Among the things I have missed in 2020 besides traveling and actual human contact is in person triathlon racing. Virtual just doesn’t cut it for the real thing, whether it’s social connection or racing. A decent conversation with a disembodied head on the computer screen is hard. Racing alone takes discipline with no one around to motivate me and it lacks the fun and camaraderie of the actual experience. When this Lake Pleasant Race was actually approved to go on, I signed up for a chance to have a modicum of normal.
I didn’t feel particularly in shape for it. I had been consistently training, but not intensely, since I was not feeling up to it. Chemo, surgery and radiation had sucked the life out of me and five months later I still wasn’t recovered. Lake Pleasant is nothing but rolling terrain and climbs. I had no energy to run train for hills and the weather had been insanely hot for months. Hilly bike rides and open water lake swims were at least some preparation.
Of course, if a race was scheduled, my bike had to fall apart. On a ride three days beforehand, the seat seemed loose. With no tools to fix it, I just kept riding. Arriving home, as I dismounted, the seat sadly flopped down and sagged sideways in disapproval of my ineptitude. Upon inspection, a screw and a part was missing. Without a functioning seat, the whole bike was useless. Maybe my mountain bike was an option, but it would be painful on the hills.
The next day, I retraced my route on my mountain bike and found the missing seat piece laying in the street, but no screw. During the ride the cog on the mountain bike drive train froze. Seriously? Am I cursed by the bike gods? I still could ride home, but the chain complained the whole time.
Option C was my old road bike. It was nice in its time, but only three of the 24 gears worked because rear shifter just didn’t feel like moving anymore. Also the bike was an iron horse compared to my tri bike, so climbing hills would be a lot of effort. Between my bike woes and my tired body, my expectations were low. But at least it was a real event with actual people.
Racing during a pandemic is a different animal. People are potential plague carriers and have to be spaced apart from one another. Mask wearing is necessary, at least while milling around. I got there early and set up. Due to Covid, there was a lot of space between the bikes, which was an advantage. No one to intrude on my space or knock my stuff around. For the water entry, we had to stand apart on the ramp and enter the water in timed intervals.
Lake Pleasant can whip up with the wind, but the water was warm and smooth at 78 degrees. The temperature was cool enough to allow a wetsuit, but I would have worn one legal or not. Swimming in deep, murky water is scary enough without the buoyancy of a neoprene wetsuit to prevent drowning. At this point in 2020, I did not need more stress.
Sometimes, a swim start makes me hyperventilate with panic, but this time was easy. I swam fairly steady and went faster than I did in training. Somehow, I added 160 yards, not that I needed to swim any longer and took 27 minutes, not counting the long slog up the ramp. I tugged off the wetsuit in transition and mentally gritted for the bike ride.
The first hill was steep seemed liked a 10% grade and it was all I could do to keep moving. In laymen’s terms 10% grade is a “standing on the pedals to force them to turn and hoping not to fall over climb from lack of momentum.” If only the bike had a lower gear. Was I going to make it up without getting off and walking? Three speeds on my 2001 Trek road bike wasn’t enough. This bike sucked. I feared trashing my legs for the run, but got through the first loop. Downhills saved me. In a sick way it was fun to conquer the terrain, despite the physical suffering.
But it was still a relief to get to the end with no mechanical problems. The bike and I didn’t fall apart. I thought the ride would take an hour for 12.2 miles, which was slow as hell, but it was about 56 minutes, which was just less mediocre. I had remembered the hills as being tough, but not as bad as they were with an a three gear, heavy piece of crap old bike. It was a reminder why I don’t do a lot of Lake Pleasant races. It’s humbling because the terrain reminds me of my strength and speed limitations.
I got into transition and dumped the bike to go slog on the run. With a lack of run training on hills, they would be slow and painful. The route went up the god awful hill again, then turned down and up another nasty climb. It didn’t feel as bad as expected. I had estimated a lot of walking and except for some steep ascents, the miles were mostly functional running.
The whole race took 2:11 to finish. It didn’t matter being at the tail end of slow, that I had to ride my crappy bike or that I wasn’t strong enough to run fast up hills.
After an abnormal year it was good to have “normal.” 2020 threw at me the physical discomfort and emotional distress of cancer treatment; long periods of social isolation; depression; the stress of dealing with a pandemic; and lack of anything to counter the bleakness. All the cheery optimism blather about “being in it together” and “you are not alone” didn’t make this steaming pile of turd year more bearable.
So, it was a relief to finish, see people I knew and have an actual event despite Covid. Months of physical weakness from treatment made me doubt my ability to swim, bike and run in succession without keeling over. But my arms and legs still had the muscle memory to get me through water and up hills. They worked better than the ancient bike, which was reassuring.
All the crap didn’t beat me down. A hint of the high that I used to get when I first started racing emerged. Speed didn’t matter, but conquering the terrain did. Perhaps the threat of deathly disease changed my perspective. Or maybe this year sucked so bad that any good experience was appreciated.
For real.
