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.

Tempe Tri Race Report

 Photo courtesy of  Bob Pane, One Multisport

I normally go out of my way to avoid the Tempe Tri race, even to the point of leaving the country. It’s hot and not wetsuit legal. The air temperature can climb into the nineties. September may be mild in other parts of the country, but in the desert, it makes a mockery of fall. Fall doesn’t exist here anyway. Summer heat loses its intensity, but still awaits to punish the unwary.

SWIM ANXIETY IN TEMPE TOWN MOAT AND IT’S NOT THE STUFF THAT FLOATS IN IT

To swim in Tempe Town lake even with a wetsuit, is not fun. Things float in it that I don’t want to know about. Not that floating objects could be seen, because the water is so murky, I never even see my hands. Occasionally, a body is found in it. The surface is well below the walls that contain it, like a castle moat filled with  monsters. Massive bridges loom overhead, blocking the sun. Lack of a wetsuit makes it exponentially more unpleasant.

But I wanted to race and was too cheap and lazy to go elsewhere. The swim would be a challenge to take on. It was a mere 750 meters or 810 yards, but that can seem forever with the possibility of death. Even in a nice lake, swimming away from shore without a wetsuit makes me panicky. Physically, I can swim the distance, but mentally is much more difficult. Fear is a strong opponent, resistant to change. The brain gets in a rut, spewing out over and over that I won’t make it to shore.

The moat

Mine tells me I am in danger in deep water, making me tense, then tired, then more fearful. A fish I am not. Convincing my thoughts to go in a positive direction takes some effort. I tried a self-administered aversion therapy by swimming in open water prior to the race with some success. I stayed near the shore, where I felt comfortable, then ventured short distances farther away. I told myself constantly that I would be okay. 

I couldn’t totally avoid fear. Swimming along calmly, I would suddenly encounter a swell or a wind created chop and my composure would break down. My retreat was to swim back to shore or to a rock I could stand on. If shore wasn’t close, I flipped to my back.

The other problem was lack of speed, being much slower than if I had a wetsuit. The buoyancy of a wetsuit lifted my legs, which was less drag. I could go faster when I wasn’t worried about sinking. The combination of uncomfortable and slower was a real curse.

Another worry I had about this race was the anxiety-inducing washing machine effect of moving bodies churning up the water in Tempe Town Lake. But since I was in some of the last waves, the water might be smoother. I already had the baggage of some really bad swims in that lake over the years. But I had somehow gotten through them, cursing and moaning.

Despite the thought of all these unpleasantness, the swim was something to conquer. I hoped to fight the fear in spite of myself. It is frustrating to be controlled by anxiety.

RACE DAY INFERNO OR WHY THE F@#K IS SEPTEMBER STILL SO HOT?

Race day dawned hot in the eighties and “humid”. Nervous and sweaty, I wondered why I was even doing this race. I must be out of my mind.

Waiting around for the start was the worse part. I had nothing to do but dread what might happen. I tried to block out the thoughts of doom and envision calm. 

I jumped in the water when it was my turn and swam to the start line.  I wasn’t quite there when the wave started. So far, I was unafraid. I kept moving and when I felt out of breath, turned on my back. Luckily, there weren’t a lot of people to run into me. People swimming over me is not restful.

I felt thirsty the whole swim. Maybe it was because the water was so hot; about 84 degrees. To drink the green lake water would be deadly, a prescription for illness. I was not having fun. I wasn’t very fast, but my fear was under control. With nothing to rest my feet on, and nothing to stop me from going to the bottom, it was just under the surface, ready to rise again. 

The water was choppy with all the swimmers that preceded me. It didn’t bother me too much, though I wasn’t happy about it. I didn’t sight as much as with a wetsuit to save energy. Lifting my head made my legs sink, which made me tired.  Sinking legs are bad, a precursor to panic.  Panic leads to flailing arms and legs, going nowhere, not getting enough air and more fatigue. I finally reached the first turn buoy. People were hanging onto the kayak, so I got past them in order to rest. Losers. Hanging onto kayaks is to be avoided as it’s an act of desperation.

I preceded to the next one and turned back. I could see the last turn buoy in the distance, through the bridges. The end of the ordeal drew near. So far, no panic with the swim more than halfway done. I was going to live.

I was relieved to reach the last turn buoy, only 100 yards to the exit steps. I was going to make it. Few people were in my way. Undoubtedly, I was probably one of the last people out of the water, a testament to my swimming ability.

Total swim time was more than I thought it would be, and a very slow time for the rest of the world, but I didn’t care. The ordeal was over and wasn’t as horrible as I thought it would be. 

DIDN’T DROWN, NOW HEAT EXHAUSTION?

I got on the bike and immediately felt hot. Instead of drowning, now I had to worry about heat exhaustion. I wish they had an aid station so that I could throw water on myself. The course was crowded with newbies, but that didn’t faze me. They were a target to pass. Their determination was admirable, with their gym shoes and mountain bikes. The course didn’t have any real hills.  My heart rate started climbing, though, as I rode, due to heat and dehydration. The  Olympic, was much worse, with two tedious loops. Twelve miles was not too taxing, but not as fast as if it had been cooler. 

I felt good starting the 5k run, but the air was a nasty blast furnace. By the second mile, I was ready to be done. The Tempe Town heat bowl cooked the cement path. I didn’t expect a fast time and didn’t get it, being overheated and dehydrated.  Why the hell do they put on this event in September, the month that pretends to be fall, but isn’t? I couldn’t imagine running the 10k. It was brutal.

I look like I feel--wasted. Photo courtesy
Camelback Coaching 

I got done, felt ill and immediately went for any ice I could find to cool off. A volunteer felt sorry for me and scooped some ice to put in my cap. It took a while for me to be hungry.

I STILL HATE SWIMMING WITHOUT A WETSUIT

I accomplished what I set out to do–get through the swim without losing my mind. Fear is still waiting out there in the water, but is a little less persistent. Now instead of saying to myself “I can’t do a non-wetsuit” swim, it will be “I can do a non-wetsuit swim, but I don’t want to.”