Christine, you have just escaped! (Pt 2)

Back to Part 1

After managing the swim, what later turned out to be in an incredible 33 min (I officially love the current), I was dashing along the yacht harbour, people lining the streets cheering, laughing, clapping. I was high on adrenaline and everything coming now was nothing to what I had just achieved, in my book anyways. Immediately, I noticed the benefits of having my name printed on my trisuit. Random people just shouted out my name. I smiled, I waved and carried on, passing lots and lots of people on that short stretch into transition already. All the time, I repeated: the modern grey house, 683, the modern grey house, 683. I found the house, the bike rack and my bike (no. 683). Shades on, helmet on, bike off. I got to the mount line, on the bike and just had a little more fiddle than necessary to get my feet in my shoes – maybe a bit of claw. Doh! Eventually, I was all strapped in and ready to roll for this: 

The first mile and a half to Fort Point is flat, but I decided to be smart and did not put on the big gear straight away. Instead I kept the cadence high and gradually increased resistance, had a few swigs of my drink and settled in. It was lovely out, no wind, the sun beaming, ideal temperatures. I knew that a mile or so in there was a sharp left hand turn with an immediate steep increase (ring a bell from the Etape Caledonia?). I made sure I was in an easy enough gear and started climbing up towards the Golden Gate Bridge all the while passing people who got the gear wrong, or who were riding their time trial set-ups with ridiculous gear ratios. Once you were up, the hill did not stop. Lincoln Boulevard just keeps going up and up although at a much kinder gradient, but if you’ve got the wrong gears, you are cooked half way up and there was a lot of cooking left, right and centre. During the climb, there was not much to see and so my main activity consisted of shouting “On your left!” and keeping the pedals turning. I smiled, this was my thing.

A fast little descend that was good to ride (even by my chicken standards) and then you started climbing again, a long slow drag with occasional changes in gradient, but with some nice views along the way. Near the top, motorcycles were coming towards me – the first Pro. I was delighted, I was 6 miles in, so he was just 12 miles ahead. Though the speed at which he shot down the hill made my stomach squirm. Another wee descend with a few sharp corners and then climb up to the Legion of Honour which provided the most amazing view! Then immediately plunging down again a bit of flat and then a very short steep downhill with a tight left corner at the bottom. I looked at it closely because we needed to come back up this way. Then it was down, down, down to the beach and into Golden Gate Park. Up MLK Drive (although you hardly felt the up), across the Traverse and down JFK. This was a good time to have a gel and a drink, swishing along nicely on good roads.

We were on the way back and there was the long climb up away from the beach, a left turn and at the end of the street the sharp right with the hill hidden from view. I dropped my gears to the lowest I had which was a 30/28 for those in the know. Round the corner and boom! Wall of concrete! You could hear all sorts of swear words in many languages. I just started talking to myself to take the mind off the hill. It felt like I flew up it and on top I quickly went back up through the gears to pick up the pace. Back up to the Legion of Honour and then it was a loooooong downhill. I was quite amazed to find myself clicking through the gears and pushing on even passing people on the downhill, unheard of before. If the roads had not been dry, this course would have been a whole different story, but I felt secure and the  2011 Fuji SL 2.0 I rode was a stable but responsive little bike and so I went for it. 

Climbing back up Lincoln Boulevard just past the sand ladder, the first Pro came pelting down the hill. Excellent! That’s twice! From the top it was all downhill and flat to the finish. I enjoyed the view of the Golden Gate, zipping down the hill, seeing Alcatraz in the distance. Zooming along the flat, enjoying the speed and the wind around my nose. With a mile to go, I started to ease off, increased cadence. The density of people increased, the noise grew bigger and bigger, the last few hundred yards on the bike was through a shoot of people, it almost had a Tour de France feeling. I got smoothly off the bike at the dismount line. Modern, grey house, modern grey house. 683. Bike racked, socks on, shoes on, helmet off. Off I trotted where I came from, until a kind spectator shouted “Wrong way” and waved his hands in the opposite direction. Darn, my head had clearly been on a different planet this morning. Usually, I am very conscientious about transitions, I walk them, make sure where I am going. Not today. I said “Thank you!” and waved, turned around and trotted off in the opposite direction. 

Finally out on the run course, I settled into a pace that I felt I could maintain for 8 miles and possibly push on the last bit. I checked out the runners around me. Another woman just ahead and it said 36 on her calf – she was in my age group. I latched on to her, but then briefly reconsidered and decided I was not going to cook myself on the first 2 miles, when a massive uphill, a set of stairs, the beach and the sand ladder were waiting for me. So, I settled back into my own pace, passing people, waving at supporters shouting my name, enjoying the view of the Golden Gate Bridge that grew bigger and bigger with every step I made.

A mile and bit into the run, a bike came towards me and right behind the first Pro. Ha! That’s three times! I felt like shouting: ‘You owe me a drink now, Andy Potts! We’ve met three times within 90 min!’ Instead I shouted encouragement, smiled and carried on… after all, he was only 7 miles ahead of me, that’s what, 45 min? The first set of stairs is looming, I feel full of energy and so I jog up.

At the top, you are not done climbing so I carried on and the game from the bike started repeating – “on your right”! To get to the path that goes underneath the Golden Gate Bridge you go through a tunnel. When you go in, it’s tall enough for me, but at the other end, it only about reaches to my chest. Lots of shouts coming to watch your head, and also to watch oncoming traffic from the Pros and first age groupers. After navigating that little obstacle, you get onto the coastal path which makes running a bit difficult, because at its best, the path fits one person, but if you’ve got two-way traffic and people wanting to pass each other, it gets a bit crowded. So this was a phase of the race where you needed to be smart, watch your footing, jump a few puddles, check the oncoming traffic, give a warning shout and throw in a strategic, energy sapping burst to get past people. All the while, you are steadily climbing back up to Lincoln Boulevard and ever closer to the beach section. I look at people around me, a blue top with a French club name printed on it… We traded places a few times, essentially going at the same pace. Then it’s a dive bomb down the hill to Baker Beach.

What I had not expected was that we would be led through the deep sand section, but that’s what the line of single file runners indicated. I changed my running style, from the longish strides that I usually make to very short, high frequency ones, so that I don’t have to push off the sand too much, which would lead nowhere because it would absorb all energy. Half a mile this section lasted and if the hill had not zapped your energy, certainly this part did. You turned around at the aid station and then it was along the water line with waves splashing playfully onto the beach. I had to watch where I was going and was nearly caught out by a few waves. During this section you have the most amazing view of the Golden Gate Bridge and I just enjoyed it and smiled with people along the way cheering you on.

A sharp right pull through a bit of deep sand and there it was, the dreaded sand ladder. The swirring of the beeping time mats for the "King of the Sand Ladder" competition, was the first thing that greeted you and the density of runners that had previously been unnoticeable increased suddenly. Everyone tried to find a space on the ladder, some along the hand rail, some up the middle. Initially, I went for the handrail, but got quickly annoyed having to settle into the rhythm of the person ahead of me. So I went for the middle of the ladder where there was more open space. After all, this is what I had practiced in the last couple of weeks before coming here, climbing all those stairs in the London Underground Stations and at work (I work on the 6^th floor). A steady rhythm was important, I even chatted to a few people on the way up. When it flattened out, I broke into a run again, along with everyone else. That wasn’t so bad, but I guess the adrenaline that is flowing through you and the buzz around you is just making things so much easier.

There was about another 500 m left to climb back up to the top of the hill and running on the road now made this so much easier… from there it was flat and downhill. Imperceptibly, the French vest had pulled up next to me and on my back I could hear another runner breathing heavily. Once we arrived at the top of the hill, the guy behind shouted “Come on, Christine! Under 3 hours, I’ll try to hang on to you!” Uh, under 3 hours, really? All righty then! Let’s go! I lengthened my stride, this felt like good running. Though having to turn back onto the coastal path made things a bit more difficult with large numbers of runners still making their way up the hill. Somewhere along there, I spotted Alison. I shouted her name and we waved, both with big smiles on our faces.

The downhill and down the stairs are difficult sections for me. I do not like downhills in any shape or form (running or cycling), due to various injuries they had inflicted on me. However, somehow in races, I manage to put that in the back most part of my brain and pull out a half decent descent, although I will never be a good fell runner. And so by the time I reached the bottom of the stairs, I was reasonably pleased with myself. The French guy was slightly ahead. I clung to his back and found some shelter from the wind behind him. It wasn’t a strong wind, but it was still nice not to have to deal with it. He cruised through at a nice pace. We turned into Crissy Field, with it’s long seemingly never ending straight.

The French guy turned round and said: “Come on, Christine!” I pulled up along side him and thought this would be a good opportunity to practice my French. I asked if we were on course for under 3 hours, he said, he didn’t know because he didn’t carry a watch. I said ah well, me neither, but let’s keep pushing it (at least I hope that's what I said). And off we went, gradually increasing the pace. Somewhere in the distance, you could already make out the announcer from the finish line. I heard my name shouted from people along the road, I waved back at them (there is always time for a wave) and kept on the heels of the Frenchman. He turned round and shouted “Flamme rouge, Christine!” when we were back at the yacht club. The man had humour. I was in a strange state of focus on the finish while also waving at people, high-fiving them and just generally enjoying the huge buzz and frenzy that thousands of screaming and shouting people create. The Frenchman and I turned onto the grassy last 100 m of Marina Green and went for the line side by side, the red banner drawing nearer and the noise getting bigger. The big clock said: 2:51. WOW!! I dug in for the last couple of meters. BEEP! I crossed the timing mat. Somewhere out of the off, a voice said: “Congratulations, Christine, you have just escaped!” I raised my arms – YES, I had!

As you do when you cross the finish line, you start chatting to your running buddies, exchange race details. My French buddy is from Brittany and his name is Nicolas. At this point my foreign language brain centre did not function properly any longer and we continued in English. I was just happy he had dragged me along those last couple of miles. It's not that I would not have made it, but I probably would not have raced it and in the end been a bit grumpy about it. This way, I’d had it all. I had the enjoyment of the experience, the amazing scenery and crowd AND I had the feeling of achievement for giving the race my best shot. As it later turned out, I had given it quite a good shot, with pulling off the second fastest bike split and fourth fastest run split in my age group, finishing 7^th in an amazing 2:46:11.

For now, I just enjoyed being at the finish, chatting with other competitors and soaking up the noise and cheers. Nicolas’ friends finished, someone I’d met at the Etape Caledonia came up to me, he had escaped successfully, a friend from my club at home made it and Alison came home too, with a big bright grin on her face. Everyone was happy!

The rest disappeared in a blur. Finish line pictures, collect bags with warm clothes, get some food, go chat with the ZipVit people (they’d been fantastic offering help if there was anything on my bike that needed fixing or setting up, giving me stocks of race food and generally treating me like one of their sponsored athletes, even though I am just a little age grouper). Chat with the ladies from GoTRIbal, who had enthusiastically welcomed me the day before when I picked up my tri top and offered lots of encouragement and support. Eventually, I collected my bike, which sat lonely in transition, packed up all my stuff there and got on the way back to my friend’s flat, up the hill on Laguna. I didn’t feel like riding, so it was a long walk with my finisher medal bouncing against my chest with every step.

The way back up was more energy zapping than the whole triathlon, at least it felt like it. My friend was home. For the next hour or so, she had to listen to me with every single detail bubbling out of my mouth. I was still high on endorphins, but slowly I felt the energy flowing out of my body. A hot shower and I felt like having a little nap. Lying down closing my eyes, I heard the announcer say: “Congratulations, Christine, you have just escaped!”

Full results can be found here: http://onlineraceresults.com/race/view_race.php#racetop if you've paid attention you know what number to type in. ;-)
Interestingly, overall, my swim split (671 out of 1723) was better than my run split (739 of 1723). That's a whopping first. My bike was just brills at 356 of 1723.
Race pictures can be found at Brightroom including a very cheesy video of me crossing the finish line.