Triathlon Bloopers: Learning from the Fails – Race Jitters
Welcome to the second episode of our bloopers series from the SoCal Triathlon Team in Irvine, CA. While sharing these moments can be somewhat embarrassing, our hope is to reinforce the idea that mistakes are going to happen. The key is to not sweat it too much. Each race is a learning experience.
It was my first ever triathlon, and things were getting serious. My training buddy, Mike, and I had just arrived in Coronado, CA, with our car brimming with all kinds of equipment for the race that would start first thing in the morning. We were doing the 2014 edition of the SuperFrog half distance triathlon. The swim start was actually inside the military base, right on the beach that Navy personnel used to test their mettle. As we drove along the highway towards our hotel, we could see the waves in the distance and confidently assured each other that they looked more than manageable—maybe one footers at best. Inside, I was in full panic mode.
This thing was really going to happen, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. Yes, I had found a training plan online and sort of did my best to follow it, but as we were less than 24 hours away from the starting gun, none of my preparation felt adequate. The pre-race jitters were hitting hard!
So what did I do? Basically, I made like an ostrich and stuck my head in the sand. Desperate to escape from reality and pretend that this was any other Saturday, Mike and I headed to Danny’s Bar & Grill—a welcoming watering hole that was sure to help me relax for a while. Flash forward to 4:00 am on Sunday, I woke up with a start in the hotel. My left hand was in an empty pizza box, and my head was pounding.
Okay, here we go, the race is going to start in just a few hours. I gotta collect myself and get ready to race. As I was arranging all the gear I needed, it became apparent that a few key items were missing: my wetsuit, bike shoes, and running shoes. Panic! After gathering my nerve, I called my wife (it was 4:45 am) to see if she could check the garage for the missing gear. Sure enough, the wetsuit and two sets of shoes were sitting there neatly arranged about a two-hour drive away. Yikes.
So the plan was for Vivian to start her drive down to Coronado immediately with the hope that she would be able to drop off the gear in T1 before I finished the swim. I would swim sans wetsuit with just my board shorts despite the terrifyingly large waves (they must have been at least 5’). Mike and I arrived on the beach and were milling around waiting for the race to start, everyone else covered in black neoprene but me. I was sticking out like a sore thumb with just a pair of bright red shorts on. We walked over to a gathering of triathletes speaking to a friendly-looking couple. By the deference the others were showing them, they must have been well known. Introductions were made, I was meeting John and Judy Collins in the flesh: The creators of the IRONMAN triathlon! The conversation with the wetsuit-covered athletes was flowing very easily, then John got a look at me and said, “So what are you doing here?” When I told him that I was in the race just like everyone else and that it was my first triathlon, his effort to hold back an eye roll was more than obvious.
As I headed back to shore to complete my second loop of the swim course, the headlights from the pickup truck on the beach, strategically positioned for sighting, reinforced that it was still awfully early in the morning. Was there any way that Vivian could have gotten down here from Irvine with my shoes in time? As I trotted up from the beach towards the transition area, I was shocked to see a woman—Mike’s wife—sprinting from Vivian’s recently parked car. She hurriedly dropped my transition bag, filled with shoes, kit, nutrition, and other essentials, just over the fence for me to retrieve, right in the nick of time. It was going to be ugly, it was going to be very uncomfortable, but this race was going to get done.
As with every race that we age-groupers participate in, we learn something. With SuperFrog 2014, the lessons learned were considerable, but the most powerful was the idea that trying to hide from a challenge is not a winning strategy. You’ve got to tackle these things head-on.
Thanks again for that gear drop, Kris and Vivian:)
~ Mitch
