Like any difficult conversation - parent-teacher conferences, annual reviews and the like - it's best to start with whatever positives you can find and play them up. So here they are:
1. My transitions were awesome. They were quick, and I wasn't totally scrambling or freaked out.
2. My run was amazingly easy and bordered on... get ready for it.... fun. (Remember, the run was only two miles.)
3. I did a great job of backing my T2 bag with a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. While I was frustrated with my overall performance, I was I think the only somewhat comfortable person standing around for an hour once the race was finished for the awards ceremony and thanks from the sponsors.
Then there were areas where I basically "met expectations."
1. The swim was short (300 yards), which was good because it occurred to me on Saturday that I haven't actually swam any laps since August 7th in the last sprint. The major miscalculation here wasn't that my muscles weren't prepared or that the swimming itself was difficult: it was that I hadn't held my breath for any reason since then. Whoops. Participants started fifteen seconds apart, and after passing the guy in front of me accidentally (I just didn't want to get passed and didn't realize that I got so close to him), I just sort of hung behind the next guy, ditched the flip turns, and took a few easier strokes to get a lot more air.
2. I packed everything into separate bags to easily set up the two different transition areas. This being my third sprint, I finally felt comfortable getting ready and didn't stay up all night in a panic worried that I'd forget something.
And so now of course we're left with the constructive criticism that highlights "areas for improvement."
1. Because there were two transition areas and I was getting a ride with a friend, I didn't pack a camera because I couldn't figure out where I'd want it - at T1 so I could take shots before we got started, or at T2 for the end, but neither would be that useful without the others, so I decided to just wait and rely on the official race photos. So uh, as you may have noticed by this point in the post, this event didn't have a photographer. Way to go novice blogger girl.
2. My bike started out well. It was just shy of 18 miles, most of which were a straight out and back from Herndon to Ashburn along the W&OD trail. I wasn't sure how hard to push myself, but I wasn't getting passed by too many men, and I passed a few women, so I figured everything would work out.
The first several road crossings were uneventful. Then, as I approached the next road, two police officers were stopping traffic in both directions and nodded me forward. A completely clueless driver swerved around one of the cars that had come to a stop and I had a flash - not of losing my life, but of being horribly injured, possibly paralyzed, worrying about my family and my idiocy of getting hurt while trying to get in shape. I saw the drivers eyes bulge as one cop jumped in front of her car and she saw me on my bike. I can only imagine my expression. And the cop WENT OFF. It all happened so fast, but the next mile of my ride was spent in a weird disbelief about the whole thing and an overly contemplative state. I must have slowed down a bit then, because I was passed by one woman on a tri bike totally decked out in her tri club gear, and another girl who I'd been talking to before the swim caught up to me. She was cheery and called to me, "okay let's go!" Thank goodness she did, because it got me out of my funk and back to the ride.
Everything was great as we rode near one another (with the required three bike lengths in between) for the next four or five miles and periodically called out encouragements to each other as more tribikes went whizzing by. When we got to the turnaround, all of a sudden she slowed down. I wasn't sure why, and I didn't know what to do. My struggle went something like this with the internal monologue in italics:
There's no I in team, there's no I in team... but this isn't in a team sport! Maybe she knows something I don't know.... maybe she just needs a minute or two... maybe I should ask...
Me: "uh... you doing okay?"
Her: "Yep!" (full of cheer and enthusiasm)
Hmmmm... does she think that I need a break?
Me: "Alright, you told me to go, so I went. Let's go!"
Her: "Yeah!"
Uh... yeah what exactly? .... Okay, my bike is screwed, but I knew I didn't know how to pace on the bike so maybe it's still okay... maybe this is like my Unintended Consequences post... that every step is a good step regardless of how fast... maybe the real life lesson for me here is embedded in this decision... ohhhh, pretty house....
And so, ask I looked at my watch and noticed the scenery along the path, I cheerfully called out, "Thank you!" and "Good Morning!" to all of the walkers and runners that we passed and the policemen stopping traffic. While I probably looked ridiculous and that I clearly had missed the part about the fact that I was in a race, I received several warm smiles and warm wishes in return.
There was a moment when I had almost convinced myself that everything was good and that having a teammate was more fun and worth going more slowly, and then as I thought about the upcoming run, my Pollyannaishness disappeared and was replaced with, "oh hell, what if she's an 8min/mile runner?! I'll be screwed!"
When we got to the transition and I was ready before she was, I gave her a nice big smile, called out in a supportive fashion, "Okay, let's do this!" and started running. Credit for being nice, but saving my run from the disaster that was my bike.
After crossing the finish line and seeing that my overall time was MUCH slower than what I had predicted, I was completely irritated with myself. Forget the weeks that I've spent trying to get ready for this race and throw the plan in the bucket?!?! Argh. How could I have done that?! As I stood with my friend and another racer and listened to them analyze their races, I shared that I was frustrated with myself and that "yeah, I probably shouldn't have done that."
Once the good, bad and ugly was shared amongst the three of us, the talk naturally turned to "the next time." "Next time I'll ______ insert get better gear, train harder, set up differently, etc." My next time? Next time I wear my ipod and avoid eye contact instead of making friends.
Great. Just awesome. I actually do the kind of thing I would want my daughter to do, and I get angry with myself for it. So now I'm asking myself again, what is my motivation? What makes a good race for me? Is it the process or the finish line? Can it be both? I'm working to remind myself that every step (ride, swim, race) is a good one and is more than I was doing last year.
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