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| No swim for us. Just as well. |
Mountain biking is fun, but it’s difficult; a strenuous exercise in avoiding bodily injury. An off road triathlon with swimming and trail running added in is even more intimidating. All those rocks waiting to trip me or crash my bike. I signed up for an Xterra in Papago Park, but Mother Nature decided to run amuck in October and open the spigots. Torrential rain had come last Sunday with a few monumental pours during the week.
The day before the race was also stormy. The swim was cancelled due to fears that a swimmer would pick up some sort of disease in Tempe Town Lake from the bacteria floating downstream.
This was better than not having the race at all, but it was disruptive because I had trained for the swim and now wouldn’t get to do it. It was the last triathlon of the season and no swim was disappointing even though I hate it. I never said I was logical.
I was stressed and had my usual pre-race lethargy, not feeling up to exertion that it entailed. Papago Park is rocky and eroded with loose dirt and had a big hill that I could never climb on the bike.
We would do the run loop twice, which meant more trail running. I worried that all the rain might have eroded the routes and made them slippery.
I visualized my bike covered in sticky mud and putting the dirty thing into my car afterwards. A rainy race is ugly. It takes forever to get slimy mud off of a bike, because wet desert dirt has a special greasy quality.
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| No. Please, no. |
At the site, all the flooding on the banks of Tempe Town Lake surprised me. Water totally submerged the swim ramp. Transition had a vast puddle in front of it, but luckily, had enough dry area to walk around it. The sandy ground avoided the prospect of tromping through sticky mud.
I got my stuff organized and did a warm up run. Always on the lookout for birds, I spotted a big Harris’s Hawk that sat on a pole. The big guy was not impressed with me. There were also Great Blue Herons and Cormorants flying over the lake. The place was a virtual bird airport.
We started and of course everyone ran ahead of me. My legs didn’t want to move fast, weighted down with early morning fatigue. The hawk was still there, watching us fools.
One section required scrambling up boulders. Where the hell did that come from? I had done this race before, but I didn’t remember that absurdity.
The trails didn’t seem particularly wet or muddy, except in a few instances. The total distance was 2.56 miles. I was the last finisher at thirty-four minutes.
I had bike anxiety, doubting my ability to to deal with the terrain. Rocks. So many rocks. Though mountain biking is enjoyable, the fear of bodily injury is always there. The ground can shift under the wheels and requires finesse and strength to stay upright. Half a mile in, the bike slipped on a rough section of rocks and I fell hard on my butt. Ouch. Of course a volunteer watched. I got up, embarrassed, and continued.
The hills were a challenge that I struggled to descend, lacking the nerve and skill. I walked my bike down the “Steps”, a series of death ledges on a steep slope. I have never figured how to descend it on the bike without killing myself.
I walked up more climbs, not having enough engine to ascend them. My legs couldn’t pedal hard enough not to tip over. It was discouraging, especially since I was last on the run and behind already. A number of faster cyclists lapped me.
The weather was still fairly cool, but I drank a lot of water as my throat as dry as the desert air. My legs were tired from the run, and not swimming first made the bike a lot tougher. The first lap was about fifty minutes, which was about what it was the last time I did this race.
The second lap went better. I biked up climbs that I had previously walked. Fewer people tried to pass me, so I didn’t have to stop for them. Fatigue made me less cautious. My mind tried to fight off being discouraged. At least I now knew the obstacles on the trail. Most people were done with the bike, but a few stragglers were out there. Maybe I would not be last on the bike.
I was almost done with the last loop when I miscalculated a line, slipped off the bike, and veered into a Creosote bush, which stopped my momentum. I scratched my ankle, but managed to stay upright. It could have been worse with all the prickly plants around. Cactus needles are not fun to dig out of flesh. My legs were pretty trashed and banged up. My mind continued to argue with me. How the hell was I going to run? Can I quit now? I was really thirsty.
I got near transition and of course everyone was milling around because they were done. This was irritating. I changed shoes, racked my bike and took off for the second run. Total bike time was 1:40 on my watch, which didn’t seem that bad even though it felt like forever. Xterra miles are longer than normal miles.
The hawk was gone from its perch. It was probably fed up with all this commotion and was off to catch some live, bloody prey.
Just off the bike, the run felt bad--as in my legs cried to be put out of their misery. Gel and salt tablets staved off death. Late in a race, when most people are done, my mind devises strategies to salvage my ego. The course still had some stragglers, so I could pass them and not be last. Being last is a common occurrence for me in Xterra races.
The terrain wasn’t any easier the second time, but I made peace with it. No swim made the total run mileage longer than usual and harder physically. In the last, flat part of the course, I picked up speed and managed to run a minute faster than the first run. Time for the whole race was 3:04.
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| A little more lake than we needed. |
