Austin in a Weekend: The Longhorn Ironman 70.3

This was our PLAN:

Thursday: Work until 5, drive as far as possible, spend night on the road.
Friday: Wake early, finish drive, start pre-race check-in-drop-off-race-course-preview busy-ness.
Saturday: Finish pre-race check-in-drop-off-race-course-preview busy-ness--THEN get race gear ready.
Sunday: Pre-race rigamarole, RACE, drive as far as possible, spend night on the road.
Monday: Wake early, finish drive, then go to work.

Kind of like taking the red-eye Sunday night, back from Hawaii, so you can get to work on time in NM on Monday morning.

OR, kind of like a whirlwind race weekend--only with a 70.3 thrown in and a destination in another state...

This is what WE GOT:
A deep blue quiet night on the edge of a lake, complete with Milky Way and the distant light of large trucks.
A city with wall to wall traffic--even during non-commute hours.
A blueberry, walnut, and strawberry pancake breakfast--hand cooked in individual skillets--with like minded pre-race focused tri-athletes
A cool swim in a 300 yard long crystal blue sink-hole--chill enough to take your breath away, but refreshing on a warm 94 degree day.
A drive by Mellow Johnnies and Juan Pelota.
The Whole Foods mothership. Man--that was a LARGE and temptacious store.
A race day saved by partially cloudy conditions.
Pleasant lake water that you could actually see your feet through.
A run course that caused both of us to dig deep.
Some new PR's.
And a TON of cool schwag--including race towel, long sleeve tech T, mesh hat, pound of coffee (each), swim bag, race nutrition samples (notice the pleural), almond butter and sunscreen samples, the ever-present Longhorn water bottles, AND
burritos, tacos, beer, and ice cream.

This is what WE DIDN'T ANTICIPATE:
Getting lost.
Downtown traffic.
Lightning from one side of the sky to the other, and non-visibility conditions.
WIND.
4 hours of sleep, followed by a 4 am alarm, and the mesmerizing sameness of the open road.
Sore, SORE muscles--the kind where you can't take a step, much less get into and out of the car without groaning....

Fun. In spite of it all.

AND, the happy surprise of seeing an Outlaw uniform on the course (even if you did call the guy by the wrong name, so he didn't even know you were there...)

The SWIM:
The magic of the swim was me JUST DOING IT.

A bit of a big deal, because I was sure I was going to DNF, but secretly hoping I wouldn't.

T was so concerned for me, that the first thing we did when we got to Austin--during the afternoon commute traffic hour--was seek out the lake, so we could jump in and check out my panic factor.

It was pretty much a given that the water would be too warm for wetsuits, same as the year before. But when we got in the water, the coolness of the water didn't jive with the 88 degree temps noted for the week before. We did a small out-to-the-buoy-and-back swim in which I felt fine, and we exited ready to get to check in. It wasn't until the next day practice swim, when the wind came up, and I swallowed water, then went into a panic and had to hang on a buoy, that I became concerned about another DNF.

I hung on that buoy (200 yards off shore) and wondered if a boat could come out and rescue me.
I started envisioning how when I got old, that I would look back and remember all these DNF's.
I started making plans for my future in meditation and yogic body control.
T hung with me and stabilized the buoy, especially when I yelped, "Why is it moving?"
He said, "Because it's not anchored," so I promptly envisioned floating further out into the lake while hyperventilating and clutching this bobbing, floating, slippery, uncontrollable object that I had THOUGHT was put there for my own safety.
It was a bit disconcerting to look up and see all the super-fit, lean, shaven athletes congregating on the shore for their practice swim.

Fortunately, I was able to get my breathing under control and swim easily back to shore (so no boat needed), but my confidence was beat up.

T decided to bring the wetsuits on the chance of a chance that it might be wetsuit legal--and at the last minute, word came down that the lake was 77.8 degrees. Phew! What a way to save my sorry, sinking, non-swimmer swim.

Still I was concerned.

DNF'ing a large race doesn't go away easily, and I'm obviously still traumatized by the DNF in Idaho (even if T does tell me that Idaho was the "perfect storm" of cold, wind chop, and noisy, overstimulating conditions).

But the EndorFun way of doing the race just made everything so easy, casual, and yet, really well organized. Which kept me relaxed. And made it a whole lot easier for me, then being corralled in a pen and being limited on my warm up....

As per Ironman 70.3 organization, my wave started after the pro men and women, and the 50 plus men. Once again, I got lucky, as the swim course was changed to allow the initial swim leg to parallel the shore. I knew this would give me confidence and allow me to warm up and get going before the middle of the lake swim started. My plan was to step into the lake and start all the way to the right, so as to avoid the pack, and be closer to the shoreline. Seems like most of the women had the same plan also. Instead of being out to the side and isolated, I ended up standing in a large group--so I quickly made my way back toward the shore, and waited for the pack to go without me.

You feel pretty exposed when you're the only one standing in the shallow water, as your age group peeps swim away from you, and there are at least 2000, if not more, people standing behind you on shore--all looking at your back and feeling sorry for you...

This is what happens when you wait for everyone else to swim first.
That nice clear water gets churned into a brown muddy mess.
All the plant life growing on the lake bottom gets broken off and you end up somewhat clawing through large handfuls of floating greenery.
The kayakers think you don't know where you're going and try to herd you onto the main swim path, which you are emphatically trying to avoid.
Since you are the only swimmer, you can hear what's going on around you--and suddenly you hear this ever-growing wall of noise, as the 35 -39 year old men come charging (swimming) from behind.
Near panic sets in as the noise grows louder.
I made a hard turn to the right to get out of the path of the focused, PR seeking men, then asked a kayaker if he could paddle along next to me "not too close" for a little while.
How nice to have my own guardian angel in a red kayak.

By the first buoy turn, I was comfortable enough to pick up the pace.
By the second buoy turn, I got too warm in my wetsuit.
But, voila, it was a triangular course, so at this point I just finished up the swim, and got the heck out of dodge...i.e., I ran up the long grassy hill to transition.

The BIKE:
Since T and I hadn't previewed the course, I had no idea where I was going.
Rolling hills to start, followed by stretches of relatively flat, curving road.
Wind. Lots of it.
Bumps and cracks everywhere.
The bike course was crowded. 2000 participants.
You had to have good bike handling skills and be polite at a fairly high rate of speed, while trying not to draft.
Lots of chatter to let people know where you were in relation to them, since there was so much passing going on.
Eyes focused on the bikes constantly jockeying for position around you, and not the surrounding countryside--which could have been pretty, but I never noticed.
I received the comment: "N! I guess we're going to get to know each other, since we're passing each other so d*mn much!" (Our names were on our bibs).
My problem was that I would slow down on the uphills, than regain speed on the downhills.
That bike course just seemed to go on forever.
I literally wanted to fall asleep on the bike.
I felt like I couldn't keep my eyes open.
A reflection of the sleep deprivation I obviously had.
By mile 40 I had a thought which I have never had before in a race, "Just get me off this d*** bike."
The last section went hilly again, which was just plain cruel and tortuous.
But I survived it with a 2:57 PR--wind, hills, sleep deprivation and all.
Which, what with all the wind, hills, sleep deprivation and all, probably meant I had gone out too hard...

The RUN:
Ugh.
A hilly and unaesthetic course.
Hot.
By the second mile I knew it wasn't going to be a good run.
I felt encased in a sticky, sweaty layer that wouldn't let my skin breath.
Elvis, Batman, the Joker, and the Pusherman lightened the day.
The Pusherman made me laugh, by whispering sweet enticements into my ear--which meant, obviously, that I was walking.
But it was a good laugh.
The 12 bands advertised turned out to be 5 or 6 bands, but each was welcome, and I wished there were more.
I poured ice down my shirt and under my run hat. Sponges for each shoulder and the back of the neck. Water, Gatorade, Coke. 3 gels.
Eventually, I did another first. I walked for several short distances.
The downhill into the bat-zone was too painful for my sore quads.
Funny enough, I actually ran the Quadzilla hill.
On the second lap, when I asked someone the time, I realized that I had a slim chance for a PR, so suddenly, and from somewhere deep, I picked up the pace, up the hill, through the dry, dusty forest, and around the corner to the finishing chute. I have no idea how I was able to run so fast for that last 1.5 miles, and conversely, why I had been running so slow previously.
My finish was a PR by 7 minutes.
Just think, I could have jogged in that last mile, and still PR'd.

What a painful day.

The after race festivities were characterized by live music, lots of food, a lot of wandering around, and a previously grassy transition area now turned to dust.

When we were ready to pack up, we found that the roads were still closed for the final racers, and the shuttle buses weren't going to start running until 5 pm. This meant we had a 3/4's of a mile walk to get to the truck.

Since my quads were so sore, I was happier to walk than ride my bike.

At the truck we did a quick clothing change, packed up, and headed out of town.
Our drive was delayed by a HUGE lightning storm with downpour conditions between Fort Stockton and Sheffield in Texas.
By midnight, we were in NM, setting our alarms for 4 am, and laying down for a few hours sleep in the deep quiet by Brantley Lake.
Daylight brought another few hours of driving, and a happy arrival at home.

What a weekend.