Memorial Day Tri: Swim, Bike, Eat

I temporarily re-joined the New Triathlete's Program for the traditional three sports with which to celebrate Memorial Day: swim/bike/eat throwdown at Sandy Point Park, just outside of Annapolis.

(I apparently need to actually buy a camera, because Someone decided she wants her own camera back. Sheesh. Kids.)

Maybe you've heard? Swimming isn't my strong suit? I kind of sort of actually hate and detest it? Maybe I haven't actually blogged about swimming. I think maybe I only FaceBooked about the hate-on I have for swimming. Well, to make a long story short: I have this swim coach, she's great, she kicks my ass, I'm tossing up a lung in her workouts, I almost quit, I didn't, things got better, and well, we'll see.

I mean, I want to be challenged in my swimming. But there's challenging and then there's impossible. It's as though my track coach just suddenly told me to run 7 min miles. That's a fine goal, but you know, I'm not going to get there for a long, long (REALLY LONG) while. So I explained all of this to my coach, and voila, or viola, at last week's swim lesson I got to wear flippers. (And those things rock.) So, we'll see.

Anywho, I had to FORCE myself to do this open water swim thing, as usual. We had some nice OLDTP-ers on hand to guide us (thanks Ed and Simon!) and they gave some great pointers. I worked hard on sighting and on swimming, and on swimming, you know—near other people. Like REALLY close. We practiced Mass Starts, which I have successfully avoided up til now. It wasn't so horrible as I thought. We did variations of swimming from this buoy to that one over and over, gradually increasing distance, culminating in a nice long 800 m swim in the lovely Chesapeake Bay.

As usual, it was awesome. I didn't drown (my latest new terror? That I'll be the one who has the heart attack in the water that you read about at every triathlon. It's always something, isn't it?), and I kept a decent pace. It's possible that the wetsuit helped.

After all of that fun, we had a leisurely transition and hit the bikes for another FANTASTIC ride. We did about 16 miles, headed towards Annapolis. Beautiful day, birds singing, the smell of honeysuckle, cut grass, and barbecue in the air. What made this ride fun and different? Well, I kept up, for one thing. And we rode in a pace line for another. These are monumental things in my puny little life. I remember this trip last year, when a 40-mile-bike ride pretty much broke me. So great to see progress. Plus? The New New Triathletes were terrific.

On the way back, one of the NTP-ers got a flat and a few of us stopped to help her fix it. I provided the tube, Simon provided the brawn. And the skill. (Although I could have done it. Eventually.)

Anyway, the point of this little story is, I fell behind everyone, but I was determined to catch up, and catch up I did.

After a mile or so, I met up with Simon, who was nicely waiting for me and then?

It. Was. On.

It. Was. So. On.

(Simon is half my age and an Ironman. So yeah. It wasn't really on.)

Simon at New Jersey Tri last year. Sorry big guy.

I needed to catch a few people. I needed to SHOW a few people how to do this thing. (Heh.)

Apparently I started riding. After a bit Simon pulled up to me and said, "You know you're doing about 18 mph?"

What? Exsqueeze me?? This thing only goes 15 mph. (And no, I don't have a bike computer. On purpose. Why depress myself more?)

I kept going. It felt great!! Simon told me later I hit 20mph (and if he was lying, I don't want to know). Ed even told me I had a nice cadence! (Some women like to be told they're beautiful. Then, there's the rest of us.)

I say it over and over: It's the little things in life, people.

These little victories and people telling me I'm getting better just mean the world to me. I mean, I was high after hearing that!

I just hope I remember to do the same for others.

Afterwards, we headed to Cantlers for the traditional crabcake feast

Me, Ed, last year at Cantler's. Yum.

No better way to spend a Memorial Day.

Only a Memory

I put out an APB for photos from last Saturday, and the peeps came through:

The beach at Sandy Point, near Annapolis, Maryland.

More beach. Too bad there's not some GIANT structure somewhere around here, like say, a big long BRIDGE, that I can use to sight off of...

Mistress of all sports Sandy, left, and me, at Sandy Point. (photos courtesy Sandy C.)

You've seen the "Elaine dance"? This is the "Elaine swim."

Awww. Weetle baby ducks!

Cantlers, where I had the best crabcake of my life. THANK GOD FOR JON without whom none of this would have been possible.

My nemesis, Jon. I never had a nemesis before!

You would NOT believe the inspiring views you get in triathlon! My peep Casey shows us some. (photos courtesy Sheriece M.

Going Long

On Saturday's schedule was a 2 hour 30 minute bike ride, plus an open water swim. This time we visited Sandy Point State Park, which is a lovely beach on the Chesapeake Bay with a gorgeous view of the Bay Bridge, none of which I can show you because I forgot the camera. Use your imagination. After another talk by another coach, we tried a few mass starts. Except I always wait for everyone else to go. Which sorta DEFEATS the point of the practice.

Then we did some swimming along the shoreline, practicing sighting. One of my DC Tri club peeps, oh, let's call him IRONMAN SIMON, actually pulled me aside in the water to show me what I'm doing wrong. Apparently I am TOO POLITE while swimming. Instead of slicing/driving my hand through the water, I am gently tapping it, like I don't want to hurt its feelings.

The minute I got to work today I put in a call to a swim coach. The same coach who told my other DC Tri club peep, oh, let's call him CASEY, that she was going to SLIT HIS NECK in order to get him to put his head down. My kinda coach!

After the swim, we all jumped on our bikes for the EPIC 40-mile ride, and then? There were five of us. Led by the intrepid Eagle Scout DC Tri club leader, let's call him WILL.

We got to mile oh, let's say ONE, and Will signaled that he was stopping. Then he stopped. BECAUSE THERE WAS A STOP SIGN. And a big ol' truck a'comin'. And I stopped too! Yay me!

As I was going down, I screamed "help" and reached out and grabbed Will, cuz I guess I didn't want to eat pavement alone. Thankfully he stayed upright. My brain was screaming CLIP OUT CLIP OUT CLIP OUT but my body was not responding. I went down. He stayed up. I was fine, just a little scrape on the knee but enough blood and grit to make me look hardcore. As Will said, "Now you can join the ranks of those who are awaiting their next fall," having gotten the first one out of the way.

Onward! Soon there were two. Me, in last place, and Will, about 1,000 miles ahead of me. But Will waited at every turn, of which there were many, to make sure I knew where we were going.

It was a beautiful day. We rode along superhighways, and back country rodes, over bridges, up and down big ass hills, while various songs played in my head. (After passing "Revolution Road," the Beatles and I had a nice time together.) Past the Canine Fitness Center, and the Wine Festival. Past the roadside memorial to some poor soul.

I spent most of my time trying not to envision my own death by bike. I have really got to replace my mental imagery.

At one red light, I pulled up alongside Will to entertain him with some witty bon mot (my bad, stay in line on a giant highway!), and when the light changed the minivan alongside me knocked my left elbow so hard its passenger-side mirror got slammed toward the window. Did the driver stop? Hell no! For all she knew my arm coulda been hanging off that mirror.

Some. People.

At 30 miles we hit downtown Annapolis and rode up to the place where the whole group was going to meet for lunch, but unbeknownst to us, had decided to skip. No matter!

I had been longing for a Coke. I had to have a Coke. If I didn't get a Coke I was going to kill someone. Curiously, I don't even drink Coke. Nor do I ingest it in any of its forms. It's probably been 20 years since I had a Coke! (Let's see how many times I can say Coke.)

Then Will and I got down to business and ordered lunch. He wanted soup. I was like, "Will, it's 120F outside!" Mysteriously, the soup of the day was: Watermelon.

Please, before you leave this earth, ride 30 miles in the blazing hot sun, and then go sit and have yourself a bowl of watermelon soup. It was like sex in a bowl.

Soon enough we were back on the road, with Will encouraging me that "there's only ten miles left." Which after a few hundred more miles? I knew was a lie. We finally made it back to the park, where my poor friend—oh let's call her Sandy—with whom I had carpooled—was sitting and waiting all by herself for me to return. She'd been back for an hour. She waited for ONE HOUR. Which right there deserves some kinda medal.

The rest of the group had gone here for lunch, and had saved seats for us, because that's the kind of peeps I hang with.

I then had the best crabcake sandwich of my life.

(Is this post too hyperbolic? Ya think?)

To recap: open water swim with personal training from an Ironman, a 40-mile ride (in 3:30) with my own personal guide, a snack to die for, and crabcakes and hush puppies afterwards.

Tell me again: When does tri training get hard?