My friend Neva is a rockstar BTW

In all my sad self-loathing about my duathlon performance, I failed to mention that my BTF (best triathlon friend) Neva freaking rocked it. After up-close encounters with several scary things during training including, but not limited to, sealions and pavement, she pulled off an amazing race. She placed sixth in her spritely young age group. And she did the run in sub-10 minute miles which totally rules. Not bad for a former field hockey-playing, sorority girl East Coaster who didn't own a bike on our first day of training. In summary, Neva rules.
Tell your friends.

Is a triathlon, with only two events, still really a triathlon?

Answer: No.

Mood: Depressed.

Body: Sore like after a car wreck.

So after 10 weeks of training in the beautiful and uncharacteristic sunshine at the Aquatic Park in Fisherman's Wharf and at the former Naval base Treasure Island, the San Francisco fog and rain finally rolled in, clouding what was already a gloomy day.

The 58,000 gallons of bunker fuel that spilled into the Bay last week caused race directors to cancel the swim portion of the triathlon that I, the reluctant triathlete, and 20 others trained our asses off to complete. It also desecrated a coast we have come to know quite intimately, which fouled everyone's mood.

For the last 10 weeks, we have learned to navigate through the Bay's choppy, sea-lion-infested waters, and even to appreciate its heart-attack-inducing cold. We have ridden our bikes into the Headlands where we are rewarded for the pain of the climb with mesmerizing views of our ocean-enveloped city. And we've run along its shores dodging police on horses and packs of Blazing Saddles bicycles carrying kamikaze tourists, breathing in its salt air. Every day that we trained we were reminded of what an amazing place San Francisco is and we felt lucky to live here.

So it was especially hard to get psyched up for the duathlon that reminded us of our injured ocean, instead of the triathlon we had trained for. It was especially hard for those of us who count the swim as our best event. For me, I was hoping for a large enough lead so as not to be totally humiliated in the run.

But alas.

We started the race barefoot to simulate the transition we would have made if we had swum. Our pack of 30-and-under women and (was it?) 40-and-over women took off running to our bikes, threw on shoes and helmets and clogged out of the transition area.

The bike was OK though I couldn't find my pace and I kept getting blown away on straight aways. I found myself zoning out and would shake it off every so often and remind myself to speed up.

It was a six-loop, 40k course with no drafting allowed, so the long stretches into the wind felt like biking underwater. But I wasn't breathing hard. I kept wondering if that meant I should be going much faster? When I racked my bike, my legs felt like stones. And in six miles they never did loosen up. The good news was my calf did not bother me. Instead, as I told Neva who was at least a mile ahead on the 3-loop run course as we passed each other, it was the "out-of-shapeness" that bothered me.

Because I wasn't running before I started the 10-week training program, and because the pulled calf kept me from running for the past five weeks, I never did build up to a point where even three miles felt comfortable to me. So a 6.2-mile tromp -- and my first run in over a month -- was expectedly difficult. The first four-miles felt better than the last four-mile run I had done, despite being smoked by attractive women in tiny bikini bottoms (how do they keep those from riding up?), not to mention all of my in-shape and also attractive friends in our group. The last two miles felt increasingly long and torturous and I had no kick left when the finish line finally came into view. It took me about 1:15 minutes to complete the run, which amounts to more than 11-minute miles. It was disappointing given that during our half-distance training tri, I ran three miles at a 9:30 mile pace. I couldn't even look at my coach who had invested so much time in me and in making sure I was as ready as I could possibly be for this race. Instead, I burst into tears.

The duathlon did not feel indicative of what I'd trained so hard for. It was disappointing. And it was painful. And it was frustrating. And despite all of this, I still want to do a full triathlon. The adrenaline of it is intense and addictive. The camaraderie is the best part. I am sad that I won't be able to complete a triathlon before I turn 30 despite trying my damnedest. But maybe, at 30, in my golden year, it will feel that much more incredible.

Oil spill threatens triathlon

A tanker spilled 58,000 gallons of fuel into the San Francisco Bay! There are oiled up sad ducks everywhere.
Here's what the triathlon is saying: Tri-California Events is aware of the Oil Spill effecting the San Francisco Bay. At this time, the San Francisco Police Department and Water Safety has determined that there is no oil in or around Pirates Cove, Treasure Island where the swim takes place. At this time, we have approval to swim in Pirates Cove. Please continue check the website for updated information. We are planning to continue with our regularly scheduled events.

Here's a link to the SF Chronicle story: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2007/11/08/BAD8T8PLU.DTL

Week 10

Week 10 makes me want to throw up.

It's a "taper" week, though Coach Neil is on crack if he thinks swimming 1600 meters and lifting weights felt like a vacation today.

I promised myself that I would do full-length triathlon before I turned 30 and for the past 9.5 weeks, I have devoted my heart and soul and wallet to Coach Neil's Tri and Give training program. With the Treasure Island Triathlon -- no wait, it's now called the San Francico Triathlon at Treasure Island (like the Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim) -- just a few days away, I've already begun having anxiety dreams in anticipation.

I tend to have anxiety dreams the night before big events like tests and rugby tournaments. Usually the dreams force me to awaken in the wee hours of the event morning. But this time is special. I started having anxiety dreams related to the triathlon last Friday night. In the dreams I am on my way somewhere. So far: a vacation, a wedding, traithlon training (that one was pretty literal) and a play. I have forgotten or lost crucial things including my luggage, then a dress and my biking shoes. In the play dream I forgot to memorize the script and I was the lead.
It has not made for a week of good sleeping.

I watched 4 of the 5-part Accenture Escape from Alcatraz clips on YouTube today to attack the anxiety head on. I saw the freakishly athletic professional triathletes coast 1.4 miles through the freezing, choppy waters of the San Francisco Bay, some in less than 30 minutes. My swim was not quite as treacherous in my gymnasium pool last night though, last week, there was a 5.6 earthquake centered down the road from me as I swam. (Of course, I missed the whole thing and was only slightly confused by the choppy waves in the otherwise empty pool.) But that's mildly treacherous, right?

When I'm watching the professionals, I am thinking: Is this really what I'm going to do?
I have worked hard over the last 10 weeks, practiced my transitions, adjusted and replaced my gear. I have completed my workouts and pushed myself to the point of bonkign. I have sacrificed weekends to training and recovery and eating. I have been injured: pulling a calf about five weeks ago that has limited my ability to train for the run. And I'm hoping the adrenaline alone will be enough to carry me through. I'm also hoping the anxiety dreams aren't foreshadowing. Instead, I think they're an indication that I care a lot about finishing this race and seeing what I'm capable of in the last fleeting moments of my twenties.

Then, in my 30s, I can work on winning or at least acheiving freakishness.