Photography by B Goodell
The White Lake Half Pro-Am was my first race of the 2022 season. It’s a long-running local race in North Carolina, which featured a pro prize purse this year, thanks to the tireless work of Aaron Kolk, a fellow pro triathlete who had secured sponsor deals and the support of the PTO (Professional Triathletes Organisation).
This race had a long, long shallow water run into (and out of) the lake, and with the “Aussie exit,” (run up on the beach, make a U-turn, then run back into the water for the second lap) that meant four installments of a high-stepping 50 yard dash through shin-deep water. I had played around with this the day before, practicing my entries and exits, and quickly discovered that despite the greater supply of sea level oxygen, my general lack of anaerobic training was a limiter when it came to maximizing my vertical leap. Still, the long-leg swimmers and natural hurdlers have a clear advantage, and there was a brief moment early on in the race where I couldn’t see anyone around me and had the sensation of leading the swim. That’s not really my thing, so lucky for me, Ali Brauer handled it by churning her way into a four minute lead on the rest of us. I eventually tucked in nicely behind Summer Deal, and even stuck with her when the wind sent a giant triangle turn buoy swinging right towards my face. Instinctively, I dove underneath it and porpoised my way back up the surface on the other side, which worked like a dream. Swimming like a mermaid just makes everything better.
I exited the water in fourth place, but my quick transition got me out on the bike in third. I chased down Ginger Howell and moved into second, aggressively pursuing some wattage goals that turned out to be just too ambitious for me. Or too ambitious for me that day. Or maybe too ambitious to maintain while tucked in aero position for 56 miles of the flattest course I’ve ever seen.
I got my first alarm bells around mile twenty and shortly thereafter, a searing pain in my right adductor, accompanied by plummeting power output. I slipped back to third place, fourth place, then to fifth, unable to override my body’s natural refusal to recruit a muscle that had already packed up and gone home for the day. Despite some general disappointment about my subpar bike performance, I am glad that I was able to keep fragments of a positive outlook, and I honestly never doubted I would finish the race. After all, it was great to still have one functioning leg, so I wasn’t completely out of options. I was forced to complete the last 35 miles of the bike course sitting upright, which was fine until I approached spectators, and felt a tad embarrassed. Sitting up isn’t how tri bikes are supposed to work. It was awkward to be at the front of a race (relatively speaking), riding a TT bike complete with swooshing disc wheel, but sitting upright like I was taking a jaunt on a beach cruiser. I managed to get back down in an aggressive stance when I passed B taking photos, and I’m sure glad I did. Pain is temporary. Race photos last forever.
I can’t explain why such a debilitating injury on the bike had such minimal impact on the run (I assumed those two activities shared the same muscles), but after a few awkward early miles, I started to feel really good. Not good enough to catch Ginger, who looked like she was having a great run too, but good enough to hold off the runners behind me and hang on to my fifth place. My two fastest run miles were the final two of the race, so I finished on a high note. It felt good to hit that final stretch, especially knowing that it was officially my 100th triathlon finish line.
Not including two (somewhat) deliberate DNFs, there have now been 100 Sprints, Olympics, 70.3’s and 140.6’s. I can still remember at least a few little slices from each of them. My two biggest takeaways are:
1.) Routine is my lifeline. It is amazing to experience the power that solidified habits can have to soothe nerves and ward off anxiety. I love arriving at the day before the race, because by that point, the meals are the same, the schedule is the same, the clothes, workouts, and tasks are all the same.
I don’t have to worry or think too hard, because I’ve practiced it so much, I can do the whole pre-race routine in my sleep (and sometimes I do). No matter where I am, it feels like home.
2.) I will finish the race. One of the biggest fears I faced during the early races was the moment that I wondered if I would actually finish. It typically happened during the run, and it was rarely of a question of “could” and entirely a question of “would.” I didn’t quite trust myself. The temptation to veer off course and lie down in the cool grass felt overwhelming. But at some point, I stopped having that doubt. I have other mental battles when I race, but when it comes to triathlon or pizza, I am a Finisher, always.
