Great Buckeye Challenge - Race Report

So I thought the best thing to do one week before my first Ironman would be to race. Makes perfect sense, right?

I woke up at 3:45 a.m. (which is generally my favorite way to start the day) and headed to Springfield, Ohio. I got lost several times, which is pretty standard, but still made it to Buck Creek State Park by 6:00 a.m. Picked up my race gear, set up transition in the dark, and headed down to the lake to do my pre-race 2,500 meter swim. Yes, 1.5 mile swim BEFORE the race. Although I was signed up for the "sprint" triathlon -- it was more of a pick your own adventure race for me. I was going to get in a long swim before the start, do the "mini" distance bike (25 miles), and finish with the sprint run (5K). Basically, I was trying to get in a good (but light) workout and get another mass swim start under my belt.

Did I mention it was 54 degrees? Although the race was wetsuit legal I did not wear one because I likely would not be wearing one in Louisville. I did NOT want to get in that water. It was 7:00 am and the race did not start until 8, so there wasn't a single person swimming. I was happy to find the water much warmer than the air. Unfortunately, the water was ABSOLUTELY disgusting -- worst I've ever swam in. There were giant (2x3) brown bubble amoebas all over the lake. They brought back memories of my college geology trip to the Madison sanitation plant with Dr. Totten. I'm quite certain those same giant brown bubble amoebas were floating in the waste tanks at the sanitation plant. Awesome. I found myself spotting a lot more than normal to dodge the bubble amoebas (yes, that is a technical term).

As with all of my open water swims, about 20 minutes in I heard the dreaded scratching noise. Every time I open water swim by myself or in small groups I hear this scratching noise underwater -- it sounds like snakes slithering along the bottom of the sandy lake, their scales scratching the sand as they move. This concept is further confirmed by the hundreds of little holes I see at the bottom of East Fork when I swim there. Luckily I couldn't see the bottom of this lake, so I didn't see any holes to further freak me out.

I have never actually asked anyone what the sound was -- in fear that they would confirm my surmisal. I mean, I seriously have almost had panic attacks swimming in East Fork lake -- the scratching getting louder and louder, presumably closer and closer, complete with visions of an 8 foot snake with giant fangs extending its body out of the water and hovering over my body ready to strike. You think I'm kidding -- but I'm dead serious. I can't seem to block the image of the fanged snake when I hear the noise. The noise in conjunction with the images makes my heart beat out of my chest and I instinctively begin swimming as quickly as possible in the hopes that I will escape an attack. So far it's worked. The sound generally stops after 30-45 seconds.

I finally mentioned the snake scenario to my friend Heather -- she laughed at me. She convinced me that I was actually hearing boat motors, not snake scales grinding against sand. I believed her because I am always swimming among fishermen at East Fork. But Heather, I'm not buying it anymore. There was not a single boat on that lake. Snakes. I am hearing snakes. Giant, scaley, fanged, snakes.

Or maybe it's a snakehead fish. I am never watching the National Geographic channel again. The special on snakeheads scared the crap out of me.

I finished my pre-race swim and made my way to the beach where hundreds of other athletes were waiting to start. I stayed in the water as long as possible to avoid freezing on shore -- but not long enough. Race officials made everyone get out of the water before the start. Upon exiting the water my teeth were immediately chattering. It was 54 degrees and I was standing there soaking wet without a towel waiting for my wave to start. Although I was in the 4th wave of athletes to go, 8 minutes on shore was all it took for every muscle in my body to tighten up and I got a HORRIBLE cramp in my calf. I hit the sand and worked it out the best I could, but it was still threatening to implode as I entered the water.

The swim (and really the entire race) was generally uneventful. I was elbowed several times in the head during the swim, and swallowed entirely too much water - but I am starting to feel much more comfortable swimming. I know I'm not a fast swimmer, but I'm confident I can make it 2.4 miles.

I exited the lake, ran up a steep incline littered with goose crap, and made my way to transition. I was in and out quickly and on my bike. BURRRRR. Wet clothing + 20mph bike =FREEZING. Again, every muscle in my body tightened as I tried to keep myself warm. I was worried about a repeat calf attack, but about 10 miles in I started warming up.

I wasn't riding fast or slow - I was just riding. No need to do anything stupid a week before the goal. The entire ride I was just waiting for someone to tell me I missed my turn. My calf was labeled sprint -- but I was riding the mini course. I wanted to put a sign on my back that said "just ignore me." I got passed by alot of riders -- mostly men, but some women. I will never cease to be amazed at how fast people can go on the bike. Apparently I have no power, because people absolutely blow by me. I can't imagine what they are doing to train, because I feel like I worked my butt off trying to improve my bike and I'm still getting killed.

I had another quick transition onto the run. From the look of my bike rack I was nearly the last sprit tri person back into transition.

I was totally embarrassed the entire run. I only saw 3 other people on the run with Sprint on their calf. I SWEAR I'm not this slow -- I swear I did a longer bike! I got in a nice tempo run, but nothing too fast. I ended up running about 25 meters behind the female mini winner and since we were going about the same pace everyone was cheering me on -- encouraging me to try to catch her. I just smiled, and hoped they didn't notice I was actually in the sprint race.

The entire experience was rather bizarre. I've never done a race, but not really raced. Regardless, I got to practice transitions and swimming with hundreds of people -- you can't practice that on your own.

That's it. No more practice runs. It's game time.