South Bay Triathlon VI
Uvas Reservoir, Morgan Hill, CA
3/4 mile swim - 16 mile bike - 5 mile run
Sunday, May 17, 1998
Part I
It is said of an individual who turns in a perfect performance in any given field of endeavor that "S/he never put a foot wrong." This expression could not have been applied to TriBaby this weekend; she managed to put all six of her feet wrong in a number of comical ways.It began Friday evening at the gas station when a carefree step down from the concrete island promptly sprawled my person ignominiously upon the ground. Clearly, I put a foot wrong. The most serious injury was to my pride, but, pulling the tattered shreds of my dignity about me as I resumed a vertical position, I realized that my left ankle didn't feel so hot either. Ouch! Total bobo move, and me with a race to run on Sunday morning. Ugh.
So I went home, took some Advil, iced the ankle, and grumbled ill-temperedly at myself for being a klutz. Awoke on Saturday to find the ankle definitely walkable; that seemed hopeful. Ambled out to the garage to get ready for the day's long ride. My trusty steed sat upon the Trakstand, cleats left in the pedals from my last trainer ride. I grab one cleat by the heel and pull firmly. Pull a little harder. THUNK--- Ouch!! Right into my knee. *sigh*
Go to mix up some Cytomax and Metabolol. Get one bottle half filled with water and Ooops! It slips from my hands. Doh! Finally get the stuff mixed and prepare to screw the bottle top on but not before I drop that too and it bounces into the dog's water bowl.
Do you see a pattern emerging here? It wasn't pretty. Little things like that were going to plague me all weekend.
Fortunately, no major mishaps befell me or my friend Ondine as we set out to climb Old La Honda Road, headed for the Coast. Unless you count the weather. Absolutely infuriating, I must say. Completely unsettled. A variation on the Talking Heads kept running through my head as we pedalled through showers, drizzle, sun, wind...."Psycho-weather! Qu'est que c'est? Ba ba ba ba, ba pa, ba pa, ba ba. Run run run, run run run away."
We wound up aborting the trip to the Coast; the weather was just too damned screwy, and the likelihood of finding ourselves soaked to the bone way the hell out in the middle of nowhere put a distinct damper on our enthusiasm for the ride. Of course, once we headed back up Highway 84 and over to the east side of the Coastal hills, the sun shone brilliantly through occasional clouds. Grumble grrumble grrumble.
Arriving home, I donned running shoes with a mix of hope and apprehension. The ankle had been no problem on the bike, except when I needed to click out of the pedals; the twisting motion hurt enough that at one intersection I nearly dumped it most inelegantly because I couldn't disengage my left foot. Obviously, lateral motion was a problem. Well, let's see if running will also be a problem.
Ouch. Running was a problem. Although uphill wasn't bad, since it kept me on the balls of my feet. Flats weren't terribly comfortable. Downhill just plain hurt. Damn. One mile was all it took to tell me the prognosis wasn't hopeful for Sunday's race. Still, I figured I could at least do the swim and the bike. I packed up my gear in preparation for the morning, but not with any great enthusiasm. To be honest, I was downright glum.
Sunday dawned shockingly clear. The weather has been so consistently lousy that this was a genuine surprise. Skippy and I loaded up the car with race gear and Tess the Wonderdog and headed down to the beautiful Uvas Reservoir in Morgan Hill. Along with hundreds of other trigeeks, we parked in the cow pasture adjacent to the race site. While unloading my bike from the trunk rack I narrowly avoid a close encounter with a cow patty. "No surprise," I tell Skip. "That would have been perfectly in keeping with the theme of this weekend!"
Setting up in the transition area, I was faced with nearly as great a dilemma as that at Wildflower two weeks earlier: What the heck to wear on the bike? The sun is playing hide and seek with the clouds, and the morning air bears quite a chill. In a state of total indecisiveness, I set out both a jersey and a windbreaker vest. Sadly lay out my running shoes, glumly aware that chances are quite good they'll see little or no use this morning. This makes me so gloomy that I drop all pretense of caring about my transition setup. "Ah, what difference does it make," I mutter to no one in particular. I leave my spot admirably disorganized.