Swim in a Tumbler, Bike in a Hurricane, Run in Hell – a love story!

RACE REPORT – GULF COAST 70.3 TRIATHLON                               

ILANA KATZ MS, RD, CSSD

A race report warranted to be written… Why? You ask —

mmm…    Where do I begin, to tell a story of how hard a tri can be.  A real life story that begins with the sea, the simple truth about the survival of me. Where do I start?

At the very beginning…. Arriving at Panama City Beach, in the Gulf Coast was breathtaking. The ocean as smooth as a mirror, and as turquoise as a precious stone. The sky was as blue as my toenails.

I couldn’t wait to jump in and glide like a dolphin, and that I did, now even more excited about the race tomorrow as I was after my season opener (West Point Lake Olympic). Who knew that in the depths of the horizon was a monster brewing. Who could have dreamed that the writing was on the wall for this perfect day.  Double double toil and trouble, ocean rocks and waves will double.

Beep beep beep, 4:30am alarm going off for race day preparation. A peek out the window, an exhilarating anticipation for that placid swim in the ocean. It was still pitch dark, so who knew the brew had begun. Those that follow the radar on the weather channel, I guess, but that was not me. Arriving at transition, the humid air could be cut with a knife… oh yeah, the witches brew was bubbling away. Many anxious athletes looked sullen and gray. That was not me.

Sliding into a wetsuit is always a challenge. Sliding didn’t work, jumping… that too was somewhat a mission, so out comes the suit juice, glide, globs of lotion, and anything else that will tame my rubber skin that somehow shrank in the closet over the winter.

Even though the level of anxiety around me reached an all-time high, I remained relatively calm. I guess my anxiety trigger is my personal Pavlov’s dog phenomenon of “Oh say can you see, by the dawn’s early light…” (to be honest, no, I still can’t see what’s going on beyond the shore on this dawn, dimly lit through the mists of the deep.) But those words mean:  You ,dearest, are about to be swimming in that doubly troubled toiled and bubbled ocean. And we are off.

It truly amazes me how one triathlete after the next, is willing to throw themselves in to a giant washing machine/tumble drier cycle with what seems to be a fearless undertaking. I later realized that for many it is fearful, but the will to complete the mission is stronger. The long hours in the pool at 5am that most of us endure, WILL pay off.  The colossal washing machine had lots to offer. Between the white cap swells, and the shark bait fish by the millions, it was quite the unforgiving swim. Nothing like the exquisite blue tease of yesterday’s forgotten memory.

At last I see Dori (my tri bike), her welcoming frame patiently waiting, yet eager to get on with her job of transporting me out and back for 56 miles just because she can.

Again, the calm before the storm…  

Let me sail, Let me sail, let the road below me flow. I’ve left the beach, out of reach, from the gulf back there below… over the bridge and into the windy burbs of Panama. “May the wind be on my back”, as many supporters hoped, and yes, for awhile it was to be.  Then the wind turned from a tail to a head. I continued to fight the force, still smiling from the triumph of the challenge. Until… double double toil and trouble, storm is once again brewing up some rubble. With 10 miles to go, I was feeling great, average speed pretty good on my own grading scale. I was sailing back to the home front, looking forward to parking Dori, acknowledging her, a job well done, and getting on with the run. But oh no, the brewed up storm had a different path for us, which included being blown every which way but straight!  My average miles per hour then dropped, dropped drastically. Fighting gusts that felt like they were strong enough to lift a human and a Dori right into the middle of traffic. Gusts that made this once flat, simple road feel like mount Kilimanjaro. Dare I add, it had started howling rain too! At this point, I would have preferred to be riding up a Kilimanjaro,  because at least what you see is what you get, and that awareness allows for preparation. Fighting my way back to transition took at least another hour, a time drastically different to the predictions produced by the statistics of the previous 2 hours.

Whew…   transition in sight. I don’t think I have felt a happier moment in all my triathlon experiences, and that includes seeing the finish line at an Ironman. That was some scary #*%$# !!  So, needless to say, rain clears out, sun starts to shine, and shine brighter, and shine hotter, and another monster from Hell is chuckling down on us once again. “You try beat this heat, haw haw haw !!!”

I must now commend the awesome race support crew and volunteers. Handing us cold sponges soaked in ice was a glorious matter in itself. Providing a feast of orange slices, pretzels and Gatorade made such a hellish run slightly doable. So on I plod, and plod and plod. I feel like I have run a marathon…  I see a sign, the finish must be near… the sign becomes clearer, my heart is thumping with anticipation: “MILE 2”, W.T.F !!! I did a double take to make sure it didn’t say 2 MILES to go… oh no it didn’t!! So on and on I plod, feeling like my feet are tied to a ton of bricks. The sun beats down and the heat is hot, the day moves on, at the finish line I am NOT !

So the plodding along progressed into a rhythm. I actually started warming up to the mile marker signs a few miles down, instead of cursing them out loud at their message of doom.  Then the count down to the finish line was finally real… my sofa king team, waiting with excitement for us stragglers to join them… There were still a couple of sofa king slow ones out on the course ; side note: whew, I was not last !!

So that’s the story of how great a love can be. A love of triathlon and what it does for me. The pain is forgotten, the fear is at bay, I cannot wait for the next one, I wish it was today!!!

As y’all know me by now, I always like to share a few things I learn along the way… so here goes for this challenging days experience:

• I am pretty comfortable in water, even if its undercurrents are not comfortable with me,
• Swimming in schools of fish is quite a sensation. One of slime and grime. (I had no idea that what I was constantly feeling out there was fish, it felt like someone had deposited a trillion grapes in the ocean).
• My sighting is spot on… (take that, Coach Pete) – I swam right into every buoy… literally hit the damn buoy with my goggled face.
• I need a new pair of goggles.
• As supportive as Dori is, of my trials and tribulations, we seem to be taking a little too long to connect. Please Dori, lets work together, you are my first choice for Ironman  Florida, but Gentle Giant is closing in on the ratings…. What can we do to fix our struggles?
• I got a penalty for drafting… yeah, me, the one who cannot keep up with anyone, managed to be accused of keeping up to someone, apparently.
• I was not drafting, I was merely attempting to stay alive.
• My nutrition was sofa king perfect, AGAIN !!! (see me for the reasons why ;-))
• Sofa King is still the best team ever… we certainly top the ratings on the funny comment lists. And no, we are NOT kings of the sofa… we are so-fa-king incredible !!! Go team.
• As always, thanks to friends, family, clients, and students for all your support through the continued journey of swim, bike, run, and most importantly FUELing optimally, practicing my preaches, and embracing my praises !!