It’s June 5th, 4 am. My alarm has just gone off after a less than restful night. My mind would not rest and went over every detail a million times. I'm not usually the type of person who gets stressed out over races. I’ve got one hour to get dressed have breakfast and get on my bike: it’s Escape time!
I realise I have not been very well organised. I forgot to stop at the grocery shop, which now means, my porridge is made with water and my coffee is without milk, instead of a banana I improvise with a jam sandwich for a snack an hour before the race – after all, jam sandwiches are the secret fuel weapons of cyclists, so why should it not work for me. A last check through my kit bag. One transition bag for the swim exit containing a pair of trainers with lock laces (in case of “the claw”), a small towel, a small bottle of water and a ZipVit gel. One transition bag to hold my stuff before boarding the ferry that now contains my wetsuit, two swim hats, my goggles, a bottle of baby oil, number belt, the jam sandwich and a pair of flip flops. My shoe bag with my trainers and socks for the run and baby powder. Lastly, I check my bike stuff: helmet – check, shades with orange lenses – check, bike shoes – check, a tube with Vaseline, my bento box with a gel. That sounds about right and should be all the kit I need. Time to leave.
When leaving the house, it hits me that I’ve not got lights. It is pitch black in the streets, but they are empty and ghostly apart from the boy on the paper round who hops in and out of his mom’s car. While zipping down the hill, my thoughts wander… this is it! The culmination of 4 weeks of back-to-back racing. I let my thoughts pass through the last 3 months. For only 3 months, I have been training for triathlon specifically, and I have to admit to myself that I have come a long way and achieved an incredible amount, having qualified for the World Championships 2011 and the European Championships 2012. This is the icing on the cake, the cherry on top of the ice cream sundae. Drawing closer to Marina Green, it gets busy, with thousands of people checking in, racking their bikes, setting up their run shoes, squeezing themselves into their wetsuits and queuing for the bus to the San Francisco Belle – all in the eerie light of the just breaking day.
The words from the race briefing echo in my head: remember the house in front of which your bike rack is positioned. It’s the ultra-modern grey one. I set up, take my time with the baby power, Vaseline and all the other things. Check through my transition bags once again. Alison phones, she is done setting up. She’s from London
We drop off our swim transition bags and get in the queue for the bus, chatting, reminiscing and generally getting quite nervous about the trip out on the boat. There’s a buzz in the air that I have never felt at any other triathlon before. A sense of great anticipation. We climb onto the bus, I eat my sandwich and we chat to people around us. We are all a big family just now because all of us are literally going to be on the same boat. Off the bus and we glimpse the San Francisco Belle for the first time with her neon lights glowing brightly in the early morning. We look out onto the sea, the water is very calm, hardly any ripples. Somewhere it drifts around that it is as calm as it has never been since the event exists. The sky is blue with just a few clouds, no wind – all good news after the forecasts had been for thunderstorms and rain and rumours of a shortened swim and bike.
Everyone is engaged in last minute preparations. Constant announcements about timing chip pick up and getting on the boat. We try to delay that until the last minute, because getting on the boat means the inevitable – we have to jump and swim. Eventually, we make our way, being greeted individually by the crew. We follow the signs for the teenage to 40 age group to the lower deck. It is already rammed with people, everyone trying to find a little bit of space on the floor. We sit down near the entrance door, it’s quite fresh here, but we’ve learned that if you are a bit cold when you jump in the Bay, the shock of the cold water isn’t quite so bad. Besides this area is way more interesting, because just across the staircase, the Pro’s are getting ready. Quite interesting to see. You’d think that their warm-up routine is different, but it’s not. They loosen up their shoulders and arms, check nervously through their kit, fiddle with their wetsuits, some chat with the other athletes, others want isolation – just like us age groupers. Alison and I head out on the deck when we draw closer to the start point and the announcement has been made it’s 10 min to the Pro start. The sun is glistening on the water, you can clearly see the yellow dome shining in the sun, the San Francisco Alcatraz prison sitting majestically in the Bay.
Athletes in their wetsuits cram on the deck like the sea lions on the pontoons at Pier39, all wanting a look at the Pro start which then means that our race is off within minutes too. Alison and I repeat the sighting points, chat about the weather and how lucky we are the water is calm. Next to us stands a tall, fit looking woman. She smiles at us and says, ‘You are going to be fine. The weather is perfect’. We ask her if she has done the race. ‘Many times.’ is the response. When we ask why she is not doing it this year, she explains that she has a stress fracture and would only be able to do the swim as she is not allowed to run or cycle. We wish her speedy recovery and she wishes us good luck and then disappears. Only after the race I found out that we’ve been chatting to Michellie Jones, it’s how small this boat is.
All of a sudden you can feel an increase in intensity. White swim caps line up along the gates of the boat. The Pros are getting ready. The hooter goes, they jump in and with open mouths Alison and I notice they are going in a straight line for the shore. Immediately, the chatter around us picks up and people discuss their swim line many aiming to just follow in the straight line of the pros, some asking us what we have been told about sighting. Clearly, I feel more confident for having done the swim clinic and I just repeat to myself that I won’t be doing anything stupid, I will follow the sighting points I’ve been told. I’m not a strong enough swimmer to go straight for the shore, all the while being nudged forward towards the start gate. I approach the door and I know from that door it is 5 steps and then I’ve got 3 seconds to get off the boat. My breathing deepens. Oh my God, this is it! A bit in trance, I step through the door, my hand goes to my goggles, my other arm stretches out, I reach the edge, a deep breath and without hesitation I jump in.
While underwater, I think 'This is it, I’m doing it!' At the same time, the back of my brain screams: ‘Swim, swim swim!’ I come up, swim a few strokes away from the boat and then orientate myself. Fontana Towers Fontana Towers
I am heading straight on, or at least what I think is straight all the time keeping the picture of the swim route in my head and repeating the sighting points. Fontana Fort Mason Fort Mason
Now the picture above describes how the swim should work. Mine went a bit differently. I swam straight towards the Towers for what seemed like ages gradually coming nearer, but I still felt like I was miles away. Your perception of distance in the water is next to zero. I just kept at it waiting for the point when I would see Fort Mason Fort Mason Alcatraz and how it got smaller and smaller. Still miles out from the shore and heading for Fort Mason
Personally, I felt I was still too far from the shore to turn in completely. But then again, if the safety person tells you, you do! I had also lost vision of the orange buoy that I wanted to be right of, but I turned, ever so slightly because I felt I needed to head for the shore. Keeping my rhythm, it all went very quickly from there, all of a sudden I was past Fort Mason
For a second, I kneeled in the water on all fours and it dawned on me I had made it. My first impulse was to raise my hands to the sky like Robinson Crusoe would’ve done after he landed with his raft on the shore, but somewhere in the back of my head something said that would be a bit over-dramatic. Instead, I clambered to my feet, with a big smile and tears in my eyes feeling the emotions wallowing up, slowly walking across the beach with hundreds of people around screaming, shouting and ringing cow bells. I was here! I had made it! At this point automatism set in, I reached for the back of my wetsuit to open it. Another swimmer asked if I needed help and he opened the Velcro for me – Thank you! Getting nearer towards the stairs, my smile got bigger and I broke into a jog. My feet felt fine, not frozen despite not swimming with neoprene booties, my hands felt ok too. I reached my transition bag.
At this point the race was over, for about 3 min. I took my wetsuit off very slowly, and my emotions switched back and forth between smiling and crying at the speed of an electric current. Eventually, I reigned myself in. I had done the swim, now I would go and enjoy the rest, and I would rock it! Race on! Quickly I packed the wetsuit in the bag, washed the sand off my feet with the waterbottle, took a sip to wash the bay out of my mouth, trickled some over my face to wash the salt off, wiped through my face, put my shoes on (no claw!) and off I went on the 800 m run to my bike.
End of Part 1
No comments:
Post a Comment