Spirit of Racine

Mr. Wil snapped this shot of one of several sightings.

"Racine is a flying saucer city." My husband matter-of-factly interjected as we drove to transition to drop off my bike.

"What?"

"Spaceships. See that building? Flying saucer. Remember the water tower? Flying saucer."

"Huh, wow yeah it really does look like one. That's pretty nuts!"

Moments later we passed what would come to be known as the mothership, cleverly disguised as a church. I imagined the campaign for it all around the Alien NASA board of directors table: "It's the future of abduction, no tractor beam needed..." Clever little buggers.

And then he also documented said mothership for Houston.

It wasn't long before we got to the bike check in and my phone rang.

"Tracy? Hey it's Sara!"

About 3 minutes later Sara, the very awesome girl who bought Apollo, my Trek E9, strolled down the hill. She was just as fun in person as she'd been on email, and I was happy to confirm that my bike was in as good of hands as I thought he'd be. She and her boyfriend helped me attach my number to my bike, and after talking for a bit they were on their way to dinner.

We were apparently on our way to Home Depot to get longer screws for my Hydrotail. The right water cage broke somehow at WIBA, and the new kinds I'd bought to replace them didn't work with the old screws. Oops. Fortunately my husband is one of those can change a broken light bulb with a potato kinds of guys (yeah, literally), so it was fixed about 8 seconds later. Back again to bike drop-off, with fortunately time to spare.

Hanging out with super cool Megan just outside of transition.

After racking my bike I heard my name and turned to see Megan, a very cool blogger who had been recovering from a crazy accident that left her with a broken back. I was really impressed that she was persevering through the recovery, just the thought of that kind of injury made me tense up; that's some serious pain. She looked awesome and was just as friendly as she was in her comments, the day was turning out perfectly.

I even got to catch Iron Pol before things were said and done, now if I could just manage to catch Dork, Mom, Wife Veeg, Siren, Thomps, and a few others I knew would be out there Racine way, the trip would be complete. Oh, and if I could manage to finish this 70.3 without crying at one or more points along the way, that would most definitely rock too.

"Hey let's go check out the swim." My husband pointed out a winding 100-yard display of blue cones that was apparently the path to transition.

"Holy crap, that's going to be fun. Just like Steelhead..."

"Yeah but you smiled the whole way up the beach then too."

"Yeah, that was a good swim."

As we drove to dinner (no, not soup and salad, coach! Pasta and chicken) I thought about that swim and how I'd been so terrified. I hadn't thought twice about the 1.2-mile open water trek this time as I looked down at the far buoys like little orange specks in the distance. To imagine swimming the point to point off the pier of Steelhead three years ago was paralyzing...until I did it. And I imagine that's how it must be with terrifying and paralyzing things. Good or bad, we move on past.

The Swim

My husband snapped this of the men's wave hitting the water.

One Saturday afternoon when I was nine my sister and I sat before a velvety crimson lined box of antique jewelry. Rhinestones and multifaceted flickering fascinated us as we searched for just the right item, barely able to believe we were allowed to have one for ourselves. We were spending the weekend with my grandmother (who owned the antique shop where this little treasure chest of ours was nothing more than a corner collection of distraction for little girls), and we could hardly breathe as we poked gingerly through the pieces.

This was exactly the way I felt walking across to the breakfast area at our hotel at 4:30 Sunday morning. I hadn't bothered eating breakfast per se for some time now prior to races, instead it had consisted of a gel 10 minutes or so before hitting the water. But my coach prescribed 600 calories the morning of this race, and as I walked sock-footed past all the pretty pastries and donuts to the oatmeal and fruit, I felt a nine-year-old excitement for the day ahead begin to build. 600 calories later I packed my things, pinned my numbers and let it all roll in.

Transition pic my husband took 5 minutes before it closed!

Setting up transition didn't take long, in fact I was surprised to have everything laid out so quickly. For a minute I even stopped and smiled thinking it was as if I didn't even do it myself. But all that was very short-lived as I rushed to pull on my wetsuit with five minutes left before transition would close.

The 1.2-mile trek down the beach to the swim start wasn't well-received by many people around me, I inadvertently gathered from bits and pieces of passing conversation, but I didn't mind. Looking at the long line of swimmers up the beach was a bit surreal, flecks of black against the light water and sand. I noticed then that the astonishment of just how far a 1.2-mile swim really is never came over me the way it did at Steelhead, and at that moment I considered my fear of the swim officially conquered for good. This was incredibly satisfying and gave me an extra sense of calm that lasted until my wave was announced while I was second in line at the porta pottie.

"Ladies 30-34 you're on deck!"

Crap.

(Now you ask, why didn't I just go in the lake like everyone else? And let me just say that #1, unlike my podcast partner in crime I don't just go wherever the flow happens to to strike me, and #2, there was a porta pottie right freakin' there, SO. There you have it.)

Get out of line or ... no, I'll make it, I'll make it...come on dude...

And like he heard my brainwave transmission or something, the guy ahead of me opened the door and came out.

Ha!! Cool.

"Women 30-34 in the white caps, you're toes should be in the water!"

Come on ... come on... come on....

A little last minute prepping before having to get into the water.

With 120 seconds to spare before my wave cued out, I emerged from the blue porta pottie singing the first of what would be several choruses of the Rocky Theme that day. It was all lining up.

My wave hitting the water as seen through the lens of Mr. Wil.

"Let's make some noise for the women in white!"

At the buzzer we splashed in shoulder to shoulder. The waves crashed, and as the water rose I remembered all of my Lake Michigan lessons the way you remember a high school dance; in flashes and sudden deluges of unrefined feelings that good or bad are both in the past, and both the property of another you from another time. I looked out on the horizon and saw a world of undulating water. No fear. Calm. It was the second confirmation that my open water fears were really defeated and I had really moved on.

The rest of the swim wasn't much of a swim so much as it was a constant check for other swimmers, and I felt, for the first time come to think of it, that I consciously had control in the water. It was a strange sort of confidence to explain, and certainly one that I never knew I'd actually possess. I can only translate it as the underlying security experience gives you, the knowing you're equipped and ready even on a subconscious level; recovering immediately from sudden waves of water stealing your breath, the autopilot adaptation of muscle tensing in your stomach to absorb the wayward foot that checks your ribs. No panic, no hesitation, no distress. This was my third and final confirmation that the open water battle was definitely over. Peace was declared.

Interestingly enough it was about 100 yards away from the finish of the swim that my first official test came. I was surprised the swim was over, and after reveling in pride for a moment I looked around and quickly felt myself sink. There were no other white swim caps, and because of this familiar feelings of not being good enough or fast enough started flooding in. Fortunately, just then I remembered my shoelace bracelet, the one I'd braided from my family members' old shoes.

OK, how does this go again... if this were my daughter in my place, what would I tell her...what would I say about this... that it doesn't matter, it's all relative, they're probably here but you can't see them, look what you just did... look how you just held it all together and people were backstroking out there... totally calm... it's all relative... it's all relative...

And suddenly I was proud. Suddenly I felt like my daughter receiving that kind of feedback and it was all fine, in fact I felt good. On my next breath I saw three other white swim caps, and heard the beach roaring with cheers.

Wow I can't believe it worked.

Feeling surreal and really damn good after the swim

As I ran up the beach in the loose sand I was surprised to see so many people getting out of the water with me. I didn't know my time, and it turned out not to be terribly fast, but I felt fast at that moment and that's all I needed to feel.

"Hey how was the swim?" My husband was lowering his camera when I saw him alongside me, and I smiled as I rejoined the world.

"Pretty good. Pretty good..." I gave him a kiss and suddenly felt like running up the beach. I waited for the all too familiar lactic acid to tackle me but it never did, my legs just ran and my breath just stayed, and I couldn't believe it...

Heh, I work...

The Bike

Up close and personal in transition, by Mr. Wil ;)

"Spectators, it looks like the last group of swimmers has rounded the next to last buoy, make sure to give these folks lots of love; remember they've been in the water just over an hour..."

Those were the last loudspeaker words I heard heading down the paved path to my bike, having cleared the beach. I smiled thinking about how much under an hour I was until the crowd cheering at transition whisked my attention away. As I made my way to row "J" I noticed my bike wasn't even remotely alone there. In fact, if the racks were neighborhoods, this wouldn't have been the tucked in on top of each other flats of pre-race transition with barely a scrap of metal showing between the numbers. No, T1 was more the quiet suburb of evenly sprinkled two-stories, not too crowded but not secluded, and I was comfortable there. I hung my wetsuit over the bar, realized my helmet, shoes and sunglasses were already somehow on me, and headed for the road.

"Make sure you're bike is in a climbing gear for the hill just outside of transition." I remembered my friend Rob's advice and quickly shifted to the small ring. After a minute or so I was at the top, and pretty amazed it had all gone so quickly. Well... that'll work!

The next thing I knew I was on a straightaway with several other riders. There was a steady stream in fact as far as I could see in front of me, mostly 20-30 something men and other women my age. OK, I know there were waves and they started after me, but hell, guess my swim couldn't have been bad at all... ha... I looked down at my PowerTap and had to look again.

"23 mph."

HUH!?

I pushed all the buttons, sure that it was set on max mph and not current. It wasn't.

Is this a false flat? Am I going downhill? A second button push that revealed high watts told me no.

Oh, come on...are you kidding me?

30 minutes later I was about nine miles into the ride and accepted that knowing myself, math would likely just be unavoidable. I think I must have accepted this because I finally realized it wasn't the numbers themselves that have been my enemy, it was just the way I've been using them. I don't know why the light suddenly came on in applying this concept for myself, it's after all been something I've known for a while as a general rule. I can only gather that I must have finally been ready to understand. This was more apparent when I caught myself just before slipping too far into 'bad math.'

Nice! So this means 18 miles in an hour, and that means just over a three-hour split!

Now, what would normally happen down bad math alley is the application of set in stone expectations, that if not met, would one by one hammer on me for the duration of the race. I would literally completely ignore all of the steps in between point A and point B and just think about the end goal time. That Sunday afternoon at mile nine, it dawned on me that this was no different than pointing to a city on a map and trying to drive in the general direction of there while ignoring the rest of the roads along the way. Man, no wonder I got so lost... It was obviously time to start going step by step.

OK, ok... there's no way I'm not going to think about the numbers, so I have to change up something else here. All right, so keep this up and that's about 17ish miles in an hour, that's pretty good. Can I hold this pace for an hour? Two? Hell for three that's just about the entire ride. THAT would rock. But what did Mike say... set goals on what you've done in training, OK, so in training I've ridden two hours at this pace, let me just start with one and see how it goes.

You know the feeling of satisfaction and peace you get when you're driving somewhere very far away, and you look up to see the big green interstate sign telling you you're going in exactly the right direction? That's just how I felt looking down at my 'distance traveled' reading 17-odd miles, then flipped to reveal my time at damn near one-hour on the dot.

Yes. OK, let's try that again...

As I passed people I made a point to talk to them, ask them how their swim went, it just made the whole day even more fun. One rider with a tricked out Trek wasn't feeling so well, however.

"Tracy, right?"

"Wow, yeah, how are you doing?"

"I'm Bill, from the blogs."

"Oh, hey! Cool, how's your ride going?"

"Not so well, I tried that Infinit they have out here and it's not working for me."

"Oh man, that's no fun, been there... hey you want to try this? It's fizzy so it might help settle your stomach."

I gave him a Kona Cola Nuun tablet, and thought of him several times throughout the rest of my ride.

Heading into T2, ready to run.

I was happy to experience the interstate sign effect again at mile 34 - 2:01 and change. I smiled, big, and reassessed with my new 'process map.' Oh yeah, I can totally do this for another hour... And that's exactly what I did, even with a bit of a headwind. By the time I reached mile 54 I knew I'd make the time I put together based on going step by step, and for the first time ever I felt as if I'd finally figured out how this whole game works.

On that ride that day I learned it's really like any other journey. If you set out with just your wits and powers of observation to guide you it's pretty impossible to not find yourself really lost at one point or another, and it's then when you have no other choice but to just trust and believe in yourself, in your own feelings and instincts. Sometimes you're right and it's an interstate sign victory, sometimes you're wrong and it's a back country road lesson learned, but you turn around and try again, and at some point forgive all mistakes and celebrate all good calls because you realize there's just no arriving in one piece otherwise. Sometimes this is the lesson we need to learn before we arrive in order to really appreciate just how far we've come, we just don't realize it until we're well along our way.

3:21 at T2... I'm almost there.

The Run

On the run at Racine

T2 was a bit of a blur. I was ecstatic with my time and multitasking all over the place when my husband asked me how the ride went. I'm pretty sure I spit out enough to the tune of, "BEST FREAKIN' RACE RIDE EVER!" for him to gather things went well. It had been a pretty good day so far.

The only wobbliness in my legs happened just after getting off the bike, and after a second or two they were good to go. There were two hills just a mile or so away from transition, and going up these in addition to a water station here and there were my only walk breaks. Looking back I should have employed more of the run eight minutes walk two my coach had prescribed, but I felt I was already running too slowly thanks to what was turning out to be a bit of a sloshy stomach. Man, this is what always happens... wtf?

I thought about my nutrition after the race and did some research when I got home. It turns out I should have switched entirely to water and electrolytes the last 30 minutes of the bike. This would have given my stomach a chance to process what was already in it before heading out to the run. That, along with trying out some different fuel concentrations for rides from now on is going to be the ticket to a sloshless run, I believe. On Sunday however, the fizzy Cola Nuun kept things from tanking, and before I knew it I was almost through the first loop of the last leg of the race.

This. Rocks.

I saw Iron Pol fly by looking strong a few times, Hey Trace!, I saw Thomps and we smiled and exchanged cheers, and then I even saw Bill again, who let me know the tablet had worked for him on the bike. This was awesome news, so I gave him another as run insurance and felt super charged knowing he'd gotten better. When we parted ways at a water stop I hoped he'd have a successful first loop, and as I was coming to the end of mine I thought about how there's just nothing like seeing friends out on the course, and really nothing like being lucky enough to help someone out. I was still buzzing a mile or so later when I saw my husband again, who asked me how things were going from behind his camera lens.

"Pretty good! Halfway there I think!"

"Yep, and Siren and Veeg are down there waiting for you."

Awesome old friend Siren and Veeg waiting near the turnaround.

AHH! Would it actually happen? Would I finally get to meet the elusive Veeg, whom I thought I'd meet at High Cliff but never got to? I started to run a little faster, and minutes later heard my name called one more time that weekend, "Hey... Tr- Tracy? Is that..."

"Dork, mom, wife, Veeg!!? Is that you!? Hey guys!!"

Just before the turn around, which was also the finish line blasting with music and announcements and a cheering crowd, I saw my friends who had come out there just to watch me. I stopped and gave them both a big hug (which I don't know how much they loved considering I wasn't exactly bubblegum scented), and then ran on towards the corral that read 'one more lap'.

Ha. One more lap...one more hour, I can so do that...

My mental fix worked, and now I have no doubt that in Madison, so will I.

After I passed my husband and friends on the other side, the irony of having dubbed this race my Ironman Wisconsin dress rehearsal became very apparent. I thought back to how it felt to run towards the finish line in Madison last year with the same blasting music and announcements and cheering crowds, about how I was recharged enough to turn for one more lap on that bitter, rainy night because I could then superimpose what it would be like to finish.

But here in Racine, with one more lap to go a few things were different. This time there was no cutoff I'd missed. There was no desperate need to continue on in spite of it just because I didn't know what else to do, having built everything upon a race that was no longer there supporting me. Here I again had friends and family waiting for me, but here I'd also made peace with some long-time personal bullies, confirmed certain battles forever history, and finally pulled out a map for the rest of what lie ahead.

Very happy with the day, and myself at the finish line.

I suppose most enter into endurance sport because it's a challenge, because they want to do something hard and push themselves, and I wanted that as well when I first started three years ago. But for me it was also the first step on a journey to self-acceptance for who I am and what I am in the moment - right now, as is. I didn't really understand this quite so exactly back then, intent only on creating the person I wanted to be. Funny how they've turned out to be one in the same, and I just couldn't see it until recently. Now three years and countless miles later I think it's ironic I've had to travel all this way just to appreciate pulling into my own driveway again. But maybe we just have to do that from time to time before we can really ever get anywhere.