Boulder 70.3 Relay Race Report: Finding My Way Back from Burnout

Before this weekend, Boulder 70.3 in 2017 was the last triathlon I raced. I didn't even write a race report about it. I started a draft, but a couple of weeks later I crewed at Leadville, started running trails and dreaming of ultras, and basically quit triathlon. After my tri bike spent a year collecting dust, I sold it. I thought I had moved on, I thought I was forever burned out on triathlon. Note: If you find yourself feeling this way, think really hard before you sell your bike and beautiful, fast race wheels! (That's foreshadowing, of course.)

In January, a couple of my Big Sexy Racing teammates brought up the idea of a relay at Boulder 70.3. Both ladies were traveling from out of town and weren't excited about swimming at altitude, so I happily agreed to be the swimmer for their relay. Then, a few months ago, our runner dropped out due to injury, so I asked my friend Laura to step in and she agreed. Laura is a fairly new runner who's been toying with the idea of doing a triathlon, so I thought this would be the perfect first step (that might be foreshadowing too).

Exactly one month ago, my parents suggested coming down to Texas to race the Kerrville triathlon in September. I put it on the calendar and pulled my road bike out of the closet. After not riding my bike for nearly a year and a half, I immediately rediscovered the joy of riding. My coach agreed that the Kerrville tri would be a fine idea and that a little bit of biking would only help me towards my marathon goal at CIM in December. I found myself looking forward to the bike rides on my plan more than anything else. In the last month I've joyfully discovered some of the great roads to ride around Lafayette and Boulder. It's literally the only thing I want to do right now. I love riding my bike!

It should be no surprise, then, that when our cyclist for the relay dropped out due to injury two weeks ago, I jumped at the chance to do the bike leg of the relay in addition to the swim. I was not happy that Nina is hurt, but I was really excited that the opportunity to ride a bike in a race had just fallen into my lap.

On race morning as I was setting up my bike and equipment in the transition area, Whiting, who was doing the swim on a relay team of her own, pointed at the running shoes and hat that I'd laid out and asked me if I was intending to run too. "I don't know," I said, "I might be crippled after riding my bike for 56 miles." I had a 4-mile run on my training plan that I'd missed earlier in the week, so if I was able, I intended to at least run to the Big Sexy tent that was about 3 miles away from the transition on the run course. I secretly dreamed of being able to complete the entire race - a relay of one. As someone I admire very much recently said, I like to do stupid things. But we'd see what the day would bring.

The water was barely wetsuit legal and I headed to the beach in my sleeveless wetsuit, accompanied by Laura who was soaking in the experience of the day as she waited to run hours later. Although I'd been worried about time when we entered the transition close to 6:30 and stood in a porta-potty line until 7, the race didn't start until 7:15ish and I found myself standing happily in a pack of five or six Big Sexy teammates on the beach with plenty of time to get in the water for the rolling start. We'd seeded ourselves with the 37-40 minute pack for the 1.2 mile swim.

It was the perfect way to start a race. We laughed and chatted our way to the water's edge and then lined up in chutes to start the swim four at a time, with five seconds between each pack of starters. Although my plan had been to swim on my teammate Tony's feet, I lost him as soon as he started the race and instead I swam off by myself to swim far to the left of the buoys. I think if I ever want to be competitive in one of these things, I'll need to re-learn how to swim in close proximity to others, but today was not that day.

The swim was peaceful and my lats, arms, and hands felt strong as I pulled myself through the water. I did feel like I was drifting to the left, but I sighted enough to correct it before I went too far off course. I felt my Garmin buzz each time 500 yards passed, and when it buzzed a third time on my way back to shore, I thought to myself, "okay, get to the finish before it buzzes again." This would not be the case and I finished the swim in 37:30 with 2214 yards recorded on the Garmin. Everyone says the swim was long. I don't really know if it was, but I do know that I was very happy to be on my feet, running to the wetsuit strippers.

I saw Whiting as I approached the transition; she had finished a couple minutes before me. She'd already handed her chip off to her relay cyclist, and she cheered at me to hurry. I laughed as I immediately stopped at a porta-potty before even reaching my bike. I'm not considering this to be a race; I'm going to take the time to stop and pee. Then I ran to my bike where Laura and Whiting were waiting. I put on my aero helmet, gloves (it takes a long time to put on gloves when your hands are wet), sunglasses, and race belt with bib (which was not necessary on the bike! Whoops). I put a few packs of honey stinger chews in the back pocket of my kit. Pulled on my socks and shoes, started the Garmin on the bike, and ran out of transition.

Based on previous races, I assumed my split would be around 3 hours. I know I'm slower on my road bike than on a tri bike, and I didn't have aero bars or race wheels. I did have my aero helmet, which made me laugh. My bike split at this race two years ago was 2:45, but the course was two miles short and, more importantly, I had actually trained for the bike portion of the race. For this race I had ridden a total of 135 miles distributed among seven rides, all within the past month. My longest ride before the race was 38 miles. There was really no telling what would happen.

For the first 10 miles on the Diagonal Highway, I felt really strong. I got in my drops, got as aero as possible, and rode my way to a zone 3 heart rate. My teammates cheered as they passed by one by one. The first part of the bike is a really fast section of the course and I was feeling great. But around 15 miles into the ride, my back started to hurt. This is normal because I'm just getting used to riding my bike again, and being in the drops wasn't helping. I started to wonder not only if I'd be able to run off the bike, but if I'd even be able to complete the entire bike race.

I stood up on the pedals to stretch my back frequently. I backed off the level of effort. I took advantage of spinning up the hills. On my road bike, I'm more confident handling the bike on the downhills, so I took advantage of those too. All things considered, it was a good ride, but it didn't feel good to be passed by literally 1000 people. As a relatively strong swimmer, I'm used to being passed on the bike, but the effect was multiplied at this race by my lack of an awesome aero setup and, again, my lack of bike fitness. I did take the time to look around and take in the awesome views of the mountains that still have snow on their peaks in August.

Road bike, aero helmet, and unbeatable scenery around me.

With numb hands and an aching back, I was happy to roll into transition when it finally came. I posted my slowest half ironman bike split ever: 3:13. Even my first race in Austin was faster than that by nearly five minutes! But today was a day where I was just happy to be out there. I wondered what my back would feel like once I put on my running shoes.

As I jogged through the transition, I spotted Laura immediately; she was dancing a little bit next to the bike rack, looking happy to run. We transferred the chip to her leg, I changed my shoes, and we ran out of the transition area together. She asked if I was planning to run the whole thing with her, peppered me with questions about my day, and chattered about hers as I struggled to breathe. I looked at my watch, saw a 9:30 pace, and warned her, "you have to pace us. I always run too fast off the bike." She agreed and we tried to slow down.

Pretty much as soon as we started running I knew that I wanted to run the whole half marathon with her. I know that I was bending (okay breaking) rules by running on the run course with my relay partner, but I felt like this was a forgivable offense; I wasn't pacing her to a win or anything like that. I don't know. Judge me if you want to. I'm normally a strict rule-follower and I do feel guilty about it.

The first of two loops was relatively easy for Laura and harder for me. It took time to get into a groove running off the bike. Once I got there though, I became insanely happy. Starting at mile six, I chattered at Laura and to all the runners around us. As the temperature rose on the exposed, mostly gravel run course (it was reported to be 97 degrees but I'm not sure how accurate that is; it did feel like we were on the surface of the sun at times), it seemed like everyone was suffering except me. This only made me happier; I felt proud that I have the fitness to fake my way through a half ironman, albeit at a much slower pace than I've ever biked or run during one of these things before.

We ran to the aid stations and walked through them with purpose. I was unstoppably positive and managed to even annoy myself with it. I was just so happy to be out there. At one point I jogged ahead, bursting with joy and the realization that this is what I love to do! This is my favorite thing in the world! My heart was screaming with happiness and it started to overflow into tears. I forced myself to control my breathing and I turned excitedly to Laura to report to her what I'd just learned.

Laura had slowed to a walk, and I jogged back on the jeep path towards her. She made a little sound and I tentatively asked her if she was laughing. When she said no, I realized that Laura was crying too, but for the opposite reason. She hated it. She felt sick and she wasn't having any fun at all. I dialed back my enthusiasm and talked her through the rest of the run, walking when she needed to walk and running when she could. I was proud to see her run from aid station to aid station, refusing to walk until she really needed to.

After the race, we talked quite a bit about mental toughness, and although she thinks she doesn't have it, I saw it many times during the last five miles of the race. She didn't quit. She kept moving forward. She doesn't know how important that is, but one day she'll look back and I know she'll be proud. I hope she decides to continue with her plan to try a triathlon, because now she's already done the hardest part of one.

When we approached the finish line, she ran ahead and I jogged around to the other side of the fence to cheer her across the line. Whiting and the rest of our friends were there; they'd been finished with their relay for probably hours and had come in 7th place in the relay division! With a 6:51 total time, I don't even know where we placed, but of course it doesn't really matter, our day was never supposed to be about speed.

Talking to my coach, Nell Rojas, afterwards, I admitted that there were times during the swim and the bike where I asked myself, do I really like this? Those thoughts never came up during the run. "Maybe I just really love running," I told her. "No," she laughed, "if you were that happy during the run, I think you really love triathlon." She's right. The next one is in seven weeks in Kerrville. I can't wait!

My first relay finisher's medal. And the t-shirt has a PRAIRIE DOG ON IT!

The entire weekend was a super fun Big Sexy celebration. Teammates had come from as far as Australia to compete in this half ironman. The pre- and post-race team activities added a layer of joy to the event, and their cheering on the run course was second to none.

At bike check-in with Laura and Whiting.

Post-Norseman/Pre-70.3 World Champs: Absurd and Muted

“It must be absurd to come back to work after something like that.” - a brilliant coworker
“So, is everything just kind of muted now, after Norseman?” - a very perceptive friend

"Do you want to go back and try for a black T-shirt?" - everyone else

Yes, yes, and yes (one day).

I’m feeling kind of lost after Norseman and wondering “what’s the next big thing,” even though I have another really awesome race coming up in just a few weeks. Instead of focusing on that, I’m making myself insane driving to work singing show tunes and crying in the car and relating way too much to Evita/Madonna (so what happens now? Where am I going to?). I promise I’m not a crazy person.

Until the moment that I entered the Norseman contest, my Big Goal was to race “one day” at the 70.3 World Championships. As an iron superfan, I can’t think of anything cooler than participating on the same course in a championship race with all of the top pros and age group athletes. Last year when Dawn raced the 70.3 WC, she even got Andy Potts to record a message telling me that he expected to see me at the race “next year.” HUGE, and at the time, unfathomable. I knew the work it would take. I didn't expect it to happen overnight.

Andy Potts and Dawn at the race in Vegas last year.

Then it did. It still feels ridiculous to say that I get to race at the 70.3 World Championships in Canada next month.

But it happened right in the middle of my training for Norseman. I’ve never been so focused on anything in my life. The enormity of Norseman, the impossible dream come true, made it difficult to think about anything else, including the WC race, which has been a more reasonable dream goal for a couple of years now. But then Norseman came and went. Now that it’s over, I’m feeling scattered. And everything is “kind of muted” and “absurd.” How do I come back to real life after that?

The best answer came from my friend Rene, who just raced Age Group Nationals. I messaged her to ask, “how do you handle going to a championship race where you know everyone’s as good as or better than you and not freak out, OMG, I’m freaking out right nowwww!!” Her calm and reassuring answer was, this is normal. You’re right in the middle of the post-race letdown. And you’re also smack in the middle of pre-race nerves. Of course your emotions are everywhere.

Rene is the smartest woman alive.

Thinking about what she said helps me to put some things in perspective. I’m in the middle of awesome things happening in a short period of time. I haven’t had a lot of time to think about what’s next. The future is full of possibilities that I hadn’t even considered 6 months ago (did you know that there’s a race where you swim 10 miles, island to island, running across each one? Did you know there’s a 6-day self-supported footrace across the Sahara that regular people can enter?). With this bigger view of the world comes some risk and uncertainty. So what happens now? Where am I going to? What’s the Next Big Thing? I’ll do my best to embrace and enjoy this journey instead of freaking out.

In the meantime, I’ll start to focus on Canada and remind myself that this is a dream come true. Less than three weeks!

After nearly 3 weeks, my heart and brain are still here on this mountain.

Breaking Bad(Ass)

We're due for some nice, dry weekend weather here in San Antonio - for two weeks in a row, Saturday morning has been a rainy mess, which makes for some unpleasant cycling. Last weekend, the girls and I hit Castroville and managed to get all our efforts in before the rain came. The last hour of our ride was spent in misty drizzle in traffic on slippery streets with road grime flinging up from passing cars and trucks into our faces. The highlight of that ride was having a driver pull up at a traffic light next to us in her (warm, dry) car and tell us "I just want to tell you guys that you are so badass." Were we badass or stupid to be out there? We decided on "reluctantly badass" because we had tried to outrun the rain, but failed. It still felt good to hear. 

Last Saturday's mudfest.

When you're on a journey trying to morph from not-so-badass to Super Badass status (whatever that looks like to you), you're going to have to face your fears at some point, whether it's on purpose or not. Yesterday turned out to be an exercise in facing fears, although I didn't know it when I set out. I rode with Dawn and Trent, a new member of our squad. Dawn was planning on an easy 70 miles. 

Fear #1 - Dawn's "easy rides" are never easy for me. I don't know Trent and I don't know how fast he rides. Will I be able to keep up?

Then, as soon as we exited Dawn's neighborhood, it started raining. ARGH.

Fear #2 - Robert just detailed my bike for me last weekend after I rode in the rain. He's going to kill me. (just kidding - sort of)

Real Fear #2 - I'm afraid of riding in the rain in traffic in a group that I'm not at the front of. I always feel safer in front. And clearly I am not going to be riding at the front of this group. 

As we rode easy up Blanco Road, Dawn was trying to decide on a route. She picked Kendalia/Edge Falls because it would have less traffic on this rainy day. 

Fear #3 - The route. Dawn described this route as "Alphanso's first 100 miler, remember, last year?" I do remember, but not because it was Alphanso's first 100 miler. It was a ride that I totally melted down on. On a rainy, cold day, very much like this day, we rode with a ton of people out to Kendalia/Edge Falls, and I was having a bad day. I couldn't keep up and I was pissed. The folks on the ride who were doing IMTX were expected to do 100 miles, and some were just along for the group ride. Freezing our butts off in the rain on scary high-traffic highways, Orissa and Brian, who were not doing IMTX, decided to turn back and cut the day short early. I opted to go with them. I ended up standing in the middle of Amman Road with Dawn (who had turned back to check on us) screaming at me about mental toughness, and me screaming back that I didn't need to build any character, I had plenty, thank you very much. I ended up continuing the ride and reluctantly building mental toughness. It's hilarious to look back on now, a year later, but as we rode yesterday, those memories kept resurfacing as I struggled to stay with our speedy little group that now included a stray roadie that we had picked up along the way.

Dawn, me, Trent, and the Stray Roadie (think his name was Greg).

Fear #4 - Riding in my aerobars in a group. Yep, I'm still not over this. And I need to get there before I race again. I know I won't be racing in a peloton, and that sometimes it's safer to sit up on a group ride, but sometimes you need to just suck it up and practice being around people in your aerobars. So yesterday, I did a 10 minute effort in the rain at the front of the group, in my aerobars with Dawn next to me yelling to stay in my aerobars. I did, and I even turned corners and I didn't fall down, and I lost a tiny bit of fear.

It ended up being a ride that I was proud of, and I do feel somewhat more badass for facing some fears and pushing a little bit past them. I've had conversations about fear - with Dawn, regarding riding in aerobars in crowds and wet roads - "aren't you afraid to fall and break your collarbone again?" "Yes, but I'm more afraid to ride slow and let my coach down." Maybe sometimes it's about choosing which fear to listen to. And then today on our run, I talked about it again with Brian - "Aren't you afraid to ride in the rain?" "Yes, but I'm more afraid to be screamed at by my coach for being a weenie." Whatever works, right? Moving forward. :)

Breakthroughs and Setbacks

I've had lots of good intentions for posting the last few weeks. The problem is that every time I think to myself "oh that's a good one! I'll write about that when I get home," by the time I sit down to write, the feeling that I had has been replaced by a different one, sometimes good and sometimes bad. So today I just decided to write about this roller coaster that I've been on.

The month of September has been a good one for training, and the reason why might surprise you. Here's what happened. We were off work for Labor Day and Robert and I have been getting his Harley ready for me to ride with him (he's had the bike for years, and I've never had any desire to get on there with him, until Sons of Anarchy came along, don't judge me). So I have this adorable pink helmet and the motorcycle has a seat and pegs for me, and we just need a day to get out there and practice.

After a regular weekend of tri training, we hopped on the Harley on Labor Day and went for a successful ride for an hour an a half around all the roads that I usually ride my bicycle on. It was exhilarating (ok, at first it was terrifying and I almost didn't make it out of our neighborhood without throwing up from fear. But that's a whole other story). The problem is that about an hour into the ride, my same old hamstring was screaming at me just from sitting on the motorcycle, and when we returned home I could barely walk.

For almost a year, I've been figuring out ways to "work through" this hamstring issue without solving it. I've been telling myself that it doesn't hurt while I'm riding/running, so what's the big deal if it hurts all day at work? This summer, I was beginning to dread the running days because every time I ran, I knew I'd be in some pretty solid discomfort for the entire day afterwards. But it wasn't "affecting my life." Well, now it was. And I would be damned if I didn't get to ride around the hill country on the back of the motorcycle holding onto my very own Jax Teller because of a tri injury.

I asked Coachie what to do and she begged me to go and see Justin Martindale over at Promotion Physical Therapy. She has so much confidence in him and he really helped Shelly back in the fall before IMAZ, so I decided that even though physical therapy had not seemed to help that much before, that I needed to give this another try.

This experience has been far different from my PT experience in May. After 3 weeks of 3x a week at Promotion and following all the rules, I believe this is helping me to get better for real this time. The real benefit is coming from having my coach and physical therapist talking to each other about my progress. After a conversation with both of them, we determined that I needed to "push it" on a week's worth of workouts and "see what happened."

Here's where the roller coaster comes in. I followed their directions and started pushing it. And because I wasn't afraid to hurt myself, I broke through left and right in swimming, biking, and running, hitting intervals I've never hit, reaching speeds and heart rate zones that I've never been able to grasp and hold on to before. This happened consistently for 2 weeks and I know it was all because I put fear away. Even with harder workouts, my hamstring was feeling better too. Yesssssss!

Well then, after a particularly awesome weekend workout, I was doing a pretty benign swim on Tuesday and I felt sharp pain in my hip flexor. By the end of that day, I could barely walk. Luckily, I had a PT appointment. Justin couldn't figure out what I'd done, he tried to make my hip physically feel better, but mentally I was a mess. I went home and cried and felt like I was back at square one.

And then 2 days later, it feels better, the hamstring feels great, I'm probably one PT appointment away from "graduating," and I'm back to smashing workouts and feeling super strong.

Roller coaster. I hate roller coasters. I've made a decision to just hold on and go for this ride. Longhorn 70.3 is in exactly one month.