After 3 consecutive years of signing up for the Muskoka Half Ironman but never making it there (for very legitimate reasons), this year was it. I finally made it to the resort town and the start line.
Travel.
Between work and racing, it would be fair to say that I travel a fair amount. I have therefore learned the ins and outs of early check-in, upgrading to an exit row, pre-paying for my excess baggage (I'm over it now and just pay the bike box fee), preparing for optimum in-flight hydration and planning for just the right amount of reading material to make a five hour flight feel like two. My goal is to minimize the stress of travel and feel as fresh as possible when the plane lands. In reality, this pseudo "low stress travel" routine works only so well since by the time I have packed and commuted to the airport with a ridiculously cumbersome bike box, wheel bag, suitcase, aero helmet, laptop, Ipad, nutrition supplements, massage tools and compression socks, I am not only ready for a nap but have also acknowledged a million glares and responded to numerous questions pertaining to what is in "that" thing or "you're a wide load." I have also gotten into a silly habit of making eye contact with the baggage handler as I watch my bike box slide away on the belt to remind him that it is fragile material in that box..."will it be handled with care?" "Ma'am, we handle all baggage with kid gloves." Yeah, sure. Once my bags are checked I usually switch in to surrender mode and focus on the controllable aspects of my trip ahead like staying hydration and entertainment.
Being a Nexus member has significantly reduced the wait time through security with the exception of scanning my spare wheel which slows the process down a bit. Vanity is far from a priority when I travel. I may be wearing lip gloss but it clashes with my "easy to slip on" runners, lululemon pants and plain Jane Timex watch while void of any jewelry and utilitarian carry on bag that holds as many travel tools as possible. I always recall lessons learned from the movie Up In Air with George Clooney. His traveling scenes really helped me become a proficient traveler...avoid line ups with kids, old people or vacationers. His theories work a better part of the time.
Flight.
If I sat next to me on a plane I can guarantee even I would find myself entertaining. Here's how it goes....
As luck would have it, my Toronto bound flight had me sitting next to a young guy dressed in corduroy jeans, work boots, a worn t-shirt and baseball cap. Let's call him "Boots". Thinking back, I don't even think Boots had a bag. I know he had a wallet that was molded to his butt because he needed to access it to pay for his red wine. He greeted me as soon as I sat down to which I replied "hello." This would not be a trip I was going to chit chat on for 4.5 hours. I had things to do (like watch the third episode of Homeland). He thankfully managed to strike up a conversation with "Window Guy" which relieved me of serious pressure. Since Boots had no book, no magazine, no ear phones and no interest in external entertainment, my "routine" filled this role for him nicely. He was thoroughly enjoying watching me getting comfortable and wiggle around on my massage tools. He didn't hide the fact that he was observing me but I am more than confident that I did a fantastic job of ignoring him. While he ordered three bottles of red wine, I sipped on a Vega Chocolate smoothie. He must have been concerned about my comfort because he offered to turn off my air after witnessing me pull on my compression socks (thinking I was cold instead of trying to avoid the horrific pooling in my ankles). He peered into my Tupperware container to see what I was eating and had the audacity to nudge me while fully engaged in the character development of Homeland's Season Finale to ask me how long the flight was. How could one not know a flight from Vancouver to Toronto would be long enough to warrant bringing at least a magazine on board?
Boots impressed me. He literally sat there for five long hours staring at the back of the seat in front of him (between watching my narcissistic behaviors) with only his thoughts and a few bottles of red wine. He didn't nap, he didn't flip through the Enroute Magazine and he didn't even get up to take a wiz. As we disembarked, Boots walked off with only his sweatshirt and chain linked wallet in the back pocket of his corduroy's. As we made our way up the gang plank, he said "well, you taught me a lot. Next flight I'll bring tight socks for circulation, protein shakes for nutrition, a baseball to roll on, a plethora of magazines and earphones." And I said, "Next flight I'll be drinking red wine." He thought that was pretty funny.
Since arriving close to 8p.m. EST (Thursday), I decided to spend the night in Toronto and drive to Huntsville in the morning (Friday). The weather had cooled considerably after what has been one of the hottest summers in history. The radio was forecasting showers for Saturday but clearing for Sunday with cooler than normal conditions. I tuned out all weather reports sensing that the weekend would be as gorgeous and hot as it had been all summer. How wrong I was.
After a fairly uneventful two hour drive to Huntsville, I pulled into my home for the next three nights, Canada's Best Motel. It wasn't glamorous but it would do. All the rooms were ground level which makes unpacking a bike and associated gear much easier. Some people like the penthouse, I like garden-level close to an exit. Elevators are not even in my vocabulary and stairs are a nightmare. Again, all in the name of minimizing travel stress.
After a solid five hours of driving in one day, I found a really nifty farmers market called Father's Daughters Market. Besides homegrown vegetables and organic grain fed chicken, I found a delectable homemade chutney called Beet & Cream Cheese. I am not sure what made it so good but I polished off three containers of it during my entire stay in Huntsville.
Saturday morning was as the weather man predicted. I drew open my burgundy-mustard-olive colored curtains to a wet, soggy and dark morning. Sheets of rain were pummeling the parking lot. Plan B was formulating in my mind since the rain had no plans of letting up.
I made my way to Huntsville's Summit Gym in hopes of finding a spin bike and a treadmill. Success. While riding on the spin bike, I was lucky enough to be joined by another racer with the same idea. We struck up conversation and turns out he was the owner of Summit and the Director of Water Sports at Deerhurst. Fun job! Mark was his name. Mark helped me locate a safe bay to swim in as well as share some "locals" tips of the Muskoka race course. I love insider knowledge...makes me feel I have a little something special in my toolkit.
The rain never let up. My only option was to let go of what was clearly uncontrollable. One major stressor for me was the parking logistics on race morning. Due to the location of the transition (Deerhurst Parking Lot), no cars were able to park on the resort. All racers, spectators, volunteers and anyone else breathing were to park a few miles away and shuttle in. As elevators and stairs are not my friends, shuttles are worse. I do everything in my power to avoid shuttles at races. I can't explain it, I just have a thing about avoiding shuttles. Maybe I fear the bus will breakdown or I won't get an exit row or aisle seat. Whatever the reason, I'd rather beg borrow and steal my way to transition than load a shuttle bus. At Timberman 70.3, we found a local resident willing to sell us a patch of his beautifully mowed lawn for race day parking at a very reasonable price tag of $20. We were 100 meters from transition and felt like we won the lottery.
Race Morning & Swim.
It was a cool 8 degrees on race morning. It took a full 20 minutes of jogging, arm circles and dynamic stretching to warm up my core and even consider changing from my fleece to my wetsuit. The skies were clear, the transition was calm, and all the athletes were putting on their game faces. With only a few minutes before the start, I found some internal quietness and was quite ready to get the show started. Fog hovered over the lake refusing to burn off before the unusually late 8:00 a.m. start time. Racers were wading into the lake by the hundreds. The anthem was sung, the was gun fired and our wave was off as was I but on no one's feet. "What were you thinking CF? Starting behind Chris Legh? He'd swim a solid 7 minutes faster than you on a bad day." Despite feeling fantastically hydrodynamic in the water, my positioning was less than desirable. I found myself smack between the front group and second pack, alone and a bit frustrated that I was not making up any ground to the swimmers ahead and likely working a bit harder than necessary to keep my pace. I suffered in silence making my way as fast as possible around the buoys. The exit was tricky to spot with the sun beaming straight into our line of sighting. To spectators, swimmers must look pretty drunk, fishtailing all over the place before finally crawling up to shore. A drunken sensation rang true as I finally exited the warm waters of Peninsula Lake.
Swim to bike transition is a burner. The course goes straight uphill for 300 meters (10% grade) before weaving through the bike racks in hopes of locating your own two wheeler. My only saving grace was hearing Tara Norton, her husband Bruce and their new baby Maya cheering on my uphill battle. It was heartbreaking to wait another 4+hours before I could finally meet little Maya and hug Tara and Bruce.
Bike.
I decided to dress for Everest in anticipation of the cool ride ahead and prevent any hypothermia disasters reminiscent of Lake Stevens 70.3 not so long ago. While pleased with my decision to layer up, it takes a few extra minutes to yank clothing over wet skin. The volunteers and spectators were surely thinking "this girl is moving in slow motion while her competitors are riding away." My thoughts: "Ya, but they will freeze their butts off while I'll be toasty warm."
The ride did not disappoint with difficulty and scenery. The pro field was well ahead of all the age group competitors so we never really saw anyone until the tail end of the bike. I gave my best effort at being comfortable being uncomfortable. From what I recall my mind was focused only on the task at hand although I am sure I considered a nap or a warm bath at some point. As we entered the last town and final aid station, I was ready to disrobe. This was no small feat since I had no plans of stopping. Thanks to persistence and a large dose of precariousness, I unzipped and single armed my way out of my jersey tossing it to the side amongst water bottles and Gu wrappers. Maybe one of the volunteers picked it up and is making of use of it. It was a great jersey and I hope it finds a good home.
By the time the final 15k came along, I was good and ready to dismount my bike. The ride really had no momentum, no extended downhill, no straightaway to make up ground. It was just a heck of a lot of short and steep hills with one final kicker that generously loads the legs before rolling up to the orange tape and word "DISMOUNT" (and fantastic spectators and volunteers). Thanks to a few volunteers paying attention, I was informed of my position as 5th Pro coming into T2. If I held this position, I was on the podium and in the money...but let's not focus on the outcome just yet...
Run.
The sun was finally heating up the air temperature to double digits so no parka or wool mitts required for part three of this race. Drat, those first few running steps feel like crap. At least my arms didn't fill with lactic acid as they did at Timberman. I hear you thinking, ARMS?! Despite the fact that 90% of triathlon is using our legs, my arms tend to fill up with lactic acid the first few steps of the transition run. Maybe from all the waving I do along the route...
Within the first kilometer of the run, I could check on my truck. Safe, still there. My mind could rest now and focus on foot turn over and a steady, strong, rhythmical pace. With no surprise, my bladder was at least 3/4 full and the major debate was whether I should stop to relieve myself or keep going in hopes I can empty as I run or hold on till the end. Since the female pro field was fairly close and I would have a lot of explaining to do if I gave up a spot due to a :20 second pee break, I held it.
If the bike was hilly, the run was mountainous save for a false flat section on the highway after leaving the Deerhurst grounds and before turning right into a subdivision. After 3 kilometers, I found my groove and almost felt like I had a few gears to play with. Up and down, turn and weave was how the run went. At the 10k mark, we U-turned to retrace our steps for 2 kilometers before the course led us onto the Fairy Bay Trail (a paved, meandering, rolling, uneven path). My body started to fatigue considerably in this section of the race (16-19 kilometer). The little muscles in my calves started to scream, my lungs were burning and my neck was tired of holding my head up. Even my cheeks and jaw were getting sore. Maybe a few calories would help? Maybe relaxing my shoulders would ease the pain? Maybe recruiting more gluts would do the trick? Every little bit did help by only the slightest of a small margin.
The few guys I was running with were well off the back by this stage and I was left with the sound of my breathing and fluctuating thought patterns. Still in 5th place with no major threats closing in, it was just a matter of maintaining forward movement. Back onto the Deerhurst grounds and facing the last 2 kilometers was sheer agony. The course drops us down into a valley before sending us straight back up to the finish line. On any given day I would have been dancing up the hill on my forefoot and pumping my arms. I did pump my arms but needed my entire foot plant and a very slow turnover to ensure I made it to the top. At the 20km mark, I checked in with my truck...okay, still there. The crowds were getting thicker and louder as was the feeling of satisfaction and possibility that a finish line exists. As many races do, the final 200 meters wrapped us around the transition zone allowing everyone to cheer the racers into the finish line chute. At the time it feels like an unnecessary addition prolonging the pain. Either way, we all need to cover 21.1 kilometers no matter what the course configuration.
Delighted to have maintained the 5th spot on the podium, it took me a few minutes to integrate my race execution and revel in a job well done. I am far from satisfied with 5th place knowing that as I build more strength and power there lives an even better performance within me. In the grand scheme of things, it was thrilling to deliver what I did on the day.
I could finally address my now full bladder and find Tara, Bruce and Maya for an overdue hug and visit. The only issue with spending time with Tara at a race in Ontario is that she is like the town Mayor. Everyone knows her and wants a little piece of her. A conversation with Tara was worse than the bike course....no momentum. Thankfully, we made a dinner date for Monday at her house in Toronto where we could visit uninterrupted.
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| Bruce, Tara Norton and Maya cheering us on! |
Muskoka is a place and race I will continue to return to. The experience exceeded my expectations and was another reminder why the sport of triathlon brings so much richness and adventure to my life.
To come full circle, I must share that my return travel routines tend not to deviate too much from my outbound travel routines. And clearly the universe was sending me a message since my seat mate was yet another inexperienced traveler. Much like Boots, this gentleman (let's call him "Newbie") introduced himself and was craving social interaction. Newbie was quick to inform me that this was his first flight ever (and he was well into his 50's). He said, "I normally drive to Vancouver." With a stunned look on my face, I replied, "You'll notice this is a much faster option." He too flailed away at trying to get my attention, interrupt my movie watching, ask about my compression socks and sneak a carrot stick but I would have none of it and nestled into my entertainment and comfort zone. He was left with staring at the back of the seat or out the window for yet another five hour flight. If guys like Boots and Newbie can sit un-entertained for this long, makes me think they would be great endurance athletes going strong for the long haul. Maybe I'll experiment with traveling sans stimulus on my next flight. Or not.
Thanks for reading, if you made it this far. I played a bit more - mocking myself and the adventure. Jesse Thomas has a wonderfully entertaining blog on his life as a professional triathlete and inspired this cavalier entry. www.leapdaysports.com
Christine
