Emerald Pointe Triathlon - TriathlonSprint

I should mention here quickly before the gun goes off my serious fear of open water… actually it is deep water… and even worse murky deep water. It is like a phobia… if I were honest with myself, I would say it is a phobia, but it is not quite incapacitating. I have had it since I was a child. I blame it on my Mom with her sink or swim attitude who threw me over the side of our boat out in the middle of lake when I was four. I was not going to drown; I had a lifejacket on. My fear was what was going to get me in that dark murky water. But it is not just murky water, hell, I will not even go into the deep end of a pool without searching the water first for some lurking monster.

It is not about being able to swim. I learned to swim at age ten, and as every summer of my childhood years was spent at South Padre Island where my Mom lived after she divorced my Dad, we were water babies. After breakfast we went to the pool for a couple of hours. After lunch we went to the beach for a couple of hours, after dinner we were back at the pool, yet in the ocean, never in deep water. Even in shallow water I was a ninny when things like seaweed of fish rubbed up against me. My experiences in the water did not help but fuel my fears. Heading back to shore once I forgot to shuffle my feet and stepped on a crab that proceeded to slice open my toe. I nearly drowned on a tubing trip down the Guadalupe when I got caught under a water fall… in only four feet of water. Anyways, we get the gist, yes? Water freaks me the fuck out.

Back to the race, the next thing I know, our wave is in the water. The water feels cold as hell. I dunk myself trying to adjust to the temp. The guy on the beach starts the countdown from five, and then the horn goes. Everyone takes off and I wait a few seconds, and then start myself. I wade until about chest deep and then start my stroke. The first time I put my face in the water, I nearly inhale the lake. My first time I did an OWS a couple of weeks ago, I had a hard time breathing out under the water, I had the same issue today, but on top of dealing with the fear of murky water was the temperature that made me want to freak out and inhale while my face was in the water. Wait, let me rephrase that, made me freak out. Ten seconds into the race, and it is almost over for me.

I had waded until chest deep, so it only took me a couple of strokes before I was in over my head, I could not breath, I inhaled my first bit of water, panic was settling in, I was already on my back, I was only 10 yards from shore, and I just very nearly said, “fuck this shit” right then and there. But I had made a vow to myself when I started that I would finish this swim. It would all be cake after that, just finish the damn swim!

I told myself just make it the first buoy and you can stop a second and catch your breath, so I did. I do not remember how I got there, I just remember grabbing that line and holding on for dear life. There was another girl there, and we hung out a few. I was starting to hyperventilate, but refused to give in to all out panic. After a minute, I said to myself, “This is getting me no where, time to make it to the next buoy,” and off I went. I mostly backstroked, though I did try to breaststroke and freestyle, but still had the same problem of inhaling underwater. I just could not adjust to the temp, and on top of panic, it was a mess. One would think in a situation like that your body’s instinct would be to NOT inhale with your face in the water. I guess my body is weird.

While I had hung out at the first buoy, I had let the fast swimmers of the wave behind me get ahead. As I neared the first turn that was the next buoy, the slow swimmers were catching up. When I got the buoy, I sidestroked around it and decided to just keep going. About half way to the next buoy the fast swimmers from the last wave were coming up on me. They were churning the hell out of the water. I think I half inhaled, half swallowed a gallon of water. I came up sputtering. It was the first time a canoe had asked me if I needed help, it would not be the last. I refused the help and kept at it.

By this point I was being swum over, beside, people touching me, and in my state, this did not help much. One guy went by that was kicking so hard the water was splashing about ten feet in the air. I finally reached the next buoy, and made it around and thought, “What the hell, this is the home stretch, let’s keep going!”

I pretty much did the same thing the whole swim. Backstroke, flip over and try to freestyle, freak out, inhale some water, try to breaststroke, swallow some water, flip back over on my back, rinse, repeat. I should mention here I hate the backstroke because I always manage to inhale or swallow water. No exception today. I was asked a total of three times if I needed help as I floundered and refused each one. I plodded slowly on. I had been nearly hyperventilating for so long I was seeing stars and little squiggly lines. You know how you breathe after you cry really hard? That hiccup breathing? Yea, that was me the whole swim.

That last stretch seemed to take forever. Every time I flipped over to try to freestyle, I would spot the shore and it seemed to never get any closer. I was tired. I barely kick when I freestyle and doing so much backstroke and all that kicking blew my legs out early. I knew I was not getting enough O2 with all the funky breathing. I just wanted to be done. At some point I had got so off course I touched bottom and got so excited I stood up just to realize I had swam off course.

The last 20 or so yards in I did freestyle, I just never put my face in the water. That is exhausting. Then finally, my feet touched sand. I staggered out of the water to the ramp. I wanted to be elated, but I was too busy trying not to pass out. I looked at my watch: seventeen minutes? That is all? It felt like so long I was worried about the cutoff which was thirty minutes. Once out of the water I realized I was not the last one in it. I had a fleeting moment of feeling sorry for the stragglers behind me, but also a little glad I was not the very last swimmer out of the water. By the time I crossed the mat up the hill it was more like 19 minutes. Add on the time I forgot to start the damn watch, and I was closer to the cutoff than I care to be. Regardless, I made it!

Somebody on the sidelines asked me as I neared transition how was it. I said it was the worst thing I have ever done. I thought I did a lot of scary shit in the Army. The gas chamber, doing the commando rope crawl fifty feet in the air when I had never been able to do it when I was three feet off the ground, duck walking through a flooded culvert under a highway, lying in a foxhole while ticks crawled all over me, but none of those were as bad as that swim today. But what was that I said? Oh yea, I made it!

Get more OWS in... lots more... and then some more... and a wetsuit... and swim some more OWS...

A lot of this time was getting up that damn hill and into transition. I could not get my breathing under control so I was not running. My brain was not really functioning when I got to my rack. I put my shirt on first, but that was only because it was laying there. There was no thought process that it needed to go on before the helmet. I got my socks and shoes on with little trouble. I remembered to rinse my feet, but failed at not stepping in the water with my socks. I walked my bike out of transition still trying to slow my breathing down.

Not hyperventilate on the swim... not have shin problems so I can actually practice running up hills.

Ahhhh, on the bike. Now this is where I am at home. I am slow at every event, but biking is the one I am the least slow at. I had ridden this course a couple of weeks before, so I knew what to expect. It was going to suck, but I knew I could do it.

Coming out of transition they were making an announcement about an accident almost a mile down the course between a biker and a car. It turns out it was ADollar from here at BT. I have not heard how he is, but my thoughts go out to him and hoping he is okay.

It took me a mile or two to get my breathing under control finally. I never got my HR down. In fact my average for every segment was pretty much the same. Coming out of transition is a nice down hill followed by the first uphill. My legs were still burning from the swim, so that first climb did not help them any at all. Even though, I still managed to pass about three people before getting out of the gates of Emerald Pointe. Coming out of the gate my co-worker Khamone was there cheering me on, which put the first smile on my face since the swim.

I knew I had three major hills before I got to the cruising point, the last one being the most wicked. Each one was a little bit of torture with the legs still burning the way they were. Then as I was dropping to my granny gear to attack that last hill, my chain dropped. I was spinning and getting no where. I had the piece of mind enough to upshift to see if it would catch before I fell over. It did, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I made it up that viscous hill, but I was a little worried at certain points, and I think my speed actually dropped to 2 mph as I saw how slow I could pedal without actually falling over.

As I headed down the other side I realize something else, I could not get into my big ring. The front derailleur must have fubared when it dropped the chain. Also in the middle ring, when I was in the big rings in the back, the chain was rubbing the front derailleur and making an awful racket. I could do without the big ring, but I live in my middle ring, and most of my speed comes from there. On the flats when I should have been cruising, I was busy fiddling with shifting trying to get things to iron themselves out. They never did.

As I made the turn onto Shadburn Ferry, the PA from work was there snapping pictures. I was going too fast at the point and trying to take a corner, which I almost did not make, so I did not have time to wave going by. I will have to remember to tell him thanks for coming out. After Shadburn Ferry, was Peachtree Industrial, my favorite stretch of the race because it was the closest to what I have ridden on all summer. Slight grades, mostly flat, but unfortunately I could not open it up due to my derailleur issues.

Sadly the Peachtree Industrial section was only a couple of miles. Then we went back to rolling hills, though none as bad as the three at the start. There was the nasty grade coming back into Emerald Pointe, and that very nasty uphill right at the finish, but it was no worse than the short, steep grades I do on some of my rides. Next thing I knew, I was at the dismount line and Khamone was there cheering me on again. When I was bringing my bike in I saw Kristen headed out on her run. She had survived the swim and the bike as well.

Oh yes, new high speed record for me on the course. At some point I hit 34 mph, though I have no idea when or where. I also should mention I had the “Hokey Pokey” going through my head every time I was on a hill. I am not sure why. That never happened in training, but all I could hear in my head was, “Put your left foot in, take your left foot out, put your left foot in and shake it all about…” I am such a weirdo. One thing that often went through my head in training was the cadence “Run a Little.” I will upload it to my website when I post this race report. It helped lots to keep me going during the race on the bike and the run.

During the whole ride, I remembered to enjoy it. I looked around at the scenery. Thanks to every volunteer and police officer I saw. I tried to encourage every rider I passed (maybe six or seven people all told), but above all I remember I was out of the water, so just enjoy it! I passed the photographer for the bike session. He asked me how it was, and I told him it was all cake once out of the water. He said, “Yea, you can’t drown on the bike.” My thoughts exactly!

Not burn my legs out in the swim. Practice more hills. Not freak out on the swim. Not have derailleur problems. Did I mention do more hills? Oh yea, drop another 50 pounds so I am not lugging so much around on the hills.

What can I say about T2? I barely remember it. Rack bike, bike shoes off, running shoes on, grab cap and race number and find the exit.

Being able to run better would help with this. I walked all the transitions today knowing that my running already sucks.

I was about one hour thirty minutes into the race when I started the run. I knew at that point I was not going to make my under two hour goal. My goal for the run was to hopefully get 15 minute miles. I came pretty damn close. If I had pushed my running just a little more I could have made it under.

I did really well with my usual run 30 walk 45 for the first mile. Then I reached a long stretch of uphill, so I walked that, and then walked a little more. Then back to run walk. I drank Gatorade at the first aid station right out of transition. That was a mistake, so I took a sip of water at the next aid station at the first mile, and then on the way back water again. Still I felt my tummy being a little funny.

It was at this point I started to remember how much water I swallowed in the lake. Did I mention I am a cootiephobe? I could just picture all the nasty bacteria swirling in my stomach. I really had to push those thoughts away. At the turn around point I know I joked with the guy manning the chip mats, though I cannot remember what we said, just that we got a good laugh.

My mind was going goofy at this point. When I wasn’t having cadence running through my head, I was thinking the strangest thoughts. I even thought of all kinds of names for my slow, plodding shuffling. I came up with ralking, and wunning, but my favorite I decided on was wogging, a nice mixture of walking and jogging.

I know I walked too much of that last mile. I was letting my mind defeat me. I knew I wasn’t in under two, I knew I wasn’t going to be in under 2:15. I knew I could walk the whole rest of the way and still finish under the cutoff. Then I guy came by on a golf cart. He swerved over to give me a high five, and told me I was almost there. I almost started crying because it was at that point I really realized I was almost done. I was about to become a triathlete. Who cares if I was slow and probably last?

After I got the near boo-hooing under control, I looked up so see the three mile marker ahead. I decided I was going to run it in and finish strong. I even ran up that steep hill. I rounded the corner and the announcer said, “Here comes another athlete to the finish.” I thought, “Holy shit, he is talking about me.” And I wanted to laugh a bit. Here I am an overweight middle aged back of the packer and they are calling me an athlete, but then I told myself I had just come over 16 miles to this finish line. It was a fine mixture of near drowning, slow biking and wogging, but I was about to finish and do something so few people can say they did. As I came down the chute to the finish line he said my name and I threw my hands in the air. I had arrived. I was finally a triathlete.

Not have shin splints and be able to run more instead of wogging during training. Though I must say that my shins gave me no trouble whatsoever today. Lose more weight so that running is not so hard on the lower extremities.

Warm-down? I was brain dead. I would like to say I remembered to slap hands running down the chute, or that I even remembered to smile coming across the finish line, but it was all a blur. After crossing the finish line, they pulled my chip and handed me a bottle of water I could not even remember how to open. I managed to find the t-shirt tent and got that. At that point, Kristen found me. I followed her like a lost puppy dog back to our rack. Stared at my stuff knowing it needed to go in the bag. Tried to get everything in the bag. My sunglasses fell off the brim of my hat at least five times before I realized that was not working. I was trying to decide what shirt to put on when I realized I still had my shirt on I wore during the race. Eesh.

Then we had a one mile walk back to the car. My stomach was doing icky things at this point. Painful gas, bloaty feeling, just blech. Poor Kristen was worse than me though. She had to stop on our trek to the car. She kept apologizing, and I kept telling her no need. But I have IBS and I know the guilt you feel when you hold people up due to tummy problems.

I knew I needed to eat something, but could not fathom it. I was picturing all those cooties from the lake water making their way down my GI tract and about to have some explosive consequences out one end or the other. We finally made it to our cars. I loaded up and headed out. I still had some painful gas, but knew I needed to get something in me. I stopped at Starbucks for a no-fat caramel macchiato and blueberry muffin. I managed to eat the top off it and drank some of the coffee on the drive back to the house.

Once at the house I got everything unloaded. My legs were killing me, mostly my calves. I laid down for a nap which lasted about two hours. I kept waking up with pain in my legs. When I finally got up I put some Biofreeze that was in our race packet on my calves. That shit worked wonders, and the pain finally became bearable.

I still had not eaten anything of substance and still did not feel like it. After about two hours of being awake, I finally made some spaghetti and felt better after getting that down. I spent the rest of the evening basking in the painful afterglow of finally becoming a triathlete. Now to get down my goals for next season…


Simply put, I just need more training... lots more. I still do not feel I have a strong base. I need more OWS. I need to be able to actually run. I need to lose more weight.


This was a well run race. Lots of support and volunteers. The only thing bad I have to say I already mentioned, and that was the lack of respect during the National Anthem.