Euphopric (ok, and slightly exhausted)

In line with Friday's post, I thought I would stick with the "adjective" theme. And so I am happy to tell you that for the past three days, I have been nothing but euphoric. And exhausted, but euphoric definitely wins out. Remember last Friday, when I wrote that I wasn't sure what I was thinking when I signed up for this half ironman? Well, apparently I did. Know what I was thinking, that is. Because, for the first time in a long, long time, I am proud to report that this was the best race I have done in years. Centuries, perhaps. No injuries, no racing for third and losing, no bugs on my bike, and no getting lost on the swim. Instead, there was a great camaraderie among the competitors, awesome crowd support, a PR that beat my planned finish time by an hour and fifteen minutes, and a second place in my age category.

Now, in all fairness, I should add some caveats (obviously, or I wouldn't be the eeyore I am)

For one, there were only eleven women in this entire race, making the competition in my age group fairly non-existent. And although husband-dear will tell you that's just a sign of how tough the race is, I'm more likely to tell you I got the plaque just by showing up. However, in the spirit of the moment, let's just keep that between you and me.

In addition, the swim was possibly the craziest open water even I have ever been in. First of all, it was in a river. A river, people. Not a calm, warm lake, no, a live, bustling river with some serious white water rapids down stream. So there was no wading into the lake before the start, getting yourself a little wet and gearing up for what was to come, oh no. You got on a floating pontoon, put on your goggles and your bright pink swimcap, and jumped off when the gun shot sounded. Into water that was about 60F, and moving at a fairly rapid pace. I'm not sure my heart has yet figured out what happened. It felt as though we had just jumped off the Titanic into the icy waters of death, or something equally dramatic. It was colder than a witch's tit, there were fish everywhere (not to mention people in boats casting off as though there weren't hundreds of swimmer freestyling by), and, oh, the water was actually so clear, you could see the bottom (and thus the broken bottles, rotter boats, and schools of fish), which I thought was really interesting ("Cool! You get to snorkel and race!"), but apparently really freaked out some of my fellow contestants. Third, the current was amazing. Really, it was. I swam the first .6 miles in 18 minutes, an absolute record for me. But then came the bright yellow turn-around buoy, and suddenly it was as though we were all swimming in one of those endless pools: working our butts off, but not actually getting anywhere. I swam, and swam, and swam, and swam, and somehow the boat dock that marked our finish was just not getting any closer. Then, finally, twenty-four glorious minutes later, the boat dock was within reach, and I tried to stand up. Tried, as the river was still as deep as it had been minutes before. Again, the lake-swimmer that I am, I expected a beach, or at least some sort of sloping bank. But no. And so I imitated every single swimmer before me, swam up to the sloping dock, grappled for a hold on the busted up boat dock, and crawled up on to the rough concrete (let me tell you, those swim-finish pictures are the best. ever).

Then came the bike. 56.1 long miles on a seat narrowed than my foot. The bike was the portion I was least worried about, but apparently, I should have been a little more concerned. Not about my ability, as the bike itself went great, but about the actual course. You see, this race was what us athletes optimistically call the "inaugural" race, which is a lovely euphemism for, "hey, this is the first time we're doing this, so crap might go really wrong. Just FYI" . Practically, it means that the race director probably does not have all the kinks figured out, and, you might end up cycling into Alabama on accident, as one competitor did, because the signs were non-existent. Although I didn't end up on the wrong side of the river (which is really quite the miracle, knowing my tendency to get lost in the "zone", and completely miss things such as signs and waving volunteers), I did end up having to stop at one particular intersection where all the signs had disappeared, and ask a group of onlookers which way all the cyclists had turned, which just makes you look somewhat dorky. Athletic, but dorky. And for those of you who really want all the nasty details, the bike leg did not have any port-a-potties either. None. Imagine hundreds of athletes who have just swallowed about five gallons of river water, who are hell bent on proper hydration, and who will maintain that 17mph that they were aiming for, and you can see what pretty much all of us ended up doing. In case you can't, think Tour de France, downhills, and "you gotta go when you gotta go". Yeah. I felt like such a bada**. A disgusting bada**, but still, a bada**.

So you've swam your heart out, you've finished the bike (and your butt has vowed to NEVER talk to you again), and then all that lies between you and the finish line is a 13.1 mile run. And in this race, the race director has decided to break this down into two loops. At first, this did not sound like a good idea to me at all, but once I started, I realized how great it was. You get to see all the athletes, who are all beyond excited with the idea that they will be done soon, and ready to cheer everyone on with a "Way to go 36!", "Hang in there number 15!", and since you pass by the same aid stations several times, the volunteers get to know your preferences, "Number 36, you can take your hat off, we got your ice ready for you!". It was so encouraging, and completely made up for the fact that some of the people in the city had not gotten the memo about the half iron, and thus spend their time waiting at blocked off intersections, cussing at the runners passing by. You can't win them all.

So I spend 6 hours, 26 minutes, and 8 seconds on my feet on Saturday. And had I not spent five minutes rolling around on the ground in the transition area, trying to get out of a very much stuck wetsuit, I might have even broken the 6 hours and twenty minutes mark. So obviously there will definitely be another half iron.

Now excuse me, I have a plaque to hang on my office wall.