Litchfield Hills Olympic Triathlon 8-22-2010

My general goals in a triathlon have always been: not to die, not to vomit and not to finish last. I was successful in only two of these today.

My goals for this particular race were to finish, to finish before they closed the course and to make it up Bruning Hill without having to get off my bike. I succeeded in only one of these.

Last night I packed my car and reviewed the run map on my netbook computer. I spent most of my worries about Bruning Hill and did not check out the run course in advance. I thought to myself, I ought to print out a copy of the run map and keep it in my back pocket just in case. But my printer is attached to my desktop and my desktop was downstairs and it is very slow and it was late and I was tired and thought I could do it in the morning. And I thought these courses are usually pretty well marked.

In the morning, I loaded my bike on the car and headed out. My backup alarm has been malfunctioning so instead of a peaceful early morning drive, I had to listen to a constant alarm and even though I was going forward, the car was reacting to the bike on the back.
I made it to the race fine, took my bike off the car, gathered my gear, thought about tucking an second extra tube in my back pocket just in case, but did not.
I set up in transition. I have a bit of problem in transition areas that use rails because my bike seat (I ride a 64) is too high to rack the bike without turning the bike on its side, which is hard to do if there are bikes on either side. I hoped that when it came time to get my bike with good fortune my neighbors would have already grabbed their bikes. This turned out to be the case.

As a Clydesdale as well as over 49, I was in the last wave. The good thing with the last wave is I don’t get passed by so many people on the bike. The bad thing is you finish 6 minutes later than the first first wave, which may not be important to most, but if you are concerned with finishing before the course closes, it can be an issue.
The swim went fine. I took it easy, swam straight for the most part and was quite happy about it. I got my wet suit off easily and then sat down on a rock and put on my water shoes so I didn’t have to run barefoot on the rocks.

I took my time in transition, had a drink, and then set off for the bike and my feared battle with Bruning Hill. I felt good on the bike even though I was getting passed, and the only people I passed were fixing their bikes on the side of the road. I did pass one woman at about mile ten on a downhill. I announced I was passing, and then all of a sudden she started speeding up. I didn’t know whether to pull back over or keep trying to pass. I was quite pissed so I kicked it up a gear and passed as she pedaled furiously to keep me from getting by her. I didn’t see her again.

Like I said, I was happy with the way things were going. Despite the rain, I was keeping up a good pace for me, the bike was running smooth. Still I knew the first part of the course was the easiest part. We made the turn onto 202 and began the long slow uphill. I did fine, and even passed a few more riders (in addition to those fixing flats -- there seemed to be more flats and repairs going on than I had seen in any of the other limited races I have done.)

Then I came to Bruning Road. I took a triathlon class three years ago aimed at completing the Niantic Tri. Bill Honeck, the instructor, encouraged a number of my classmates to try the Litchfield Race as well. He told me I could do it except for Brunning Hill – that would be tough for me. (I did have a hybrid at that time and not my current road bike).

The next year I drove the course to see what the hill was like and it did intimidate me some. My training and racing that year and the next was somewhat limited due to going to school, having a baby, and taking a second job, so I never got to focus on it until this year. While I still have the baby, now a little girl, and the second job, I have the degree and a better handle on my time.

A few weeks ago I drove Bruning Road on the way up to a West Hill swim and noticed all the gravel on it. I had been planning to ride it with a friend the next day, but with all the sharp fine gravel, that was out. I briefly considered joining the Heat practice ride, but at my speed, I would have not have come close to keeping up, plus I ended up visiting my brother in New Jersey and doing a sprint tri with him instead. When I heard the stones had been swept off the road, I decided to enter the race. An Olympic triathlon had been my goal from the beginning. My plan was to do the Bridgeport Mossman, but it sold out before I could enter. I had to work next weekend, so the Cranberry Tri was out. It was either Litchfield and Bruning Hill or wait another year.

So anyway, I headed up the hill and was handling it. Admittedly I was down in my lowest gear, but I was making it up, I was “Slaying this hill!” I was saying to myself. Unfortunately I think the hill heard me. With my odometer reading 22.something miles, I heard a hiss and like that my front tire was flat. In denial, I kept going, rode down a brief decline, but was fully on the rims by the start of the next uphill.

I knew I was close to the finish and could just run with the bike, but then I thought, I can change a tire in the heat of a race – for the first time – finish my ride up the hill and still finish in time. What a great boast that will be! I have changed tired before – not quickly, but I can do it. I took the wheel off the bike, and got the tube out. Beth Schluger drove by and asked if I was okay and if I needed a mechanic or a ride. I said I was okay; I would change it and continue on. In the meantime more people were passing me. I got the new tire in and had some trouble getting my CO2 inflator to work, and then it was working and then – gunfire – I tucked and rolled, worried I was in a scene from Deliverance (a rifleman in the Hills), then looked at my tire. It had exploded. I swore. I could have used that other tube.

So I grabbed the bike and started running. 5 mph. I slowed a little and walked some - 3 mph. I ran some more. Still I made it back to transition as others were crossing the finish line, drinking beers and some already driving away.

I got passed by two people on the run, and then I was alone. I worried I was off the course, but then saw the glorious white lines and kept on. I was running, not fast, but no run walk. At mile three, I noticed I was being followed by a truck picking up the mileage markers. Still there was a water stop ahead and I grabbed a water from a volunteer and kept on. I made it to mile 5, although the miles seemed to be getting longer. The next water stop was self-service. They had left four cups of water there next to the coolers, but no volunteers. I grabbed one on the fly. I kept on, following the white lines.

Mile six seemed to take forever. I noticed then I was passing Perkins road, which I used to get the West Hill swims, but that didn’t seem right, plus I remembered passing it earlier. Something wasn’t right. I was getting a bad feeling. I flagged down a car. The man rolled down the window a crack to see what the crazed rained soaked stranger wanted. I asked where Brodie Park was in relation to where I was. The man said back that way about mile and a half, two miles.

As soon as he rolled his window back up, I swore “F-Me!” I apologize to anyone who heard although there was likely no one around except some squirrels or other forest creatures. I turned back.

I was so pissed, I stopped running. Now it clearly was my own fault. You have to know the course. I didn’t. I took a wrong turn. My bad. Lesson learned.

My first triathlon at Lake Terramugus three years ago I had a similar situation. I was at the back of the pack; all the volunteers had gone home. Fortunately there was a man behind me. I stopped and waited for him to catch up and we caucused on which was to go, and decided on the correct way, all while watching another racer running in a different direction. That wayward runner finished last sparing my a last place finish. I was second to last.

It’s hard sometimes at the back of the pack. It’s soo lonely. But enough whining. I kept on. I flagged the next car to check on my progress and make certain the first guy wasn’t playing a cruel trick on me. The man assured me I was now going the right way. I started running again. A ways further on, I saw a turn in the road and wasn’t certain which way. I flagged another car and it turned out to be a race official who was out looking for me. He offered me a ride, which I declined and I followed his directions up the hill and into the park.

Beth and company were delighted to see me finally show up safe and alive, and cheered as I ran across at the line. They gave me two bottles of water off a truck where it had been packed away and gave me my finisher’s mug. They asked me if I wanted to go inside the cabin and get warm, but I said I was fine.

I wandered around for a little bit and for the life of me could not find transition. Am I that disoriented? I thought. It was right here. Then I realized where transition had been was now just a green field with one solitary bike on its side next to a rain-soaked knapsack.

So anyway my tale of woe at least had the ending that I finished. I am an Olympic Distance Triathlete (although a slow one). My James Brown mantra, “Can’t Quit! Can’t Quit! Got to Keep On! Get on the Good Foot, U-Huh!” did the job. Another bright spot on a dismal rainy day, I also got a head start on my half-marathon training. I figure between my run on the bike course and the "This way to China" run, I logged an extra four or five miles at least on the ten K giving me a long run of ten to eleven miles -- ahead of my schedule for the Hartford race.

When I got home and looked at the map, I saw my mistake. I turned left on Niles instead of right. I was that close to the finish! I was right there! But I saw the arrows in the road pointing left and I followed. Running head down, one foot after the other. Can’t Quit! Can’t Quit!

My preparation for a future race will no doubt include another class in tire-changing, one in geography, one in out-door survival skills, as well as more miles in the saddle and maybe a bike-fit to see if that helps my riding. With sweat and luck, hopefully next time I should set a race PR. I have a lot of clock time to play with.

That’s it. While they had already packed away the beer at the race by the time I crossed, the one advance thinking I did not forget was to buy some beer while the package stores were still open last evening. The thought of that kept me from dwelling on the dam whining backup alarm on the slow drive home. I have some cold Tecates waiting for me in the fridge, and one very special frosted mug.

Here are the results:

Results