OK, another race weekend. This time I got to race with my husband. Not such a good swim for me, possibly because the water was a lot warmer. But on the happy side, I got to see my husband in transition and then, because there were a lot of loops, on most of the run.

I was in second place coming off the bike, just had a great bike race, and then got passed by three women on the run, so I came in fifth overall, first in my age group (the not quite old ladies).

The lesson (I guess there has to be a lesson in every race) for me happened in the last 100 meters. I felt like I had sped up the last mile, going from 8:10 miles to about 7:45. But then I heard someone cheering behind me. This person shouted out, "Go on, sprint it--you can beat her!" I thought I had already given everything I had to the race and there was no way I could go faster, but at that moment, I discovered that I had something inside me that would not let that woman pass.

We crossed the finish line at almost exactly the same moment. I looked down and saw our legs at the same time, but I think I put my left leg with the timing chip across first and she put her right leg across, so I beat her officially by .1 seconds. Turns out she wasn't in my age group and it didn't really matter, but it was a challenge and I love a challenge.

I wonder if maybe that person who cheered those words regrets it? Probably not. She made us both go faster than I thought possible. I think the last 100 meters were an all out below 6:00 mile pace. And then I got to eat food and wait until my husband crossed and I started shivering which I always do because I sweat a lot, more than my husband. Unfortunately, I sweated off my sunscreen and got burned.

The coolest things about the race this weekend?

When I saw very late in the race a man crossing the finish line who weighed maybe 350 pounds. What an amazing feat of determination!

The guy who crossed the race with broken ribs wasn’t too bad, either.

And the woman who took the prize for the fastest swim time only—not a tiny athletic looking woman. She was probably 6 feet and she had a womanly figure. You would not expect a world class time from this person, but that’s the problem with our society. We think there is only one body type that is perfect, and we superimpose that on everyone. But different kinds of bodies do different things well. There are women who are shot putters. They do not look like skinny models. And swimmers, the best ones, have fat on them to make them buoyant.

I also loved that afterwards, as I lay down on my back in the shaded tent area, all the pros gathered around me, along with the race director, and I got to hear them chat about triathlon as a sport. This has never happened to me, where I felt so much like I was a real athlete, not just a hobbyist. Not that anyone knew who I was, not that their times were much like mine. But they’d been in the same water, on the same bike course, on the same run.

And for the first time ever, I did better than my goal time by about 7 minutes. I am working on setting more appropriate goals for myself, so that I am not always disappointed. I see my 14 year-old doing exactly the same thing as me (she set a goal this year to get 100%--on everything, in every class, and she wasn't always satisfied with that!).

This weekend I did the Battle at Midway Triathlon, which is the only real event I've ever done in Utah that had professionals racing alongside me. It was also the hardest course I have ever done.

First was the swim. The water temperature was 56 F. I like cold water. I really do. But this was too cold, even for me, even with a full wetsuit. I told myself the whole time that this was the hardest part of the race, that I just had to get out on my bike and I would be fine.

I was wrong.

The hardest part of the race was when I stood up in the water and had to use my frozen feet to jump/run across rocks at the water's edge, then on grass still frosty. My feet burned with the weight of my body. I fumbled with my wetsuit, trying to get it off and get onto my bike, trying to put on shoes, gloves, sunglasses (ha!) and a helmet.

The funny thing is that I was blinded in the water by the rising sun, literally could not see where I was going for the last half of the race and ended up coming out on the wrong half of the beach, but once on the bike, we were in shadow. The whole bike, 25 miles. 25 miles of in-city turning where the cones were set out so close to the sidewalks that even the pros complained it was the most technical course they had ever done (this means you have to go very slowly every time you turn in order not to fall off your bike--which one guy did, and finished the race anyway, with his broken ribs.)

I could not feel my feet the entire bike. You'd think this would be an advantage. It was not. I could feel my legs, just not my feet. It was like biking with ice rocks on the end of my legs. I did not get sensation back in my feet until 25 minutes into the run.

The run was the craziest thing I have ever seen. It was at Soldier Hollow, which was the Olympic venue in 2002. Beautiful, if you could look up, which I couldn't because the course was through grass that had not been mown very well. The hills up come 4 or 5 a mile, and they were steeper than I have ever done before. Downhill was just as bad, with me wondering at times if I was going to fall, if I should slow to make sre i was safe. There were also occasional sand traps to watch out for. I started very slow, then as one woman who was in my age group came past me about mile 4, I decided to keep up with her and then I passed her as I found I had some kick the last mile.

I crossed the finish line and immediately started freezing again. They were handing out packs of ice, which was pretty funny, if you ask me. Also pizza. Frankly, I wish they'd had bagels, which is the standard post-race food. I also wished they had Gatorade. They had Heed instead, Hammer Gel's drink. So, so awful. Surely no one buys this. They just give it away at races they support.

I didn't really hurt until 12 hours later, when I was home and trying to sleep that night. I did get 1st place in my age group. And go figure--my fastest ever swim time. So maybe it wasn't too cold, after all? Or everyone else just hurt more than I did in the weather.

I beat a bunch of women who usually beat me, and since I am over-competitive this somehow matters to me. Though I biked 8 hours last Friday and Saturday and didn't taper properly, this may have been my best race.

I think I might actually be getting better at saving my best day for a race instead of using it up in a workout.

More than one person has told me that I "must" write a book with triathlon in it, since I know it so well and because it is so interesting. For some reason, I have never had even the slightest twinge of an urge to do this. The closest thing is the beginning of a manuscript about a swimmer, maybe because I was a swimmer in high school and triathlon is entirely part of my adult life. Also, as a teenager I was so convinced I was not athletic that there is still a part of me that feels like my success in triathlon is a dream.

But then I read a very interesting letter to the editor in Runner's World Magazine. It was from a woman whose husband had been in a bad car accident. His leg had been crushed and they had saved it, but he couldn't run on it anymore. He'd tried and tried and it just had been damaged beyond that use. So, after reading an article on Oscar Pistorius and his success running with prosthetics (he sued to be allowed to go to the Olympics, and won!), the man decided to have his leg amputated. His wife was so happy, I guess because he wouldn't be in pain anymore.

There had to be a story in there somewhere, I thought. There had been this article on how unfair it was for Pistorius to be in the Olympics, supposedly because prosthetics were so much more "efficient" than real legs. (To which I say, uh--so why is it that no one with prosthetics has ever actually competed in the Olympics?) Then Runner's World sort of apologized and explained that one thing the article on efficiency had left out was the whole issue of pain, and how much pain management an athlete had to have to run on prosthetics.

What if there was no pain? What if in the future prosthetics are what people want? What if people voluntarily get their legs amputated so they can be faster and better athletes? Thus began a short story about the doctor who is asked to amputate a perfectly healthy leg on a boy who just wants to compete with the other kids with prosthetics. And what does he do with the leg afterward?

I just found out that I got in on the lottery for LOTOJA, a 212 mile bike race in September, from Logan, Utah (LO) to Jackson Hole, Wyoming (JA). I'm excited, I think. The husband and the kids will be my support vehicle.

I'm trying to decide how this compares to an Ironman, which had a 112 mile bike sandwiched between a 2.4 mile swim and a marathon (26.2 miles). That one took 13 hours. I'm hoping this one is more like 12. But I do remember desperately wanting to get off my bike after 112 miles. You just go numb and it's hard to get your legs moving again when you get off. Plus, well, other places also hurt. And another 100 miles will be--interesting.

When I did the 50 mile run last year, I just thought of it as 25 miles running and 25 miles walking, and I enjoyed it, but I'm not sure if that translates to the bike. I'll have to work out an interval for sitting and standing, and probably take 5 minutes off the bike every hour to refuel from the van. That's the tentative plan, anyway.

I'm afraid that this is my vacation for the year.

I struggled this morning a bit in my duathlon. Without the swim, I tend to get hot and more tense physically and also am not in the front of the pack because I come from a swimming background and it is so easy for me, which leaves me plenty of energy for the other events. I wanted to beat last year's time at this race, but I didn't. I took 3rd in my age group, though, and last year didn't place. That's because you don't control the other people who enter a race. You can only control your own performance, and even that is limited.

Nonetheless, I enjoyed it. From first pedal stroke to the kick to the finish line, I felt a blissful peacefulness that I almost always get from racing. It is why I am tempted to race too often, and also why I do not taper or take time off as much as I should. Racing is the best, but other exercise will do the same thing for me. I don't think about other things. I don't wonder how the kids are doing, or if my career is stalling, or if my friend is mad at me about the last time we talked. I don't think, really, at all. Or if I do, it is a different kind of thinking.

I focus on this moment, and on the one coming up. I think about getting to that rise over there, and on how my legs feel right now, if I can push harder or if I am at maximum. I feel how fast I am breathing and how the wind feels in my face, or how badly I need to blow my nose and if there is someone behind me who is going to get covered in snot if I do. I feel how the pavement strikes my feet, and I listen to the sound of the person who is breathing behind me. Sometimes I know they will pass me, but they are going too hard and I will pass them back. Other times, there is no chance. There is the sound of Zipp wheels going by, and today, there was the sight of a Buffalo coming within about five feet of the racer ahead of me, then stopping and turning back.

No, I don't take it easy and enjoy the sights much. I was racing on Antelope Island, which is right in the middle of the Great Salt Lake. It stinks, and I noticed that when I first arrived, but I stopped even noticing it within a few minutes. There were few cars and a long line of white on the right side of the road. One hill and then another. The beat of my heart as it slowed and quickened. The man ahead of me who I could just barely pass, and then would pass me again, when we went by the official who was counting if it took more than 15 seconds or not.

Is this what people mean when they say that they are in "the Zone?" If so, it is a place that is very small, but clean. It is safe and empty of anyone but me. Quiet in a way that is not marred by passing sounds. Beautiful, but not because of the scenery without. It is the intensity of what goes on within that I love. It is not a time for reflection and decision. And sometimes I admit that I do simple math, counting steps to one hundred, or re-calculating my speed based on the mile markers I have passed. But I like it.

A friend asked me if what I liked best about racing was being finished. No, definitely not. When I am finished, "the Zone" fades and real life returns. I have to think about getting home and filling the car with gas and making sure I eat enough to finish the rest of the day's activities. I don't know if I feel more pain afterwards than before, but it is only the pain I feel when I am finished. And so I know that this race was a success, whether I bettered my time or not. I spent two hours either not myself or most fully myself. Maybe both.

I had a race this weekend and managed to meet my goal time, despite the fact that they added a minute to the run by changing the transition area. I took third place overall, only the second time I've placed overall in a race, and I got a cash prize. Not much, but I figure this definitely means I am a professional! Ha!

For those interested in the nitty, gritty details, I did the run (a little over 5k) in 23:30 (#5 among the women), the bike (about 10 miles) in 29:06 (and was #1 among women for that leg of the race) and the swim (350 meters) took me 5:30 (to make me #4 on that part of the race). I was on the 5th of 7 laps when a woman came up from behind me and blew past me. I'd been a full minute ahead of her when I hit the pool, but she was just too fast. There was no way I could keep up. She's done this to me in several races now. I guess I have to get a bigger lead.

I've done this same race 4 times now, and keep shaving another 2 minutes off my time. It's interesting how this works. This time I purposely went a bit slower on the run and was 90 seconds faster on the bike and 30 seconds faster on the swim, plus I picked up a little time in transition. The two women who beat me were age 22 and age 27, so it looks like I'm not getting too old yet!

When I got home I found my husband disappointed and in pain after his race. It was a good reminder that like in all parts of life, there are good days and there are bad days, and we cannot always control which happen when. You gather information and try to avoid too much stress, and too little, but you never know enough. I wish I could tell him what he'd done wrong, but I couldn't see anything really.

It was an interesting race day, weather wise. Snow and rain were predicted, but it turned out to be actually quite dry, with a wicked wind. The race was turned into a reverse triathlon (swim last) so that no one had to get on a bike wet. I actually prefer reverse triathlons, because I am worst at running and it's best to get that out of the way first. I can swim at a good pace no matter how tired I am. However, I wasn't aggressive enough in the teeming water and ended up losing a place to a young woman who kicked past everyone.


I have never been in a race where I thought several times that I was in serious danger of being blown off my bike. There were two laps on the bike and one half was steep uphill, the other half steep downhill. As I came down the second time around, I saw a girl I'd been chasing on the side of the road, an ambulance just pulling in to get to her. Scary!

I got first place in my age group and fifth overall. I felt really burned out all weekend, though my HR data says I could have worked harder. I guess it's wrong.

So I ended 2007 ranked #344 out of 1866 women in the country age 35-39 who did more than 3 triathlons last year and were USAT members. Not bad.

Of course, the last four months of training haven't been going so well, and that's OK. I remind myself, this is a hobby. I want this to remain a hobby. I want this to be fun.