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| Photo by Ben Bao Tran |
My hands looked swollen and red.
Just moments before I’d donned my wetsuit, clumsily, because I couldn’t exactly
feel what I was doing. The light drizzle that met me as I descended from the
bus had turned into a steady rain. It didn’t take long for the wind to pick up
and carry it sideways against our faces. The 45 degrees my iPhone displayed felt
like sub-40. My wetsuit kept me somewhat warm, and my double swim caps kept my
hair from getting wet. Funny thing is, I could see my bare feet on the wet
pavement, but I couldn’t feel them. Amy Wilcox turned to me and said my face had
turned blue. I had no doubt, as a number of people around me had turned funny
shades of white, blue, and red. An ambulance that sat idle as I walked into
transition suddenly turned on its lights and started down the long road toward
town. I thought that ambulance was there for those who needed it during the
race. The sooner I got this race started, the better. I was ready to go! Let’s
do it!
I still stood in transition.
---
Two weeks ago I sat in a car with
Matt Beard on our way home from Walla Walla, WA. We ended up on the topic of
Boise 70.3. Having just finished Onionman, a race whose conditions started out
really cold and windy, we thought how funny it would be if Boise was a race of
the ultimate weather extremes. No joke. Our hypothetical race looked like this:
Triathletes met 5ft swells in the swim, battled through
50mph gusts and pouring down rain on the bike, only to encounter 90-degree
temperatures with blaring sunshine on the run.
My only advice to you would be
this: Don’t ever plan your worst race. Ever. You may just find yourself at
Boise 70.3 with conditions like this:
Triathletes were shuttled up to Lucky Peak Reservoir, where
they met 45-degree temperatures, 30mph winds, and a light drizzling rain that
turned into downpour by the time athletes had to leave the transition area and
wait for their swim wave to enter the water. Water temperatures had dropped
from a comfortable 64 degrees earlier that week to 57 degrees by race day
morning, and reports of snow on the bike course—along with dangerous wind
gusts—prompted race officials to shorten the bike leg. As if weather extremes
couldn’t be displayed any better, athletes were met with warm sunshine by the
middle of the half marathon.
---
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| In Transition 1. I think this was the only time I smiled... only for the camera. |
I thought it would be fun
to write this race report in hyperbole, but Mother Nature made my job a whole
lot easier by simply making it reality. Looking back, this race was more a
mental challenge than a physical one. In fact, the biggest obstacle in this
race was whether to start the race at all. Participants and spectators alike
sought refuge behind two large trailers near the docks at the swim start. To
say we felt cold would be an understatement. We didn’t shiver. We shook. In
fact, I can’t remember the last time I shook so hard with cold. I watched as
Wave 6 entered the water and finally went searching for someone I knew. Craig?
Erica? Anyone? It wasn’t until I found Lianne Nye that I broke down. Two women
pointed at me, and I didn’t know if it was because I was crying or because I
had turned a funny shade of blue. I’ve never cried before a race! Actually,
I’ve never found myself in a situation that I seriously questioned my sanity.
Everything about this felt stupid.
Like waves do, they keep moving.
Before I knew it, my wave slipped over the starting mat and my feet stepped
into Lucky Peak, water that actually felt warmer than the air. Warmth also ran down
my legs, and I realized with feet in the water and pee in my wetsuit, there was
no reason to turn back.
---
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| Checking in the day before. Craig Thoreson, Erica Zeimer, Natalie Gallagher, Dave Erickson, Nate Duncan, Bottom row: Me, Amy Wilcox. |
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| Group ride in the sunshine: Friday. |
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| Weather on Lucky Peak was drastically different than in downtown. Trifusion is checking out the water. |
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| Lucky Peak: Friday night. Sunshine prevailed, but we couldn't ignore the clouds. |
Friday morning, while
spending time with my teammates and checking in at the Boise Center, I had the
opportunity to ask questions and receive suggestions to use for race day. Dave
Erickson enjoyed joking around with me by offering “tips” the experienced
triathlete would only describe as nonsense. He did preface the one tactic I
began to use immediately upon entering the water with, “Now this is serious.”
His serious tip was this: plunge your face in the water and blow bubbles to
acclimate your body to the cold water. I did just that about 5 times, but each
time I did it, the water felt colder and colder. Three minutes flew by, and I
was off on my 34:05 swim through water that started off calm, but soon turned
choppy.
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| Transition 1: Friday night. |
I had plenty of time to
strip my wetsuit in the long trek up to the wetsuit strippers. All through the
swim, my fingers were splayed out at funny angles. I quickly realized why
proper pull technique is essential. With fingers that didn’t work, I wondered
exactly how I was going to get out of my wetsuit. Thankfully, it peeled right
off after I fumbled around with the Velcro at the back of my neck for a time.
The volunteers did a great job of making my escape easier so I could tackle the
challenge of getting ready for my bike leg. I never thought I’d have so much
trouble with Velcro. I couldn’t even get my shoes on. And my helmet? My race
belt? You’d think I was drunk watching my failed attempts to snap together the clasps.
Putting socks on cold toes you can’t feel makes for an interesting experience
as well. I met Amy just as we left T1, wished her well, and headed out for a
snotty and cold 15 miles of cycling.
 |
| Transition 2: Saturday morning = cold and wet |
I rounded that turn to
start my second loop as a pro ran to the finish line. My feet kept on moving. A
group of geese and goslings ambled across the path right before the first aid
station. Apparently they got a memo to join some kind of party? By mile 10 my
feet ached, but a short 5k was all I had left. I let myself speed up a little
and hung on until mile 12. A man I’d followed up until then ran alongside me.
We held each other to a steady, quick pace before racing into the crowd.
The scene didn’t quite
compare to what I’d been apart of at Ironman Coeur d’Alene. Yet what a cool
experience to run alongside a cheering crowd, return high-fives to the
outstretched arms of little kids eagerly awaiting the finish of their parents.
This race didn’t turn out to be the race I’d prepared for. I feel a little
sheepish telling people I completed a whole half Ironman. Yet while each of us
prepares to race a full 70.3, I learned we should all be prepared for any
changes that might change the dynamics of a race. I have yet to prove I can
complete a full 70.3, but I did learn that when my mind thinks enough is
enough, the body can go a little further. Looking back, I’d have been
disappointed if I’d stepped away from the water and chose to forgo the race.
You don’t get to Las Vegas through uncertainty and hesitation. I guess it’s
already time to look past Lake Stevens. Vegas awaits.
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| Photo by Sophie Wilcox. Thank you for coming out and cheering us all to the finish! |
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