This race almost didn't happen for me. After a morning of craziness, though, I finished with a smile on my face and another reminder of what really matters both in this sport and in life. Sometimes it takes utter chaos to find clarity or a kick in the ass to see the truth. Lately I've had a little bit of both.
For many of us on the TriGator team, the Clermont Challenge constituted our first race of the spring season, and I think most of us were very eager to dust the cobwebs off of our racing shoes. However, my excitement for this race was slightly dampened by a sore ankle I developed after Gasparilla and the realization that my training leading up to the race would be subpar because of my lack of bike training lately. As I packed my things to head home for spring break, I wasn't even sure I'd be racing. I hadn't run in almost a week because of my ankle pain and wasn't sure if it would hold up in a race. However, I was excited to see my family and have a little time to relax, so I made peace with the possibility that I might not race. As the race fell at the end of spring break, I decided to reassess my ankle's condition towards the end of the week and make a decision then about whether or not to race. When I ran that Friday it was a little stiff, but the majority of the pain was gone. I decided to go for it.
Kacy and I had come up with a plan before break for the best way to get ourselves and our bikes to the race (since we both would be coming from home). Because I don't have a bike rack and wanted to use my trunk space to bring my surfboard home, she agreed to bring my bike home with her and keep it at her house until the day before the race. I would then drive up to her house and stay the night, reducing the drive I'd have to make on race morning. This all proceeded according to plan, and we left her house this morning ready to roll. I made sure to follow her closely, because she has a smartphone with GPS and I'd never come into Clermont from the south before. Still, I had a rough idea of the route and was surprised when she exited I-4 earlier than I'd anticipated. Sleepy, I didn't react quickly enough and missed the exit. When I called her, she said the GPS had re-routed her. I was worried that we were separated, but the next exit wasn't close. I decided to stick with the original route and call a friend of mine I knew was in the area for specifics when I needed them. Kacy and I would both get there around the same time, I figured.
Except...we didn't. Lake Louisa State Park turned out to be right off the road I was already on, and it was easy enough for me to find. However, Kacy's GPS took her to the entire other side of the park. When I arrived, I only had about 15 minutes until transition was set to close. (We definitely underestimated the driving time.) I set up all of my gear and called Kacy to see if she was close to arriving at the park with our bikes. Unfortunately, she was still lost on dirt roads on the wrong side of the park. It began to look like racing wouldn't happen for either of us. However, I tried to keep my head and thought, This race has been a crapshoot from the beginning. Until they start the race, there's still a shot we can make it. I went up to the transition manager and explained the situation. Amazingly, she was completely understanding and let me hang out in transition even after it closed to wait for my bike. Finally, through detailed directions given to Kacy from our teammates, she was on the right track and close to arriving. My friend Danny, who was in town photographing both the previous day's ITU race and this race, started running out to the parking lot to help her with the bikes. I waited as long as I possibly could until I had to go to the swim start. "Rack my bike when it comes!" I yelled to Danny (this was possible because of a gap in the transition fence, and the awesomeness of the transition manager.) I sprinted to the swim start, wetsuit hanging over my shoulder, just in time for the playing of the national anthem. "Help me get in this!!" I yelled to my teammates, breaking up the peace of what was probably supposed to be a serious moment. Oops. Together, they yanked me into my wetsuit, and I put my goggles on just in time for the horn. She missed the start, I thought with a pang of worry as I dove into the water. As I exited the swim, toes numb, I thought, I wonder if my bike ever made it to transition. I ran into transition to see that my friends had come through for me and that my bike was racked and ready.
Filled with adrenaline from the morning's madness and warmth toward my friends and teammates for helping me so much, I powered through the bike leg and made it through the run without ankle pain. Honestly, it was the most fun I've had during a race in a long time. Somehow, being underprepared for this race ceased to concern me. No, I didn't have the most stellar run leg ever. But I still turned in a solid performance, coming in 5th overall in the women's race and finishing as the 2nd FCTC female. That isn't what really matters, though. If it weren't for the kindness and friendship of so many people, this race never would have happened for me. For the understanding transition manager, who allowed my bike to come into transition long after it closed. For Kacy, who did everything she could to bring my bike to me despite realizing she would miss the start herself. For Danny, who routed me to the race site and racked my bike for me. For my teammates, who tugged and pulled me into my wetsuit at the last minute and provided optimism in the face of my hurried efforts to get ready. Yes, triathlon can sometimes be a selfish sport. It's easy to think winning and performing well are the only things that matter. Today, though, I was again reminded of all the other reasons why I do this sport. For almost every race, situation, or person that has ever hurt me or disappointed me, there has also been an encouraging experience or someone to remind me I that will always have people in my corner. And those are the things that really matter.
