At check-in on Friday I scanned the list of women in the Clydesdale division. Eight names, and one leaped out at me. I rememberd seeing that name on the results list for Bass Lake last year, and the time had been pretty impressive. I was forced to skip that race due to a bad cold, but when I saw the results sheet, I knew I would have been soundly whipped by 2 or 3 women at least, including this gal."Well, that's that," I told Skippy. "So much for 'defending' my Clydesdale title. There's no way I can beat this girl. But that's ok, since I'm feeling so crappy anyway, I just won't even worry about it." "Uh huh," Skippy replied patiently. Man, she is so SMUG when she's being tolerant of my competitive streak. Quite maddening, I must say.
We ran into a couple of RST folks at the expo, including Steve Blum, Chris Mueller, and Jeff Andres. I spent a silly amount of money on tri trinkets, fretted about the heat, and generally whined and moaned at not feeling up to par. Skippy, being the tri-crew veteran that she is, simply smiled and nodded. It's good to have experienced crew.
Spinning down River Road, it's all I can do to work my way around the crowds of athletes and avoid interfering with traffic. So many cyclists! I think that the lot of us were all technically drafting at one time or another, no matter how conscientiously we may have tried to avoid it. Some of us were, however, more conscientious than others. I know that I sat up and slowed at least three times myself. On the other hand, I saw a couple of people who seemed quite happy to sit on a wheel without shame. Hard to tell sometimes, though, especially in a situation like this. This is precisely the kind of road that makes the drafting controversy so infuriatingly difficult.Above Burke's Beach, where we'd started the swim, I spy Skippy waiting for me with camera in hand. "Skipppeeeee!" I holler with a grin. She's surprised to see me about 10 minutes earlier than I'd estimated. "Great swim, Skip; had to be short, though. See ya!" Vrrroooom....I'm gone.
Hey, look, there's Karen just ahead; wow, even if the swim was short, I must have swum better this year because I've caught her much earlier on the bike. "Don't you love swimming one way downstream with the current?" I quip as I roll by. "I know, wasn't that great?" she responds. "What was your time?" "24 something." "Whew! All right, go girl!" Vrrrroooom....I'm gone.
Five miles and we snake down onto Sunnyside. I forgot how steep and tricky this section is and nearly take myself right off the road at the apex of the curve, whoops! Under River Road, and now the right turn onto Westside and up that heinous little hill. Eight or nine cyclists are attacking the hill with varying degrees of success and ability. For myself, I keep it in the 23 and power up, weaving to avoid those riders who've been caught completely off guard by the savagery of the grade. One girl stands out from this group as I muscle my way through them, the lone black girl out here. Good to see her here! I wonder if she might be racing as a Clyde?
I remember how much I love this bike course. It never stops rolling, and that suits me fine. Sure, there's some rough pavement, but I'm used to that; the roads are exactly like the ones I train on in Woodside. Just gotta keep an eye out for the bad spots and be prepared to get beat up a little bit.
I keep telling myself to slow up a little and get my heart rate down, but to no avail. For one thing, I'm stoked by my fast swim. For another, the crowd of cyclists hasn't thinned a whole lot, so I've either got to keep pushing to continue passing them all or else ease up completely in order to drop back and stay legal. What do you think TriBaby wants to do? Uh huh, see, you get the idea.
I spend the next 20-25 miles constantly jockeying with the same small group of cyclists. We all seem to be of similar ability. I, of course, surge ahead on all the slight downhills, and am promptly passed by one or two of them on the slight ascents. It gets quite maddening after awhile, and is mentally exhausting. Not only that, but an awful lot of these folks obviously aren't aware of the blocking rules. One particular guy in an enormous floppy yellow T-shirt is just driving me up the wall. All right, I admit it: he just didn't look like a "serious" triathlete, so my foolish ego couldn't handle my inability to drop him. Urrrrgh! "Boy, I suck!" I kept thinking.
I follow Yellowshirt all the way through the looped section at the mile 20 aid station and find another reason to dislike him when he grabs the only bottle of water available at the time we're rolling through. Damn, I needed that! Oh well, you've got enough to get to the next station. I think.
Exiting the looped section I remark to a fellow athlete in reference to the traffic backed up on the road, "Oh, man, those people are never gonna get through; I feel really bad for them." "Yeah, I'd just turn around if I were stuck there," she agrees. I'm really grateful for the police and volunteers controlling the intersection and yell my thanks as we roll by.
A short while later we're forced to slow as we pass an ambulance and the athlete being loaded into it. Ouch! Poor guy. I bet the high curb here ate him up. Not pretty, hope he'll be ok. He doesn't look too bad, he's moving. That's good.
The next ten to fifteen miles are focussed but uneventful. I descend the hill to 101 where the bee nailed me last year, hitting 42 mph and breathing a sigh of relief to make it under the freeway without encountering any unfriendly insects. I turn into Geyserville, and it's here that my will begins to falter.
I'm not feeling good, that much is clear. Sure, I've been eating and drinking regularly, but I'm pretty darned tired. The mental and physical efforts of avoiding other cyclists and trying to ride clean have taken their toll. The tired, fuzzy-headed feeling I've been experiencing all week is coming back to haunt me. I slow up a bit and force myself to gear down, relax, and stretch a little while I take stock.
"You can't do the run; accept it now and just finish up the bike. Relax and think about Canada. Besides, it's starting to warm up, and it'll be miserably hot out on that run course. Just take it easy, save yourself, ease up; it's the smart thing to do."
Resigned or not, I'm not really happy about my decision. Yeah, sure, it's the smart thing to do. It's just very disappointing.
We turn and head south on highway 128. It's a gorgeous part of the course, but Shoot! That headwind! Truth to tell, I didn't even notice it much until another racer mentioned it. "I'm so sick of this headwind!" she pined as I rode by. "Well, think of it this way," I reply, "it'll keep the run course cool." Not that I'll be out there appreciating it, I add silently. Funny how I hadn't noticed the wind much before; it's been an unusually windy spring and summer this year, so I guess I'm just used to it.
The racers have spread out considerably by now. I've allowed myself to ease up and drop back somewhat, and am, for the most part, riding alone. Just before the 40-mile aid station I realize with a jolt that I haven't seen any part of the course for the past couple of miles! What an eerie sensation! Despite my very practical decision to ease up, my body seems to be on autopilot and insists upon focusing intently upon the task at hand. "Whoa, whoa! Lighten up, girl. Remember, this is supposed to be fun. Don't miss the beauty of this place while you're zipping through it. Besides, if you're gonna have to abandon the run, you might as well enjoy the bike."
I sit up and stretch a bit. Hmm, I wouldn't doubt that a great deal of my fatigue is due to the tension in my neck and shoulders. Stretch 'em out, get relaxed. Look around you, breathe deeply, enjoy this place. The wine country is meant to be enjoyed.
The aid station interrupts my idyllic reverie, especially when the rider ahead suddenly slows and clicks out of his pedals while I'm barrelling down on top of him at full speed. @#$%..... Geez, that scared the hell outta me! If I wasn't awake before, I am now. My first bottle grab is a failure, my hand nearly ripped off in the attempt, but the second is successful. Whew. Funny, this aid station was kinda problematic last year too, as I recall. Yeah, well, at least you havent been stung by a bee again this year.