The sleeveless wetsuit + warm cap worked out fine. I was mentally prepared for the rest of the women's wave to leave me behind in short order, and for the men 40+ and relay wave to gain on me -- I'm SLOW, okay?

What annoyed me just a little, however, was the kayak guys hovering around me like the buzzards over the Red Pony. Tried explaining, "I'm not drowning, I just swim this way" -- okay, actually, it was, "DOIN' FINE! JUST SLOW!" in my best happy swimmer voice, but apparently they had nothing better to do than work on this new contest they were having about who could keep their kayak exactly six feet from the swimmer the longest. Anyway. Fine swim.

Learning to swim faster might be good. Oh, sighting would be good too. My technique was more "stroke, stroke, stroke, dog paddle a bit to look around, stroke, stroke, stroke, dog paddle..." That slowed me down a bit.

Well this was the area where I really started making mistakes. See, it had been REALLY cold in the morning, so I'd planned a bike get-up including about 2 layers of everything including gloves, and a jacket of course. It was getting warmer (see JeepFleeb's log for another effect of that), but for some reason I stuck to Plan A anyway. Bad call.

Plus, not having accomplished the task of peeing in my wetsuit (well if those kayak guys had given me any PRIVACY, maybe I could have!), I had to throw in a port-a-jon visit.

Put on less stuff.

At the start, I learned that a lack of swim training will cause swimming to make you tired. Yeah, who knew? So I was a bit tired at the start. Rode slowly out of the park still huffing and puffing.

But I like riding my bike, and I got into it. Despite being hot on the uphills, I just kept at it. A few miles in I got passed by the athlete who was dead-last out of the water, and that was the end of passing. At one point I saw Laurie going up a steep hill in front of me, but never caught her. Just told myself to keep going, and made it up that hill, and the next, and the next...

A few times along the way I could hear a car engine behind me, someone just riding my tail reeeeal slow, and I'd think "now why doesn't that car just PASS?" Then a few cars would pass... and soon I'd hear it again. After several miles of this it dawned on me it was the same engine each time. I glanced back - yup. It was the race folks. Maybe the same ones who had been in those kayaks, only the Lord knows. Since I was the last one on the course, they felt the need to follow me closely for the last, oh, 18 miles of the course. YEAH. So when I whether I was creeping up at hill at 6mph or sailing down one at 30+, I'd be sure to hear that familiar engine at my heels soon. It rattled me. A LOT.

Somewhere around mile 19 there was a deer carcass by the side of the road with a good dozen actual buzzards having Thanksgiving dinner all around, no lie. Guess it was an omen. 'Cause not far after that was the first time I dropped my chain. CLUNK. Lock. Coast, stop, jump off, fix chain. It took a couple of tries just 'cause I was flustered, there was really nothing seriously wrong with it. Oh also I had to wave off a sheriff's deputy and some other guy who came over to try and help. "Can't take assistance - I'm racing!" For those of you who have never been to Texas or maybe seen a movie about it or anything, let me tell you it's hard to get a good Texan man NOT to help a lady in distress, God bless 'em all, truly. So now I'm fixing my chain with a coupla these cowboys standing around watching me fumble with my gear and waiting for the moment they're called on to assist... IT'S ON! GOOD! Back to riding again.

As I got going I reflected about how that unscheduled stop would have been an excellent time for me to remove some of the portable sweatbox I was wearing. But too late, I'm moving again, don't want to stop.

The derailleur never felt quite right after that. I was shifting carefully. Made it back into the park, and was heading along the park road (that buzzard truck still right on my tail), started up a small hill, when CLUNK, lock. Dropped the chain a second time. Same routine - stop, hop off, inspect chain. Only this time it was jammed in there really tight between the derailleur and the frame. I messed with it a couple of different ways and it didn't budge. And the truck buzzards are still there, a few yards back, just watching.

This is the moment I am least proud of. I lost it. I GAVE UP ON THE BIKE. I said, "FORGET IT! What is it? About a half a mile more? I'll walk."

Walked the bike a while, jogged a bit (as well as I could in cleats), walked more... okay it was a lot longer to T2 than I thought, maybe a mile and a half. I did manage to remove various articles of clothing during this walk, but would NOT REMOVE the polar fleece headband causing a great deal of discomfort because of uncertainly about USAT helmet rules when one is WALKING the bike. Didn't want to risk it. I was finishing this race.





Dress for triathlon instead of for polar dogsledding.

Keep my head. Don't let the turkey vultures get me down, and fix my own gear. Stop worrying what people think... even people who creep along behind me in a pick-up truck for an hour and a half.

The announcer saw me coming and asked everyone in the transition area (all packing up to go home) to clear out of my way as I came in. So a lot of people were there cheering for me like I was some kind of hero, but I just felt like an idiot for not fixing my bike, I mean, I've been walking for at least 20 minutes by now.

At least my legs aren't going to feel like rubber when I start running.

Brandt and somebody else were near my rack -- I wasn't at my most sociable piont, sorry -- and said something encouraging to which I just responded that I had a run to do. Changed shoes, took off.

Either I missed the mat on the way in or the race organizers took pity on me and didn't split my bike and T2 times. Which is fine by me!

Not wait until half an hour after everyone else to show up for T2. :)

The run course was mostly closed to traffic -- which meant the truck buzzards were GONE! Alone at last! Plus the lake was beautiful.

Now, I was way dehydrated and all out of electrolytes and stuff by this time, just a mess. And emotional. And whenever I started thinking about the fact that all the BTers were just going to be sitting around waiting for me, I started to cry. But then I'd say, "quit crying! you can't spare the electrolytes!"

Overall the run was good. I "ran" -- okay, jogged -- the whole course except for walking that one hill where I was looking around to see if they'd provided any tether ropes to climb, it was more of a mountaineering thing at that point, really. But I was happy with my run.

Also I was very impressed that the volunteers at the last water station stayed until I passed the second time, and cheered me on. They were awesome.

The BTers and race organizers were ready for me at the finish: photo, photo, finisher's flag, water bottle - a perfectly executed relay, go team! Dennis helped me stagger down the hill to my bike, everyone accompanied me back to the car, and other than near-constant eating the highlight of the rest of the day was getting The Stick massage from Haley back at the cabin.


I got mad at myself for losing my head. In the past I've reasoned, "well, I may not have the athletic ability of some people, but I have a brain and can at least race smart."

Well this time I did not race smart, did not respond well to the changing weather conditions, and let myself get flustered by the fact of having the follow-up truck on my tail for 2/3 of the bike course and dropping my chain twice.

For the future: hyrdrate more on the bike, take my enduralytes, and if I ever have a mechanical problem - take a deep breath, pray, then FIX IT!


I listed this course as "too hard" b/c it kicked my tail, but really, it's great. I mean, we do this for the challenge, right? Awesome organization and volunteers, beautiful site, the only mark down is for the harsh roads. I'd like to do this race again anyway - and 4:46:13 is officially my time to beat!

But first I'd better get that derailleur adjusted.