Every race, it’s the strangling anxiety of organizing all the swim, bike, run and nutrition crap, not sleeping well, going down the site at o' dark thirty and setting up all the stuff in transition only to waste time later. Being the usual basket case beforehand. I forgot to put on my required wristband and parked my bike in the totally wrong rack. Hopefully, no one noticed. I was tired as hell from the lack of sleep.
I opted for the sprint distance of 750 meter swim, 12 mile bike and 5k run. This time of year is hot and two laps of run and bike in the olympic course would be too tedious.
It was hot standing around in the sun in a full wetsuit waiting to start the swim in Tempe Town Lake. Rumors were that the water would be colder, gauging from the 60's in the lakes, but it was above seventy degrees. Regular people are always horrified that I swim here, like it’s a cesspool of bacteria, scum and fearsome fish. I have never encountered live fish, but the birds that hang around manage to find them. Twenty-one years of swimming in this lovely lake has given me immunity from whatever is floating in it be it algae, wood bits, dead fish or even bodies.
My wave started and swam straight into the sun. My goggles fogged up, making it hard to see where to go. Over the years I have mostly avoided feeling panic, unless people swim over me, the waves are huge or if the temperature is very cold. Meandering back-strokers and people stopping to see where the hell they were added obstacles to avoid. I almost swam past the first turn buoy.
The water surface churned with all the swimmers and and maybe some current generated by the flow over the dam. Swimming straight was hard and not relaxing. despite my two prior open water swims in colder water. A fishing line caught on my arm and some floating debris bumped my face. They buoys marking the turns seemed inexplicably angled. At least not too many people ran into or over me. It’s always a relief to get out of the lake. Total yardage was 1039, 200 more than it was supposed to be. Maybe the distance was mismarked or it was me, but it happened every year.
I ran into transition, struggled out of my wetsuit, put the bike equipment on and started the ride. Most people whizzed by me, but once in a while I got to pass someone slower. The bike leg was a little better than last year, with a sizzling 15.2 mph for 12.3 miles. For the past couple of years, I have felt limited in riding hard, but this time my legs felt like they had just a little more power. It wasn’t to the point of pain, like in the past, but I had no motivation to visit that zone.
It was getting warm, but not too bad, considering the blazing heat bowl that the area usually becomes. I enjoyed the novelty of riding hard without worrying if a car is going to kill me. Ever the birder, I noticed a Peregrine Falcon suddenly turn to avoid us.
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| Picture Joshua Stacy |
Miraculously, my legs actually felt decent beginning the run. Usually, the bike turns my legs leaden. The Salt River west of the dam looked like a real river, instead of creek, with all the water flowing through. Really remarkable. I ran hard, but as much as I tried, couldn’t get out of the 11 minute/mile mark. Former speed still eludes me. Total time was 36:55 for 3.29.
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Same site, different race.
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Total overall time was 2:06:33. Compared to everyone else, it’s back of the pack, especially in the swim, but I have long ceased caring about that. Whether from age or health problems, loss of speed is difficult to accept, but at least my body can still do some semblance of “racing.” Mentally, I just am not as motivated to kill myself to compete. It’s great to still be able to push physical limits, but my energy has dwindled. The resulting bone deep fatigue from exhausting myself isn’t worth it. Or maybe it’s old hat because this was my 85th triathlon. Reasons for subjecting myself to the torture have evolved. Despite the insanity, I will probably still get up at o’dark thirty as long as the body is able.
