Race Day – Before the Race

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“Pothole!”

“Pothole!”

One at a time each team member shouts back to the person behind  them, a warning of what is ahead.

“Car up!”

“Car up!”

“Car up!”

The rhythm soothes me, and I’d guess the yelling doesn’t hurt either. It is 5:20am and we are riding in the dark towards the starting line. My cadence is consistent, the same as that of the person in purple riding in front of me, and every few strokes I literally have to remind myself to breathe. “Deep breaths,” I keep telling myself. But the nerves are too much and my whole body feels tense.

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Today is the day we’ve been training for for the last 5 months. The people I’m riding to the starting line with are those I’ve spent more hours with than my own friends and family. We’ve sweat together, laughed together, shared our stories, and fought towards the same cause. We’ve been each other’s biggest supports and have all shown strength in different moments. The build up to this day has been a long road of skipping out on Friday night beers with our friends in preparation for early Saturday brick workouts, shoes squishing with every stride from inevitable missteps into mud puddles, late night swims, biking up enormous hills (literal and figurative), planning and attending fundraisers, and digging deep mentally as much as physically. This day is the culmination of a huge amount of effort.

As we get closer to the transition area, where we will set up our gear and head to the starting line, the road gets more congested. I see the rows and rows of bike racks, fenced in so that only race participants are allowed inside. My heart is beating a mile a minute, or has it completely stopped? I don’t remember the last time I was this nervous. I consciously wonder if the nerves are for the race itself, or if I’m emotional because it’s all going to be over soon. I get a lump in my throat and think it must be both. I see my friend Kris, normally loud and silly, and we just look at each other wide eyed before entering the transition area.

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After finding the spot for #301 and racking my bike, I go to find mister at #321. We head to the body marking area where we will be stamped by the stamps that have numbered Ironman athletes. Part of the race will be along the Ironman course as well, as were a few of our practices in the last few days. It strikes me as to how crazy those people must be. That the sane thing to do is listen to your body when it tells you it doesn’t want to run a full marathon after swimming and biking that far in the Hawaiian heat. It also strikes me that I might be a little insane myself, but I don’t have time to dwell on that. We get our timing chips and take a few photos, drop off our cell phones and flip flops at the transition area and make sure that everything is laid out how we want it. We grab our goggles and swim caps. For me, purple, like the rest of the 30-39 year old women. The fact that it matches my Team in Training jersey as well as my shoes makes me happy.

We head to the beach and closer to the starting line.

This is where the reality hits hardest. There are SO many people. We take a team photo and do our team cheer.

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Yelling helps ease the tension a little bit. Otherwise, everyone is pretty quiet. We talk a little bit about being nervous. Some people mention that they might cry, or throw up, or pass out. I think I might do all three. The anticipation is palpable. For a few minutes I lose Kyle in the crowd. It’s getting close to start time and I can’t imagine doing this race without a final hug and good luck to each other. Looking for his red swim cap does me no good since every 30-39 year old guy is wearing a red swim cap. I find my mentor, Joyce, and walk closer the start with her.  Time is going by too fast. I haven’t found Kyle or any of the other purple capped women from my team. I keep thinking, “I don’t want to start this race by myself!” Joyce will be starting a few minutes after me in her wave.

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My heart is hammering as I hear the gun that starts the elite wave.  It is 7:20am. In 15 minutes (3 waves), I will be starting my triathlon. Where is Kyle? I start getting a little bit frantic, not sure why I need to find him, but knowing that I just do. I turn around, and there he is — with several of the members of our team, including three ladies in purple swim caps. Relief takes over the nerves for a minute. Kyle and I hug and say good luck. The gun for the 7:25 wave is going off and Kyle is on his way to the start.

I latch onto Kelly, Diana, and Beth. Terrified of losing them before we start. Realistically I know that once the gun goes off I probably won’t see them again until sometime into the bike or run, but I don’t care. All of our training has been done as a team, and I want someone on the team next to me to share these nerves with. The gun goes off again and Kyle’s wave is in the water. I try to watch for him, but there’s no way to tell who is who.

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The girls and I inch into the starting area, finding our spot on the right side, towards the middle of the pack. I’m afraid my heart might pound out of my chest. Time is ticking down fast. Beth gives a  pep talk. Kelly screams a little. I can’t stand still. My hands are shaking. Goggles on. Good luck, ladies. Gun goes off. Feet in the water. Knees in the water. Swimming.

And just like that, the nerves are gone. All of the tension, anticipation, anxiety, just melts away. I’m swimming in the ocean with 275 other women in my wave. I’m finding my rhythm, despite being kicked and jostled and despite the choppy, murky water. I’m breathing better than I have all day……………..

 

 

Click here for the second half of this race report