Mountain Man Olympic Triathlon Race Report

In the hellhole otherwise known as Phoenix, by the time August has come around, life has lost its meaning and existence takes too much effort. I signed up for this Flagstaff triathlon race to get out of Phoenix and to break up the unbearableness of summer. I needed a reason to get off my ass and train in ninety degree heat. The distraction would keep me from thinking dark thoughts about what life would be like without air conditioning in humid, hundred plus degree temperature.

I had done this race eight times, so I knew the suffering that was involved. At 7,000 feet, the body lacked oxygen. More effort was required to move; and the movement was slower. The hills that would have been merely rolling at sea level became the Swiss Alps at altitude. It’s still arid and just being outside sucks the moisture out of my body. But the pine trees, lake, sunflowers and mountains were nice scenery and a change from rocks, dust and cacti.

I chose the Olympic length because the half iron distance was unfathomable. Nobody but the crazy, fast people or clueless did it. Running the half marathon run alone along the road while seeing everyone drive by, who had already finished, would suck. Running up and down a steep hill, then running another seven miles would be torture. Also, who the hell would want to swim another five hundred yards in the brown sludge of Lake Mary? And bike 56 miles? The Olympic was enough pain for one day.

I drove up to Flagstaff, turning onto Lake Mary Road. Near the race site, I  passed by a bunch of people looking at deer or elk. This amused me because I was sure the animals had no clue why they were being gawked at. They probably thought why are all these weird humans looking at me?

Just as I got the packet pickup location, a large black cloud appeared. Then it started pouring and lightning flashed. It was wiser to stay in the car until the prospect of electrocution and getting drenched was over with.

I like Flagstaff, but it is a pain to drive in with the hordes of tourists. I got dinner, then walked around and sat at Heritage Square for a while. There weren’t musicians playing yet, but people were hanging around and games were set up for children. I like the vibe of this town, like an Arizona hippie version of San Francisco in the sixties. Even the homeless are laid back. One dude tried to sell me a beach cruiser. He had just cleaned the bike and seemed relatively mentally stable. As if I had room in my Corolla for two bikes.

I got back to the hotel and did race prep. I hated stressing about a race. I had to get up at 3:30, so I was worried about getting everything ready. Plus I was concerned about my emotionally needy cat being alone. She expected to be waited on and no one was there. She was probably crying piteously. I realized I had forgotten to bring my race belt, which is something I had never forgot before. This was disturbing. What was wrong with my mind?

I went to bed, but kept waking up every hour. A distant train blew its horn. The A.C. made weird noises. The room was warm even with it on. Sleep does not come easily and altitude makes it worse. I must need actual oxygen.

At zero dark thirty, I got ready and stepped outside. The car didn’t have dew on it, which was a good sign, because I wasn’t sure how to get rid of it.  Dew is an alien substance in the desert. I packed everything up and drove to the race site. When I got near the lake, the road had foggy patches. Some of them were quite dense, which made the road hard to see. It made me nervous. Go away fog, I don’t need you. I had to look for a parking spot in the dark and mist. I found the one I was looking for even though it was  half a mile away. I couldn’t deal with the whole dark and not seeing and parking thing.

 The sky lightened, revealing that Lake Mary had dense fog on it. I really didn’t want to swim in it, wandering aimlessly, with no idea where to go. I have visions of the Lake Tahoe swim, where the buoys were obscured by fog in the 32 degree air.

They made us go down to the dock at the scheduled time, then wait forty-five minutes. This was a first for me–a fog delay for an Arizona race. The long line of mist parallel to the shore slowly retreated. Hurry up, already!

I was supposed to start at 6:35, but didn’t begin until 7:20. At least by then we could see the buoys. I walked down the ramp and stepped through the muck to get to deeper water. The horn sounded and I swam cautiously. The possibility of a panic attack is always present, so I never rush when I start. Hyperventilating in the middle of a high altitude lake is best avoided because it is particularly unpleasant. I staved off breathlessness, but felt uncomfortable at times and stopped to rest occasionally.

Once in a while the smell of diesel gasoline and sewage was in the brown water. I tried to keep a steady pace. The water was fairly smooth but the surface in the last fifty yards was choppy. What a relief it was to get out. The swim took me 43:50. This was a little better time than two years ago. At least the swimming time didn’t change much over the years unlike the bike and run, which had gone to crap.

I had failed to take into account the location of the toilets when I set up my bike, so I had to run a little farther to use one. I really had to pee, unlike everyone else who had already urinated in the lake. The toilets were always inconveniently located outside of transition, which wasted more time.

On the ride start, I was extra hungry, since the to wait to swim was so long. The weather felt cool until the hill climbs. With the sun out, it was hot. The bike was hard work just to go slow. It always seems like it should be easier than it really is, leading to a feeling of inadequacy. Why can’t I go faster? The hills didn’t look all that steep until they were ridden. Once in a while a chickadee or goldfinches would call out. I liked to answer them. I didn’t know if they answered back, but it kept my mind off the pain. The scenery was pretty with the pine trees, blue sky and puffy white clouds, mountains and lakes. Not as many wildflowers were blooming, though, due to lack of rain. 

On my last eight miles, I saw the first and second place male go by for the half iron. That was rather humbling, since it is twice the distance that I was doing. I passed three people, so at least I wasn’t dead last. This ride was painful by now and I wanted it to be over with so I could do an even more painful run. Bike time was 1:42.

By the time of the run, when everyone else was done, it was heating up and I was tired and thirsty. My water was lukewarm, and I craved ice to cool it down. The first 1.5 mile always appear to be downhill, but it never feels that way. My legs were tired after the bike. I stopped to walk. 

The bottom of the hill was usually the low point of the run, physically and mentally. A whole mile of terrible awaits. Could I really do this? I had this thought, though I had done this race eight times before. Despair is not logical. I told myself I was out of shape and fat, but forged ahead slowly without further walking. Better to get it over with. The hill was evil. 

I took a salt tablet and a gel because sometimes it made me feel less like the walking dead. 

After a mile plus of the steep grade, I got to the top. Just before a dirt track, usually was an aid station, but not today. My water was running low, and I worried about running out. It was located at the turn around. Lovely ice, the magic elixir! 

I felt much better and moved faster down the hill. The road that I just had ran up and the lake were far below. At the bottom and more level ground, I didn’t worry about how slow my time was because, in the past, beating myself up just made me unhappy. Running was enough self-flagellation. I sped up. The finish line was a welcome sight. Total time was 80 minutes.

I felt like I had just raced a four hour sprint. I went as hard as I could, but slowly, like moving through molasses. Output didn’t translate to speed. The wonders of high altitude exertion. I didn’t place in my age group, but didn’t care. Total time was 3:58, so at least I broke four hours.

I could bemoan that I was almost last in a difficult race like this one, and I usually do, but I would have quit this sport long ago if I worried about how much I sucked. I decided it was pointless to feel bad about it. It was fun to be physically challenged and persist despite discomfort and the annoying voice in my head that tells me that I am not good enough, am too slow, can’t breath, should give up, should swim back to shore and walk the hill. It just needs to shut the hell up.

Besides, suffering in cool Flagstaff was preferable to frying in Phoenix.

Mountain Man Olympic Race Report

Every year, I do the Mountain Man Olympic triathlon in Flagstaff. The memory of how painful it is always forgotten, only to be realized again when it is too late. The cool weather, tall pines and mountains enticed me. Fields of sunflowers lined the lake. This year, puffy cumulus cotton ball clouds mesmerized me, since they rarely appear in Phoenix, other than the monsoon.

Race morning always had an obscenely early start. The day had a particularly inauspicious incident at 3:30 a.m. when the  toilet got clogged. And of course, I had to poop a second time. I felt bad leaving a poop filled toilet, but what could I do? This cheap hotel has a front desk manager that sleeps by his post. He would not have appreciated being woken up to be told about the toilet at an awful hour. The poor maid would have a sight when she got to the room. I was in a hurry anyway, and had to pack due to their ungenerous check out time of 11 a.m.

The morning was colder  than usual for Flagstaff. I was used to eighty-eight degree mornings in the Phoenix hell hole. The car thermometer read forty-five at one point, but mostly fifty. This race was on the road, so racers have to find a spot to park off the pavement in soft dirt that wouldn’t require extraction by a tow truck. Luckily, I found a spot.

Lake Mary

I struggled into my wetsuit and got in the sludgy brown Lake Mary. At least it was warm seventy-one degree dirt water. The air was colder, so I decided just to stay in it until my wave started. I swam to warm up and tried to avoid cutting my feet on the treacherous shore rocks.

The buoys were arranged differently from previous races. More of them were placed so I could see them, which was a novelty. The previous race owner only had a bare minimum of buoys that he spaced as far apart as possible. Distance was an approximate measurement, plus or minus a hundred yards. A swimmer needed binoculars to see the last turn buoy. The new owner had visible buoys and had an accurately measured distance. 

I always dreaded this swim, since it was hard to breathe and swim at the same time at 7,000 feet altitude. The swim could be terrifying with the prospect of hyperventilating due to lack of oxygen. Strangely, this time didn’t feel as terrible as usual. Instead of fighting off panic the whole time, I just disliked it and wanted to get it over with as soon as possible. I stopped less and didn’t feel as tired. The water was smooth with little wind. Being dazed when emerging, I couldn’t run up the ramp quickly, though. The time was two minutes faster than last year. Strangely, people were still in the lake. Could there really be worse swimmers than I?

I ran into an empty transition, then to the port-a-potty. How much can one pee, anyway? I started the bike still cold from the swim. My feet were numb for quite a while. My objective was to try to beat last year’s time, but I had no illusion of speed on the hilly course. Altitude will always win. The route went past the lake and to the hills. My heart rate monitor didn’t work because the watch strap had broken and couldn’t be replaced in time. I just tried to go hard or what felt as hard. Judging from the pain in my legs, the effort was sufficient. The hills didn’t seem too steep, but I didn’t go up them very fast. Lots of nice wildflowers along with the numerous sunflowers were on the side of the road. Occasionally, I would see some tiny blue ones. Oh look, pretty! Puffy clouds contrasted with the deep blue sky. Sometimes, a goldfinch would warble and I would try to answer back. Anything to distract from the discomfort.

I was thirsty most of the time. I tried to keep up with nutrition, despite not being very hungry. The sun was hot when climbing hills, but the shade felt cool.

On the way back, I wasn’t sure if last year’s time could be beaten. The hills were fun to descend. Two miles to go after ninety minutes of riding. Maybe? Final time was a little better than last year’s. 

I negotiated the traffic of people who had already finished in transition and were drinking beer. Screw you all. At the start of the run, my legs felt dead. This point in the race was always awful. The road was fairly flat and seemed like it should go faster, but it didn’t. 

At the bottom of  the dreaded Hill, I notice that they had the magic elixir, Coke. Maybe not a good choice for a strenuous climb, but Coke can revive the dead. My gut was a little backed up and I had side stitches. The Hill was a nasty, steep 1.5 mile climb. I ran up the entire hill when walking was highly tempting. This involved a bargain with myself. Go this far and I can walk. But I never did because it was just more time to be miserable. Running up that hill hurt. At the top was a dirt trail to the turn around. It was flatter, but not easier. 

Running down was fun, because it was halfway fast and I could see the poor saps still running up. All too soon the black hole of the last two miles awaited; the worst part of the race. Instead of being cranky and miserable, I had long ago learned to toss away my expectations and just try to survive. Still, I was tired and wanted to be done. Usually mile four of a 10k is difficult, but this race was especially so. My heart rate felt like 160's. Total time was  thirty seconds better than last year. A small victory.

When I finished, they were giving out awards already. Not being very hungry, I waited around, since my age group is so small that I often place. When they finally got to my age bracket, they said they didn’t have any finishers, so I had to point out that error. The guy corrected and gave my first place because no one else was in my age group. This seemed to happen often in races. The old and slow get forgotten. At least he cared and was a little embarrassed.

Total overall time was 3:50:18. My first reaction was meh, but it was four minutes better than last year.

I went to get a beer and a hot dog, but the hot dogs had all been eaten. Curse you fast people! Quit eating all the food! Luckily, my tri club people had food. The light beer, which was still available, had a good flavor. I needed something more than cookies and fruit after a brutal race. 

It was hot when I slogged back to the car. This is the fourth leg of triathlon–dragging all my crap back to the car. The bike, bike helmet, a heavy bag with a wetsuit, and bike shoes all have to be moved from transition to my car a quarter mile away. I always fantasize about having to sherpa to help, preferably a cute one, but no one ever materializes. 

The prize when no one else shows up
your age group

This race doesn’t get any easier as I get older. I used to do it faster, but those days are gone. More effort yields the same or less speed. Puffy clouds and sunflowers don’t make my legs hurt any less. But who doesn’t need strenuous activity with less oxygen?

Pain? What pain?

Mountain Man Olympic Race Report

This race came at the right time. Two days before, it was 117 degrees in Phoenix. It’s the butt end of summer with a particularly nasty combination of extreme heat and humidity. Flagstaff was a lovely 80 degrees when I drove up from Phoenix. The pine-scented, cool air was a relief after the roasting hell hole I had just came from.

Usually this is a training race, but this year I didn’t have a big event. I had no urge to do any half ironman or ironman triathlons right now. As I wrote in my first blog post of this year, The Thrill is Gone. It’s Still Gone. Not having a big race was a little depressing, but strangely liberating because I don’t have to train long hours. I can do what I want. This was my last olympic of the year. I had to make it count or at least put in a decent effort.

The 7,000-foot altitude and the hills make this race challenging. I have learned over the years to have low expectations. Time goals are useless. The terrain and lack of oxygen humbles everyone. Some more than others, like me. I try to stay positive and to not worry about my mediocre splits.

The swim is the most difficult of all because I can’t pant underwater. The warm water is a murky brown, which doesn’t bother me, but it is rather gross looking, like a soupy mud hole. The shore is rocky and it’s easy to stub a toe or to scrape skin off a foot. The race organizer uses as few buoys as possible, so the last turn requires a sharp eye to see it in the far distance. My eye-sight is bad, so I swim where everyone else seems to be going.

Race morning, I got into the water to warm up. The start was scheduled at 6:34 in the morning, which was awful enough, but my wave suddenly went off ten minutes early. What??
I swam slowly to the first turn buoy. This was the most difficult part since the body was not in the mode yet of swimming without oxygen. Frequent resting and dog-paddling was an inefficient method of locomotion. I reached the turn and set out for the next invisible buoy. Once in a while, I enjoyed myself, but the brief moments passed and I just wanted to get the swim over with. Panic attacks were avoided, but my mood was not happy. After an eternity, I reached the turn and headed back to the finish. This made me feel better, because the ordeal was almost over.

Photo courtesy of Beth Kozura

I ran up the ramp into transition. My bike was easy to find with the empty racks around it. I struggled out of my wetsuit, got into my bike gear and ran off to the porta-potty. I can’t pee in my wetsuit and this race has few porta-potties, so I had to waste time in this manner. Cycling with a full bladder is painful. I finally got onto the bike.

The bike route was an out and back with hills. Big hills. I had climbed much worse, but usually, I had more air to breath. As I rode out, I was reminded of how slow I was by all the people riding back. I passed a few people, but the road was mostly empty on my side. The route followed the dried up lake and fields of sunflowers. The air was cool, but the sun felt warm. The temperature was pleasant compared to the Phoenix inferno. Mountains were in the distance. My knees hurt, but otherwise I wasn’t tired.

I always had to remind myself while slogging up the hills, that it was harder going out than coming back. My goal was at least to go faster than last year, which was all that could hoped for at this point. I was cautiously optimistic.

Finally, I reached the turn around.  Downhill was a welcome change. A few stragglers were still going out, but most people were ahead of me. The big hill I had crawled up was now a thirty-nine mile per hour descent. This was nerve-wracking, but at least no howling side wind made it worse. Feeling fairly energetic, I reached transition.

 I racked my bike, changed into run gear and ran out. People who had already finished kept out of my way, which was good because I can be rude if my path is blocked. At best, the person will receive a curt “excuse me, coming through”; at worst a push out of my way. I ran out, up a ramp. Usually, this was the spot where I felt the folly of a swim and bike race at altitude. My legs were usually heavy and exhaustion settled in. Today, I wasn’t as tired, but my back and hips hurt. A brief walk helped ease the pain.

Photo courtesy of  WannaTri

A mile and a half down the road was the Hill. The Hill was humbling. It ascended nonstop for a mile and a half. Technically it was only a four percent average grade, but it felt much worse at 7,000 feet of altitude. I slogged up at a blistering fourteen minute per mile pace. Some people could probably walk faster. The views of the lake and the green forest plain below eased the pain.

The turn around was at a dirt path in the woods. For once, my gut was behaving itself. The forest didn’t offer much in the way of a place to privately poop.

Running down the hill was a relief, though tiresome after a certain point because my thighs wanted to take a nap. I was surprised that so many people made encouraging comments. It helped in a painful race like this.

The last mile and a half were the most difficult, mentally. The road was fairly flat, but had a slight uphill incline. The bad physical fatigue by this time made me think dark thoughts; about how bad my run was, how slow my time was going to be or how this ordeal was never going to end. 

This time I decided to be positive and to try to speed up. My slowness might as well be embraced and I should just be in the moment. Surprisingly, I could actually speed up. The crabby thoughts weren’t in my mind; just the ones about how uncomfortable I was.

At the finish line, I felt like I had been hit by a bus, which was strangely satisfying. The humility that this race imposed hadn’t gotten me down. I had finished under four hours and had done better than last year. I was near last, but didn’t care. The Thrill is Gone, but I can still have fun. Just not in an ironman.

Taylor House Century

                                                               

Many things scare me. Anxiety has taken over my life instead of depression. It nips at my heels constantly. I worry about money,about where I am going to live, if I will ever meet anyone that I can spend time with. I worry about an upcoming ironman race with scenarios of failure that run in my head. This bike ride, with 5,700 feet of climbing at 7,200 feet of altitude was a blip in my stress, but daunting none the less.In a normal year, I would not have attempted this ride, but this is not a normal year. A hilly ride at altitude was good training for the race. This Century plunges from 7,200 feet to 4,700 feet in twenty miles, then climbs again. The climb is about twenty-two miles of moderate to steep hills. The total length is ninety-five miles. It is harder to breathe at 7,000 feet.. I think that only the foolhardy or hardcore would want to do this tough a route. My previous bike rides in Flagstaff had been exhausting and they weren’t this much climbing or mileage.

The ironman I am doing is at about 6,000-7,000 feet of altitude with a bike of 5,200 feet of elevation gain according to the race website. This amount of elevation gain had grown, according to rumor, to a much higher amount of anywhere to 6,000 to 10,000 feet. Who knows what it really is? Probably something that I can’t do.

I never used to worry about elevation gain until I got a Garmin watch with GPS.. Now it is a crazy obsession. Rides I used to do weren’t good enough to survive a hilly ironman. I had to torment myself by riding more and more hills, and it was never enough.

This event was a charity ride. No timing, which suited me because I am slow as hell. People were there just to ride, not race, so it was low key. No tiresome “I am such hot stuff” athletes that I see at triathlons. At packet pick- up, I ran into someone that I knew from the Arizona Bicycle Club that I hadn’t seen in years. He is in his eighties, so I had not been sure if he was still alive. Another person recognized me from a bicycle group that I hadn’t ridden with in years. It was fun to see old friends again.

The start of the ride wound through the city of Flagstaff. I was apprehensive because of the altitude, but we started on a downhill, so it didn’t seem too hard. After fifteen miles, it was uphill and continued on Highway 89. The sixty-five mile route turned off to Sunset Crater. The ninety-five mile route continued up Highway 89. At this point I was alone and a little uneasy about it. The downhill was fifteen miles. I could see the flatlands before the Grand Canyon in the distance. It was worth all the hassle of traveling to Flagstaff. To coast on a bike at twenty-five miles per hour is close to flying–a sense of freedom and being unbound from the earth.

Highway 89 eventually ends at the Grand Canyon. I hoped that I would not miss the turn off to Wupatki National Monument and end up on a road to nowhere. After a long time, I turned off into the park road and had to take pictures of the Wupatki National Monument sign. I stopped at the aid station and continued on the desolate park road free of cars and bike riders. I was still descending and would pay the price for this eventually. A twenty mile ascent awaited at some point.

The road wound past Indian ruins-Nalakihu, Wutpaki and Citadel pueblos. The green rolling grassland hills were edged with the pink of the distant Grand Canyon. It would make a nice painting. I felt a sense of the age of the place and of the people that lived here a thousand years ago. One Indian ruin was right on the road with stone walls. I couldn’t resist stopping to take more pictures.

After the visitor’s center, the road was straighter and more monotonous and began to ascend. At fifty-six miles, I had a time of 3:35. That went to hell. I was lucky to have a cloudy day. The clouds kept the temperature down. It’s hotter down at 4,800 feet, which is why they had a cut off point at the first aid station.

The sun came out at noon and beat down on me. I felt good most of the time despite the difficulty of the climb, but I was hot. I was careful to drink enough water and take salt tablets because it was easy to get dehydrated. Dehydration on a bike would be ugly, with fatigue and dizzy spells The sun feels worse at high altitude.

At mile sixty, the twenty-two mile ascent began. It was deceptively easy at first. The road was straight and I was bored. I had left the ruins behind and there wasn’t much to look at and climbing was a grind-- endless and annoying.

At the top it was steeper and the Ponderosa pines were back. An aid station was located at the Painted Desert Vista Overlook and they had brownies, which picked me up. I was fairly tired by now. I took pictures of distant pink Painted Desert, ate and went on my way. It was now part of the sixty-five mile route, which would have been challenging with the ups and downs of the terrain.

The next section of the road went through the bizarre landscape of conical volcanos. The ground had dark sand, like some Hawaiian beach. The stark black and orange gravel slopes were dotted with trees. I passed by lava fields on the side of the road that looked as if someone had dumped tons of buckled asphalt boulders onto acres of land.

I caught up to some road bike riders from Phoenix. They were too fast to keep up with, but they kept stopping so I caught up to them in the last twenty-five miles.


The last aid station was a stop to re-supply my water. I chatted with the road bike group a little. The turn off to highway went back into town. The sag van bike shop guy pulled beside me and asked me if I was alright and I told him that I was okay. Quitting wasn’t an option at this point but it was nice to know that someone was watching out for us. The road was tedious---more traffic and less to look at. The finish couldn’t come soon enough and my legs ached with the constant effort of forcing the pedals against the whims of gravity.

The lowest point was at mile eighty-three when I thought I was done climbing and found out yet another long hill had to be ascended. A sense of despair forced me to stop and eat something in order to re-gain some energy. The road bike group passed by and finally I rode the rest of the way with them because getting out the map to see where to go was too much effort. They had slowed down at this point and were welcome distraction. Light rain came down close to the finish, but it was warm and felt good.

At the end, they still had food left---score one for the race organizers. I hate not having food when I am one the last stragglers in. It adds insult to injury. I should have made an effort to be more social with the road bike group, but I was too tired. It was too much effort to walk back to my car, take off my bike shoes and put my bike in the car, so I ate first. I needed a nap.

I felt lucky to be able to ride a bike in a unique area with Indian ruins and volcanos. My anxiety had been pushed back or maybe I was just to tired to worry. After seven hours, I had arrived back where I started from on the ride, but the relentless plodding on the bike had brought me to a different place.



Mountain Man Race Report



No race pictures of me because they were hideous

 After suffering for weeks in 110 plus degree weather, I didn’t care that I didn’t have enough air to breathe in this race. It takes place at Upper Lake Mary near Flagstaff at an elevation of 7,000 feet. As I was driving, a downpour lowered the air temperature from 81 to 59 degrees. When I got out of the air the rain cooled pine-scented air was wonderful.
I don’t react well to altitude. I sometimes get splitting headaches and I can’t sleep at night. Most commonly, I just get lethargic. The tiredness hit me when I got to my hotel room. I took a nap, but I didn’t want to move.

Downtown Flagstaff awaited, though. I always have to see the spectacle of weirdos, musicians, students and freaks that gather there.

Wheeler Park is the epicenter of people watching. A concert is always going on in the summer on Saturday nights. This is what attracted the entertaining mix of denizens. A young girl was singing. She had a strong voice and her version of Disney pop songs was good, but I thought her rendition of the Etta James “At Last” lacked depth.

As I was listening to her, a man with a giant tractor tire and hula hoops showed up. According to the drunk man talking to him, I think he had some show with the hula hoops . He opened a violin case and took out a pair of saws to play. He was waiting until the concert was over. In the meantime he let kids and adults play with the hula hoops. Five people with varying abilities attempted to master the skill of twirling the hoops.

I looked over the crowd and saw a women holding up a bunny. It was to give the animal a better view, but the creature didn’t look like it wanted to be there. She held it like a baby and walked off with another one in a stroller.

I watched the show of old people, young people, hippies and tourists for a while, then left.

I didn’t sleep well. I kept waking up every three hours.

The next morning, on the drive to Lake Mary, at a hideous hour of the morning, The moon, Jupiter and Venus were in formation, plus a bright orange star. I saw a bright shooting star in the dark sky. I hoped it was a good omen.

I set up and did a warm up run so I wouldn’t be so nervous starting the swim. I saw my coach on the way out. I still felt like I couldn’t breath. I was too tired to move in the thin air. I had to get motivated to race somehow.

On the way from transition to the swim start I talked to people I knew. I went down the pier and got into the water.

The water was warmer than the air and a mist was over the surface and was almost completely opaque and was brown on the surface, but white underwater. I felt a general all over chest tightness, but no panic. High altitude swimming is tricky and kind of scary. It’s a fine balance to avoid the feeling of suffocation and going fast enough to actually move.

I couldn’t get into a rhythm until after the last turn. I would swim a little, get out of breath and have to stop and rest. My form felt bad . I didn’t have any buoys to count off to distract me from the distance. I finally slowed down a little more near the end and swam steadily without resting so much. It felt like a mediocre swim, but I was surprised to see my watch only read forty one minutes, which was flying for me. It seemed a lot longer than that. It didn’t feel like I was getting anywhere on the swim.

As usual, I was mostly alone on the bike course. It’s easier to get oxygen, but not enough that climbing steep hills isn’t difficult. The ride goes by the lake, past fields of sunflowers and pine trees. It felt deliciously cool at the start. It felt slow on the way out because of humongous climb. I always forget that the way out is usually longer than coming back and I think my ride really sucks. The rest of the field is returning already and this makes me feel even more slow. This time it was ten minutes slower going out. I averaged 14 mph going out, maybe 18 mph coming back.

I kept myself fed, which is a balancing act to try to stay upright on the bike while stuffing chewy food in my mouth. I wasn’t hungry and it was difficult to eat because of the gummy texture. I needed it, though, to fuel the run. It felt like it was getting hot by then, the sun searing through the clouds. . I didn’t feel wiped out after the bike like I usually am, a feeling that isn’t helpful when a 10k run awaits . Total bike time was 1:31:15.

The first mile of the run always is harder than it would appear to be. It looks downhill, but it doesn’t feel that way. By the time my legs got used to running after the hilly bike, the hill was looming. This hill is BIG with over a mile to climb. It’s steep and difficult to run up at 7,000 feet. The weak merely walk up it. I got up the hill entirely running, but it hurt with a dull, heavy pain. The fun part was running down the hill. I was happy. Gravity was my friend because it was free speed. At the bottom, though, the elation went away and I felt tired. I tried not to think how far away the finish line was. The last two miles seemed forever. I looked at the cheery, yellow masses of sunflowers for distraction. Pretty flowers chase away the pain. Final run time was 66:36, which was my best for this race.

Total race time was 3:29, a time that might be very slow to some people, but I didn’t care. I usually beat myself up because I can’t be fast in this race with its thin air and the hilly terrain. I decided to accept it as it is-a brutally difficult event that fights with me every mile and finds every weakness. It abuses my body, but I don’t let it punish my mind