At least the T-shirt fits

I call myself a triathlete, but a lot of people call themselves triathletes who really shouldn't - like people who did one season of triathlon, and continue with an active lifestyle after that, but don't actually get around to doing another triathlon; and since they aren't really swimmers, and they're not cyclists, and they're not runners, they continue to identify as triathletes. In other words: me, I'm a fraud triathlete. Since October of 2005 I hadn't done a triathlon. Last year I spent all my season preparing for ONE race, and then couldn't go. I got in great shape, but no triathlon. All spring I've had all these races on my schedule, but for whatever reason, no triathlons.

Can I confess something to you? Really, yeah, I could have done other triathlons but I made excuses (that were pretty good ones), most of them financial, some of them logistical. But you want to know the truth? I was scared. Effing terrified, actually, which makes absolutely no sense, because I have tons of open water experience, tons of racing experience in the 3 diciplines, and more than enough endurance to survive a half ironman most of the time. But what I've seen around here in Spain and Europe is that things are really competitive. Either you give it your all, or you stay home. There simply isn't the Soccer Mom/Team In Training contingent that you can always count on to come in behind you (not to smack TIT, they're the greatest, but not just for the cancer thing, also you can count on someone to be elated to come in behind you). And I don't have the balls to come in dead last, at least not if I see it coming. So I procrastinated... until today.

This rediculous 5-race minimum that my club puts on the girls in the club forced me to get off my ass and sign up for something before there weren't 5 races left to do. The event: a sprint right here in Barcelona, only about 3 miles from my house. I'm not in terribly good shape at the moment, and "sprint" is never something I do well. I'm more of the tortise than the hare, "slow and steady", but I can keep that same slow pace forever. So, in light of all the decisions I have to make these days, I decided to just go and have a good time, keep my eyes open, and enjoy. No expectations, just finish and get a feel for the Spanish tri scene.

I got out everything I needed the night before so I wouldn't be late and rode down to the start to be there by 7:00 when the transition area opened. When I got there there were already huge lines to get in to the transition area. "Licensed athletes to the right, unlicensed to the left!" screamed the race official every minute or so to the crowd waiting to get checked in to transition. So I went to the right and waited. This chick from the other line with all these piercings in her face said something to me in Catalan and looked with distaste at my bike, you could tell she was a bitch just by looking at her. It took me a minute to figure out what she was saying (you know, the Catalan thing), "You can't have 'horns' that stick out farther than your brake hoods," she informed me, not so graciously.
"Ok, I'll take them off, don't YOU worry," I said. I'd read this rule on the web site, but I interpreted "horns" to be those vertical things sticking up off of hybrid handlebars (left), and not aerobars. I didn't think this applied to me, my confusion was supported by the fact that this photo (right) was next to the sentence in question, and under a heading if this is your first triathlon.
Then I got to the front where the guy took one look at me, "Girls over there," he snapped, pointing at the other line. Sheez I thought, trying to find a good place to cut in the other line, at least he recognized me as a girl.
When I got to the other official he looked at my aero bars and said, "You can't ride with those."
"Okay, I'll take them off. Can't I just do it in there where I can leave my stuff?"
"No, you have to take them off out here..." And I sighed and reached for my bike tool. "...Somewhere where you're not in the way," he said, violently pushing me away with his tone of voice. So I had to snake through all the people and bikes to find a nonexistant place that wasn't in the way.
Aero bars off and hanging from my elbow (they're the cheap kind that are wrapped in foam rubber and come together at the end in a big loop) I got back in line to wait. When I got up there the chick said, "Ok, number? Name?" (Checking her list). "Helmit? Chip?"
Oh shit! When they gave me my Catalan Triathlon Federation pack I had 2 bibs, 1 bike number, a cap, a membership card, but no chip. "I don't have a chip. I never got a chip," I said.
"Are you licensed? If not, you have to go to those tables over there and get your chip and number."
"Yeah, I'm licensed you just saw me on your list. You saw my number and federation bib. I just never got a chip."
"Well then go over there and find the federation representative." Double fuck.

Trying to get the attention of another official in the crowd was enough of a challenge. "Excuse me, Ex... Ex.., Hello? ExCUSE me? Hi. Who do I talk to from the federation? I'm licensed, but I don't have a chip."
"Do you see that girl? The one over there, sitting, next to the redhead with the glasses." I looked, looked and said I didn't. "Do you understand me?"
"Yes, I understand you, I just don't see her."
Sigh "Come with me." We walked over to the table and she pointed to a woman tucked away behind so many gates and people standing in line with bikes. "That one."

I waited in line awhile, then realized that I could get to the woman by walking around yet another line of temporary gates. After much effort and frustration I managed to get to her.
"Hi. I'm licensed through the federation, but I don't have a chip. I never had one."
"Well what did you do in the other races?"
"It's just... this is the first race I've done this year. I guess I just thought I'd have to get it at the start or something. It wasn't in my pack I got from the federation."
"What's your name? What's your number?" I was on both the list of federated athletes, and the list of participants. "Crap, we're going to have to call Lola." (Gets on walkie talkie) "Somebody get Loli over here, we've got a problem with chips."
Waiting for "Lola" some other dude came up who was on TWO lists, licensed and non-licensed but he had different numbers on the lists, neither of which were in a race pack that existed anywhere in the starting area. When "Lola" turned up he jumped in and went first. She couldn't find a solution to his problem and so sent him somewhere else, then turned to me. I explained my problem again.
"Name? Number?" I was on both lists.
"And you're licensed?"
"Yes."
"Through the Catalan Triathlon Federation?"
"Yes."
"Are you sure?"
"YES! You just looked me up on your list. I was there. I'm licensed. I just never had a chip."
"What's your name?"
I told her, again.
"That name doesn't sound familiar."
"I haven't done any races yet this year, but I'm licensed. Look, I have the bib and the bike number, here's my passport, my federation card with my name on it, my registration confirmation slip and everything, I just don't have a chip."
"Are you sure you're licensed in Catalonia? Through what club did you sign up for the license?"
"Club Natacio Catalunya (Catalan Swim Club). Listen, I'm not from here but I live here and I'm licensed here. I just don't have a chip. It wasn't in my pack."
"Name?" she said, rifling through packs identical to mine except for the name and number written on the front in felt-tip marker.
I told her my name yet again.
"Doesn't sound familiar, I don't recognize your name." Was this on some hidden camera show or something?
"Listen, I have everything but the chip. Maybe it's my mistake, I don't know, but I know that I HAVE THAT PACKET and there was NEVER A CHIP INSIDE. Listen, I have another chip, by the same makers and everything, that I bought for the running races I do. I could put that one on, you could write it down and when you have a chip with that serial number in your data you'll know it's me because you'll have it written down and later you can just assign that chip to me."
"No, whatever you do, don't put on that chip because it has nothing to do with us."
"But can't you just change the serial number of my chip in your database?"
"No, we don't have the machine. Whatever you do, don't put on that chip. All I can say is that you can do the race, but you won't have any results. And when you finish, well, just find an official and tell them that you're done so we can have a record of you finishing."
"Are you kidding me? Alright, whatever."
Back to the transition area, and after 45 minutes I got to explain it one more time. "Okay, but you won't have any results," the girl said as she wrote NO CHIP next to my name and let me through.

As you can understand, before even starting I was in a bad mood, and when I found my number on the rack some bitch with an Orbea had taken my transition spot. I crammed all my gear into a space about 20 inches by 8 inches, chucked my backpack under her Orbea and scoped out the transition are looking for one of my gym buddies that was doing the same race. When I didn't find him and the announcer was urging everyone to get to the start I went to look for him down at the beach. I didn't see him there either so I waded into the sea to take a quick pee before the start. Maybe it was beause of the bullshit with the chip, or because I wasn't expecting anything, but I wasn't nervous. For the first time ever I was thinking, 'Nah, I know how to do this, it's just a question of not embarrassing myself. I can swim, I can bike, I can run. I'm only tripping about someone ruining my race... and the people who have already.'

The Swim

The start was late. I stood somewhere near the back in the middle and swung my arms around like I knew what I was doing. The water was 79 degrees, so I was totally comfortable in the WETSUIT ABSOLUTELY PROHIBITED atmosphere. Once the gun (or fog horn in this case) went off I wished I'd moved farther up in the pack. I've never been so cramped in a swim start (possibly because I'm used to leaving in a pack of under 50 instead of 400). It wasn't like I got really beat up, but I did have a lot of feet caressing my face and found myself grabbing a stranger's hand trying to pull my arm out of the water a lot. People kept stopping and doing breast stroke at the most unpredictable moments and it seemed like there was a solid wall of bad swimmers in front of me. (Note to self: It is better to be swum over than to be kicked in the face by a crappy swimmer - next time start farther forward in the pack). On the way out around the first jetty there seemed to be a pretty strong current working against me, and at the turn at the first buoy I had to full-on stop for a few seconds to find a place to swim around. After the jetty I found myself surrounded by girls (which really got my competitive spirit going) and was only bothered seriously by some Backstroke Boy who couldn't seem to go in a straight line and I couldn't figure out how to get around.

Other scary swimming things:
The water was a lot darker and murkier in Barcelona than it was in Vilanova and I couldn't see the bottom most of the time, which was okay, since I knew it wasn't that deep. BUT when I came around the jettys (of which there were three) I could see all these mean-looking rocks. These aren't the nice, round, happy-looking rocks of natural coast lines, but mean, pointy-looking things dumped there my men in bulldozers to protect Barcelona's precious imported sand. People are not supposed to swim out here. And I could see lots of ropes going to unseen buoy anchors. Also, I got lots of nasty ocean water in my mouth. Just at one moment when my lips were puckering from the saltiness and I was trying not to think about all the little sea monkies that were in my mouth and what I saw the time that they made us look at a drop of ocean water through a microscope in science lab, a wave got me square in the mouth. I gagged and sputtered and almost puked for a second.

Swim time: 15:40 (750 m), either there was a current, the course was long, I went off course, or I (and others around me slowing me down) swam excedingly shittily, because normally I swim significantly faster than that.

T1

Sprint races are cool cuz you hardly need to take anything along. Right sock, right shoe, shit, my helmit, sunglasses, left sock, left shoe, and off I go. Total time from water to bike mount line (don't know where real transition CHIP boundaries were), 2 minutes exactly.

The Bike

This is my favorite part. The whole time I was sitting there on the beach I was thinking, "I can't wait to get to the bike! That's where I'm comfortable!" However, once on the bike for the first of 3 laps, I was decidedly NOT comfortable. Actually, I was reminded of the reason why I'd quit cross country when I was in high school. It's kind of embarrassing, but I don't care. When I was in high school I felt desperately like I had to go #2 before every meet, but never could (it was just nerves, not a REAL need), so I had to run every race as fast as I could feeling like I was going to crap my pants. It really created bonding among the girls' team because other girls could admit to the same problem, but I couldn't hang and quit after 1 season. Now, on the bike, after the change in muscle groups from zero gravity, upper-body stress, to sitting on my butt, lower-body stress my intestines were distressed. I was so distracted that at the first turn I forgot to concentrate and almost crashed into some cones. I was passed by a few people and I passed a bunch of guys on mountain bikes. I don't know if I lost positions or gained them because it was a 3 lap course and it's so hard to know who's on what lap. What I did notice was that girls who bike in swim suits have really hot asses (cuz you can see all them glutes and hams working), and that guys on mountain bikes can't go in a straight line (maybe because most of them were wearing running shoes and bashing down on their pedals in too high a gear) and they're damn hard to pass when they're swerving. I went an average of 20.3 miles per hour and felt like I could have gone much farther and faster, but I was scared of the run and went conservatively. When I got back to transition I was surprised to see that my bike computer only registered 18.6km (it was supposed to be 20), and even more surprised to see that my watch said that only 55 minutes had passed when I racked my bike - after a fairly long run in my cycling shoes in transition. Total bike time: 37:20.

T2

Rack bike, take off helmit, decide whether to put helmit on bike or throw on the ground, throw helmit on the ground, take off cycling shoes, put on running shoes, tie shoes, put on headband (for horrible in-between-length hair), grab water bottle (which I refuse to be without), grab race belt, go, put on race belt while I go, hear whistle, turn around to official who says "not you", continue. Time across chip strip, 57:30. T2 time, 2:20.
I heard the announcer saying something like, "It really goes to show what talent the licensed athletes have, since the winners only came through T2 at xx:xx time. The athletes of the federation would find that time pathetic..." or something like that. Dick.

The Run

What the hell was I thinking? I HATE running. This hurts. I can't breathe. And then I saw my first km split, somewhere just under 5 min/km. That can't be right, I don't EVER run that fast. The course must be badly marked. Then I saw Lucas, the Argentinian from my gym who makes me feel guilty on a daily basis for slacking off. "LUCAS!" I yelled. "EP!" he yelled back. Fuck! I hate running. This sucks. Don't run so fast, chill out. Kilometer 2: under 10 minutes; either I'm running better than I ever have before, or the course is badly marked. Into the tunaround there's a dip and then a tree and you turn around. I fly way around the outside of the curve, oops. I hate my life. Slow down. This sucks. Never again. Just finish, don't you dare walk. Next turnaround to lap two, wow, people are turning around with me, shit, that's weird, they're not lapping me. Only 2 kilometers to go, but my watch can't be right, it says that only 1:13 has gone by since the start, in other words I'm running faster than I have... ever. Suddenly I'm conscious of all the people along the way who are smoking... QUIT IT! I'M TRYING TO BREATHE! Coming in to the last half of the back half of the second lap, 750m to go, I consciously slow down. I've puked before on things like this, my legs feel stiff and they're moving funny. I hate running. My breathing is wheezy and feels yucky, but I'm still running. Run, run, run, FINISH. I'm perplexed. My watch shows 1:20:28. I would have been happy to run in under 1:30. But even more perplexing is that the clock shows only 45 seconds. Then I get it, the next wave has started, the MALE licensed athletes - the important ones. Final run time: 23:00, a full 1 minute 3 seconds faster than my 5k PR (10 years standing). The course must have been short.

I wandered around looking for Silvia and didn't find her. Not surprising, since we'd had a miscommunication about where and when to show up. I went to where people were supposed to turn in their chips and said, "Hey, I don't have a chip... the woman from the federation said to tell someone when I'd finished, so here's my number, I'm done." She wrote it down in highlighter in the margin of her list, and I wasn't so sure it would ever be read by anyone.

The transition area was closed (since the MALE LICENSED athletes had to be catered to) and I couldn't get to my phone, so I started milling around looking for Lucas. "CLAIRE!" (only it was pronounced more like "CLER!") I heard, and found Lucas standing with another guy who works at the gym who never gave me the time of day.
"HEY! LUCAS! How'd you do?!"
"Great! I finished in 1:01 and change!" I congratulated him, but didn't know quite how excited to be for him since I knew he hoped to finish in 56 minutes. "I won!"
"WHAT?! You won?" This was a serious question since Argentinian accents have always been difficult for me. I never know if I understood correctly.
"Yeah, I was the first of all the non-licenced guys! Everyone!"
"Oh my god! Congratulations!" We gave eachother a kiss on both cheeks. "No, really, that's so awsome! CONGRATULATIONS!!! Give me a hug!" And I gave him a hug and meant it. Shit! First!
"How'd you do?" he asked me.
"1:20:28!" I said.
"That's cool." Boo! He knew I'd be happy to finish in 1:30, but I guess he was euphoric.
"Yeah, it's strange," he said, and I thought by the way he said it he was going to say that he thought I'd be farther back in the pack when I saw him. "But when I came out of the swim I was in sixth and when I was on the bike I thought, where is everybody, but I was in first..."
"Jeez, that's great!" I said, and patted him on the back.
We talked a bit more and I went off to look for Silvia again, sure I wouldn't find her. When I WAS allowed in trasition again I called her and she hadn't even left the house yet. I told her I'd call her if I needed her, don't trip.

Waiting for the transition area to open again I heard the MC talking about some poor schmuck who'd had worse luck than me. "Lluis Velasquez Mas (name invented for dramatic effect) has just taken off for his SECOND 5k. He forgot his bib number in the transition area before leaving for the run, and when he got to the finish line the officials said he would be disqualified if he did not do the run with his number on, so he's off doing it again. That's what sticklers we are for the rules here at Tri-Trials..." I guess my experience could have been worse. I could have been THAT guy.