Devilman Half Lite 50: What the HECK Was I Thinking?!?!?
I’m clearly stating the obvious, but the weather has been less than ideal the past few weeks (as in, I’d probably be better off signing up to do one of those Polar Bear Swims in Iceland or Alaska or wherever they do those). The week prior to getting in open water at Devilman found me at our six year old’s bus stop in my puffy winter coat, repeatedly questioning my sanity and choice of hobby.
Surely scrapbooking is much more comfortable….
Devilman was a C-Minus-Minus Rust Buster/Training Day race for me. No intentions or goals other than stay comfortable during the swim, stay upright on the bike, keep moving on the run, and do my best to remember how to do this triathlon thing. All of which I managed to make happen by the skin of my chattering teeth.
Rust Buster races, I’ve come to appreciate, are very important. Getting the stupid mistakes out of the way early in the season is very valuable.
For instance, you might forget to put your timing chip on your ankle, realize this five minutes before you’re supposed to get in the water, and have to sprint several hundred yards from swim start to transition - in flip flops and a wetsuit - to retrieve it.
The good news is, when my wave was shuttled into the water and we literally had to start swimming the second we hit the water, I was already warmed up (always a silver lining, folks!)!
THE SWIM: The 0.8 mile swim went exactly like every other triathlon swim I’ve ever experienced. It consisted of two loops, and I swear to you that the race directors found a way to defy the laws of physics and somehow saw to it that the distance between Buoy One and Buoy Two was longer than the rest of the swim course combined. From Buoy One to Buoy Two, I suffered through my mandatory 45” freak out – I consider being the annoying breast stroker for entire swim… I consider finding a friendly kayaker to chat with… I consider DNF’ing… Then I suck it up and find my rhythm. Slow (VERY slow), but comfortable. Goal met.
I came slogging up out of the water and heard someone yell, “Jess!” Turned around, and there was David McLaughlin, snapping pictures and leaving me self conscious that I had a pond beard. I so often do.
I didn’t even consider pulling my wetsuit down until I hit transition, but even then, in that 48 degree air (8 for the Celsius peeps) that “felt like” 43 with a wind chill…
T1: OMG ARE YOU KIDDING ME IT’S FLIPPING COLD OUT HERE AND I HAVE TO GET ON MY BIKE AND RIDE AND I CAN’T MAKE ANY PART OF MY BODY WORK AND HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO GET THIS WETSUIT OFF MAYBE I SHOULD JUST KEEP IT ON LIKE MATTY REED DID AT BOISE….
That’s pretty much how it went, anyway. I decided it was probably best NOT to wear the wetsuit on the bike, but I did wear John’s extra EN bike jacket. It really didn’t look or feel that big when I was standing in front of the mirror on race morning… but Dave McLaughlin’s pictures and the fact that the sleeves acted as parachutes throughout the majority of the 40 miles would tell otherwise!
THE BIKE: So I’m on my bike, struggling to find a way to shiver and stay upright at the same time, fighting a killer headwind which I’m no match for and had resolved that it was, “all in my head and likely just a light breeze,” wondering why I can’t just can’t seem to squeeze out those extra 5-6 watts, happy that I took the time to put on socks and the appropriate gloves, and passing all the guys in the Clydes division who FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY NEED TO GET A PROPER BIKE FIT. 40 miles of that, and a Selena Gomez song running through my brain on repeat.
It was an awesome ride, and all I could think about was getting in a hot tub.
I wish I had the time and/or the head space to analyze all the data, but I don’t, and I’m not much of one of one for the geekery. And lets be honest… my power file from this day was NOT that impressive. I WILL tell you that my VI was 1.00, though.
T2: Warmth. My body was finally thawing out, but my brain must’ve still been frozen… I stood there next to my racked bike like a nitwit trying to figure out what I was supposed to do next for what felt like an eternity. It’s a miracle I remembered to take off my helmet before I headed out on for the run…
THE RUN: I don’t know. I just… don’t know. I haven’t looked at my data, don’t know what my splits were, and have finally started to stop caring. I wasn’t hurting, per se, but I just couldn’t make my legs move. Every time I glanced down at my Garmin my pace was at least 10 – 15” off. I felt weak. I saw JW running home when I was at mile 2 and was impressed with how strong he looked. Then I saw my arch-nemesis – TuTu Girl – headed back toward the finish line while I was still at mile 3. She is at EVERY race I ever do, she is always faster than I am (in a tutu… ) and I hate her.
Cue the defeated, negative self-talk.
I shuffled the rest of the way through that 9 mile run and across the field toward the finish. It’s a miracle I didn’t trip or twist an ankle running across that uneven surface… Note that I'm staring at the ground....
In the end, I was a full FIFTEEN minutes slower this year than I was two years ago. Combination of a swim that was too short two years ago, transitions that were too long this year, headwinds on the way out AND back on the bike (confirmed by JW… this course seems to defy physics in more ways than I can count), and a less than stellar run. I’ve decided that I really do like this race, though. The course is flat - despite the fact that I will swear to you the out and back run is uphill both ways – and the Frakendistance is great for an early season race.
I will consider the rust busted and hopefully move on to better performances the rest of the season!
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Here's the small contingent of Team ReserveAid after the race: