I woke up race morning and headed down to transition to pump up my tires and make sure everything was good to go. Borrowing a friend's pump, I attempted to add air to my tires unsuccessfully. I don't know if it was his pump or the tubular tires, but I could not get more than 100psi in the tire before the connection piece flew off. The girl whose bike was next to mine even tried to help with no luck. I borrowed a second pump from a non-English speaking Swiss guy in the next row over, but still struggled unsuccessfully at getting any more air in the tires. The announcer gave the call to close transition so I shrugged my shoulders and headed for the exit.
Dave spotted me on the other side of the transition barrior and concern was written all over his face. When I told him what I was struggling with, he and the guy standing next to him told me to run and get my bike and bring it over to them. I am sure this is 100% illegal, but given how the build up to the race was going, I wasn't too worried about being an age group contender at this point, my goal was to just get through the race in one piece. They reached under the baracade and inflated my tires to the proper pressure. I ran it back to the rack and headed out to wait til it was my group's turn to start.
Fortunately, our room had an amazing view of Lake Las Vegas (aka the mud pit) so we headed up there to watch the start and have one final potty break. My wave started 40 min after the pros, so needless to say, we had some time to spare (and get to use a nice clean bathroom rather than port-a-potties in the dark).
After freshening up, we headed back down to the transition/swim start just in time for me to get in the water with my age group of women. (funny, even now when I write this, I feel butterflies in my stomach churn uneasily) About half the women, myself included, swam over to a support post under a bridge (the hotel was above us) and climbed up on to a slimy ledge. The girl next to me commented that she would never dream of sitting in a place like this on any other occassion other than right now at this race. I must say, I couldn't agree with her more. I swirled the water around with my hands and noticed how the brown would change shades as the water was churned. Ewww...
The wave before us went off so we swam/treaded water out to the flags that served as the start line. I positioned myself far wide of the main pack with the hopes of having calmer water to swim in - I know the theory is to close in with the faster swimmers and battle it out for the first 200 or so yards so you can settle into their streamline and utilize the draft, but at that moment, my mind wanted nothing to do with being close and battling anyone. I tried to clear my goggles one final time as the start horn went off.
About 50 yards in I was already in trouble. We were swimming straight into the sun and my goggles completely fogged almost instantly. I was swimming blind into a glare of splashing, kicking, flailing arms and legs. I completely stopped, attempted to dip my goggles into the water to clear them up with treading water with only my legs. This sequence of events repeated honestly about 10 times in the next 400 yards. I started crying, shear panic overtaking me. I shouldn't have read all those articles about people dying during the swim portion of recent Ironman events. I was going to be next if I couldn't find one of those paddle boarders who were supposed to be in the water with us, watching for swimmers in distress. I looked around, but not one was in sight. More panic, more tears. I didn't even want to be there. I am not a triathlete. My goal was to raise money for my daughter last year and complete a 1/2 Ironman. I never had the goal of competing at the World Championships. Qualifying was just a bonus at my 1st 70.3 event. Maybe I should just swim to the rocks along the shore and look for Dave. We could relax and enjoy the rest of this trip together without the pain and agony of this race.
Then, I thought of our two friends, John Southey and Amy Layo, who came out to Vegas to watch me race. I saw their excited faces right before the start. How could I explain bailing in the first 5 minutes of the race to them? What would I tell my daughter Hailey, age 7, who one day would totally understand what I did? Would I want her to drop out of a race and justify it because her mom did the same thing? With those thoughts, I put my head back in the water and began swimming. After I rounded the first buoy (the course was a long rectangle), I realized my goggles were no longer fogging up. I also realized that the wave of men behind me would overtake me if I didn't start actually swimming. I wouldn't say I took off at that point, but at least played a game of hunting down similar colored swim caps and picking them off one at a time. With about 200 yards to go the first group of men in the wave behind overtook me - one of them swimming directly over me and giving me a decisive heel thrust into the top of my head as he passed. My head began to throb, but my goggles stayed on and I saw the exit ramp ahead.
A volunteer grabbed my arm and pretty much hoisted me out of the water. I took one deep breath and headed up the ramp and over the about 200 yard barefoot running stretch to the bike transition. Dave was standing along the straight-a-way and gave me a shout out when he saw me. As you will see in the picture he took, you would have thought I was on the final stretch to the finish rather than just about to get on the bike. Never ever have I been so excited to be out of the water - alive!
Dave spotted me on the other side of the transition barrior and concern was written all over his face. When I told him what I was struggling with, he and the guy standing next to him told me to run and get my bike and bring it over to them. I am sure this is 100% illegal, but given how the build up to the race was going, I wasn't too worried about being an age group contender at this point, my goal was to just get through the race in one piece. They reached under the baracade and inflated my tires to the proper pressure. I ran it back to the rack and headed out to wait til it was my group's turn to start.
Fortunately, our room had an amazing view of Lake Las Vegas (aka the mud pit) so we headed up there to watch the start and have one final potty break. My wave started 40 min after the pros, so needless to say, we had some time to spare (and get to use a nice clean bathroom rather than port-a-potties in the dark).
After freshening up, we headed back down to the transition/swim start just in time for me to get in the water with my age group of women. (funny, even now when I write this, I feel butterflies in my stomach churn uneasily) About half the women, myself included, swam over to a support post under a bridge (the hotel was above us) and climbed up on to a slimy ledge. The girl next to me commented that she would never dream of sitting in a place like this on any other occassion other than right now at this race. I must say, I couldn't agree with her more. I swirled the water around with my hands and noticed how the brown would change shades as the water was churned. Ewww...
The wave before us went off so we swam/treaded water out to the flags that served as the start line. I positioned myself far wide of the main pack with the hopes of having calmer water to swim in - I know the theory is to close in with the faster swimmers and battle it out for the first 200 or so yards so you can settle into their streamline and utilize the draft, but at that moment, my mind wanted nothing to do with being close and battling anyone. I tried to clear my goggles one final time as the start horn went off.
About 50 yards in I was already in trouble. We were swimming straight into the sun and my goggles completely fogged almost instantly. I was swimming blind into a glare of splashing, kicking, flailing arms and legs. I completely stopped, attempted to dip my goggles into the water to clear them up with treading water with only my legs. This sequence of events repeated honestly about 10 times in the next 400 yards. I started crying, shear panic overtaking me. I shouldn't have read all those articles about people dying during the swim portion of recent Ironman events. I was going to be next if I couldn't find one of those paddle boarders who were supposed to be in the water with us, watching for swimmers in distress. I looked around, but not one was in sight. More panic, more tears. I didn't even want to be there. I am not a triathlete. My goal was to raise money for my daughter last year and complete a 1/2 Ironman. I never had the goal of competing at the World Championships. Qualifying was just a bonus at my 1st 70.3 event. Maybe I should just swim to the rocks along the shore and look for Dave. We could relax and enjoy the rest of this trip together without the pain and agony of this race.
Then, I thought of our two friends, John Southey and Amy Layo, who came out to Vegas to watch me race. I saw their excited faces right before the start. How could I explain bailing in the first 5 minutes of the race to them? What would I tell my daughter Hailey, age 7, who one day would totally understand what I did? Would I want her to drop out of a race and justify it because her mom did the same thing? With those thoughts, I put my head back in the water and began swimming. After I rounded the first buoy (the course was a long rectangle), I realized my goggles were no longer fogging up. I also realized that the wave of men behind me would overtake me if I didn't start actually swimming. I wouldn't say I took off at that point, but at least played a game of hunting down similar colored swim caps and picking them off one at a time. With about 200 yards to go the first group of men in the wave behind overtook me - one of them swimming directly over me and giving me a decisive heel thrust into the top of my head as he passed. My head began to throb, but my goggles stayed on and I saw the exit ramp ahead.
A volunteer grabbed my arm and pretty much hoisted me out of the water. I took one deep breath and headed up the ramp and over the about 200 yard barefoot running stretch to the bike transition. Dave was standing along the straight-a-way and gave me a shout out when he saw me. As you will see in the picture he took, you would have thought I was on the final stretch to the finish rather than just about to get on the bike. Never ever have I been so excited to be out of the water - alive!
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