Event: Sprint Triathlon
  Swim: .5 mile
  Bike: 12.4 mile (20K)
  Run: 3.1 mile (5K)
Date: 7/10/05
Location: Pleasant Prairie, WI

For my second triathlon I “did the Danskin,” one in a series of happy-go-lucky, practically anything goes sprint distance races for women. This race series has seen more than 100,000 women through their first triathlon, and it's easy to see why. Lots of “you go girlfriend” from total strangers, getting choked up as you count down to start the cancer survivor wave, high-fives from Sally Edwards as you enter the water, that sort of thing. The claim to fame for Danskin is that Sally Edwards – 15 time Ironman finisher, originator of the Fleet Feet shoe store chain, author of 18 sport-related books – in her role as the Danskin spokesperson and race founder, is the race's Final Finisher. This means that nobody ever has to say they came in last – the woman who does happen to be at the back of the pack gets to cross the line hand in hand with Sally for a big ol' photo op.

Cool as this is… I did not want to meet Sally out on the course.

This was my first race that required racking your bike the day before. I don't have a problem with that – one less thing to remember on race day. As the ultimate personification of “not a morning person” I could easily forget my bike. Or my transition bag. Or that there's a race. Anyway, I hadn't thought much about the ‘why' of pre-racking our bikes, but in retrospect it's because the parking situation is a field several miles away with shuttle transportation to the event site. Not a big deal in the morning, but would prove to be a giant post-race pain in the ass.

Race attendance skyrocketed from 2500 the previous year to 4200; to say the racks were crammed full would be an understatement. Luckily I arrived late enough they'd already erected a few overflow racks, which were largely empty. I hung up my bike, counted the racks to confirm my location, noted the exquisitely convenient position right next to the Run start, and went in for registration.

I was cranky. It was really hot, I'd had to park almost a mile away and logistically speaking this race couldn't hold a candle to my first. Packet pick-up was confusing, lacked any useful signage and took a ridiculously long time. I did have some fun feeling like a seasoned veteran when I got to explain stuff like the timing chip to dazed and confused newbies. I'm ashamed to admit I felt a few twinges of condescending superiority… but only when people asked asinine questions like “where are the changing rooms for after the swim?” Before my first race I was a whore for information, I can't imagine entering a race without the basic knowledge these women hadn't bothered to acquire. I also had an “are you freaking kidding me?!” moment when I overhead a woman ask her friend “do you really think I can ride my bike for 12 miles?”

I attended the first-timers talk just in case, but the only thing I learned was to fear first-timers. My first race had its fair share of us, but they were like me: informed and prepared. Apparently the Reebok attracts a different crowd than the Danskin, which is the closest thing the sport has to an all-comers-welcome situation. If I didn't know better I'd swear there were women who rolled out of bed that day and came for the hell of it.

My biggest clue this was going to be a completely different experience was that during the presentation Sally spent a lot of time stressing not to ride abreast with friends and explaining basic cycling etiquette. She also said you can't trust newbies because in her experience, their response to “on your left” is to look behind them to see who's there, which turns their bike into the passer's path and causes a crash. Faaantastic.

She wasn't exaggerating – this warning served me well.

Race day dawned bright and hot. Really, absurdly, it's-6-am-and-I'm-sweating hot.  I-got-burned-through-my-SPF50-by-9-am hot.  The week prior had been gorgeous, so of course for race weekend the temperature soared into the 90s.  I blame my thyroid problem because I don't want to admit I might just be a wimp, but I don't handle heat well.  I get crabby, I get nauseous, I get migraines... so it's safe to say the heat put a damper on my race day enthusiasm.

Got through the shuttle bus situation without incident, arrived at transition and promptly panicked. Where was my bike?! I counted the racks, and counted them and counted them again. My precious bike wasn't where I left it. So began a 20 minute, pacing slowly up and down the racks, inspecting every bike. Ah HAH!!! Found it… hey, that's not where… oh.

After I racked my bike they'd erected several more rows of overflow, completely throwing off my calculations. Once I got past that little freak-out I was thrilled to note that the overflow racks were still largely empty and I had nearly two feet of space, as opposed to the 4 inches and tangled handlebars of the regular racks. This has got to be the best kept secret in triathlon; from now on I will always try to rack in overflow.

I'm ashamed to admit that, like a complete dork, I blurted out “you're Nicole DeBoom!” She laughed. I was kind of star-struck and babbled something about seeing her win at Reebok the previous month and how that was my first tri. She was very nice and talked to me for a minute about that race – she was so sweet and encouraging when I told her my finishing time (almost triple her winning time). I later learned from the announcer she was doing Danskin for Team Trek, and is now concentrating on international distance because she's training to qualify for the next Olympics.

Swim start was a three-quarter mile walk around the lake from transition, so I grabbed my Clif bar, orange juice and water and started the barefoot hike. I'd signed up for the Recreational (mixed age group) wave because I was originally supposed to do this race with a friend; the mixed wave went dead last so I had nearly two hours to kill. During that time I started to burn and huddled with dozens of women in the shade of the one good tree.

Because of my lake phobia I had mini panic attacks the week preceding the race. I knew I got off easy with the first race, and I'd been warned that Lake Andrea was big enough to be intimidating. I was genuinely concerned I wouldn't be able to swim it without moral support, and had resigned myself to requesting a Swim Angel.

Words escaped me when I saw the lake for the first time – there's no good way to describe feeling concurrent fear and relief. It's definitely big – the half-mile swim is a straight shot across the tip – but it's a clean, spring-fed lake with gorgeous blue-green water. In that heat it looked as inviting as any pool.

But my big fear is underwater weeds so I was still apprehensive. Imagine my delight when I found this wasn't a problem either. There's a narrow ledge with a steep drop-off, which eliminates the weedy semi-deep section that bothers me so much in most lakes. We started from a groomed beach, so it was just sand sand sand, swim swim swim! Even better, the ledge at the other end had been graveled for our exit. As a bonus, the water temperature was lovely.

Even though I'm a weak swimmer I felt confident in that crowd, because “swim” is a charitable word for the thrashing doggy-paddle extravaganza that many Danskin racers resort to. I decided not to request a Swim Angel because there were clearly others who needed it more. But, just like in my first race I was so slow and so far back from the pack they checked on me periodically anyway.

Also just like the first race I couldn't find a groove and did a lot of heads-up pseudo-crawl and back floating. The course was lined with lifeguards and kayaks and I was near a Swim Angel and there was no way anything could possibly happen to me, but I was scared enough just being in the middle of a lake I couldn't swim properly more than a few yards at a time, and I had a few tense moments when floating weeds brushed my hands and face. I was also too stressed to sight properly, and the few times I did get in a groove I'd head off-course and get spooked again.

Even though the swim felt very slow, I was pleasantly surprised to learn my time was roughly what I trained at.

The Swim exits up a short but steep grassy hill. They sanded it, probably to keep it from getting muddy, so you can't get a grip with your feet. It's challenging enough that volunteers were stationed along it to offer a hand up.

This bike route is full of rollers with a couple of moderate hills in the form of overpasses. It was definitely the most hilly bike ride I'd ever been on, so I had a passing concern I'd be slow or get worn out. That turned out to be the least of my worries.

Frankly, I got angry. But I felt guilty about being angry. I kept my mouth shut because how can you castigate women for something as trivial as bad bike etiquette when they're wearing t-shirts that say “Mom beat cancer, we can beat this”? I didn't want to diminish their race experience with my negativity, even though they diminished mine with their ignorance. On a positive note, there were a good number of slow riders who not only got over for me, they cheered for me as I flew past them – a phenomenon probably unique to the Danskin.

Lest I risk becoming bitter about it I decided to take this experience as another reason to work hard at learning to run so I'll no longer be limited to beginner-focused events. And in spite of the frustrations, I'm happy to report I set a PR for the 20K.

T2 was quick and simple, and once again I was grateful for the overflow racks. Easy as it was logistically, I was held up briefly over an internal debate regarding my hydration status. I hadn't been able to finish my bike bottle because the brutal sun had turned my frozen sports drink into something closer to hot coffee.  Even with diligent effort I'd barely choked down half of it and came off the bike feeling thirsty.

I decided at the last second to sacrifice my post-race water bottle to the run, and I'm so glad I did. Especially since, as I discovered about 10 minutes before the race started, that some idiot put only one water station on the run leg. Had I not opted to carry the water bottle I could not have finished.

In my first race I hadn't been able to run more than a few minutes early in the leg and was determined to run more in this one. But, hard as I trained at running in the four weeks between races, in that heat I had no qualms about changing my race plan.

The lead I'd built up from my great performance on the bike faded quickly as I was passed by dozens of women walking faster than I could, and by a handful doing their best to maintain a foot-dragging jog. It was late enough in the race there wasn't anybody left who was truly running.

I suffered a little in the run leg of my first race but it was nothing like what I faced in this one. As the run progressed my legs seemed less under my control; I had to concentrate on plodding along, forcing one foot in front of the other. Part of what kept me going was that I was far enough into the course I'd have had to walk almost the entire distance anyway in order to quit. I was terribly thirsty, and the ultimate torture was that the course circles the lake… I was sorely tempted to give up and dive in.

This was my first lesson in the mental toughness it takes to be a triathlete. I'd done a lot of reading about equipment, about transition tips, about training volume… but nothing I'd read talked about the mental aspect. Even if they had, I don't think anything could prepare me for the psychological challenge of pushing on with the last leg while my sunburned, dehydrated body begged me to stop. It was so hot – 95 and humid with blazing sun – and I was so dehydrated and nauseous that for the first time ever I was forced to contemplate a DNF.

I'd never even thought about a DNF before because I was confident in my training, in my ability to go the distance. I held a naïve belief that people who DNF were people who hadn't taken the race seriously, who hadn't trained, who hadn't done heat acclimation workouts – and I wasn't any of those things. My misconception wasn't helped by the fact that the course talk at my first race included anecdotes about women who dropped out mid-bike to get a latte because the race experience “wasn't what they expected.” Basically, I'd been set up to look down on anyone who DNFs with the idea that no “real” triathlete would quit a race. Now I know better, because Danskin taught me an important lesson that can be summed up in two words: extenuating circumstances. As it was roughly 750 participants DNFd that day; I'm surprised it wasn't more.

A couple hundred yards before the finish line the spectator gauntlet began, clapping and cheering for everybody while they waited for their racer. I wasn't paying attention because nobody I knew was there. Focused on the finish line, I was startled by a woman cheering loudly right next to the path and I saw, to my amazement, Nicole DeBoom. She was still there, hanging out hours after she could have gone home, cheering for the slowest, the fattest, the ones who barely made it to the end. That told me all I need to know about what it means to be a triathlete.

This was where I learned another important tri lesson: all races are not created equal.

I inhaled the teeny tiny bottle of water they gave me at the finish line and was dismayed when they refused me another… they were running out. Probably didn't even have enough for the last finishers. Somebody dropped the ball on post-race water planning for the expanded participant level. No matter, I thought, I'll just hit the refreshment tables.

It was at this point I discovered that there is no magical land of sports drink and baked goods at the end of every race. Apparently I struck gold with my first race, and I mistakenly believed they would all be like that.

My thirst was momentarily forgotten with the discovery of my friend Chrissy near the finish line. I hadn't seen her since dinner the night before because we were in different waves. She had a 65 mile trip home and family waiting for her, but she stuck around to hug me at the end of my race. I'm sorry to say she moved back to Colorado shortly after this so I won't get to race with her any more, but our short friendship will always be a highlight in my memories of the summer I became a triathlete.

After collecting my bike I checked out the rumor that the volunteer tents had secret stashes of water, but by then they'd all been taken down. I had a cooler full of icy cold water in the back of my van. Several miles away. My options were to hike, bike or shuttle... and if I shuttled I'd have to wait until the police let us drive back to get our bikes (which, it turns out, didn't happen for a couple of hours). I decided to suck it up and ride my bike. Aside from being exhausted and dehydrated and off-balance riding with a transition backpack and wearing running shoes with clipless pedals, the ride was another exercise in brake-slamming because hundreds of spectators were walking aimlessly in the road to the parking area with no regard for being a danger to the cyclists, and the police were blocking us from crossing the center line to go around them.

I was in bad shape. In the hour drive home I downed every drop of water and sports drink in the car – about a gallon – and was still ragingly thirsty. I stopped at a drive-through and got more to drink. When I got home I lost track of how much water I drank, but it was at least another gallon. After drinking all that my weight was still down about 6 pounds, I didn't have to pee for almost 12 hours post-race, and the tiny amount was bright orange. In retrospect, I guess I'm lucky I didn't end up in the emergency room with an IV. I remained slightly ill with heat exhaustion for several days after the race.

In spite of the challenges this race threw at me – scary lake and stupid racers and scorching heat – I bettered my first sprint finish by nearly 18 minutes. Even more amazing, I met my goal of finishing sub 2:30. In the process I learned lessons in perseverance, humility, and what it means to be a triathlete.

Race Results:
Swim: 27:06
T1:5:53
Bike: 52:09
T2: 4:29
Run: 59:57
Overall Time: 2:29:35
Overall Place: 3325 out of 3458 finishers

Michelle Wood
July 2005