Victoria Triathlon 2014: The Joy of the Relay

0 CommentsWednesday • June 18, 2014 • by Imei

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Triathlon, Racing, Relay, Fitness, Forty Something

 

While I trained for a marathon during the winter and spring of 2014, I had my eye on another race distance, the Olympic Distance triathlon in beautiful Victoria British Columbia for the Subaru Saunders Victoria Triathlon, part of the Western Canada Series that was recently bought by the WTC Ironman brand.

Coming off a couple of weeks rest, a moderate case of Tendonosis had not healed, and as the recovery days wore on, I realized that I probably would not have much fun pushing or pulling on the bike while clipped in, nor running on the beautiful trail that circles Elk Lake. I was just about to consider not racing at all when I saw one of the Pro Sports Club Triathlon Team members asking around for anyone interested in forming a relay team, any distance (Sprint, Olympic, or Half IM). Rosie had been training for the run, and the Man-Geek was set for the bike; it was up to me to bite the bullet, swallow my nervousness, and select the swim. We named ourselves Snappy Dragon (that’s me!) and the Gluteneaters, and shared our goal finish times for each section.

In my opinion, triathlon racing as a relay gets very little attention for the large amount of gain to be had by doing your first races as relays. You get to concentrate on your weakest event, you don’t have to worry about transition stuff, and you take long endurance off the table if you are only doing one event; if you do a relay as a duo, you can incorporate transition practice, watch the pros do it properly and quickly, and make mental and visual notes (your phone camera is your friend) for your next individual triathlon race. I was looking forward to participating in this triathlon as a relay, and I think it showed. Man-Geek remarked the night before the race how calm I appeared compared to last year’s races.

Race Report: The Swim (.93mi/1.5km) Snappy Dragon (Imei)

Because of my dietary restrictions and extreme food sensitivities, we booked our hotel suite at the Red Lion. Two rooms,  cooking area and fridge, and a separate bedroom made for a comfy, quiet place. I cooked all my race food the night before, including my soon-to-be-infamous rice ball (white rice mixed with bacon bits and scrambled egg, plus either honey or maple syrup, and seaweed flecks. Squish into a ball, stick in baggie, and you can either bite the bottom of the baggie and squish the food out a corner, or push the food out of the top of the zip lock. Very convenient to eat on the bike as well.

For those who know little about open water swimming and the distances, the Sprint Distance swim is usually the wiser choice for newer swimmers. However, I had been training since November 2013 to take on a longer distance comfortably, soothing myself through water panic, and pacing myself without the usual lane markers as guides. The team had a pre-swim the day before, and i had some time to practice swimming with the choppy waves.

The night before, I had my breakfast and pre/post race snacks made. I have learned that there is a certain amount of waiting around you have to do after arriving early, getting your numbers and age marked on your arms and leg, and getting into the water. I woke up race morning to the worst sinus headache with congestion, and realized that what started out as rhinitis two weeks ago had flared itself into an all-out case of sinusitis and discomfort on the out breath, but no wheezing. I decided these were good enough conditions to go ahead and swim, and it would probably be a slow one at best.

There’s lots of waiting around when you arrive at the race site. Lining up for getting marked. Lining up for the bathrooms. Checking your bike to make sure you don’t start out with a flat (there were a few DNF’s in our area of transition because of flat tires at the beginning of the bike leg). Getting in the water to warm up before they pull everyone out of the water for the wave starts. I was so glad I had prepared my pre-race rice ball snack!

Half IM participants were off at 6:45am; Olympic Women’s and relay went out at 7:18am.  The water temperature was great, but the surface was choppy from wind under the cloud-filled sky. I made a mental note of where I needed to remember to breathe — in the pocket of the armpit, using the arm to block incoming waves if needed. I did a proper warm up, a few out-and-back practices at slow and faster speeds. Everything looked and felt OK, but I did notice that my breathing was a bit labored. I had low anxiety about the water, which is really quite good!

During the previous day’s registration, I had decided to pick up a green cap to wear on top of the assigned pick cap for the Women’s Olympic participants. Green means you are a “nervous swimmer”, but more importantly, it puts eyes on you from the kayak support volunteers. I decided it was a good idea to self-identify as a nervous swimmer; no harm done, even though I knew it was highly likely I would be one of the last of my wave out of the water. It makes you kind of hard to miss!

I placed myself middle back so I could put most people ahead of me without worrying about being punched, kicked, or pushed around. The horn went off, and I picked an easy, comfortable pace with a tiny kick-inside-a-box kick to feel my heels at the surface of the water. For the first stretch, I imagined I was swimming in my own private bathtub, focusing on gliding, getting a good pull, and high elbows. I had little to no anxiety in the water! Every once and awhile, I kept getting a choppy wave in the face, and if you didn’t make good forward progress, the wind would blow you back. I looked behind me and realized there were others well behind me, struggling against that same wind and waves. I found that strangely comforting. Misery loves company? The thing is, I wasn’t feeling miserable.

To my left, a woman breaststroking by laughed and said to me, “What were we thinking?”

I replied, “That we could do this.” 

She said, “Thanks!” and continued swimming by. Now, go do this, because you know you can, I thought to myself. 

I was about three-quarters to the first buoy when suddenly I felt the urge to cough. I started coughing and struggling for breath. It dawned on me that I was starting an asthma attack, because up until this point, I had experienced very little anxiety. A kayaker came alongside when he heard me coughing, and I grabbed a hold for about a minute at first, trying desperately to do something called Reverse Breathing. It is a controversial, yet sometimes effective means of opening up the lower bronchials at the start of an attack (it is useless if the attack has progressed, so please please please, do not hear this as medical advice). A couple more minutes of Reverse Breathing while the kayaker stayed nearby and I floated, and eventually I felt OK to try swimming again. Something told me that I was going to be fine, even though I knew I would be working with far less lung capacity than I’m used to. As long as the kayaker did not make forward progress, I would not be DQ’d. A part of racing is knowing when to hang in there, when to push harder, and also when to quit. My decision was to not quit.

I know some people think Yoga is pretty useless for intense fitness training, but I often do Yoga for the mental benefits achieved through changing your breathing and moving yourself into a more relaxed state of mind and body. I started doing slightly longer outbreaths, and as I turned the corner for the second buoy (the first stretch), I breathed on one side to protect my mouth from getting a wave of water, while taking extra breaths. I put everything I had learned from Coach Covey’s tri swim class into place, including just relaxing. That definitely helped me get to the third buoy and into the stretch back to shore. On rest strokes, I used the breastroke and the side stroke; the side stroke was great for making some forward progress against the waves while keeping my mouth out of the water [that suggestion was from Cody Novak of Pro Sports Club, thanks!].

Newbie “mistake” alert: the race director told us that the buoys were having “problems” so they had to change the buoys and use different colors. “You can swim on either side of the orange buoys, but you must keep the yellow buoys to the right of your shoulder” was the announcement.  As I approached an orange buoy that was not the corner buoys of the race course, I remembered the rule, and I decided to swim with it to my left shoulder because that was where I was located in relationship to it, in order to course adjust against the current. Another kayaker had taken over on watching out for me, and  she told me I had to swim back and go around the orange buoy with it to my right! Oh boy! More swimming! I decided it wasn’t the time to argue with her, and a few seconds was nothing.

I had no idea how much time had elapsed, but my kayaker said something encouraging to me. “As long as you keep swimming, you will be well under the cut off time. You’re doing fine.” I didn’t know it at the time, but the two others behind me elected to be pulled from the water. I was alone. The great thing about the return to shore was that with less effort, the waves helped carry you towards shore.

As I came closer to the shore, I saw the Sprint Men take off in their event wave. Oh my gawd, I am going to get run over!  My brain suggested that I  do “something”, and do it now. I had not anticipated this happening, since my realistic goal time was ten minutes faster than what actually happened (and I am usually a little faster in open water with a wetsuit than in a timed swim in the pool). I looked at the kayaker, and she said, “Go! Keep swimming, and you will not be run over by them!” With a bunch of flutter kicks for momentum and some single-sided breathing, I got my momentum up, ignored my wheezing breath, and headed in without stopping. I swam until I couldn’t, stood up in the knee-high water, and ran for the swim finish chute that leads back to the transition area to pass my timing chip to my teammate.

My Goal Finish time was 40 minutes. Race Finish time: 50 minutes.

Post race note: Sunday evening after the race, I was still having labored breathing and was easily fatigued, so I went to see my doctor for a follow-up visit the next morning. My oxygen peak flow was 370, which is well below normal and far below my normal capacity.  This is the clearest indicator that I was truly experiencing an asthma attack, and this was not anxiety. It totally makes sense why there wasn’t anything I could do during the swim other than take many, many more breathes and rests to make my breathing more comfortable in the water. I also found out my allergies had aggravated my sinuses, so I probably should have been on an antibiotic for sinusitis, even though at the time of my previous doctor’s visit, I wasn’t symptomatic to necessitate antibiotic therapy.

Note to self: try not to swim when you’re sick.

The Bike: Gluteneater #1 Michael

The last time I road this course in a race was 2011, as part of the 1/2 iron.  Then it was a 2 loop course.  This time I was to ride the olympic distance as part of a relay, so it was to be only 1 loop or about 45 km. I estimated it would take about 1/2 of the time of my previous ride. I knew the course was filled with many small hills and false flats until out by the airport. I was also curious to see what would be different now that the race had been taken over by the WTC.

During the pre-ride on the day before the race, I was hanging back from the group to ride with a team mate and a woman cyclist passed us. Later on, as we descended a hill I noticed a cluster of cars and a white van. The cyclist who had passed us was lying on the road beside the van. She had been in a serious accident. The ambulance had been called and people were kneeling beside her.

After riding back to the transition area, I checked my bike, picked up my race packet and headed off for the day.  Thoughts of the injured cyclist prompted me to see if I could find any mention of it in the local news. I couldn’t find anything.

The morning of the race, it was cool and a little breezy, but not raining. I had my usual breakfast and prepared my hydration and nutrition for the estimated 90 minute race ride; 2 gels and a bottle of citrus flavored Osmo. I planned to sip the Osmo throughout, and have a gel about 15-20 minutes into the ride and another at about the 60 minute mark.

When the swimmer on our relay team arrived, I noticed the first wave of sprint distance racers were beginning to emerge from the swim. I put on my helmet, got some help putting on the timing chip from our runner, and jogged down to the bike mount area. I knew I wouldn’t be warmed up for the ride, and that the first few kilometers were mostly up hill. Although I checked my bike, and everything was working well, I hadn’t cleaned the chain and had it tuned up recently. While riding, I noticed some rubbing sounds when I stood up to climb some of the steeper sections. Not a big deal, but it seemed as if my bike would have benefited from some additional pre-race attention.

The first few miles of the course were busy, slower people dropped off behind me and sometimes created traffic as they climbed the hills.  Every once and a while, a faster rider would ride past me, their disk wheels making that unmistakable whoosh sound. The course at this point was largely a 2 lane road with limited visibility, surrounded by trees and occasional houses. At the top of the first set of climbs, I took a gel and started to settle into my ride.  At the turn off for the sprint distance athletes, the course started to feel less congested.  I seemed to be making reasonably good time, and my casually assembled race plan was working fine.  Sections and features of the course seemed familiar, and I could more or less tell where I was on the loop.

Road work and construction around the airport that I had seen in previous years, in one case causing a detour we called ‘apology hill’, seemed largely completed. The pavement was in good shape, and the course was well marked with arrows taped to the ground, and race officials or police at some intersections.  Out by the airport,  I shifted to riding in aero given that the course changed to being largely flat. There was also a very pretty view of the bay and several islands. I was passed by one of the female pros (I recognized the ‘P’ body marking), but I couldn’t keep up with her long enough to see her race bib. I popped my second gel, took a long sip of my Osmo, and settled in for the ‘back half’.  I was wondering if the course would be a little longer than the last time I rode, or if it was a little shorter, as I had found in previous years.

The course did seem to have move hills than I remembered: in fact, many smaller hills, a few false flats, and only the occasional longer descent! As I approached the turn off back to the transition area, I realized I was going to be several minutes longer than I planned. Approaching the dismount area, I clipped out and slowed the bike. At the  line, I swung my right leg over and started jogging back to the transition area.  Done in about 1 hour 40 minutes. Disappointingly slow, but my bike logged 28.2 miles – several miles longer than my last time riding the course. Total elevation change was 3590 ft – quite hilly for an Olympic-distance triathlon. Normalized power was 203 W.

Finish time: 1hr 40 minutes.

[Imei writes] I have to say something about the bike dismount off the ride. If you continually race without ever being a bystander, you never get to see this. People come off the bike dismount in some of the craziest, uncontrolled stops, likely because they are tired.

The most bizarre but legal dismount was from a pro who clipped out at full speed, popped a wheelie, and had his bare feet on the dismount line so that he technically fulfilled the regulation to have both feet on the ground when crossing the line. He lost zero seconds in doing a more standard dismount, but I wouldn’t recommend it. It did, however, get some “oohs!” and “whoa!”s from the bystanders.

Yet, so did all the spectacular crashes, bike drops, and the number of times people hit the rider in front by not slowing down enough for the dismount, or riders dismounting too early.

 

The Run: Gluteneater #2 by Rosie

 

My original plan was to swim, bike, run, the sprint distance at the Victoria Triathlon. As the race got closer it became obvious that I was still not comfortable enough at swimming to make this possible. Coach Michael suggested I try to put together a relay team and go to Victoria anyway, so I posted it on the team Facebook page.  Imei and Michael responded, and just like that, we had a relay team to do the Olympic distance!

Another relay? Bring it! Next up: a series of Sprint Distance triathlons, leading up to a season-ending Olympic Distance triathlon and another half marathon.

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