A TRIATHLON TALE
I finally participated in a triathlon this year. It was the Carpinteria (California) Olympic Triathlon a week ago Sunday. Earlier in the year, I’d missed out on two other triathlons and a marathon because of injuries or flu—the latest being the Santa Barbara Triathlon in August with a pulled calf muscle.
I arrived at Carpinteria State Beach and the triathlon transition area early. I found my spot, racked my bike and placed out my gear for the 3 segments of the event and had plenty of time to pull on my wet suit. Then I sauntered down to the beach, waded into the surf and swam for a while to acclimate to the cool water. But 5 minutes before my start time I realized I hadn’t put on my timing chip. I raced back to my spot in the transition area, flipped the Velcro chip holder around my ankle and sped back to the beach arriving just a few seconds before my wave was whistled into the ocean.
Triathletes running into the water for swim portion of race
As usual, almost everyone else quickly distanced themselves from me with their rapid strokes (at least I could see which direction to go), and soon enough the next wave of swimmers had caught up and began passing me. Still, I finally made it out and around the halfway buoy. But then coming back, I was staring straight into the sun and couldn’t see any swimmers in front of me. I had to ask one of the safety volunteers in a kayak if I was on course. The swim distance in an Olympic triathlon is 1500 meters but I’m sure I swam an extra 100 or more meters wandering around the loop. Finally, after 45 minutes (I was wearing a watch), I dragged myself out of the water and onto the beach. Others were running to the transition area and to their bikes. I was more lurching towards that goal.
But I got to my spot and after 5 minutes of tugging pried my wetsuit off. I put on my bike shoes, jersey and helmet and walked my bike out to the start of the next phase and jumped on. Fortunately, the first couple of miles were level and I got my second wind. Over the next 40 kilometers I even managed to pass a few of the folks who had beaten me out of the ocean. The best part—I made it the whole 40 K without a flat!
Triathletes in run portion of event.
Still, I was feeling strained and that I hadn’t trained enough for the race. I changed into my running shoes and shuffled out of the transition area and onto the running course. I don’t think I’ve ever jogged so slowly in a triathlon. I even considered dropping out for a moment—something I’d never done before and didn’t that day either. So I just loped along for the 10 kilometers. I stopped at every aid station for a cup or two of water (the last thing I needed was to become dehydrated).
And, finally I made it to the finish line! I was one of the slowest finishers of the day and a full 10% slower then when I last did the event back in 2012. (Maybe I’m losing power with age? Maybe I didn’t train enough? Both?) But I was also second—out of 2—in my 70-74 years old age group. And at 74, I was the oldest competitor—using the word loosely—in the total of 335 Olympic or sprint (the shorter course) triathlon participants.
Moral of my triathlon tale: As long as you show up and move through all three stages, it really doesn’t matter how long it takes to get to the finish line.
Now, let’s see if I can show up for a marathon this fall!