The Big Kahuna

This is my account of my first half ironman race. It was not my first triathlon ever, but since my first one (San Diego International, an olympic distance race) was such a disaster, I decided I HAD to do something challenging to make up for that failure. One of these days I'll get around to telling you guys about what happened in San Diego. Hopefully some of you newbies will benefit and won't make the same mistakes I did.

After all that the Big Kahuna (Big Kahuna is the name of the race, not a clichéd word choice) is over. Not just the race itself (a half ironman: 1.2 mile swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 mile run), but also everything I put into the training. I gave up drinking and smoking completely (no small feat if you know me well). I read books on training, on cycling, on periodization, on swimming, on nutrition. I made sure to get at least 8 hours of sleep a night, which meant going to bed before 7pm more often than not. I ate right. I hate open water swimming, so I got in the water every week to get used to swimming when I was cold and scared (not that I conquered my fear at all). Most of all, I actually pushed my limits in every single workout. I was like the “driven” character in a movie where they gloss over several intense and telling moments while the background music is all turned up. Imagine me alone in the spin studio at the gym sprinting like crazy with a puddle of sweat around my bike; flash to me sprinting out of the ocean past dozens of people loafing on the beach; then the camera shows me reading Runners World with a pile of books next to me with titles like Cycling 101 and The Triathlete’s Training Bible; cut to me crossing the finish line of a 20k and going home to ice my shins; show me doing boring swim drill after boring swim drill and then getting out of the pool to eat an apple; imagine me charging up a steep hill (with an gritty look of determination on my face); and the music crescendos and blasts to a dead stop as I roll over and turn off the light and the clock shows 6:30pm. This is how I like to picture myself, but in reality I spent most of my free time training alone and I didn’t have nearly enough time to spend with other people. Most of the time I was kind of lonely and tired. I’m telling you, man, I ate, slept and breathed this race all summer.
Then, finally, it was real. Since I’d put so much on the line, I stood to lose that much if something went wrong, or worse, if I couldn’t finish at all. By the week before the race I was a nervous wreck! In a race that takes 5 to 8 hours, there are a lot of things that could go wrong. What if I got kicked in the face in the water and the blood attracted hungry sharks? What if I got a cramp and drowned? What if I got a flat tire? What if my (borrowed) bike was stolen (out from under me?!)? What if I got a flat? What if I crashed? What if I got a flat? What if my running injuries kept me from going on? And then, what if I forgot how to swim, or bike, or run? What if a plane crashed right on top of me? What if I fell into the street and was run over by a car? That TOTALLY happened to one guy(‘s water bottle) during the marathon!!!
Funny but true side story: My boss’s fiancé is the battalion chief of the Santa Cruz fire department so he gets all the emergency calls that come over the wire. On Sunday he gets a page that says “Missing from triathlon: female, 20-24 years old, name begins with K or C, did not exit water.” So Matt asks Erin, “Didn’t you know someone in that race?” and Erin squawks (as Erin does), “Claire! Her name’s Claire! Oh no! She was apprehensive going into the race…etc.” Helicopters were sent out and lifeguards paddled. The missing girl was nowhere (on the surface )to be found. Erin, meanwhile, is very worried and has Matt follow up on the missing triathlete. She turned up… in her hotel room. She got in the water then thought better of it, turned around and went home. When the cops found her she had been home for a few hours and had probably ordered some room service and pay per view. The end.
By some miracle I made it to the starting line safe and healthy at about 5:30 in the morning (you know me, chronically early). I learned in San Diego to bring something to rinse my feet before I put on socks, but since I just moved all I could find in the kitchen was one of those pans you use to make banana bread. I thought it was a creative solution, but the girl next to me on the bike rack said, “Oh good, you brought your baking pan?” with an inquisitive look. I guess you had to be there, but it was funny.
Then it was time to go down to the beach. The sun was rising and it was still freezing. I ditched my flip flops and sweatshirt in the transition area and went down to the beach in nothing but my trisuit and a pair of old pants to wait half an hour for the start. The air was colder than the water, and the sand was freezing. I was the only one (athlete at least) I saw on the beach without a wetsuit. I’ve swum in this water dozens of times without a wetsuit before, but suddenly it was all feeling like a very bad idea. First the “young men’s” and “old men’s” waves left, and then the announcer drew a line in the sand for my wave. I took off what little clothing I had left - my pants and a sweatshirt I borrowed from a spectator (you’ll notice a pattern as the story wares on) - and toughed out the last 4 minutes the just this side of naked. Jumpy and, of course, early I went up to the line and stood there, shivering. Too late I noticed all the women behind me and had enough time before the countdown to think about how they were going to kick me in the face as they were swimming over me. Then it was go time. I let a lot of people pass me getting in the water, but wound up passing most of them in the second half. I thought we were going to be swimming around the wharf, but we just wound up swimming… around, and came back swimming alongside the wharf. Coming in next to the wharf (practically through the pilings, eep!), I saw a photographer standing on a dock. I wanted my picture taken, so I stopped, got upright in the water and waved to him. He looked at me, waved, and went back to watching. No picture. I was like, “But I’m the girl without a wetsuit!” (in my head). When I finally got out of the water EVERYONE was cheering for ME! They yelled “GO NO-WETSUIT GIRL!!!” I liked the nickname and was so pleased with the birth of No-Wetsuit Girl that I hardly noticed the 1/4 mile run barefoot to the transition area (that and my feet were numb). Then, a quick transition (no wetsuit to hold me back), I used my baking tin and I was off on my (Lorraine’s) bike.
It took me forever to clip in and I had to actually STOP on the uphill to West Cliff to get it right. After some sympathetic comment from a race official who probably thought I was a total loser, I finally stomped in and took off. I can’t even TELL you what a difference the good bike made! A lot of people passed me, but I also passed some people (and the bike is my weakest event). And, since I know every bump on the course I couldn’t BELIEVE how easy it felt either. Three quarters of the way through it was time to try something new that I knew that I would have to do at some point during the race: pee. The trisuit is made to be your swim suit, bike shorts, and running singlet all in one so it’s all one piece from shoulders to knees and you don’t wear any underwear that’s not built into the suit. So, short of getting naked at the side of the road there’s no way to urinate except for *ehem* “as you go”. Knowing that I would have to relieve myself before the run I started trying at about mile 40. It took me a long time to relax just the right muscles, but eventually I got it coasting on a downhill, and luckily there was no one behind me (something to add to the list of “Strange Places Claire has Peed”). That done, I was home free… or so I thought. I was kicking ass and only about 5 miles from the end when I heard a hiss, and just like that my back tire was flat. Changing flats is something that I know how to do more in theory than in practice. On top of that I’d left my pump at home since mine didn’t fit the tubes Lorraine uses. Cursing and not knowing what to do I changed the tube and threw the old one as far as I could into the field at the side of the road, screaming, “MOTHERFUCKER!!!” With no way to inflate the new tube I started walking to the turn off only a few hundred yards away (Schaffer and Hwy 1 if you know the area). A pickup truck full of young guys drove by and yelled “come on, biker!” and I wanted to cry. One biker threw me his pump, but the tube still wouldn’t inflate. The turn off of Highway 1, was also where the bike course crossed the run, so there were a lot of people in neon vests to direct racers, and I hoped they would have a different pump; or better, a bike mechanic. No such luck. The “race official”, a kid who couldn’t have been out of high school, pointed to a lady waiting to cheer on her husband in the half marathon and goes, “There’s a biker, maybe she can help you”. She didn’t want to look away from the run course for too long and I could tell I was exasperating her. She was the one that pointed out that my stem was broken and that the tube was useless. The tube that I could have patched was never to be seen again somewhere in the tall grass with McDonald’s cups, single shoes and other highway debris. “SHIT!” I said. What else can you say at that point? A million thoughts were running through my head. Finally (or maybe right away) she said, “I’d be more than happy to switch bikes and I can walk yours back to the transition area.” It was that or I don’t know what, or not finish. I took it. The pedals were different from mine and I couldn’t clip in at all. The seat was too high and I couldn’t figure out how to change the gears. I just pedaled really hard with my toes until I spun out and then coasted until I slowed down enough to do it again. I almost got hit by a car and hardly noticed. I gave dirty looks to all the volunteers on the course and their encouraging words. I wasn’t having fun anymore.
It wasn’t until I started running that I realized, “Shit, I could get disqualified. Shit! That was Lorraine’s bike that I just gave to a complete stranger!” My legs had gotten a half hour break because of the bike problem and I was pissed enough that I hardly noticed I was running for the first 4 or 5 miles. I saw Tara, the woman with my bike, and asked her if she was okay. I knew that this probably wasn’t the right question to ask, but I was a little out of it, and didn’t know what one asks in such a situation. I think that I was thinking that if I showed her I was a caring person she’d be less likely to steal my bike. She said she was fine and how was I? All I could think about was finishing as fast as possible so that I could get Lorraine’s bike back. The excitement was gone since I felt like I’d cheated and I thought about never doing another one of these damn things again.
Another side story: The youngest athlete was a 14-year-old girl named Sierra. Her dad, an avid triathlete, promised her that if she did the Big Kahuna he’d run the 1/2 marathon leg in a purple wig, hula skirt, and a seashell bra. I saw him at about mile 4 (he was coming back) and I had to laugh in spite of myself. When I saw his hairy chest and seashell bra he was at mile 10 and looked miserable. Sierra finished the race in about 7 hours.
By mile 6 I had given up on the bike and decided to leave it up to fate. I was starting to feel kind of tired and had to concentrate on resisting the impulse to quit and keep running. At the turnaround they had a six foot tall tiki statue that you have to run around. I wanted to touch it: I poked it in the eye. Coming back to West Cliff I met a woman named Mary Ann who had heard of a girl who’d swum with no wetsuit (me!). I don’t remember much after this point. I remember the mile markers felt like they were too far apart. I remember at Long Marine Lab I started saying, “I can run 5 more miles” over and over till I hit mile 9 then repeating “I can run 4 more miles” till mile 10. And then I was coming down the hill from the Coast Hotel towards the boardwalk and there were arrows pointing down to the beach. I thought, “good, it’s on this side of the wharf, I don’t have to run next to the boardwalk!” But when I came down the ramp into the sand I didn’t see a finish line. What I did see were more arrows pointing under the wharf. People were there yelling, “Only 800 yards to go!” and I remember thinking, “how far is 800 yards?” I’ll tell you: far! So I ran under the wharf and when I came out on the other side I still couldn’t see the finish line. The beach was crowded and I couldn’t even find a clump of people bigger than any other clump of people that might be the finish line. I tried to run by the edge of the water where the sand is more packed, but every time a wave came in little kids would run right in front of me. This may not seem like a big deal, but when simple motor skills like running are difficult, obstacles like moving children are like dodging a deer that runs across the freeway. I thought that this might be one of those cases where it’s okay to hit someone else’s kid. I ran, and I ran, and I ran and finally there was the finish line.
I tried to finish in under six and a half hours, but as I was coming in the clock said 6:31. At the end of the chute I looked around for people that I knew and spotted Ed, the new guy from work who coaches Team in Training. I hugged him, poor guy. Then Shane appeared out of nowhere wearing a nice shirt and I hugged him real good; nothing like ocean sludge and 6 hours of sweat to make you smell FOUL. When I told Shane about the flat and how I didn’t know if they’d disqualify me he goes, “I knew something must have happened, I knew there was no way that you would have taken that long to finish.” Humph, Shane’s the master of backhanded compliments. Asshole!
Everyone who knows anything about these things had told me to make sure to eat enough on the bike, and I’d taken their advice with gusto. On the “rolling buffet” I’d eaten 1/2 a Balance bar, 7 carbohydrate gels, more than a liter of Gatorade, half a Clif bar, and some banana. When I finished the race I wasn’t even hungry so I skipped the picnic tables and we went to see about the bike. Thank God Tara was an honest person. We got back as she and her husband were just finishing the switcheroo. I thought it would be rude to hug her in the state I was in, so I thanked her profusely. While I was packing up Shane called Kat, who wanted to hang out right away (she was trapped at work covering my shift). Shane told her, “Ummm, I think she needs a shower first. She’s a bit… salty.” Indeed.
Once I got home, ate something and it was time to reflect I had to decide whether I was proud of myself or not. Technically, it is cheating to receive outside aid during the race, but it’s not like it gave me an advantage above the other athletes. And then again, it was rather lucky, because if I hadn’t flatted exactly where I did, she wouldn’t have been standing there. If she hadn’t been there at all I wouldn’t have been able to make it to the run at all since it was too far to walk, and I couldn’t run with the bike in my cycling shoes. If I hadn’t taken her bike, I never would have known if I could finish at all, and all that work would have been for naught. So, yes I’m disappointed that I didn’t have the technical know-how to get me out of the situation on my own wits, but it’s better than having to go home and never know if I could have finished the run. After the marathon, when everyone kept asking me if I’d do another one, and I couldn’t even think about it, but as soon as I crossed the finish line this time all I wanted was another chance. My first thought as they were taking my chip off was, ‘when can I get to do another one?’ So, yes, I am disappointed that an equipment failure soured the experience, but all-in-all, I don’t care too much because I put in the work and I finished strong (I was hardly even sore the next 2 days).
The first chance I had to get on the internet I checked the results and started crunching numbers. As it was I came in 8th out of 14 in my age group (my biggest fear was coming in dead last), and still in the top 100 women (I was 100th). All things being equal, I lost about 27 minutes off the bike (I was close enough to the end when it happened I have a pretty good idea of when I would have finished) which would have meant a time of 6:08, enough to put me ahead of 3 more girls into 5th place. So who knows what would have happened, but since I was afraid I was going to be finishing with the people who sweep the course after it’s over, it’s comforting to know that I don’t completely suck. And, as Ed pointed out to me, it’s my first season. I guess you can’t expect to be good at something just because you signed up, and with a winter of speed work and building up endurance, maybe I can move out of the slow lane in the pool and even run faster than some of the fat people and the old people. But for now I have some friends to catch up with.