Race Report: Timberman 70.3

Timberman 70.3 Half Ironman Triathlon

1.2 mile swim / 56 mile bike / 13.1 mile run

August 18, 2013
Gilford, NH
Start time 7am

Weather: Perfect. 80, sunny then overcast, light wind.
Total time: 7:35:44

What a weekend! There is so much to write about, and I'm going to do just that. If you're looking for the short version of the race report, there is none. Enjoy all the boring details!

Pre-race

If you've been reading my blog or if you know me in real life, you'll know that I was a basket case for days weeks months before this race. After my DNF at Mass State last month, it's been hard to pull it together. Just when I thought I was in a good place mentally, something beyond my control would happen to derail my training, which would then cause me to doubt my physical abilities, and the spiral of self-doubt would start all over again. But guess what? Shit happens. Then you carry on. 

Friday afternoon registration

So, we begin on Friday afternoon with registration at Gunstock Mountain Resort. I went with my cousin Emily, who was racing the Timberman Sprint triathlon on Saturday morning; and my aunt Martha, who was doing the Timberman 70.3 as the bike leg of a relay team with my cousin Jane (swim) and our friend Gretchen (run). I was already getting intimidated by other athletes that were there, but I tried not to think about it. I tried not to get resentful at the woman at the 70.3 registration table, who asked me what distance I was doing, just in case I had accidentally gone to the 70.3 table instead of the sprint table. Maybe she asked that of everyone. I tried not to think about it. I got a blue Timberman 70.3 wristband, and my registration packet with my bib and my bike and helmet stickers, and a sweet Ironman 70.3 swag bag. I was happy again.

Saturday was spent at the sprint tri in the morning, which was DONE. FINISHED. OVER by 9am. It was good to be at the race site, and any nerves I had before the sprint started were gone by 9am when I realized this would be about the time that I'd just be getting warmed up tomorrow. Later in the afternoon we racked our bikes in transition, and ran into my coach Peej (who was also racing). I went back to Ironman Village for the athlete briefing, which was a lot of good information, but the most valuable part was seeing the sheer number of hands that were raised when he asked how many first timers were racing. The few strangers at my table and I had a lighthearted fight about who was going to come in last. We all had the same fears. Remember this, I told myself, you are not terminally unique. Saturday night we went out to dinner then set our alarms for 4:30am and off to bed we went. For the sake of good record keeping, I ate cheeseburger on toast and sweet potato fries for dinner. (Hey, back off! It takes work to race in the Athena category!) I slept well, with the exception of one quasi sleep-walking episode where I got up in the middle of the night and thought I was walking the path from swim finish to transition, but then woke up and realized I was in the hallway outside of the bedroom. I'm glad that even though my sleep was interrupted, I was at least being productive.

Sunrise over the swim course

In the morning I ate a bagel with peanut butter and a banana, and drank a glass of water with a Nuun tablet. We got to the race site at 5:28am and were one of the last cars that was able to park in the lot at the race site. With two hours til my wave went off, you'd think I'd have a lot of time, but no. You never have enough time before a tri. I had to pump up my tires (thanks to the guy on the next rack who not only had a bike pump but also pumped up my tires for me.) I had to get in line for the porta-potty, which was right around the time that my aunt took this picture. If there's ever a time that using a porta-potty trumps seeing a sunrise like this, it's before your first 70.3. I had no complaints.

My mantra for the day was "Do It Anyway" which I wrote on my arm before the race with one of the body marking markers. A few people thought my mantra choices were all too negative, but I've been in the depths of hell before, and a ra-ra "you are strong and capable" mantra would make me want to saw my arm off and chuck it at whoever was cheering me on. I knew I needed something that would save me if I fell into that bitter morass of self-pity, as they say. Right action leads to right thinking, and I knew I couldn't think my way into feeling strong and capable, but I knew I could Do It Anyway. There's a saying, "Whether you think you can or you can't, you are right." While I believe that's true, I also believe that it would doom me as soon as I thought "I can't", because, well, I'd be right. So I needed to add that "Do It Anyway" to trigger the action and get me out of my thoughts. I guess it's like taking Nike's Just Do it mantra one step further. "Just Do it" says the healthy part of my brain. "But I can't!" says the Sylvia part of my brain. "Do It Anyway" says the healthy part. So that's what I set out to do.

Ready to race!

Swim  (1.2 miles, 40:09) 

Me & Em before the sprint

The swim in the sprint triathlon was 1/3 of a mile. You can see the buoys for the sprint in the background of this picture we took before Emily's race on Saturday. I looked out at Lake Winnipesaukee about an hour before my 1.2 mile swim started, and thought, that's weird that they haven't put the buoys out there yet. Then I squinted across the lake and saw them, little tiny dots off in the distance, as far away as that island. Holy frigging hell. That's what I have to swim?! 3 second moment of panic, until I realized the distance was still the distance. I can swim 1.2 miles. That doesn't make me nervous. Once I remembered that, I was fine. At 6:45am they made everyone leave transition. At 6:48am, I realized I grabbed the wrong goggles from my bag. I had a newer pair that are crystal clear and never fog up, but I grabbed my back-up pair that are over a year old. 1 second moment of panic, then I decided that there must be a reason I grabbed this pair. Perhaps the other ones would have snapped a strap or something. I decided to go with the flow. Jane, Martha & I were standing just outside of transition near the bag drop tent.  I couldn't actually see the swim start arches, but we heard some applause in the distance and Jane said they had just sung the national anthem. I didn't even hear it. We started to move closer to the swim start, especially since Jane was starting in one of the earlier waves and needed to find the rest of her purple cap peeps. I was in wave 12 and found the rest of the bright pink caps that were my group. I didn't talk to anyone. Another woman in my wave offered to help me zip my wet suit. I said thanks, and that was it. My coach was in the same wave as me, so she stood by me as we waited for our wave to be called. I started crying, and I don't know why. Peej asked me if I was just nervous, and I didn't know. I think it was just emotion overload. I'm finally here, and I'm scared shitless, and I'm full of fear, and I'm not actually worried about the swim, but maybe I should be since I can't even see the first turn buoy it's so far away. The only thing that made me stop crying was the logical realization that I wouldn't be able to get the tears out of my goggles once I started swimming, so I better knock this shit off if I want to see where I'm going for the next 45 minutes.

Our wave was finally called. We walked under the swim start arch then out to about waist deep water. We had two minutes until we would start. The announcer asked for a show of hands for how many first timers were out there, and I think about half of the wave raised their hands. That made me feel better. I was feeling part-of, not separate-from, which was a key feeling that would get me through the rest of the day. I remembered Peej saying we all had our demons, and I knew that swimming was not one of mine. I was feeling confident, maybe for the first time yet this weekend. The horn finally sounded and off we went. I was lined up about 4 people back from the front, and about 20 people over from the side along the buoys, which were on our right. I didn't care about getting the fastest possible time, I cared about getting out of the water feeling good. It was still a crowded swim for the first few minutes, but nothing hostile. About 5 minutes into the swim, I finally felt like it opened up. I could see people near me, but not close enough that we were touching. About 10 seconds after that realization, I saw the men in white caps come flying up beside me. Luckily they were fast so they zoomed right by. But then I noticed some orange caps in my way. That was the wave before me. One guy was doing the breaststroke and punched me in the nose as I went by. Luckily it was an underwater punch, so it was more annoying than painful. We hadn't yet reached the first turn buoy when I felt my watch vibrate. I hadn't realize that the 10-minute swim alert I had set for a workout last week was still turned on, so that was kind of cool. I figured I was almost a quarter of the way done based on time, but I still felt like I was just getting warmed up. We finally reached the first turn buoy. I took a 90 degree turn around the buoy and could not see the next buoy at all, even though I was still in a thick pack of swimmers that were all going straight. After a couple of minutes I saw it, way over to the left. Ugh! So I started swimming even further out into this giant lake. By now the lake was really choppy. I started to get a little motion sick from the waves. I got many mouthfuls of water instead of air, which made me have to breathe every two strokes instead of every 3rd of 4th. I did not feel like I was in a good groove anymore, and that's when I noticed men in green caps flying by me, which was the wave after the white caps. 

Then, out of nowhere, the next red turn buoy appeared. It happened so fast and after I turned that corner I

One straight swim to shore. (Credit E3TS)

realized that I had just one straight swim to the shore and I'd be done. The waves subsided after turning, and I found a lot of space, even though there will still orange, pink, white, and green caps all around me. I found my groove again, felt my watch vibrate for the 3rd time, and knew I was in the home stretch. Only ten or so more minutes. I worked my arms to death knowing that there wasn't a good reason to save any arm strength. I ended up passing a couple of red caps, who looked like they were really struggling, and I was reminded again that we were all just out here trying to do something really hard, and we all have different strengths and weaknesses. I wasn't concerned about the number of swimmers who passed me or how many people I passed, I just felt like I belonged, which is not something I ever considered. It's shallow for a long time before reaching the shore, and a lot of people were walking, but I passed them all as I kept swimming. I feel like I swam almost up to the shore line before I stood up. 

to the wetsuit strippers!

When I got out of the water, I saw Emily dead center cheering me on so I whooped and hollered as I ran by. That put me in a good mood. Or maybe I was already in a good mood and that's why I reacted that way? I wasn't sure which one came first, but I decided I'd just be in a good mood for the rest of the race, or pretend to be, and see if I could sustain that feeling. 

T1 (4:21)

There was about a 75 yard run on the grass along the beach. Just before heading into the transition area, there were wet suit strippers off to the side. Basically it was about 10 high school football players who were there to yank your wet suit off of you. I had already pulled my arms of the suit and had it bunched around my waist. I didn't really know how this worked but everything was so frantic that I just ran toward one of the kids and he said, "Pull it down to your hips then sit down!" So I did that and as soon as my ass was on the ground, he yanked the wet suit off of me so fast and then pulled me up to my feet in the next swift motion, and off I ran into transition with my wet suit draped over my arm. 

Coming out of T1

I had practiced the path to my bike so I knew where to go. I am always a little frazzled in transition, so as I got close to my bike I walked, then methodically did what I needed to do. It was a little slow but I'd rather spend an extra minute in transition than realize I forgot my nutrition (no! not my food!). I saw Emily again as I ran by with my bike, then saw Jane on the opposite side just after I mounted my bike. This was the first time that I learned it's hard to throw an arm in the air and yell "woooo!" and steer your bike at the same time. I swerved pretty sharply, but luckily it was right after the other cyclists had also just gotten on their bikes, so they hadn't picked up speed yet. Note to self: keep both hands on the handlebars. (Have I ever mentioned it takes me 5 or 6 times to learn a lesson? Keep that in mind.)

Bike (56 miles, 3:59:27)

Of the three events, I had definitely been fearing the bike the most. I just bought my first bike last summer, which was a hybrid. I did my first sprint triathlon with that in September of last year, then went out and bought my road bike a few weeks later, just in time for it to sit inside all winter long. Considering I'm still so new to riding, I was pretty happy with this ride. I felt good from the moment I got on the bike. I embraced Aunt Martha's mentality of "I'm just going for a bike ride."

way in front with all the hot guys

Text from a spectator

I knew the first 10-12 miles would be tough -- not only because the first 10 miles of any ride are tough, but because of the hills. I just rode slow and steady and I DIDN'T CARE! I was Doing It Anyway. Perhaps it was that I had pictured everyone zooming by me, so when that's what actually happened, I was just able to be present and enjoy the moment. Unlike Mass State, where people were zooming by me and I felt like "why do I bother?" When I got to the mammoth hill around mile 11, I knew I would have to walk my bike up the hill. There were still people passing 2-3 at a time, so I got off my bike perhaps sooner than I should have. I was too worried about an unclipping fail, so I erred on the side of caution. It was a long walk up the hill though. When I got on my bike at the top of the hill, I really felt like the worst was over. There are few more rolling hills before you get onto Route 106, which is the long out & back section of the course. When I got to Route 106, I really settled in to my comfort zone. I was still riding as far to the right as possible because people continued to pass me, although now that we were 13-15 miles in, they were fairly spread out. I noticed someone ahead of me, and I assumed they were slowed down to take nutrition. I didn't think anything of it as I almost passed them on the right. At the last moment, it suddenly dawned on me that I was actually about to pass someone, so I got to say the words I'd been hearing all morning, "on your left!" and I passed my first biker. Not just my first biker today, but I think in any race I've ever done. Victory was mine! I didn't get over confident about the pass, but just like when I saw all the first-timer hands go up prior to the swim start, I felt like I belonged.

Near the Loudon race track, about 22 miles in, I saw and heard my aunt cheering for me as she rode by in the opposite direction (mile 33 for her). Yes! We're both just out here on a bike ride. It was probably around this time that I had the realization that I would finish this race. I started sobbing with gratitude, with tears flying off my face, but then I felt like I was temping fate. I decided not to celebrate my victory when I hadn't even hit the turnaround point on the bike yet. Plus, I still had a half marathon to run. Details. At mile 25.5, we turned onto a back road that would loop around and spit us back out on route 106 to head back to the finish.

Best fan club on the whole course!

I knew my cousins and my friends would be here. I saw Lisa's liver-team orange shirt first, then saw Emily, Jane, Connie and Kellan. I really was psyched to see them, so the cheers (from me) came naturally and that put me into an even better mood than I was in already. A few of my fellow riders gave me compliments on how great my cheering section was. Little do they know we are a family of professional spectators. That's kind of what we do. After I passed them, I realized that I'd seen Jane twice now since her swim and hadn't yet asked how she did. I knew I'd be seeing them again in a few miles because they'd cross over to the main road to catch me on my way back, so I planned to ask Jane how she did.

Hands on the handlebars, please.

After I rounded the turnaround and started heading back on 106, I saw them up ahead on the road. I pointed at Jane and yelled, "Swim time! What was your swim time?" And she yelled back "Thirty-seven!" (We found out later it was actually 35:29!) Again, like the first time I saw Jane just after T1, I threw a fist into the air and started cheering for Jane's swim time, and as I did that, I swerved to within an inch of my life on the shoulder of the road. I almost rode off the road into the ditch, but managed to stay on the road as pavement gave way to a side street... a side street where a car was about to exit onto the main road. My celebratory cheers gave way to a panic-stricken death cry. After successfully missing the ditch and then steering away from the vehicle, I laughed for the next half mile at the scene that just happened which must have looked like a comic strip. Who was having more fun on the bike than me? Probably no one!

Fast forward about 10 miles; I was not having any fun on the bike. I had made it back to the hills in the first/last 10 miles of the course. I was on Leavitt Road, on a section of rollers. I made it to a short flat section in between two uphills, but I just did not have the strength to make it up that one last uphill. I found myself getting off my bike (not a pre-meditated decision), but I also knew I didn't want to walk my bike. So, I took about a 30 second break. I ate a gel, drank some water, cried for about 10 seconds, and then remembered my other mantra for the day, "Just Keep Moving Forward". And just like that, my hissy fit was over and I got back on the bike and made it up the last little hill. Sure, there were more hills, but none that I ever had to walk up. Well, except for one that I walked up last fall before I even knew it was part of the Timberman course. That hill was a slow grind, but I never once thought about getting off my bike. I passed a fit-looking dude who got off his bike to punch the crap out of his quads. I was actually feeling pretty good, despite being super slow on the uphills. I probably passed about 4 people in the last 5 miles of the course. It wasn't that I was going faster, I think I just caught up to the people that had run out of steam in the last 10 hilly miles of the bike course. The last mile back to Ellacoya is a downhill and a no-passing zone, so once I got here, I just took it easy and coasted back into the park. I saw my parents on the right hand side and could hear my dad yelling, "Go BEATH!" I had been saying for months, "as long as I can make it through the bike, I'll be fine." I believed it. I surprisingly had a lot of energy, and my legs didn't seem that sore, although I didn't know what they'd feel like once I started running.

Run (13.1 miles, 2:47:56, 12:49/mile)

My first mile off the bike was a 10:42! (That's fast for me.) I guess my legs were fine. I also knew I couldn't sustain that pace, so I slowed it down to 11's, and then after a while my legs slowed themselves down to 12's. I got two high-fives from Gretchen as we passed each other on the two-loop course, so that was a huge boost.

Starting the run

I'm not good at math sitting still with a calculator, so trying to do running math after 5+ hours of exercise was downright painful. I was able to figure out that I would make the cutoff, and that was a huge relief. I would even make the cutoff if I walked a whole lot. I didn't walk for long periods of time on the first loop, but I did walk more frequently than I would have in a regular half marathon. The run course was an out & back course that you had to do twice. I felt really good on the first loop. My average pace after 6.6 miles was 11:57/mile. I actually didn't even mind running down the finisher's chute and then bearing right at the sign that said "2nd loop". I guess I wasn't hurting bad enough that I wanted it to be over, I was still soaking it all in. As I started the 2nd loop, I ran by the E3 tent (the coaching company I use), and my coach was there. She yelled, "I'll meet you up there!" and started heading up to where she get onto the course past the barricades. Before I found her, I passed my family and friends again and shouted to them, "This is gonna happen!" There was really no doubt in my mind at this point. Even if I twisted an ankle, I could probably hop on one foot to the finish line and make the cutoff. Peej met up with me and that's when I learned that her race ended early due to a huge nail in her tire that was unfixable. That happened just before the turnaround on the bike. Peej didn't seem as distraught about it as I would have been, but then again I'm a drama queen.

Peej and I continued to walk/run, and she ended up staying with me for the entire second loop, which was awesome! I was starting to get sore, but it was an overall stiffness, not muscle cramps or side stitches. I did have some chafing going on. Lesson learned: use the body glide you purposely brought with you to use in transition and don't assume they'll have vaseline on the run course (they didn't.)

Me & Peej!

Somewhere during the second loop, I realized that not only would I beat the cutoff, but I'd beat 8 hours too. I never really had a time goal except to beat the cutoff time. We continued run/walking for the duration of the 2nd loop, until the last mile when I told Peej that I always had a lot of energy left at the end of a race. Whoops, I mean, uh.. just kidding! It was good to push that last mile though because then I really did feel like I left it all out there on the course. Peej ran with me down the finish chute but veered off in the final stretch. I'm psyched that the race photographers were able to get a picture of the two of us. I think this picture signifies so much. It says "here I am, and here's who got me here."  Peej didn't just give me the workouts to get me physically prepared for Timberman, she was basically my therapist too. I unleashed some beath crazy on her, and she handled it every time. No matter how insane I thought I was, Peej understood it, and sometimes even topped it with some crazy of her own, like how she DNF'd not once, but twice in the same race, and how she's thrown her bike over the fence during a race because she didn't want to do it. Oh yes, this is the coach for me.

My sister was able to take a video of me finishing, which totally rules! Final Time: 7:35:44


All of my family and friends were at the finish line, including Martha, Jane, and Gretchen who were all relay participants themselves. We only got a picture of the family, but not of the friends. Lisa, Connie, Kellan, & Gretchen - thanks for being there! Another participant saw our group gathered at the finish line and said, "I saw you! You were the one who said 'It's gonna happen!' as you ran by them! That was awesome! What a great support system you have!" A perfect ending to a perfect day.