As I mentioned before the race was delayed because of a huge storm that rolled through the Twin Cities on Saturday morning. So we waited in the car. We waited in the transition area after setting up. We waited on the beach, watching the earlier waves go out. We waited on the other side of the beach, visiting with our family and friends.
We went back to waiting on the first side of the beach. We waited in the water, testing the temperature and trying a few strokes. Then we waited in a large mass of people in our wave. Then we waited in line, slowing making our way towards the starting line. Then we waited for the official to count "3...2...1" before running into the water and diving in. Then came the hardest part.
The swim was brutal. I was woefully under trained.
I ran out a few meters. I dove in to get wet. I stood back up and took a few more steps (this was the technique my dad and I had seen some of the more elite athletes do earlier--and I had heard some people in line talking about not diving in too hard because you could lose your goggles) and dove in again and started taking strokes.
I knew I wasn't going to be able to crawl the whole way, or most of the way, or even a significant portion of the way. I was hoping to be relying on the sidestroke for most of the way with bouts of backstroke when I really needed a break. I definitely got all three strokes in but nothing was as I had hoped.
The problems began after I decided to to turn to the sidestroke for a little "easy" breathing time. The conditions on the water were less than ideal. The water was ultra choppy and wavy. I knew to expect that I wasn't going to be in a glassy surfaced pool, but I was not expecting what I was swimming through. If I faced into the wind the waves would just straight up hit me in the face while I tried to breath. If I turned the other way, the waves would break over my head and surprise me that way. I had to turn to the backstroke far earlier than I had hoped. But I was in for a couple surprises.
First, again, the waves were breaking over my head and wreaking havoc on my breathing (which are the weakest part of my swimming abilities). And the wind was strong enough to blow me in the wrong direction if I wasn't actively looking exactly where I was going, which is hard to do when looking at the sky.
Here is a picture of the course. The starting line was off to the left of the picture. The swimmers are heading 200m, following the orange, round buoys to the large, triangular, orange buoy which was the turning point.Then it was 200m back along the second line of orange, round buoys that are in a line straight out in the picture. Allison took this shot from the finishing chute. The lines of people you see on the outside of the course with their shoulders out of the water are the lifeguards. They come into the story very shortly.
So one wants to follow the line of those round buoys out to the large triangle, manage your way around it, and head straight in along the other round buoys. Sadly, this was not how my swim went. I'm certain I did more than a 400m swim yesterday with a bit of zagging and zigging. Kind of like how my dog always takes a much longer walk than I do when we're out together.
I can't remember exactly where, but I like to imagine it wasn't too far from the 200m turning point, I needed my first rest with the lifeguard. They had floatation devices that one was allowed to grab and hold on to for however long you wanted before heading out with no extra penalty. I rested and breathed and talked to the nice guy holding the floatation device. He said he was thankful I stopped because he was getting cold not moving. My grabbing the device meant he could tread water and actually get his blood flowing. Glad to know I could help you out, buddy! (He had been in the water for a couple of hours)
I moved on and I don't remember if I stopped again before the turn or not. If I had to bet, I'd say that I did. And then came the turn. Swimming in a mass of humanity, with arms and legs flailing, crowding around you, when you're already a weak swimmer, and having trouble, is no fun. I tried to swim the course away from as many people as I could. But the turn was unavoidable and it was a funnel. I can't remember how exactly I made it around. It had to have been the sidestroke but I remember just being very nervous and worried about it but amazingly relieved when I was on the other side.
I must have turned pretty tightly because it wasn't long before a lifeguard was telling me I had swam too far back towards the "out" leg. When I looked up and saw how far I had to go back I'm pretty sure I decided to take another rest. The wind was blowing a lot of people out of the path they wanted to go. One of the lifeguards I stopped with on the return leg told me that they had all moved from the outside of the course to the inside because that is where all the people were blowing. I think I told her I was thankful for that because I'm not sure I could have made it out that far. Nothing like a little fatalistic humor in the middle of a harrowing experience!
It was probably 50m past the turning point that my goggles became completely fogged up. I tried to keep them on and look through the bottoms but it just wasn't working. So I lifted the goggles to my forehead and kept going. So that something else that didn't help as I sidestroked and backstroked my way back and forth through the water, generally towards the beach, with the waves breaking over my head.
I think I stopped with a couple more lifeguards and also stopped once to hold on to one of those round, orange buoys. At one lifeguard stop I shared the floatation devices with one or two other people. It was also at that stop that I realized there weren't too many swimmers with my color of cap around me anymore. Each wave had the same color swim cap. So not seeing many of my color meant I was one of the slowest swimmers in my entire wave. And my wave, the Friends and Family wave, had to be the weakest overall wave in the entire triathlon.
At some point after that multi-person lifeguard stop I needed a break but no lifeguards were close by. Thankfully I had gotten myself back on course and was able grab one of the round buoys. At the same another guy grabbed on to the opposite side. They're not easy to hold on to so that was interesting. Right after he pushed off I was trying to position myself upright and I developed a big cramp in my right calf. I was not thinking positive thoughts right then. But I pushed off the buoy to see how it worked. Not well, but I was swimming.
I must have looked pretty bad on the last part of my swim. The final lifeguard I stopped at asked me if I was going to make it and if I needed help in. I told him no and headed out for the last bit of swimming. I could not wait to touch the sand with my feet. As soon as saw a few people ahead of me standing up I started dropping my feet to test the depth. I finally touched in about waist-deep water and felt one of the largest rushes of relief in my life.
I didn't want to disappoint my family and friends, who were standing in the exit chute cheering me out of the water (also, I'm guessing, with large senses of relief). I was determined to not walk out so I picked up my knees in a jerky kind of jog as I made my way to the transition area.
The shortest, both length-wise and time-wise, part of my race was over. But the hardest part was also over. I must reiterate, while my arms and legs weren't strong enough for what I had to do. The main difficult I had was simply breathing. The waves crashing over my head and in my face was something I just wasn't fully capable of dealing with. When there were too many waves in my mouth in a row, that's when I needed a stop.
But from that point on I was resolved to enjoy the rest of the race as best I could. Cycling and running would never feel so good.
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