Category — Races

On October 29, I competed in the Men’s Health Urbanathlon NYC, a 9.5 mile obstacle course. There was a lot of drama that day but the real drama started the day before. I took the bus from Arlington, VA to New York. The 4 hour trip turned into a 6 hour trip because of an overturned tractor. My legs started to cramp at hour 4. My lower back joined the party at hour 5. The only good thing about the trip was that the stranger sitting next to me didn’t try to start a conversation. I was able to suffer in silence.

At Penn Station, I took the train to Leah’s house and went to sleep. The next morning, the weather went downhill.  It was cold, gloomy, and wet.

Determined not to lose focus, I pulled out my hand warmers and did the Harlem shake until the gun went off. The first two miles had no obstacles. Then the fun began.

I got to crawl under jeeps, jump over police barricades, swing on monkey bars, climb over a bus, and much more.

Most of the obstacles were fun but there were two that had me calling on Jesus. The first one was the marine hurdles. They were too tall! To tackle them, you needed height and strength. If you didn’t have the height, you needed jumping skills and strength. If you didn’t have the height and couldn’t jump, you were out of luck. I was able to get through them but it was ugly. Most of the girls struggled on this one.

The stair climb was the other tough obstacle. It wasn’t the stairs themselves that caused me heartache. It was that I had to climb the stairs of two different stadiums, the second of which came at mile 8. By that time I was soaking wet, exhausted, and my feet were numb. I was in a state of shock.

See? I wasn’t exaggerating. Look at my face! I hurried to the final obstacle.

When I approached the wall, I told a volunteer that I would need a boost. He nodded and put his hand on my booty to lift me. But I didn’t go anywhere. I was pressed against the wall, his hand was cupping the goodness, yet I wasn’t moving. I said, “Are you gonna help me up?”. He woke from his stupor, then pushed me up and over.

After I crossed the finish line, I headed to the tent for sustenance and a change of clothes. I met a group of girls who competed as a relay. They were lovely and one of them saved my life.

When I mentioned that I couldn’t feel my feet, Jess (far left) dropped down to the floor and made magical booties for me.

The girls left but I stayed to wait for the results. Hours went by. My feet got worse. I drank tea. The tea ran out. I drank coffee. The coffee wasn’t good. I drank hot chocolate. I’m lactose intolerant. They refilled the tea. I drank more tea. That cycling of hot beverages continued until I could no longer ignore the pain in my feet. I decided to go to the medical tent. Before I made the trek, I asked a volunteer to take my picture. I was afraid this would be the last time I’d see my feet attached to my body.

I shuffled to the medical tent blinded by the pain and the snow. Did I mention the snow storm? Yeah, that happened. I told the staff my problem and they said they didn’t have a heater. If my face hadn’t been numb, they would have seen the scowl and the gnarled lip. I didn’t want a heater, I wanted medical attention! When they saw I wasn’t going to leave, they went to work. They dried my feet, wrapped them in gauze, put a silver bag over the gauze, then put my shoe back on. They did their best but it didn’t help. Exposing my naked feet to the cold air turned the numbness into a stabbing sensation. I walked out of the tent with tears in my eyes.

The good news is that despite the cold and the frostbite, I had a ball. The obstacles were fun and I ran strong. The great news is that I won 3rd place! This marked the first time I have placed in the top 3 overall. It was a big accomplishment. I was happy and miserable at the same time.

Would I do the race again? Absolutely. I will be there next year but I will be more prepared. I will be wearing a snow suit and heated sneakers. And I will win.

Have you done an obstacle race? Would you?

On October 29, I will be competing in the Men’s Health Urbanathlon. It’s a 10 mile obstacle course that runs through New York City. I’ve never done a race like this so I don’t know how hard it will be but my plan is to smash it. Or at least smack it. Heck, I might have to tap out. Who knows. It looks fun and hard. Do you think I can do it? 

“The future’s so bright, I gotta wear shades.” Timbuk 3

On September 11, I competed in the Nations Triathlon, an exciting race packed with elite triathletes. To say you did well at Nations meant that you were a great athlete. I had done this race three times before but had never done well. For me, “well” meant a top 3 placement in my age group. This would be my 4th attempt.

2011 Nations Triathlon Race Report

The lead up: DC experienced 3 days of incessant rain that flooded highways and bridges. The heavy rains also caused the sewage system to overflow into the Potomac river, along with tons of debris. Thus, the officials cancelled the swim. The race would be a 40k bike followed by a 10k run. Great news, right? No. I’d spent a lot of time working on my swim and I wanted to see the fruits of my labor. But that would have to wait.

The bike: The weather was perfect. The course was smooth. The energy of the crowd was overwhelming. I was moving faster than normal and my quads were suffering because of it. In those moments, I focused on my form, emphasizing the pull portion of my pedal stroke. That worked. I turned the corner to the transition area feeling alive.

The run: I started off with a strong pace. At mile 4, I stepped it up a notch – that was the plan. Then pain started to set it in. My quads were dead from the bike. Dead. I closed my eyes and prayed. I asked for the strength to keep going. Help me. I saw the finish line. I heard the crowd. My legs were spinning. Could I keep this pace? I had to. That was the plan. I ran to the finish line as hard as I could. I wanted to regret nothing.

The Result: I set a personal record in both the bike and the run. I achieved numbers that I didn’t expect to hit until next season! On the bike, I averaged 22.3 mph, up from 21.3 last year. On the run, I averaged a 6.47 pace, faster than my 6:58 pace last year. I exceeded all of my expectations. I was proud of myself regardless of where I placed. But in case you were wondering, I placed 3rd in my age group out of 296 women. I was 20th overall out of 1,455 women. I had the race of a lifetime and my friends were there to cheer me on. They were there to capture this huge grin as I held my glass trophy, something I’ve been waiting 4 years to hold. What a day. My dreams are coming true.

I lied to you. Remember when I told you that I was going to do my best in Austin? That wasn’t true. I didn’t do my best and never intended to. Before you get all hot and bothered, let me explain.

Popular triathlons always sell out. To get in, you have to be in a lottery or register a year in advance. I did the latter. I signed up for four races last year but didn’t pay attention to the dates of these events. Dumb. Fast forward to this summer when I looked at my schedule and discovered that my races weren’t spaced as they should be – at least four weeks apart. The Austin Avia Triathlon was on 9/5 and the Nations Triathlon was on 9/11. I signed up for two competitive races that were 6 days apart. Dumb. I consulted with Jenni, my higher power, and we decided that because Nations was more important to me, I would use Austin as a training race. Why? It would be hard to give 100% at both races; my body would feel tired. So the plan was laid out. I would push hard at Austin but not give it my best. I would race at 85-90% of my best. I didn’t know if I could stick to the plan. I didn’t know if I could go into a race with low expectations. I didn’t know how to prepare for all the things that would happen that day.

2011 Austin Avia Triathlon Race Report

Morning of: I am in the porta potty when I hear the announcer state that my age group is entering the water. I bolt out of the porta potty without washing my hands. [Note: My start time was listed as 755am on the website and 728am on the brochure. The website was wrong.]

The Swim: It is super windy, like “I know the wicked witch of the west is around here somewhere” windy. The water is choppy. There are a lot of people in my wave. The water is congested. Chaos is all around me. I get my face caught in seaweed and have to untangle myself. I collide with the people. I drink a lot of warm, brown lake water. Despite all of this, I’m relaxed. I’m just not enjoying myself. There are too many obstacles out here.

Swim to bike transition: The path from the swim exit to the transition entrance is long and paved with gravel. I wince as I run over tiny, hot rocks. I grab my bike and run to the transition exit. The path from the exit to the bike mount line will go down in triathlon history as the longest route ever! I run 1/4 mile before I am allowed to get on my bike. I’m irritated.

The Bike: I’m riding strong despite the many u-turns and 90-degree turns on the course. All of a sudden, my seat post starts to slide down into the frame. Noooooo! I pull over and fix the problem. I get back on my bike and hammer it as I try to regain what was lost. On Lap 2, I have another bike issue. You’ve got to be kidding me. By now, I have lost 4 minutes. My instinct is to retreat but I don’t. I get on my bike and pedal hard. I’m mad now.

The bike to run transition: It’s seamless.

The run: The run course is loopy so I get to cross paths with people who are ahead of me. (The downside to a loopy course is that it’s confusing: you could run more or less than you should. The upside is that you get to see who is in front of you.) I set a strong pace and commit to chase down every female in my eyesight. I am moving fast trying to make up for the time lost on the bike. Then I remember the plan, race at 90%.  I slow down to a 7-minute pace and cruise. I don’t want to do anything that will hurt my chances of getting a PR at my next race. I head to the finish line looking like so fresh and so clean. A rare sight.

Results: I placed 6th in my age group and 14th overall. I didn’t get the results I wanted but hey, things happen. This was a training race plus I had bike issues. So I won’t complain. I’m glad I competed. And I’m glad I gave someone else a chance to win. She better enjoy her 1st place award because next year I’m going back to Austin to claim what is mine, my precious.

On August 21, 2011, I competed in the IronGirl Columbia triathlon. I had two goals. My first goal was to swim faster than I did last year. My second goal was to win my age group, something I had never done. This goal was audacious. Every section of the race – to include the swim – had to be strong. There was no room for weakness. I was terrified.

Iron Girl Columbia 2011 Race Report

The night before: I arrive at Amity’s house where she greets me with a warm hug. Her son Lincoln, face pressed against her thigh, stares at me. I say hello. He blinks. I say hello more persistently and he buckles. He can’t resist this smile.  Soon, he is rushing me with high fives. The more we high five, the more he collapses under the weight of his laughter. It’s hilarious. He is punch drunk sleepy. We high five again. And again. I don’t want to stop. He’s so cute and I’m so desperate. Desperate to avoid thinking about tomorrow. We press our hands together and laugh. His parents give me the “it’s time for him to go to bed” look. They are right but I don’t want this moment to end. I don’t want to lose this sunny energy. I want to take it with me, put in my pocket and pull it out when I’m scared. Like right now. Like I will be tomorrow. Like I always am before I swim. I don’t want Lincoln to go to bed! I want to keep high fiving!!! Reluctantly, I say goodnight to the family and head to the room prepared for me. I crawl into bed and read the texts from my friends: “Swim, bike, run like you stole something”, “Don’t be nervous, you’re going to do great”, “You are a swimmer!” They know I am worried. I know they aren’t. They believe in me. I turn out the light and sleep like a baby.

The morning of: I get to the transition area to complete my set up. My tires are inflated. My energy gels are in place. I have the perfect end-of-the rack bike position. Everything looks good. Then it happens. Lightning. No, it’s thunder. No, it’s both. I run to a tree and press my body against it desperate to stay dry. Leaning my head back against the trunk, I shake my fist at fate.

The swim: The race starts late to allow the storm to pass. I feel sick. I try to snap out of it. I start clapping my hands like basketball players do right before they rip off their warm-up pants. It’s cool when they do it. It looks really weird when girl in a unitard does it. But I don’t care. I need to feel better. I need a lifeline. I need Lincoln! I walk into the water. My friends scream my name. I throw them the number 1 sign, faking ’til I make it. The gun goes off. Elbows are flying. I keep my head down and swim hard to the place where the crowd eventually thins out. Alas, the water is calm. Then it happens, out of nowhere. I am swimming. I am swimming like a swimmer. I feel good. I am relaxed. I see the last buoy. I pick up the pace. Underwater, I am smiling. This is the best swim of my life.

Transition 1: I rip off my swim cap and start sprinting to my bike. I am amped, running like a maniac. Then it happens, out of nowhere. It’s throw up. I am about to throw up. Immediately, I stop running and walk to my bike. I don’t throw up. I do keep it together.

The bike: My legs are tired but my energy is high. This is a wonderful feeling.

Transition 2: It’s deja vu. I am running so fast it looks like everyone else is standing still. If you don’t believe me, watch the video.

The run: I am beat. This is bad. The run is my strength. Not today. The hills are harder than I remember. I switch to auto-pilot. I cross the finish line with nothing left in the tank.

The finish line: It’s over but I have no idea if I accomplished my goals. That’s what sucks about triathlons. Each age group starts at a different time. Not only that, but you start in the water where there is no visibility. It’s not like you can turn around and see how many people you passed. You exit the swim not knowing if you are first or last. Then you have to bike and run with this same uncertainty. I grab my water and head to the massage table. I don’t know whether to celebrate or cry. So I wait.

An hour later….

The Results: In my age group, I was the 1st to cross the finish line. Yes, you read it right. For the first time in my career, I was the Age Group Champion. It was surreal. More impressive than that was my overall placing. Out of 2,300 female competitors, I was 11th. (Six of the women who beat me were professional triathletes.) It was unbelievable. Then came more good news. I dropped a staggering 3 minutes off of my swim time. 3 minutes! Granted, I’m still not a great swimmer but I’m improving every race.

Going for your dreams is risky. You could fail. On the other hand, if you don’t go for your dreams, you will fail. I took the risk. I had many ups and downs but I kept going, even when it wasn’t fun. I kept going because of the possibility that I could become a better swimmer. And I did. If I can overcome physical weakness and mental anxiety, so can you. You can do whatever you want to do. You can be whatever you want to be. Let nothing, let no one, stop you from achieving your dreams. You are worth it, baby!

Thank you for your undying support. Because of you, I have a 1st place glass trophy sitting on the back of my toilet. I think of you every time I pee.

“It’s been a long time coming but I know a change gonna come”. Sam Cooke

Tomorrow, I will compete in my first race of the season, an all female triathlon with more than 2,300 competitors. My last race was 11 months ago and I miss the race atmosphere. I miss the intensity, the adrenaline, the camel toe that only a unitard can bring. Soon, I will feel it all again and I am excited. It’s been a trying year.

My 2010 season went well. From the first to the last race, I got faster. My bike got faster, my run got faster, and my swim, well, I didn’t drown. In the final race of the season, I set a PR (personal record). All things were wonderful. I was in the top 4% and seemed to have conquered my fear of the water. I hadn’t. Yes, the fear was less palpable – I no longer cried before each race – but it was no less real. The harder I fought to suppress my anxiety, the more it suffocated me. I felt weak. I was ashamed of that weakness. I finished the season accomplished yet defeated. It was going to be a long winter.

I spent most of the winter with postpartum depression, the triathlon kind. The days were short. The nights were long. It was cold. Without anything to train for, I spent hours on the couch staring at the wall, more specifically the crooked picture frame hanging on the wall. I stared at the crooked picture frame for weeks wondering when someone was going to straighten it. When I wasn’t doing that, I was over-analyzing my swim performance. Daily, I would obsess over my subpar swim skills and dream of a life with no achilles heel. When I wasn’t doing that, I was questioning whether I had potential. (This was, after all, an intangible idea that one had to simply believe.) This thinking served no purpose other than to dampen my spirit. The months of November and December got ugly. I was exercising but not with the same fervor. The physical activity was there. The meaning, the purpose, the pure enjoyment of it was not. I was, ladies and gentlemen, in a funk.

The funk was foreign, frustrating, and multi-layered. The bottom layer of my funk was my swim anxiety. That’s what triggered it. That anxiety ballooned into something ugly. Deep into my funk, I questioned what was possible for my life. I knew I had potential but how much remained a mystery. This haunted me. Can I be the best? What is my best? Is my best a 6:40min/mile or a 6:00 min/mile? Am I close to my reaching my potential or nowhere near it? These questions nagged me. You may be thinking, “Angel, I would kill for those times!”. But you wouldn’t kill for those times if you knew they weren’t your best. That’s where I was. I knew I could do better but I didn’t know how much better I could do. This ripped apart my soul and the pieces lay shredded all over my couch, underneath the crooked picture frame.

This funk brought sadness, confusion, and doubt. Eventually, it brought clarity. When clarity (we’ll call him Mr. Clarity) hit, I was like, “Oh, now you gonna show up. I guess, I’m supposed to be all happy now that you’re here?! You know I’ve been waiting for you for two months. You see all them dust balls underneath the sofa? Yeah, I didn’t have the energy to clean them up because I was too busy looking for your sorry tail. I started to think you wasn’t coming. I mean, yeah, I’m glad you’re here but d*mn, you could’ve called and let a sister know you was on your way.” Mr. Clarity stood there. I exhaled for the first time in months. Mr. Clarity hugged me, held me tight. I thanked him for coming then gave him a lap dance. I wanted to make sure he would never leave again.

Out of my funk came a double rainbow. Unexpected people and amazing opportunities came into my life. Now, I see the purpose in the funk. After all, if I hadn’t been so low, I may not have reached for the beautiful things up high. I stood on my tip toes and reached desperate to free myself. And I did. I climbed out of my hole and decided that my limit is no limit. And that if there was a limit, my plan was to test it!

Most recently, I spent two weeks training with professional athletes to see how hard, how fast, how tough I could be. It was a fantastic trip that both humbled and inspired me. It proved to me that we are only limited by our minds. It made me believe, even more than before, that each of us has the potential for greatness. In less than 24 hours, I’m going to prove it.

Can you relate to any aspect of my story? Have you ever been in a funk?

The Iron Girl Columbia, a .62 mile swim, 17.5 mile bike, and 3.3 mile run, is one of my favorite triathlons. It is an all-women’s race which means plenty of pleasantries and two-piece bikinis. The race also has great swag: v-neck race shirts, post-race quiona, and glass trophies. The participants range from professional triathletes, to first timers, to competitive age groupers, to cancer survivors. It’s hard not to be inspired.

2010 Iron Girl Columbia Race Report

The night before: I arrive at Amity’s house embraced by good people and the smell of homemade lasagna. Everyone eats a serving. I eat two. I unbutton the top button of my jeans to set my stomach free. I am full and sleepy. Amity shows me to the guest bedroom. There are posters of Michael Jordan, Moses Malone, and Joe Theismann on the wall. There are books by Malcolm Gladwell on the shelf. There is a vintage bike sitting in the corner. I lay down certain something good is about to happen.

Race morning: Amity tells me to wake up. I look outside. It is drizzling. I climb the stairs and eat oatmeal drizzled with honey. We drive to the race site. Amity heads to her bike. I head to mine. They call for her wave. We exchange words of encouragement and I watch her swim away. I have 56 minutes to kill before my debut. It is raining hard. People are scurrying. I am c-walking.

The swim: I touch the lake’s bottom. It is disgusting. It feels like marshmallow meatloaf. Everyone is squealing. (We are girls.) The horn sounds. I start kicking. There is seaweed everywhere. It is sliding through my fingers and threatens to slither into my mouth like a suitor’s tongue on an unsuccessful first date. Thankfully, it is over before I know it. Pep talk + ducking & dodging = 23:41

The transition: I am more energized than normal. I ice skate through the muddy aisles like Nancy Kerrigan’s brown-skinned cousin.

The bike: The rain is pounding and so are my feet on the pedals. I feel good but I’d feel better if there were less road blocks. The slower riders are spread all over the road. I am wasting energy weaving between them. When I say, “on your left”, few riders respond appropriately. Most respond by glancing back to see who is in such a hurry. I am flying down a two lane highway that is not closed to traffic. I am battling nudnicks who are hanging out in the middle of the lane. I am doing all of this in the rain on a hilly course. I forego the polite warnings and yell my way out. Practicing in the rain + bobbing & weaving + a hint of tourette’s = 53:25, 19.7mph

The transition: I rush my bike into the transition area to the sound of a familiar cow bell.

The run: The trail is packed with slower runners. It is hard to avoid brushing arms. Whenever I find an extra breath, I announce my presence, “on your left” or “coming through the middle”. Most oblige freeing my energy for the hill-mounting. The hills are monstrous. Many are walking. I lift my knees to propel myself up and over. It is the hardest course of the season. I wonder if I will fade. The screams of Liz and Jimmy tell me I won’t. They beckon me home. I go. Oatmeal w/ honey + focus + friends = 23:48, 7:03 min per mile.

The results: In my age group, I am 2nd out of 241. Overall, I am 26th out of 1,785. My run is the 8th fastest out of 1,785 women. Daddy’s leg speed + lasagna + Amity’s chi = 1 hour 44 minutes.

I highly recommend Iron Girl Columbia! If you want to participate next year, registration opens on November 1st. It sells out quickly, usually within a day. I suggest you drink coffee that morning.

[Please note: The races in Columbia, MD are notoriously hilly. It is typical for competitors, even the professionals, to have slower times than normal because of the steep terrain. While my bike rate and run were slower than my last race, I was faster. I just had giant hills in my way.]