Woodstock Sprint Triathlon - June 6th, 2015

Like triathlon's goofy slapstick cousin, this was ill advised racing at its finest: just 2 weeks after the Sulphur Springs 50k, still badly over race weight, almost no bike fitness and a fresh, tender injury to boot.

At least I was stylish in my Vanderkitten tri suit!

Meh, whatevs. You punches your ticket, you takes your ride. Pre-race faffing went fine: up at the crack of stupid after something best described as a nap, bagel stuffed in face, arrive at site with plenty of time in the chilly morning air to pick up race kit.

My race bib seems to know me well.
At least I didn't pay full price for my idiocy.

I got my transition area set up neatly, basically working on autopilot. It had only taken me about 10mins total to pack everything up the night beforehand, and even less time to lay it all out ready to go. 

It's almost like I might have done this once or twice - or maybe two dozen times - before.

Portajohn, body lube, drink water, shiver a little. Did you know that BodyGlide goes crumbly after 8 months without being used? Totally fail to apply sunscreen. Do own bodymarking anyway, adding a little essential that the volunteers wouldn't have.

At least part of me will be smiling through the whole thing.

Stuff great walloping mass of lower body into teenytiny rubber suit that hasn't been off its hanger since last September. Remember that I haven't done a swim interval longer than 200m in at least a couple of months. Feign optimism while seriously doubting my ability to even get through the first leg of the damn race.

I'M GOING TO DROWN

With assistance from Tanker the Wonder Sherpa, ascertain that it is at least possible to get the wetsuit zipped up over my ample insulation.

If one of these seams lets go, there will be no survivors within a 100 metre radius.

Into the lake for a laughable warmup swim, the 20c/68f water feeling much chillier than advertised. Swim most of the way out to the first buoy, note that there is some chop running from the East, get swamped, tired and discouraged. Do some kicking and treading water to try to gently warm up the damaged leg while trying to adjust my too-snug wetsuit so it might feel just a little less constrictive. Realize the only true way to achieve that would have been to put down the damn fork a month ago, and swim back to shore while trying to avoid getting whacked in the face by other athletes.

Werrlllll, I survived that bit anyway.

I was in the first wave right at 9am with the pros, elites, men <24 and women 30-39. So, I figured I'd probably be somewhere around last out of the water in my wave, 'cause I've got no damn business being in with the fast bunch.

Or the medium bunch. Or the less-than-glacial-pace bunch.

The horn sounds, I take a couple of steps forward as everyone else leaped in with gusto, and then dive in like a bloated sea lion. There's a mess of flailing limbs around me, some of which are mine.

GURGLE BLUB SPLUTTER

The less said about the swim, the better. That bit of chop - just pathetic little 14" wavelets - seemed intent on swamping me every time I'd try to breathe on the way out to the first turn buoy. Even breathing to the leeward side, they were just big enough to wash over my head and try to drown me. Not having practiced any in more than half a year, I wasn't having an easy time sighting, but seemed to be swimming reasonably straight.

That's about the only thing that went ok.

Between unintentionally hydrating myself with lakewater and my total lack of endurance, I ended up side stroking a bit...and then even flipped on my back to kick for a little. This happened more than once, though I did manage to get myself from the 1st turn buoy to the 2nd swimming front crawl. The chop was, after all, running in the same direction I was swimming at that point. Heading for the swim exit after turn 2, the chop was now coming in from my right and there was more side strokery.

I mean, I know my swimming is never good when I'm recovering from a tough race, but this was pathetic. Overtaken by the 2nd wave of athletes just past the second turn buoy, I felt like a failure.

To distract you from my abysmal swim, here's a picture of some ducklings beside the starting area.

I eventually flopped & flailed my way back to land, got to my feet and gave my damaged hamstring tendons their first test of the day as I waddled toward transition. I had sort of forgotten that I'd have to run up to T1 until I was approaching the swim exit.

750m swim: 17:01 @ 2:16/100m

Haven't been that slow since 2012.

Fortunately, the damaged leg seemed to hold up as I staggered along and started stripping my way out of my rubbery casing. Entering the transition area, I ran along the rack looking for my bike...only to discover I was at the wrong rack. Wobbling my way further along, I finally located my gear.

LEMME OUT

I methodically went through the process of donning my race number, sunglasses, helmet and cycling shoes (a process complicated by not wanting to strain the sore hamstring tendons by bending over too sharply), then began timidly trotting up the hill toward the bike course.

Leg, don't fail me now!

T1: 01:34

00:12 slower than 2014 

Here's where the comedy of errors really gets rolling.

As I ran along, holding my bike by its saddle, the bars swung completely over to the right - effectively halting me in my tracks. I had to use my other hand to correct it and then try to get back into my cautious stride. I finally made it to the mount line just behind a knot of about a dozen other athletes who conspired to completely block the way forward. I mean, I have no problems with running a few metres past the line before hopping on to give other people space, but I literally could not get through. So, I waited. Suddenly making sure my bike was racked with the pedals in the proper position seemed ridiculous - I probably lost 30 seconds just waiting for the mounting area to clear enough for me to swing a leg over my bike. I did actually manage to start my cycle computer, though.

Once I was finally in the saddle, I felt better than expected - didn't even have as tough a time climbing the big stinkin' hill out of the park as I'd feared, just focused on keeping the pedals turning. The air was still cool, but the sun was bright and my own effort kept me warm. Spinning along in the small ring up and over the hill Northbound on 13th line, I settled in and started to enjoy myself a bit, coming through the turn East and then the 5k mark in 12:05 - just under 25kph average.

While learning that being in the 1st swim wave means there are even more people to pass you on the bike.

I made the second turn onto 15th line and pulled out my only nutrition for the race about 17mins into the bike: a single packet of Salted Caramel Gu. I got it into my face without crashing or coming out of aero - for which I feel like I deserve a damn medal, what with it only being my 2nd ride on my tri bike since last fall. I even made it through the hairpin turn-around, though slowly and slightly wobbly, while thanking the police officers on course for keeping us safe. Headed back North again on 15th line, I climbed a rise and then shifted to the big ring as I came over the top and into a gentle downhill..

..promptly dropping the damn chain.

Dammit.

So, laughing a bit - 'cause what else can you do - I coasted down the hill until it started to level out, then pulled over and stopped to sort myself out. It occurred to me later that I could have tried using the shifter to pop it back up onto the chainring, but by that point I'd already dismounted, coated my right hand in grease setting the chain back in place, and had to stand on the pedals to get myself moving again.

Fortunately, the rest of the bike leg was uneventful. I successfully shifted to the big ring and back down again a couple of times, and tried to strike a balance between making up a bit of lost time and saving my legs for what promised to be a fairly feeble run.

But hey - no crashing!

Approaching the dismount line I weighed my options while trying to gauge how well my damaged hamstring was holding up, and elected to forgo my walking-on-air parlour trick in the interest of health and safety. Coming to a complete stop, I gingerly swung my sore leg - which was actually feeling ok - over the bike and lumbered back toward transition.

N00B

20k bike: 47:08 @ 25.46kph

02:11 slower than 2014.

(My cycle computer recorded 45:32 of moving time)

"Running" to transition

Changing from my bike shoes to my run shoes took longer than it should have for a couple of reasons. First, I was still leery of putting too much strain on my sore hamstrings, so had to be careful picking things up off my little mat on the ground. I was also vainly trying to keep from smearing the chain grease that coated my right hand all over my pristine white cycling shoes, so ended up working left-handed while two-thirds of the way through a race for which I was severely undertrained. I'm sure you can imagine how well that worked out. Grabbing my hat at last, I headed for the exit before they decided to start charging me rent.

T2: 01:06

00:05 slower than 2014.

Shift yourself, woman!

The run may have been the source of my greatest trepidation, but it actually went better than I could have expected. I went out fairly easy, partly to test the hamstring and partly because it was pretty clear I wasn't racing for a PR anyway. As always, it seemed to take forever to reach the dam and the 1km marker, especially since they'd poured some aggregate stone on the trail that was rather uncomfortable to run on with chilled feet in my tri loafers.

Which I keep on wearing at Woodstock, despite knowing the course is mostly trail.

I took the steep descent off the far end of the dam very cautiously to spare my poor, damaged tendons as much as I could, and breathed in the phlox-scented air along the river. The sun was scorching, but the air remained cool so I wasn't suffering too badly. Of course, it seemed like everyone in the whole race was running past me like I was standing still, but that was nothing more than I expected.

I figured I might end up DFL, but didn't really care.

Up the sharp climb to the road, I grabbed a cup of water at the aid station just past the 2k mark and took a couple of sips before tossing the rest down my back. I pattered my way up the false flat to the turn-around, then began the final jaunt as I shouted my thanks to the amazing volunteers and offered some encouragement to the other athletes on course. I'd find out later that I unknowingly said a few much-appreciated words to a fellow Vanderkitten VIP who was having a tough time on the run, managing to brighten her day just a little. Honestly, even if I got nothing else out of racing, that would be enough to keep me coming back.

And where else can I flash the ill advised racing gang sign?

With 1k left to go I was death whistling and my sore leg was talking some serious trash to me, but I pushed on and even managed to just barely pass the guy in the Triathlon Club of Burlington kit who appears in all these photos. He beat me on chip time, of course, but it was nice to pass at least someone out there.

Into the chute with zero kick.

I hit the final turn and the gentle downhill to the finish line, glad I didn't seem to have done any further damage to my injured leg and not having had to walk. Some lady who clearly hadn't left it all on course came flying past me and my TCOB companion, but I crossed the line upright and smiling.

We'll call it a win.

5k run: 28:58 @ 5:47/km

00:05 PR!

Just barely holding off the competition.

Official time: 1:35:46

12/23 W35-39 - 96/156 W - 283/388 O/A

02:51 slower than 2014

Just happy to be done.

So it appears I'm getting slower every year I do this race - I went 1:31:06 while undertrained in 2013 and 1:32:55 three weeks after being by a car in 2014. While I may have a few excuses - and maybe even something that qualifies as a reason - I really would like to go under 90mins at this race someday. 

2015, however, was not that day.

Meh.

Still had a hoot doing it on a really beautiful day, though. Of course, then it was time to try to recover hard for further stupidity the next day..

My mate Snorky

When I got smoked from behind by a car last week, I was riding my cyclocross bike. While my tri bike tends to get all the flashy attention (because I am, after all, primarily a triathlon dork), my 'cross bike is my workhorse and my ticket to some of the most wonderful rides I've ever had.

August 11th, 2010 - just arrived at his new home!

I spotted him out front of The Hub Bicycle Shop in Hespeler one August evening - resplendent in my beloved country's red and white, he looked to be just my size. The shop had advertised amazing deals available, so we'd stopped in to have a look, but this sweetheart caught my eye as he sat racked on the sidewalk. I saw that he wasn't brand new - there were a few signs of wear - but I had to ask about him.

He'd been a demo model for the shop, but was now up for sale at half the MSRP. I'd been looking for a cyclocross bike, as all I had at in my quiver at the time were my time trial/triathlon bike (a bit high strung for everyday riding, and certainly not at home anywhere but pavement) and my old rigid steel mountain bike (which was not exactly suited to racking up the training miles on the road). A moment later a set of flat pedals had been spun onto the crankarms and I could take him for a test ride..

We'd headed over straight from work, so I wasn't exactly dressed for the occasion. Tanker still rues not having got a photo of that test ride, though it has burned itself into his memory. In a probably-too-short skirt and no helmet at all, I pounded the pedals through the hills of Hespeler village, my unfettered hair streaming out behind my helmetless head. It was a moment of childlike bliss as I flew through the streets, the bike translating the staccato beat of my legs into an intoxicating wind in my face.

It was love.

First real ride, though still with flat pedals.

It was still more money than I could really afford, but Tanker insisted I must have it - our anniversary had been just a couple of days previous, and he said this would be my gift from him. I married a keeper, and that day acquired another one. He was fast, gorgeous, and even made by a Canadian company!

As the days and months passed, I modified the bike a little and came to enjoy it a lot. It opened up new possibilities to me as I now had a ride that could go almost anywhere - he was equally happy on the roads and most of the local trails, so I could take Tanker (on his own CX bike) exploring both near and far. We rode 100km to Wilkes Dam in Brantford and back via rail trail, we rode to the farmers' market in town, we rode for coffee, we rode in the Tour de Grand and we rode through the mud of Paris to Ancaster.

I even threw on my tri bike's wheels and rode it in the Cambridge Crit

P2A 2011

P2A 2012

P2A 2013

I rode my one and only true century on the bike that came to be called Snorky, on the hottest day I think I've ever experienced. I've rode him in the snow and weather cold enough to make my bottles freeze up. He's always ready to go for a ride, and has never let me down.

161km at the 2012 Tour de Grand

Wheeling along at the 2013 Tour de Grand

The poor bike even deals with this indignity most of the winter

When I was hit last Monday, I had no idea what the damage might be to good old reliable Snorky. His rear wheel was certainly destroyed, but I felt like I'd absorbed most of the impact from the hood of the car and subsequent skid on the ground (I still have some fascinating bruises and bits of me that are not yet entirely functional) - his bar tape hadn't even been torn, and the frame looked ok. I wasn't going to rely on "looks like", though, so last Saturday he was delivered to the caring hands at The Hub for a thorough inspection.

Never bring a bike to a car fight

After a few days of anxious waiting (sorry for the million text messages Cliff!), my old friend and battle partner was checked over and found to need...

..a new barrel adjuster on the rear derailleur.

He lives!

It seems that between the rear wheel and I, we successfully cushioned the frame from bending out of shape or cracking. It was like finding out a beloved pet doesn't need to be put down - he just needs a new collar and leash!

Wahoo!
(Tour de Grand 2011)

Thanks to my incredible mom & husband, I'll even be getting a spanky new wheelset to replace the writeoff rear and make him even prettier.

These will practically turn him into a ghost bike, which seems appropriate somehow.

So we're going to pick Snorky up from the shop again on Saturday, and soon I'll be tearing up the roads and trails with my ever-eager pal once more. I see blue skies and summer clouds, leaf buds opening and flowers in bloom all over the place. It's the absolute most inspiring time for cycling, and I can't wait to go for a rip!

The trails are calling!

Before I even take a single pedal stroke, though I probably won't be able to help but show my buddy a little bit of love.

Wasaga Beach Olympic Triathlon - Saturday, September 7th, 2013

Sometimes it's just not your day. Come, sail the seas of fail with me!

Awoke to pouring rain outside our hotel in Collingwood, with our new Gore-Tex rain jackets conveniently packed in the laundry room at home. The forecast had been clear 48hrs prior when I last looked.

Rather less clear.

Not an encouraging start.

The owners of the hotel were kind enough to lend us some stylish Niagara Falls souvenir rainwear when I called and asked for a couple of garbage bags to make ourselves some hobo ponchos. The difference: we had hoods!

And blurriness.

Getting a lot of use out of that hood, I tell ya.

We got Café Mochas and made it to the race site with plenty of time, despite a couple of flubbed turns. I had lots of time to go through the new bike check-in procedure (with wrist and bike bands to ensure no stolen steeds), get myself ready, and even boogie a little.

World's worst go-go dancer.

Pre-race talk done as I stuffed myself into my wetsuit one last time for the season, and I was pretty relaxed - I was just out to enjoy the day, and the rain was part of that. Through five full seasons of triathlon this was only the second time I'd had to deal with foul weather (the other being my first tri ever), so I couldn't possibly complain! The poncho and a hoodie were enough to keep me warm up until the start, and I felt awful for the people who were doing the swim without a wetsuit.

That's a river. On a beach.

Into the water, I got a couple of hundred metres of warmup in before heading back to the beach for the start; my first open water swimming since Belwood back in mid-July. While the water was chilly and I had a bit of that fatigue that always accompanies the first 200-300 set of a swim, my suit and stroke felt pretty good and I know I've been strong in the water this year. In any case, I'd just go out easy and see what the morning held.

Other than rubbery dorks.

The rain stopped not long before the first wave went off. I was the the 4th wave, in a stylish pink cap (again!), as MultiSport Canada was trying a new concept: seeding by predicted finish time. I'd estimated I'd probably go about 3:05:xx (with little bike training and no real taper to speak of), so I was in the 2:52:xx-3:09:xx category - the theory is that you end up with fewer people swimming over you or passing on the bike, plus you're more likely to be racing the person next to you. I can't say I found that much difference. I did, however, realise that I'd forgotten to apply BodyGlide to the back of my neck - since it was up in my bag in transition and I'd no hope of retrieving it before the start, I'd just have to hope I wouldn't end up with a wetsuit hickey.

After a final kiss from Tank my wave set off, and I had fairly clear water for most of the swim, partly because I refused to kill myself running through the sand bars and mostly just plodded and dolphin dived - I didn't want to spike my heart rate too much off the hop. There was a bit of a ground swell running that meant you could either sight really well (if you timed it right and hit the crest of a roller) or bloody poorly (if you were in the trough). I got a good rhythm going and seemed to be swimming fairly straight, though it felt very slow. Wasaga Beach is a bit deceptive like that; the water is incredibly clear, and you can see the little ripples in the sand all the way out to the far turn buoys, where the depth is at least 15 feet. Since the bottom drops away almost imperceptibly, it seems as though the ripples pass beneath you slower and slower as you swim out from the shore. With no landmarks except the buoys to give you perspective, it can trick your mind into thinking you're hardly moving at all.

I was, however, passing people from my initial position at the rear of the wave. I ran into some feet near the second turn buoy after a fairly uneventful swim out, and got a bit stuck behind a couple of ladies until I managed to power past and make my turn toward the shore. My navigation had been excellent, and I passed within a metre or so of each buoy - now into the final stretch, I used the big yellow awnings of the building by the swim exit as my landmark and continued to scoot past others. My calves gave some warning that they weren't liking the chilly water - they tried to cramp a bit, and I had no choice but to dorsiflex my feet to ward them off, but it resolved without incident or too much loss of speed. I was able to nearly surf the swell now, and as I reached the shallows it was astonishing to see how quickly the ripples zipped past beneath me. I swam on until I was in less than 2 feet of water, actually pulling myself along the bottom with my hands before standing on what turned out to be the second last sand bar.

I believe I can fly!

Wading in, I decided I was done swimming so started to unzip my wetsuit, when I stepped down off the sandbar into waist-deep water again. With my goggles pulled up and my suit undone, I wasn't going to dolphin dive, so I just plodded along for the 8 or 10 feet to the final sandbar and finally picked it up to a bit of a run as the water receded to calf and then ankle level. By the time I hit the timing mat I was in full stride with the top of my suit off, headed for the run-up to T1.

Obligatory haggard post-swim photo.

1,500m swim: 30:31 @ 2:02/100m

3rd in W30-34 - PR at Olympic distance by 01:18

The run to transition is a bit nasty, as you have to hop a curb and then run up a sharply ramped bit of pavement, through the fenced-off entryway, then pull a sharp turn to get to my rack position. I was gasping a bit as I made the swim entrance, but knew I could catch my breath at my bike a bit as I changed.

Run-up: 0:52

Moving through molasses.

I managed to stomp my way out of my wetsuit easily enough, then donned my helmet, glasses and race number belt. I told Tanker I love him, then started to run with my bike...the stupid way. Remember that whole thing at Woodstock when I tried to lead Dolph along by the stem? Yeah, did that again. I remembered about halfway to the bike exit (which was only about 30 feet from my rack position) and shifted to a grip on the saddle. Stupid tridork! At least I didn't get my hand caught this time.

Time to get moving.

T1: a leisurely 01:40

Either someone hit my bike or I managed to mess up the careful preparation of my crank I'd done when I racked, as the left pedal was not at the 10 o'clock position as I'd placed it. In any case, I got it spun 'round to where I wanted it after running a bit past the line to get out of people's way, saw a friend shooting photos at the mount line (and I swear he yelled "NOOB" at me, which is totally legit), and got the hell on with it. I even managed to start my cycle computer, then twist the mount around on the stem so it was in its proper position again after my idiocy in T1. I was feeling pretty good despite the rain starting up again, and had every intention of just cruising through the bike leg - my only goal was not to crash out, since I have so much invested in the Toad 50k next month. A number of people passed me, and I just let them go with no motivation to chase. I did pass one or two, giving lots of warning as I did so. I don't want to see anyone hurt!

Finding my stride after all the corners and the hairpin turn-around of the out-and-back section at the start of the course, I took a sip off my flask of EFS Liquid Shot around 10mins in, then passed the 5k marker shortly thereafter. I passed a couple of people fixing flats on the side of the road, making sure to ask if they were ok as I did so and happily seeing no injuries. I heard a strange noise from my bike, then realized it was my check-in band flapping; the sticky end had been wet when I'd put it on, and it hadn't adhered, so I tried to tuck it in and re-stick it so I wouldn't lose it. I'd shifted up through the gears to the big ring as I got my legs spinning, and despite my cadence sensor not reading (magnet out of position, I'm sure) I felt like I was rolling well. I was almost at 9k as I turned Northwest and hit the first real hill on the course: a short, sharp little thing on the way up to Crossland Rd/29. Shifting back to the small ring and keeping the cadence high, I tried to carry some speed into the start of the hill as I watched the people ahead stand to grind out the last of the grade. The tension on the pedals mounted, and I shifted to larger and larger cogs as the nose of my bike went vertical, then suddenly my legs spun furiously as all resistance disappeared! Shit, I'd dropped my chain!

I managed to unclip from my pedal, brake gently and set a foot down, then looked at the crank expecting to see the chain sitting on the bottom bracket shell. Nothing there. What the hell? I looked back at the cassette and saw with a sinking heart that the chain was loose and dragging on the ground behind the rear derailleur cage - I'd managed to snap it, and had no replacement. My race was over. We'll just go with the idea that I was putting out too much raw power for a mere chain to withstand. Damn it, stop laughing! It could happen..

Well there's your problem.

Other athletes passed me, with a heart-warming number of them checking to ensure I was ok. All of them groaned and commiserated with me when they heard I was fine, but wouldn't be finishing the bike leg. I took a couple of sips of water and counted my blessings: the chain hadn't whipped forward and taken a bite out of my leg (people have lost chunks of calf muscle that way), nor had it got caught in the spokes of the rear wheel and sent me sailing headfirst toward some real-world testing of aerohelmet safety standards. I'd even managed to get stopped without incident instead of falling over like an idiot! As I waited for a race vehicle to come along, I just had to laugh and be thankful that I hadn't really put too much of myself into this particular event. I noticed what looked like fog drifting from behind me, then realised it was actually steam pouring off me as I started to cool down from my efforts. It having been a fair while since I stopped and the stream of cyclists passing having petered out, I decided it was time to take matters into my own hands and set out on foot back toward the race site.

Of course, I'm a complete moron, so thinking that I didn't want the chain to get wrapped up any further I shouldered the bike and walked along carrying it for over a kilometer. Still no race vehicles in sight, and the chain was banging against the spokes, so I set the bike down and wrapped it over the cassette before experimentally rolling it a foot or so...which of course didn't move the cassette at all. That's what "freewheel hub" means, dummy. With a bit of a slap to my forehead I continued to walk back toward the start wheeling the bike along by the saddle, wondering if I could still pin this stupidity on racer brain. I can't say that I was even angry, though; in 20 prior multisport races I'd never suffered a mechanical failure, so I can't complain when I do finally get one. Many others would trade their eye teeth for that kind of luck!

Not performance.

After walking about 2km back, I found two other fellows on the side of the road with their bikes, one of whom I had passed changing a flat earlier. Turns out they were both completely out of spares, having both suffered multiple flats, and were going to get a ride back with a local who had offered a lift in his pickup truck. This sounded like a damn sight better deal than walking all the way back in cycling shoes, so I loaded up with both of them, sat in the box of the pickup to stabilize the bikes, and ducked down below the cab of the truck to try to keep from freezing to death - it was windy and I was still soaked, though the rain had stopped again.

Spotting Tanker by the dismount line, I yelled to him that I was ok (absolute necessity after my only other DNF!), but my chain had snapped. I'd also come to the conclusion that I was going to do the run anyway - after all, I was there to race, and only doing so for fun! I spoke to the Triathlon Ontario official, assured her I was unhurt, and eagerly accepted the offer to do the run - neither of the two other fellows with mechanicals seemed inclined to continue, though. I gave her my bib number so she could make sure the results reflected my technical DNF, handed my now-useless bike over to Tanker, then moseyed into transition to change up for the run.

Hope my shoes don't fall apart..

T2: 01:50, because why rush at this point?

Heading out on the course again, I found myself in the company of the super studs who would finish in the 2hour-2:15 range - it was amazing to watch them floating past me almost effortlessly, as though I was standing still. My legs felt good as I started to get into a nice stride, just smiling and enjoying the wonderful feeling of being alive and fit and able to push my own limits. I grabbed a cup of HEED from the first aid station - it had been awhile since that single shot of gel, though without a watch I couldn't tell how long, and I needed to hydrate a bit. The course had changed since the last time I was here in 2010 - the boardwalk and park sections were gone, in favour of a simple, boring P-shaped loop along Mosley with a brief tour around a block or two of beachside cottages. I got a cup of water at the furthest point of the course, then headed back to Beach Drive on a long false flat downhill, feeling really strong through 4.5km before the sharp downslope to beach level. Spotting Tanker, I asked him to take my sunglasses from me as I hit the turn-around - the day was still quite overcast and I didn't really need them, but didn't want to put them on top of my hat for fear of losing them.

Cargo shorts dude is unimpressed.

Out for loop number two, I was starting to fade a bit from my initial enthusiasm, and even caught a bit of a death whistle starting around the 6k mark. I tried to shut that down as I fiddled with my race number belt, which didn't want to sit still; it usually sets ok around my hips, but today despite tightening it up a bit it just wanted to fall down my butt. I just kept my legs turning over, keeping the effort high but sustainable and grabbing one last cup of HEED to see me through the final 4km. I pushed hard to the furthest point, cheering on other competitors as I passed them and loving the couple making lots of noise with a vuvuzela from their front porch, then let it all unwind on the false flat downhill of Mosley as I started to pant and gasp.

Back in the air.

Still having fun.

Hitting the final stretch on Beach Drive, my stride opened up automatically and I poured whatever I had left in me into the finish. There was a bit of kick there, but not much, until I finally hit the arch and went airborne for the camera. I wouldn't know it until later, but I'd actually run within less than 2mins of my open 10k PR from last May.

Artist's conception since I've had this written for a couple of days now,
but it's Wednesday and the on-course photographer's pics aren't yet posted.

10k run: 54:11 @ 5:25/km

5/7 in W30-34 - PR at Olympic distance by 02:41

This race felt like a test of character - first to toe the starting line at all in the cold rain, and then to continue on to do the run after the technical DNF from the snapped chain. I'd like to believe I passed, and that in this case, DNF stands for Did Not Fail. After all, you can't control what happens to you, but you can control how you react to it.

Cold-blooded chain murderer!