3 before 30: Laguna Phuket Triathlon

A few years ago, I made two challenges for myself:
1). 26 miles before 26 years old
2). Triathlon (3) before 30 years old

I checked off number one in Cleveland, May of 2009. Since I'm edging in on 30, I needed to make a plan fast to get number 2. In May of last year, I did a sprint triathlon with the Tribuddies in Indonesia. This didn't count because it wasn't an olympic distance, but I was riding so high on endorphins after that sprint, that my friend Miranda and I quickly signed up for the Laguna Phuket Thailand International Triathlon about a week or so after the sprint. This maybe wasn't the smartest thing I ever did.

It turns out that those feel-good endorphins can have the same affect as beer-goggles. We signed up for the Thai triathlon without realizing that it was A). longer than an olympic distance, B). it is considered one of the top ten races in the world - i.e. professional athletes would be competing there, and C). the bike course is infamous for four treacherous hills. So, I did what anyone else would do, I recruited friends Jess and Tabitha to join in our misery.

Here's what we were up against:
1.8 K swim (part in the ocean, part in a fresh water lagoon - just FYI, this is nearly half-iron man distance)
55 K bike (four makemenweep hills in the first 15 K)
12 K run (through a nice flat golf course)

Luckily, I had Jess and Miranda to keep me on track with training. We started as soon as we arrived back in Jakarta. Miranda sacrificed her van and sleep to carry us and our bikes outside of the city each weekend to climb hills. Jess kept me in the pool (my least favorite part) and the gym at least four times a week. Tabitha kept lockstep in her own training program in central Java and motivated us by her unwavering dedication. I would have been miserable without those ladies.

 

November 23rd rolled around, and we boarded our plane to Thailand. We arrived in Phuket and our private villa owned by the sweetest little Thai woman, Ladowan, and her three dogs. She went beyond the call of duty to drive us to registration the next day and take us around the course. I think this is when the four of us realized we were in trouble. We stared down those hills that even Ladowan's car struggled to get up and took turns muttering four-letter words just under our breath. The only thing we could do now was get enough sleep, eat and pray.

In Ladowan's courtyard.

The night before. Calming our nerves with pasta and Facebook stalking.

At 0500 the next morning, Ladowan dropped us off at the transition area. We did one last check on our bikes and equipment, pumping up the tires and setting out our gear. Then we boarded a ferry to take us to the swim start where we joined a wave of other pink-capped athletes warming up in the ocean. Jess and I ran into Rebecca, a type A, cancer-surviver/triathlon coach who had flown all the way from Alaska with her husband. She filled us in on some last minute tips, encouraging us to hang back in the swim and to conserve our energy for the bike. Later, at the awards ceremony, we would run into Rebecca again and discuss the finer points of peeing on command.

The gun fired, and I remember Rebecca. I walked to the water's edge and let the chaos of swimmers stretch out before me while willing my heart to beat normally. Finally, when the water was about thigh-deep, I dove in and started my stroke. It was amazing. Apart from getting kicked, grabbed, and slapped at various points, I was able to regulate my breathing and keep a strong, smooth stroke throughout the entire swim. I knew I was making good time when I exited the water and heard the announcer yell out Miranda's name. She was just ahead of me, and she was our strongest swimmer. I arrived at my bike and started my rehearsed transition: Energy chew, sunglasses, helmet, belt, socks, bike shoes, gloves. Go.

My confidence from the swim was sucked out of my chest as soon as I mounted my bike and headed towards those hills that kept me up half the night. Hill one: I joined the ranks of riders around me pumping the pedals and breathing heavily. It occurred to me about halfway up that because I was "clipped" into my pedals, the only way I could stop would be to fall over and potentially start an ugly pile up. With panic for fuel, I made it up to the top of the first hill. There were only a few kilometers before the next hill; not enough time to stop the hammering in and dread in my heart. I decided to dismount and walk my bike up the second hill. This is when Jess passed me and like a drill sergeant, tried to get me back on my bike. That was the last time I walked. 

After hills three and four, the course flattened out and winded through villages along the beautiful beaches of Phuket. School children lined the streets with flags and hands outstretched for high fives. It didn't take long before I caught a second wind and finished out the bike strong. That's when disaster struck.

I wheeled my bike into the transition area and looked frantically for the sticker that indicated where to put my bike. I couldn't find it. For four minutes I couldn't find it. I had wheeled myself into the wrong row, and my sticker was only visible from the other side. Frustration and embarrassment nearly had me in tears when I finally threw down my helmet and ran to the next row over. This stupid mistake cost me the podium.

I eventually gathered myself enough to start the run with the mantra "just focus on now" running through my head. It helped that out of the transition area, I started passing people easily. I told myself that running was my sport, and the race wasn't over yet. I fell into an easy pace and made sure I was passing more than being passed. The mantra was quickly replaced by Aretha Franklin singing It's Raining Men, and I knew I was in the right mindset to finish and finish well. I ran into the finish line at 3:51, under my goal of 4 hours. Halleluiah. 

I met up with Jess, who had made it in 9 minutes before me, and we waited to cheer on Miranda and Tabitha. My favorite part of the entire experience was when we all grabbed hands and crossed the finish line together. I still get goosebumps just thinking about it. We had not only survived, but we'd all done pretty damn well.

Post race was sweet with free massages, beer, and burgers. Jess got first in her age category. I was number four, just seconds behind the number three girl (making me kick myself all over again for that bike incident). Still, it was great to watch the announcer call Jess up to the stage and hand her a golden Elephant. We finished the night well with wine glasses raised in a toast to our strong finish and stronger friendship.