it a bit too hard on the bike, but i maintained it, which meant strength in my own mind. pushing too hard but being able to maintain it meant i was probably stronger than i'd given myself credit for. i was trying my best to be optimistic about the race.
tuesday all that crashed again when i saw race pics. for some reason, i don't see it at all until i see a pic of myself all lycra-clad. i know i have a bit of a belly, but i block out everything else somehow. but when i see the pics, that horrid mortification sets in all over again. someone looking the way i do has absolutely no business wearing spandex, race or no race. the body i have now is the body of someone i would've talked shit about in years past. weight loss isn't going well. i'm always tired. and i'm to that point where i just don't give a shit anymore. i'm sure there are ways to lose, but fuck. i'm tired. i just wanna sleep. i don't want a long race hanging over my head. i don't want to feel guilty everytime life or school or work intervines with a scheduled workout. i want to lose but i don't want to work at it. there. i said it. i feel ridiculous because of how i look now. but i'm just so damn exhausted and worn out and worn down. i need a damn break already.
