Tempe Sprint Tri Race Report

I prepare to meet my doom

I woke up at 3:30 a.m. to get down to Tempe by 5 a.m. so that I could start racing at 7:30. Why am I doing this race again? Oh yeah, I got in for free. Otherwise, I wouldn’t touch it. This is the last time I am doing this race. My headache from yesterday still lingered and the thought of swimming in warm, soupy Tempe Town Lake did not help. I tried to stifle my terror at the thought of a non-wetsuit swim.

I hate swimming without a wetsuit, which is why I try to avoid this event. Invariably, the water is too hot for a wetsuit, since the desert’s version of fall is a slight moderation of summer’s inferno. Without a wetsuit,  floating is more work. My legs feel like they are sinking, pulling me down to the slimy unseen bottom of the cloudy, green lake. Who knows what lies down there? Dead bodies? A Tempe Town Lake monster? Plus, I am much slower, increasing the time of misery.

The drive, parking, and setting up went surprisingly smooth. It was comfortable pre-dawn, which was a bad sign. If it was balmy now, it would be blazing hot later on. The breeziness also worried me. Wind caused a choppy lake, which meant more fear. I want a glass smooth surface. Preferably with no other swimmers are in it. Even better would be to skip the entire thing.

I talked to some people I knew, but the goal was to save my energy. Who wants to talk this early in the morning, anyway? If I have to walk over to you, forget it. Waiting for one hour and fifteen minutes to start was just more time to stress. I tried to be calm. I poured water on myself a few times, because standing in line was warm.

When it was my turn to go down the stairs to jump into the lake, I was still nervous. I failed to notice that my position in line wasn’t in the back, where it should be. I got in, and way too many people got in behind me, so it was crowded. The water was turbulent with thrashing arms. A zen state of mind eluded me. The start line was fifty yards from the stairs and I had to get there by the time the horn started, but I also didn’t want to get battered. My chest tightened and I couldn’t relax. This was bad. Last year, it felt okay, but this year it didn’t.

The start horn sounded and I swam, but was still tense and fearful. Stopping to dog paddle to catch my breath wasted energy. This made me more tired, which made me more nervous. I was almost to the turn around when the next wave of swimmers overtook me, churning up the water again. I panted and couldn’t get enough air. I floated on my back, swam, then floated on my back. I even stopped to hang onto a kayak, which was an act of desperation. This was not going well. The water was pretty warm–82 degrees. A wetsuit would have been hot, but I wouldn’t have drowned. Maybe if it’s too hot for a wetsuit, it’s too hot to race.

I finally got to the turn buoy and settled down a little. Quitting was not an option. Then turning to swim back to the stairs, I got a rhythm and just kept going. The swim finally felt halfway bearable instead of very uncomfortable. I just wanted to get it done. The pace felt right, like what I trained for. The surface was a little choppy, but not as bad with most of the swimmers gone.

The lake was mostly empty when I finally reached the last turn buoy, which was about fifty yard from the stairs. Someone ahead of me was backstroking, another desperate open water strategy, when the swim sucked. This close to the end and you’re back-stroking? Loser. A draft off of him would have saved my energy, but no such luck.  His feet were not visible to follow in the murky water anyway. Total time was an excruciatingly slow 33 minutes, which was a minute faster than last year. If I had worn a wetsuit, the time would have been ten minutes less. Hence, my hatred of swimming without one. More time in the water to contemplate the possibility of death. My Garmin watch said 900 yards, instead of the supposed 820. Maybe I didn’t swim straight, but it was almost 900 yards last year. Why didn’t they have a short swim course for once?

I didn't drown.

I climbed the steps out of the water and ran through the grass to my bike, exhausted after that swim. Slowly, I put on my bike gear and took off. Theoretically, transition was supposed to be done quickly, but the body didn’t always do what the mind told it. Mind: hurry up! Body: no. Mind: Please?  Body: go to hell. Sometimes, the mind forgets to even say anything.

The sun blazed hot already, burning my skin. The heat bowl around the lake extended to the streets of Tempe. I joined the hordes out on the bike course, also foolishly exerting themselves in the heat. Usually, biking as fast as possible was a blast, but Tempe Town Lake had dissolved my joy in its green liquid. The resolve to push myself was weak. I was still thirsty from the swim, since drinking Tempe Town Lake water was a bad idea. Things live in the lake. Things that make you run to the toilet. Microscopic things with wriggling little legs that you don’t want to think about. An eastern breeze provided a little relief. I told myself to pedal harder, but the urge to go all out wasn’t there.

I tooled along, getting passed by the fast riders and having to get by the slower ones wearing running shoes with mountain bikes; in the land of in between. Not fast enough to keep up with the strong riders and not slow enough to avoid the need for passing the newbies. Maneuvering through the flotsam was hard work. At least I was faster than a few cyclists–the really old, the inexperienced and/or those with crappy bikes. I give them credit for being out there and trying, but get out of my way, already.

I never smile.

At the end of the ride, approaching transition, a guy ahead of me was in my way. Really? The choice was to just go slower or pass him. To hell with it. Being stuck behind him was annoying, so I passed and then got off the bike. Total time was 45:58. This was about a minute slower than last year. Meh. Maybe all the mountain bike training was slowing me down. Or maybe it was just being tossed around in the lake.

Out on the run course, I feared melting in the heat, like last year, but it was strangely bearable. Eighty-eight degrees wasn’t optimal running weather. I prefer fifties, which only happens in the winter around here. I stuffed ice down my bra and put some in my hat, not caring what people thought. The first mile, my legs were the usual stiff, “what are you doing to me, making me run after biking?” feeling, but by the second mile, they came to life. My pace went gradually faster and harder on the unforgiving cement. I passed the souls who had given up, had heat exhaustion or who had ran out of energy. My time of 31:38 was a minute better than last year’s.

Total time was 1:58:18, which was about a minute slower than last year. If I hadn’t been so slow in T1, I might have beaten it. I was fourth in my age group, mostly because of my crappy swim. Non-wetsuit swims were not kind to me. 

I am not doing this race
again. Make me.

Overall, it didn’t feel as bad as I thought it would, despite the weather. I didn’t drown, crash or get heat exhaustion. It was a good social event, but sucked as a race. September is still summer, only less so. It’s denial to think otherwise. I have been doing triathlons too long to put up with suffering through bad conditions. I have lost interest in racing when it’s too hot, too cold, too windy, too much hill climbing, too long a distance, too far away, too difficult a swim, or too much hassle. Call me a wussie. I am not doing this event next year. Really.