Yesterday was my first day back
on my road bike for an outdoor ride in almost a year. You might be wondering
what kind of triathlete has not been training outdoors on their bike in that
time. Well this triathlete recently dealt with a bout of cycling phobia. It all
started last October when I received a DNF – that’s Did Not Finish - at the REV3 Half Full Triathlon.
I had signed up for the Olympic distance race, which featured an unusual 30
mile bike course rather than the typical 24.8 miles.
The race was very late season,
which usually signifies difficulty, but I assumed I would be ready. The course
boasted several hills; again I assumed I would be prepared. The weather was
quite nasty from the start with rain beginning before the first wave. I joked
with one of the other competitors that I would not need to worry about getting
cold because I had enough “padding” (aka fat) to protect me. This turned out to
be a very coincidental comment as you will read further down.
The swim was typical and
actually fairly easy even though I had to wear my very snug wetsuit (I had
gained weight since the last time I wore it at the Boilerman Triathlon in
Indiana). But the problems started as soon as I reached the swim finish. While
taking my wetsuit off, I left my goggles in my hand and they got stuck keeping
me locked in my wetsuit. Then I had to run up a steep hill to the transition
area where I promptly took off my timing chip to finish taking my wetsuit
off. I never put it back on!
The forgotten timing chip was
the least of my problems as the rain continued and my once dry clothes/arm
warmers were soaked. I did not think there was an issue as I was focusing on my
goal of getting my bike out on the road.
Soon after the ride began, I
realized I was not prepared for the cycling portion. After the first few large
hills – large compared to what I was used to in the Midwest – my legs were
burning and I was shaking from the cold. I nearly lost all my strength when I
realized it had only been 5 miles. By mile 10, I was already exhausted. I
started walking my bike up the really steep hills, but the downhill was even
worse. As the cold whipped past me, I felt pain in all my exposed portions. My
legs started wobbling and I could barely stay on my bike. I thought just keeping going. If I could just make
it to the run, then I could walk the entire 6.2 miles and I could finish.
Lance Armstrong happened to be
doing the race too, only he did the half-distance (modified to 70 miles because
the swim portions were the same distance). I tried to ignore the hoopla and
controversy around this and focus on my race. It did not help when I was passed
at one point by him followed by a motorcade. Lots of spectators cheering him
on, which made each mile more difficult for some reason. I felt so
self-conscious that I was walking up hills and even more self-conscious of my
ridiculously slow pace when I passed again by Lance at mile 21 or 22 (oh and my
GPS died about half-way through the race so I only knew where I was because of
the mile marker signs).
Eventually, I got so drained
that upon reaching a hill at around mile 25 (noting that had this been at
traditional race, I would have been done with the cycling portion by this point
or at least close to it) I got off my bike turned to the two volunteers and
exclaimed “I need help!” They thought I was hurt, but the only part of me
injured was my pride.
I promptly began bawling. I had never
not finished a race.
Back at the camp, they would not
let me in the medical tent, but I was mostly delirious from what could only
have been mild hypothermia. I left my bike and was wandering trying to find the
heating bus. My husband had gone back to the car to get something, thinking I
would be another hour or two to finish. Fortunately, a friendly volunteer led
me to the bus, where I could barely walk with my cycling shoes still on. Seeing
everyone with their finisher medals and shirts made me keep bawling. I was so embarrassed
having not finished, “wussing out” without even being physically hurt. I went
home feeling depressed and exhausted.
 |
| Me looking nervous before the practice ride. |
It was the end of the season so
I had an excuse not to get on my bike. But as spring approached, I found myself
making excuses for not riding. “Well, I want to focus on running races this
year. Why ride when I can use my indoor trainer that I got for Christmas?” And
so on. Of course, none of this was true. I was simply afraid to get on my bike.
I had no reason to be afraid, but I felt great anxiety at the thought of
getting out there in front of people on a trail.
This is one of the reasons I
started this blog. I wanted to get back to triathlons and get back to my
athletic/competitive roots. It forced me to sign up for a triathlon which meant
I would have to get back on my bike. Even
though I waited until two weeks before my first triathlon since the DNF, I am
happy that I finally overcame my fear.
It was definitely scary so much
so that I panicked on the first sharp turn onto the path,
feeling like I was going to fall over. I almost went off the path into the mud.
But once I was out riding, I felt more and more comfortable. Even though it was
slow, even though I did not have to ride up any crazy steep hills, I got back
on my bike and did a group ride. I may not have the best time at my triathlon,
but it is the first step to being a triathlete again. Or at least pretending to
be one!
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