Weather.com had forecast calm, cool weather until noon, but the 5 AM whitecaps on the waves in Lake Geneva suggested otherwise. The half-mile swim tossed us all around like rag dolls and teased my tendency for motion-sickness. Thank goodness for my brand new full-sleeved wetsuit, right?
I love my wetsuit, and it loves me. A little too much. It wouldn't. come. off. I'm cursing under my breath in Transition as athletes fly by, whipping their own suits off while mine refuses to budge.
I'm finally free. I'm running to the road, ready to mount. My shoes are clipped into the pedals already so I step solidly on my left shoe, then knock my heel against the right to send it flying? What the? THAT'S not supposed to happen. A kind bystander retrieves both shoes for me (the left had managed to unclip itself somewhere in my "Son of a B****!!" moment) and I hunch over, embarassed, to put on the shoes and re-mount the bike.
The wind that caused the vicious lake waves continued. The bike route was a loop but somehow the wind was in my face the entire time. The entire experience defied physics.
Finally I've returned. The plan is a smooth-as-butter dismount, wherein I unvelcro my shoes and slide my feet out about 50 yards before the Transition gate, then swiftly sprint to my spot. Not today. The wind (again, that wind) off the lake, coupled with the only steep downhill of the ride, forced both hands to stay on the bars. I did manage to free one foot, but have you ever seen anyone run wearing only one bike shoe? It's not pretty.
I'm in Transition. Where's my spot? They all have blue towels, just like mine. (It was one of our goodie bag prizes.) But my wetsuit is inside out! I remember from when I was wrestling with it 46 minutes ago! Where's the inside-out wetsuit?! That one's not inside out. That one doesn't have a wetsuit. Wait a minute...
I'm in the wrong row.
I shuffle one row down, and my spot is there, laughing at me. I swear, I must've spent a good 45 seconds in the wrong row.
I'm off on the run now. It's almost entirely on a dirt/sand/rock/tree-rooted trail, so I'm pretty sure I won't be setting any records. At this point I'm nearly ready to give up and consider it a leisurely training run through the woods. I'm following the path by myself when I hear from behind,
"This way! This way!"
I'm running the wrong way. Another half a minute gone.
Now I'm writing the blog post in my head. And the rock in my shoe is cutting into my foot.
Thank goodness my lobster always knows the right thing to say. In the car ride home:
"At least you're really tan and your biceps are bulging and I can't even find your belly."
And she took some artistic liberties with her photography:
She got a kick out of this sign. I don't know why.
She may harbor some resentment for the exclusivity of the transition area. She likes to feel like she belongs.
I shouldn't say EVERYTHING went wrong. The port-a-potty line was amazingly speedy.
With the aforementioned biceps bulging, I attempt to don the new wetsuit.
Still working on it...(but look at those muscles!)
Holy crap this is hard.
My lobster snapped this shot to show my exit after a warmup swim. I included it to show the freakin' waves.
I love this one. I'm really just putting my hair in a ponytail, but don't I look like a model in a Pantene commercial?
This one pretty much sums up the day.
Post-race. Can you tell all we're thinking about is a hot shower and a nap?
And that's exactly what happened next.