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.”

Summer Training in Phoenix Sucks

 Sometimes even Saguaros die

Long course summer training in a desert sucks. The heat is unbearable by ten a.m. on good days; by dawn on bad days. A five to six hour bike ride is a testament to fortitude even if I start in the dark. I start to flirt with heat exhaustion after four hours. In honor of this misery, I have written a poem:

I emerge reluctantly from my cool, dark lair.

Eye-searing white light.
Mountains shrouded in gray sludge haze.
Plants sadly droop in the weight of living
in the sodden air, evil sun screaming air
that wants to bury me alive.

I groan and reel from the physical assault.
Mouth dry, dripping sweat, I ride my bike; eddies of
heat scraping my skin.

I wish not to exist in the hell of such a place
where tall sentinel Saguaro witness the dust of earth bones
blowing in empty space.
Puffs of fat gray clouds overhead promise
a cool breath of rain
that never comes.

My head spins. I ride on.

Doves stand dazed in the street.
Lizards scurry for shade.
A panting coyote hangs his head.
Green skeleton trees claw the air.
Menace rises from the pavement.

Vultures circle overhead.
Do they wait for me?
Or that snake smashed in the road?

My legs ache, my feet hurt. I ride on.

Baked, black asphalt; a rolling ribbon. A conga line of
bobbing quail family cross; little legs rapidly run to avoid motorized death.

I climb an endless hill. Heat presses harder. No mercy. Salt crusts my face.

Downhill again, into false cool breeze I grimly ride on until
finally done; dash into air-conditioned bliss.

Soma Half Iron Race Report

I hesitated to sign up for the Soma half ironman. A relatively flat race in October at Tempe, Arizona, should be “easy”, but it is not. I go back a long way with this race, starting with a sprint version in 2003. I had done Soma as my first half iron in 2004. In those days, they had the sense not to hold it before the last weekend in October. A week makes a big difference in the Phoenix area, the difference between mildly warm and hot as hell. I am slow and always end up running in mid-afternoon. A half marathon in temperatures of high eighties is not optimal for a run, but is optimal for heat exhaustion.


I got to Tempe in the usual dark of the night to get my stuff organized, pump up my bike tires, get body marked and stand in a long line for the porta potty. I was in a daze because I am not a morning person. Waking up at 3:45 doesn’t help. I always wonder how I am ever going to have the energy to race, but it always happens. People milled around to get ready. Since it is a local race, I chatted with people that I knew. I tried not to think about how long the day would be.

We lined up to jump in the warm seventy-four degree water. The rising sun pinked up the Mill Avenue bridge, the buildings lining the banks of Tempe Town Lake and the mountains. My wave, which was the last one, bobbed around in the water waiting for the start. I stayed to the back.

We started off, and swam into the sun. I waited for people to go off, because I couldn’t stay with them. People would kick me if I was in the way. It was hard to sight off the buoys in the glare of the light. I saw moving arms and splashing arcs of reflected water ahead of me.

I swam onward at a steady pace, not hating it, but not enjoying it. It was just work. I was hot in my wetsuit. After a while, a few souls were still in the water, but most had left. A kayaker paddling along side annoyed me. They were supposed to save us if we were drowning, but I didn’t need rescuing and I wanted to be left alone.

Finally, I reached the end. Fifty-nine minutes. That was slower than I wanted. Volunteers stripped my wetsuit off and I ran to my bike.

I started to ride and found out that my bike computer wasn’t working, so I had no idea how fast I was going. I wanted to be conservative anyway, because fifty-six miles is a long way to ride hard in the heat. It felt cool right now, but that wouldn’t last.

The bike course was still crowded with people on their second and third laps. I took note of where I was going because by the third lap, I would probably be alone. I didn’t want to have the disconcerting feeling of being unsure where I was going when no one was around to follow.

I wanted to have a personal best time on the bike section, but not to overdo it. I stopped to use the porta potty and to fix my bike computer. The sun was more intense by now.

I noticed half way through that I wasn’t feeling well; the nasty feeling I got on the edge of heat exhaustion. I thought to myself, this isn’t good. I poured water on myself to keep cool, but it would evaporate in ten minutes. I was tired and my legs and feet hurt.

By the third lap, the course was empty, with a few souls bravely plodding along. I didn’t like riding up an empty freeway ramp by myself. Creepy. I was relieved to see anyone. The tedium was occasionally broken by vehicles invading the bike course. I saw a semi crossing ahead of me, blowing through an intersection and somehow avoiding the orange cones. My pace was about what I wanted to do-sixteen miles per hour. I finished in about three and a half hours, a P.R..

The real fun is the two lap run. Now it was eighty-eight degrees. One year, I did the run in ninety plus degrees. My heart rate had soared, I had been dizzy and my fingers had tingled. I had to walk the second lap and the run took almost four hours. I had desperately wished at the time that someone would have pulled me off the course. I wanted to avoid that horror.

I accepted the mediocrity of running the first lap slow. This wasn’t good for my ego, but it was survival and I might as well not feel bad about it. I would rather run both laps, then walk one. I poured water on myself at every aid station and stuffed ice down my bra. It helped keep me going, but I was still fried. The walking dead accompanied me. Negativity entered my brain. I hated the people who had already finished. I thought how this race was dead to me and I would never do it again. People better not get in my way. I was fighting the heat, fatigue, pain and mental misery. I wondered who was on their last lap. Probably everyone but me. I kept running, but slower than I wanted to.

In the midst of my dark mood, I met up with a friend. We talked as we ran and I didn’t think as much how miserable I was. I could run faster with someone to pace me. The temperature rose to ninety degrees. It was me versus the heat and I was winning. The miles went by. The end was near.


Fellow sufferers, um
 racers. Courtesy Camelback Coaching

We ran together under the finish line in seven hours, seventeen minutes total time. I usually finish half irons alone with no one to cheer me at the end, so this was a bonus. This was my fastest overall and 2:37" run time ever in a half ironman. The race was harder and felt much worse than I thought it would. I had had a faint hope that I would feel great doing this distance. Reality beat me down, but not the heat. Some challenges make me pay dearly to overcome them.