Bass Lake Classic Triathlon
 Saturday, September 16, 1995
 1.5k swim
 40k bike
 10k run

The Bass Lake triathlon offered a perfect excuse for a vacation at
Skippy's uncle's cabin on the lake.  We headed up there Wednesday
afternoon, and I fervently hoped that those few extra days would
give me a slight edge on the altitude.  Somehow, I'd gotten the idea
that Bass Lake splashed serenely at 5000 feet; I was relieved and
pleased to discover, upon consulting a map, that the actual figure
was a mere 3425.  Even so, a sea-level dweller like yours truly felt
a healthy respect for the mountains; this one would be tough.

Three days of lying about on the dock, with an occasional swim
thrown in, comprised my "taper".  Friday afternoon we made the long
1/2 mile trek from our cozy lakeside cabin to the race site for
check-in and pasta fest.

"Tricia!"  I turned to see RSTer Eric Roseme.  "Hey, Eric!" He
turned to my pal and said, "This must be the famous Skippy."  I
grinned at Skip, who appeared uncertain whether to be pleased or
dismayed by her newfound notoriety.  "That is just too weird; all
these people know me who I've never even heard of!"  Eric and I both
laugh.  "If you only knew!" I tease; "You've got a rep on the 'net
now!"

We chat with Eric for a few minutes before heading over to the
check-in table.  I pick up my race packet and pull out my t-shirt.
"Wow," says Skip admiringly, "that's a nice shirt."  There was an
interesting twinge of longing in her voice.  "Yeah, this is a nice
one; long sleeves, and, thank heaven! it's not white!"  "The
volunteers get a t-shirt too, don't they?"  I could see where this
was heading.  "Yeah, they do, but it's short sleeved, and doesn't
have the colors."

"Tricia...."
"Yes, Skip?"
"Well...."
"Yes?"
"Well...would you be upset if I didn't crew for you on this race?
 If I volunteer, I can get a shirt, and I'd like to volunteer
 anyway; I think it would be cool to help out.  But only if you
 don't mind!" she added hastily. "I wouldn't be able to be your
 official staff photographer if I volunteer; would that be ok?"
"No, don't be silly, I wouldn't mind at all!  I think that's great
 that you want to help out.  And it will probably be more fun for
 you to be taking part in the race--- probably a helluva lot more
 interesting than just waiting for me to come around to the
 transition area every hour or two!  Go for it, I think it's a
 great idea."

So Skippy volunteered.  As it turned out, it's a good thing she did;
the race organization needed all the help it could get!  We hung out
long enough to chow down on pasta and salad at the pre-race dinner,
then headed back to the cabin for a good night's sleep.

Beep beep!  Beep beep!  Beep beep!

Ugh!  5:30 a.m.  Oh, but I can snuggle back under the covers; I
don't have to be at the race site 'til 7:30, it's Skippy who has to
be there at 6:00!  I hear her groan as she rolls out of her bed. Tee
hee, you wanted to volunteer, Skip!  ;-)

I drift halfway back to sleep, vaguely mindful of Skippy moving
about and leaving.  One more hour and then it's my turn.  *groan*
OK, up an' at 'em!

I shoulder my backpack and pedal to the race start.  Without a
doubt, this ranks as the most relaxed race morning "commute" I've
ever experienced; talk about convenient!

I roll into the transition area to see Skippy looking very officious
in her volunteer t-shirt with a clipboard in her hand.  She appears
quite pleased with herself!  I can't help but smile.  "The
transition slots are marked," she tells me.  "Your spot is right
here."  She points me to the middle of a rack right at this end of
the transition area.  Cool!  All the women are racked here where we
come in from the swim.  Good deal.  I like races where the
transition spots are predetermined.  This event must be
well-organized!

"Where are they doing the body marking?" I inquire.  "Up there in
the upper parking lot," she gestures.  "I kinda wondered why they
didn't have signs up for it; I suggested that to someone, and they
just said, 'Oh, that's a good idea.'  I've spent half the morning
telling people where body marking is, where check-in is, and where
bike check is!"  Hmm.  Well, no matter, I've got my own marker.
"Here, Skip, mark me, will ya?"  She takes the pen and sets to work.
By the time she finishes up with my calf and stands back up, a small
line of women has formed clamoring for equal attention.  Ooops, she
*is* wearing a volunteer shirt!  I probably shouldn't have asked her
to do this!

At last I have everything ready to go.  I struggle into my longjohn
(always my favorite part of any race) (not) and head for the beach.
The water really wasn't at all cold, but I've learned my lesson;
unless wetsuits are prohibited or the water temperature is *too*
warm, I don the neoprene!  Besides, this swim's at altitude---I need
all the help I can get.

It's a long walk down to the lake from the parking lot, maybe 300
yards.  "Boy, this is gonna be fun to run  back up," I think to
myself.  "Not only is it long, but it's uphill, you're gonna be
hypoxic after that swim anyway, and there are just enough pebbles to
keep it interesting.  Ugh!"  I get down to the water and have only a
minute or two to get wet before the first wave lines up.

All the women are set to start in the second wave, along with all
the men 40 and over.  We back up onto the rocky beach to watch the
first wave start.

I can hear the starter attempting to address the crowd, but there's
no way I can hear *what* he's saying.  I imagine he's describing the
course, and wish like hell I could hear; I certainly don't see much
in the way of buoys out in the water.  "Well," I think to myself,
"I'll just follow everyone in front of me!" The first wave finally
goes off, half of the guys on the beach (as they are supposed to
be), the other half spread out in the water; everyone is 20 yards to
the side of where the "official" starting banner is hung.  Ugh, not
one of the better organized race starts I've seen.

Our wave moves into position for our start.  The starter is
hollering at everyone to get back on the beach.  This time, they've
lined up a group of four volunteers alongside the start line to
prevent anyone from getting out too far in front in the water.
"Geez, why didn't they think of that 5 minutes ago?" I grumble to
the racers around me.  "Naw, that would have been too organized!"
somebody cracks.  Well, what the hell.  Ouch!  Geez, these damned
rocks hurt m....  Hey!  There's the horn, GO!


Bass Lake - The Swim

With all the women and all the 40+ men starting in one wave, I was
pretty sure it'd be something of a mob scene; I wasn't disappointed!

I hold back a bit at the start to allow the speed demons to get out
front, thereby avoiding a good pummelling, I'm sure.  Starting in
mid-pack, I successfully avoid the worst of the crush.  Having
already swum here several times this week, I know just how much the
altitude takes out of me; I prefer to pick my own pace for the swim.

Halfway to the first buoy (apparently a small permanent boating buoy
with some helium-filled balloons tied to it), I appear to be
surrounded primarily by men.  There's still a little jostling going
on, but it's not bad.  I'm working hard, but keeping my pace even
and breathing carefully.  Dang, it's a long way out to this buoy!
We're headed out to the left into the middle of the lake; upon
reaching the buoy, we turn right.  At some point I know that we'll
turn right again and come ashore at the boat launch ramp on the
opposite side of the marina from where we entered the water; beyond
this vague awareness of the course, I'm trusting the swimmers ahead
of me to "do the right thing"!

Finally, I reach the buoy and scoot around as tightly as possible.
A number of swimmers still surround me, so it's a bit crowded at the
turn.  Now that I'm around the first one, I expect to spot the next
buoy to aim for.  That's funny, I don't see *anything*!  Well, I
guess I just keep following the swimmers ahead of me.  I put my head
back down and stroke.

We're now swimming straight up the center of the lake, parallel to
the shore.  I'm flanked by a guy on my left and a gal on my right,
both of whom are swimming at just about my pace.  We swim abreast
like this for a hundred yards or so, while the rest of the field
continues to spread out nicely.  Then, the guy drops back, so it's
just me and this girl with the hot pink stripe on her wetsuit.  We
continue side by side for another hundred yards, then she slowly
starts to pull ahead of me.

Damn!  I don't want to push the pace too hard, but I really want to
stay with her.  OK, don't worry about it, catch her draft, get on
her feet.  I put an extra effort into my next couple of strokes and
pull smoothly behind her.  Ouch!  Ok, you're here now, work it for
all it's worth, but right now concentrate on recovering and getting
smooth again.

In a minute I'm back into a smooth, steady rhythm, breathing
deliberately and deeply in a regular bilateral pattern.  Hey, this
is nice; this is really nice!  We're maybe 1/3 mile into the swim.
I'm keeping up a good clip, but not having to work too hard; this
girl is a perfect draft for me, just fast enough, but not too fast.
I feel really relaxed and strong.  Occasionally, she makes a move
that suggests she knows I'm back here and is trying to shake me.
Uh-uh, sorry, girl; I'm stayin' right *here*!

By staying tight on her feet, sighting on nothing but the trail of
bubbles ahead of me, I save a great deal of energy; not just from
the actual 'drafting' effect, but also because I don't have to worry
about navigating---and on this course, that's nothing to sneeze at!
I haven't seen a single other buoy since we made that first turn; we
seem to be "free-swimming".  However, when I do make the effort to
look ahead a bit, I consistently see that my draftee is staying
right in line with the swimmers ahead; I think I can trust her.

I hang tight on my reluctant benefactor all the way to the second
(and, it turned out, *last* (!) ) buoy.  I swear, that was the
longest unguided straightaway I've ever swum, it seemed to take
forever.  We swing around the buoy, and now we're on the last leg,
heading for shore at an oblique angle.  Pink Stripe slows a bit
going around the turn, reverting to breaststroke for a moment,
perhaps to sight the course better, or perhaps to discourage me from
sticking so tight.  I take a couple of strokes beside her.  She
resumes her freestyle, and pulls away a bit.  Caught a little off
guard, I put in a kick and catch back up.  Sorry, no dice,
girlfriend!

I remain on her feet right up until the last 100 or 150 yards.  At
this point, we're catching up a lot of tired guys from the first
wave, bobbing and weaving to avoid them.  "Well," I tell myself,
"you've saved all this energy tailing this girl for 2/3 of the swim;
now use it!"  I pick up the tempo and start to pull ahead.  We're
approaching the narrow entrance to the tiny launching area, not too
much farther to go.  Come on, this seems to be taking forever!  At
last, I stop and stretch my feet downward....whoops, too soon!  Take
half a dozen more strokes, try again; yes!

I pause just long enough to peel the wetsuit from my body while
still in the water.  Even with this delay, I still emerge from the
lake ahead of Pink Stripe.  "Wow!" I think.  "I actually used some
*strategy*!"  I'm rather impressed with this; I'm not just racing
blindly, I'm using *tactics*.  Pretty cool!

I stumble up the boat ramp and tear the swim cap from my head to
hand to the volunteers.  I hear Skippy hollering, "Go, Tricia!
You're doing great!"  She's been assigned to do swim time spot
checks.  I grin in her general direction as I start the long trot up
the hill to the transition area, wetsuit dripping over my shoulder,
glancing at my watch.  WHAT???  39 minutes??  No way!  Come ON, we
may be at 3425 feet, but there's no WAY it took me 39 something to
swim a mile.  That course *had* to be long.  It certainly felt long;
it definitely felt like 39 minutes out there, but that must have
been more than a mile.  Well, don't worry about it now, get going!

Up the ramp, and up the hill through the parking lots.  Oh, boy, I
thought the thin air hurt on the swim, but that was nothing!  Trot,
trot, tr-- ouch!  Damned pebbles. trot, trot, trot....  One gal who
was smart enough to stash her running shoes down by the boat ramp
speeds by.  God, how can she do that??  Doesn't that hurt??  One
other girl runs past me, but I manage to hold the rest of them off
somehow 'til at last we enter the transition area.  Whew!  Breathe a
little bit now!

It takes me two tries to get my socks on *without* including pieces
of grit along with them.  I've got my water basin, but that grit is
tenacious stuff!  Arrgh!  All right, get your cleats on; OK, helmet,
Oakleys, let's go!

Bass Lake - The Bike

Heading out of the transition area, the bike winds counterclockwise
around the lake over a rolling, narrow road with a semi-rough
surface.  We're riding immediately along the lake shore for the
first 8 or 9 miles, and it's absolutely gorgeous.  Only, it's hard
to appreciate the scenery when there's a fairly steady stream of
traffic coming by us on this narrow road.  Damn!  I had hoped
(wanted to believe?) that the bike course would be closed to
traffic.  Man, this is kinda dangerous.

I pass one girl who had gotten out of the transition just ahead of
me.  Heck, she's a runner, I can tell; no problem dropping her, but
she'll be blowing past me later!  Oh, hell!  We're about half a mile
into the bike and *now* I realize I never set my computer to zero
before the race.  Urrgh!  Well, do it now, bozo.  OK, settle down
and work.

There's one girl about 25 yards ahead of me, and she becomes my
target.  Unfortunately, the cars on the road here become a problem.
There's one just ahead of her, and it's been forced to slow
considerably because of a slower cyclist ahead of it.  My target
finally is forced to pass the car by swinging around it in the
oncoming traffic lane.  Now *I'm* stuck behind this guy; geez, this
is bad.  There are a few too many curves on this road to do this
safely.  OK, here's a straight section, gun it!  I zip around the
hapless motorist.  Poor guy, he probably had no idea what was going
on.  I saw no signs anywhere on the course that said "Caution:  Race
in Progress" or "Cyclists on Road"; on a course like this, that's a
pretty serious oversight.

Fortunately, the traffic thins out on the far side of the lake.
This is where I get down to the business of catching that girl.
She's very strong, though, and it takes me a while.  I'm surprised
to find the altitude isn't bothering me much---yet.  Still, I keep
reminding myself to keep a spin up, don't grind the gears.  I'm
holding around a 20 mph pace, occasionally picking up a few mph on
the slight downhills.  Around 5 or 6 miles I catch the speed demon
ahead of me.  We've passed a handful of other cyclists in the
meantime.

We exchange a few friendly words when I catch her, then ride close
for the next couple of miles.  We pass more riders in clumps.
Unfortunately, one of these clumps causes me to lose contact with my
buddy, and I'm forced to drop back.  I try vainly to catch her
again, but there's starting to be a little more uphill than down out
here; choosing not to blow myself up, I resign myself to letting her
go.  "Don't worry about it, just ride your own race; the altitude
will *really* get you if you work too hard just to catch one girl.
Let her go." I console myself by noticing that at least no other
women have passed me, only a few men.  Onward!

A couple of miles later, I'm dismayed to see my friend Hillary
sitting on the side of the road with her bike.  She calls out to me
even before I recognize her, "I hurt so much!" "God, Hillary, are
you ok??  Did you break down??" "No, I just hurt too much." "Well,
hang in there," I call over my shoulder as I speed away.  Wow,
Hillary pulling out?  Gosh, she's so strong, she must *really* be
hurting.  I thought maybe it was the thin air that got her, but she
told me afterward that it was an aggravated hamstring injury that
did it.

We're riding away from the lake now, and, after a few short
preliminary uphills, we hit a long, speedy downhill.  All right,
girl, make the most of it; put all that weight to good use while you
can!  30, 33, 35, 38.....AAAACK!!!  I'm going around a gradual
leftward turn; on the inside of this curve is a driveway with a
couple of kids in it, and out of this driveway trots a fluffy white
dog, directly into the road!!!  I holler and swerve dangerously,
just avoiding the animal and scaring myself silly.  Good God!!!!
Get that thing on a leash!!  There are a couple of riders somewhere
quite close behind me, and I'm horrified to think what might happen
to them.  I recover and regain my speed, but I'm a bit shaken (not
to mention pissed off).  I heard after the race that, as a matter of
fact, someone *did* crash out on the course on a downhill where a
dog was wandering in the middle of the road.  It *had* to be the
same place, same dog.  UGH.

Continuing down this screaming hill, I'm enjoying the speed, getting
it up to 45 mph and spinning out my 53x12, but in the back of my
head, I'm grimly thinking, "What goes down has gotta go back up;
this could be scary!" At my maximum speed on a straightaway, I see
the sharp left turn mentioned at the start of the race.  I begin to
slow down, but I still hit the turn with quite a bit of speed.
Whoa!  *whew* Took that one a bit wider than I'd planned, but I'm
still upright!  There's a short uphill now, and then a bit more
downhill.  Boy, are we gonna have to pay for this, I'm sure!

The bike aid station is between 14 and 15 miles, just before the
long uphill begins, and am I happy to see it!  It's already quite
warm, must be in the 80's, and I've drunk all my water and most of
my Cytomax.  I expect to get a bike bottle of water, but instead
they're handing out small, maybe 12oz, spring water bottles.  Oh,
man!  I groan to myself.  This is *not* enough water.  Oh, well; I
dump the contents into my Jetstream.  Heard later on that there was
a problem with getting the proper bottles out to the aid station, so
they were forced to hand out the spring water bottles.  *sigh* I
would pay for this later on...

A quarter mile past the aid station, a left hand turn, and look at
this!  Oh, boy; that is one *long* looking hill!  It's not really
steep, but obviously long!  The sun is out in earnest now, and,
whereas we'd been blissfully protected by the trees along the
lakeshore, we're now completely exposed to its merciless alpine
presence.  I had heard someone describing this hill in the
transition area during setup:  "About two miles long, and not really
steep; just long!" OK, well, that being the case, swallow your pride
and your big gears; drop it all the way down to the 25 and save your
legs.

I chug gamely up the hill.  I pass a couple of guys, and a couple
pass me.  We're all suffering out here.  Most of the guys passing
me, however, are relay team members, so I don't feel too bad.  I'm
feeling the altitude a bit, but I'm surprised at how strong I'm
generally feeling--it's not bad.  One fellow passes me gradually,
singing dementedly, "99 bottles of beer on the wall!  99 bottles of
beer!  Oh, naw, beer's no fun; how 'bout, 99 packets of Gu on the
wall!  99 packets of Gu!" I crack up.  "I wish I *had* 99 packets of
Gu right now!" I tell him.  "Maybe they could get me up this hill!"
I had already downed my one packet I'd taped to my bars.  We
exchange jokes for a minute or two, then he chugs on uphill beyond
me.  Feeling both amused and refreshed by this, I upshift to my 21
and pick it up a little.  I'm keeping it around 11 mph, and I figure
that's pretty respectable.  But damn!  When is this hill gonna end??

Well, the person I'd overheard in the transition area was right, the
hill was right around 2 miles long.  However, once we'd conquered
*that* monster, we weren't done with climbing for the day; the final
7 or 8 miles were all rolling ups and downs, with long stretches of
each.  You never got to relax, because the rolling was constant, and
nowhere near as mellow as along the lakeshore.

On one of the downhills, a fellow on a really pretty bike passes me,
but not *really* fast; he gets just ahead of me, and then stays
right in the middle of the road.  I *hate* people who do this!  He
wasn't going fast enough for me to stay behind him, and I wanted to
pass, but there wasn't enough room.  I finally got by him when the
road started to go up again.  However, on the next downhill, there
he goes again!  We played this stupid cat and mouse game all the way
back to the transition area; the guy drove me nuts!  He would never
move over to the right after he passed, and he never got far enough
ahead of me that I didn't have to deal with him.  Arrrgh!!

Well, anyway, with just about a mile left in the bike, I'm surprised
to catch my 99-packets-of-Gu buddy.  As we're approaching the race
site area, I tell him, "God, I can't remember the last time I was
*so* happy to see the bike finish!" "I know what you mean!" he
replies.  "Have a good run!"

Down the hill and a sharp left turn and we're back in the transition
area.  As I roll to my spot, I'm pleased to see that there aren't
too many bikes back in my rack.  Good!  As I start to rack my bike,
I realize that someone has left a large cup 3/4 full of coffee right
smack in the middle of the racks next to my space.  Dammit!  That is
so rude.  I have to slow down to be careful not to knock the damned
thing over and mess up anybody's stuff.  We are *not* amused.  In
spite of this, I make a pretty quick transition.  Quick, that is,
right up until I'm actually running out of the transition area.  I
have a packet of Gu in my hand and am fussing with my number belt,
trying to get it on.  Stupidly, I had left the clasp closed, so I'm
fumbling to get the darned thing undone and then around my waist;
meanwhile, I drop my Gu in mid run, and have to stop and take a
couple strides back to pick it up.  Oh, boy, lousy transition!
Well, just get going!

The Run

Stumbling through the transition area, I think vaguely, "I gotta
grab some water on the way out." Well, it was a good idea, only,
there wasn't any to grab.  Oh well.

The run course was an out-and-back along the first three miles of
the bike course.  Same beautiful views of the lake, same dappled
shade going in and out of the woods, same slightly rolling terrain,
same traffic.  Ugh.  I think the traffic wasn't quite so bad during
the run, but it's possible that I just was more out of it this time
around!

Huffing and puffing a bit, I chug on out of the transition area onto
the road.  Oh, so THIS is when the altitude really hits; I get it.
Yep.  Well, no surprise for Twinkletoes here, running was ever my
Achilles heel.  Ugh, this is gonna hurt; ok, just let it hurt for a
bit, try to relax, let your body change gears, then just see what
you can do.

99-Packets-of-Gu hauls on by me and calls again, "Have a good run!"
Uh, yeah, you too.  Gulp.  Shuffle shuffle shuffle.  Gee, ya know,
it's *HOT* out here!  Thank heaven for the shade!  We hit a gentle
downhill (remember that) for a short piece before the road levels
out a bit.  I stretch the legs and try to breathe deeply.  Having
ridden this road a number of times already, I know exactly what to
expect.  Of course, things always do look a bit different on foot
than they do on a bike.  And, of course, things always do look a bit
different 26.5 miles into a triathlon.  Why do these tiny little
hills I'm now climbing seem so *hard*???

Mile one and the first aid station, thank heaven!  I rip open my Gu
and suck it down as soon as I spy the station.  I slow to a jog
(yes, believe it or not, I *am* going a little faster than a jog)
and grab as much water as I can, throwing one cup over my head and
downing the contents of one and a half more.  20 feet past the aid
station I'm thirsty again.  groan.

The second mile is monotonously similar to the first, only, my legs
have loosened up a little, the sun is hotter, and the "rolls" seem a
little longer and a little harder.  There's a bit less shade along
here, too.  As usual, runners are passing me right and left, and I'm
also seeing the gazelles on their last mile heading for home.  Man
oh man, I am *SO* jealous of these people---they're almost done!
Me, I've got almost 5 miles left to go, and geez, isn't it hot??
Still, I muster enough energy to holler encouragement to all the
gals I see on their way in; I can't quite muster enough to do the
same for all the guys, there're just too darned many of 'em!

Mile two and the second aid station, just before the hairpin where
we turn to continue along the far side of the lake.  This time I
slow to a walk and repeat my 3-cup routine, one over the head, two
gulped down.  Feeling considerably refreshed, I pick it up again.
This time, I feel a little bit of a spring, and my stride feels more
relaxed.  Ok, here we go, this is ok, yeah.  Now, this is one of the
few races you've got this year where there's a Clydesdale division
(only here, it's called "Big Dogs"); you can do well if you *really*
try.  Just try to keep up a good steady pace; think about your arms
and your breathing.

I hit the hairpin, make the turn, and cross the street to run on the
righthand side of the road.  Some runners are doing this, others are
remaining on the left side, leaving just enough room for the
returning runners to pass by them.  Hmm, which side are we
*supposed* to be on?  There is no one here to tell us.  Well, hell,
I'll just stay right here; this road is too narrow to have runners
two-deep on one side, there's too much traffic.  The cars aren't
coming in big clumps, nor is it a steady stream, but there are
enough of them now and again that I prefer to give them plenty of
room.

I'm now trotting along the most exposed part of the course, and did
I mention that it's hot?  The longest stretch of slight uphill is
here as well, but I manage it all right.  By the time I reach the
top, however, it's clear to me that the majority of runners are
choosing to "double up" on the other side of the road.  Well, ok, if
that's how they wanna do it; I accept the de facto course of action,
figuring that at least if there's consistency in what we runners are
doing, the cars will be less distressed.  A minute after I've
crossed over ("..to the sunny side of the street...." oh, yuck!
sorry), here comes a rather large 18 wheeler.  Oh.  Oh dear.  Whoa!
Geez!  Don't mind us, buddy, don't bother to slow down or move over
or anything!  Good god, my adrenaline was already flowing freely, I
didn't need to be scared outta my wits!  This is dangerous!

Well, having survived that semi-encounter (pun intended), I spot the
mile-three marker a couple minutes later, and the turnaround point
just beyond it.  *whew* Thought I'd never get here!  Same three cup
routine at the walk, pick it up the extra hundred yards to the
turnaround and back to the aid station for three more cups of water.
Ok, here we go, you're on your way home!

I'm surprised to see how many people there are still behind me.
Well, just try to keep 'em there, girl!  The key term here is "try".
I actually pass one or two guys who have slowed to a walk in the
fourth mile.  However, just after that, I'm passed right back by the
gal I passed on the bike just out of the transition area.  "Strong
bike!" she compliments me as she runs by.  "Strong *run*!" I throw
right back at her.  Dang, I knew she'd get me.  Well, at least it
took her 3 1/2 miles to do it.

I'm fighting now, plodding.  The heat and the altitude are
merciless, and they're doing their best to break me.  I'm talking
myself through this one.  "Come on, hang on; relax your breathing,
keep your arm swing strong.  Just hold on, you've got a chance to do
well in your division, come on, don't implode." I've been straining
to spot other girls who might be Big Dogs as well, but it's pretty
iffy.  There's just no way to be sure.  That being the case, you
gotta just push as hard as you can, hang in there.

4 miles, more water.  Stop for a few seconds, make sure you drink it
*all*.  Take a deep breath, ok, onward!  Ok, now, just another 200
yards and you'll be back in a shadier part of the course.  aaaahhhh!
That helps a bit.  But ouch!  That hill does *not* help!  Plod,
plod, plod...over the top...*whew*!  Where the hell is that mile
marker?  Where is it???  Ok, ok, it can't be too much further, just
relax, keep your stride loose.  I've got Alanis Morissette running
through my head..."...and all I really want is (to stop now!  to sit
and drink some cold iced tea)....." hmmm, handy little song for
inserting your own lyrics!

Ah, look, there it is, the last aid station, yes!  I stop
completely, grab the water, guzzle it.  Walking through the end of
the station, a volunteer asks, "Do you want some over your head?"
"Yes, PLEASE!" I croak in reply.  I stand with arms stretched wide
as she empties two or three cups over me.  It feels so good, but I'm
so hot and overexerted that I start to hyperventilate from the cool
and from stopping running.  The best way to recover is to just get
going again.  "Thank you, thank you!" I gasp as I shuffle away.  Oh,
that's better, I can breathe again.  Weird!

There's actually a little more than a mile after the aid station.
As has become customary on this run, I feel *much* better for the
first couple hundred yards after the aid station.  Then the pain
sets in again.  Ok, ok, you're in the last mile, now just keep it
going.  I know that the toughest "hill" on the run is before me, but
after that, there's less than a quarter mile to the finish.  Just
hang on!

That hill...oh, that hill.  Y'know, out on a training run, the thing
would be nothing, just a little bump, honest.  It's not even worthy
of the label "hill", it's no more than a gentle rise.  However,
right here and right now, it is a hill.  Therefore, it gets the
standard hill treatment:  slow to a crawl, swing the arms
deliberately (well, as much as you *can* any more), and fly through
those powerful 6-inch strides.  Yeah.

O-o-o-o-o-oh-oh-o-over the t-t-top.......  God, that hurt!  Ok,
recover a little bit, 'cause you've only got a few hundred yards
more, and you want to try to finish strong.  Around the bend and
down the slight slope; there's the resort parking lot, there's the
crowd, there's the finish line!  God, can you breathe enough??  Can
you turn those legs over?  Can you actually squeeze a sprint out of
these parboiled legs and lungs?  Try!  C'mon, rev it up, go through
the gears, GO!  Over the line!!!!

Somewhere I hear Skippy screaming to me, "Under an hour, girl!  You
kept the run under an hour!" I don't care, gimme some WATER!!!  I
stumble through the crowd to find the WATER.  Wow, look at that, I'm
not even sweating.  Uh oh.  Gimme LOTS o' water!  And oranges, yeah,
I'll take some of those too!

Afterward:

Final time:  3:01:23.  And I did indeed keep the run under an hour,
by the whopping margin of 9 seconds!  Hey, I'm not proud, I'll take
it!  My bike split was 8th out of all the women, which really makes
me happy 'cause there was so much climbing on this course.  I'm a
strong cyclist, but not when the road goes *up*!  The race director
included an apology with the final results for the swim being 500
meters too long!!  That made me feel much better about both my swim
time and my overall time (I was bummed going over 3 hours on an
Olympic distance course).

After chatting with Hillary for a while and hearing about her
hamstring, I returned to the transition area to pack up my gear and
clean up a bit.  Then Skip and I headed to the upper parking lot for
the awards barbecue.  I must say, the pre-race pasta fest and the
awards barbecue included as part of the race entry were a big plus
for this race.  Good food at both!

Well, after chowing down, there was nothing left to do but *wait*.
And *wait*.  And wait a little more.  A mediocre band started
playing oldies music WAY too loud.  They were s-s-s-l-l-owly getting
results posted, bit by bit, on the large sign a few steps away from
our table.  It took FOREVER before they got to the Women's Big Dogs.
Skippy and I took turns traipsing over to the board to fight the
crowd and see if I was listed yet.  I was starting to get *really*
cranky.  There was no shade in this blasted parking lot, and guess
what?  It was hot.  And I was tired.  And here comes Skippy, back
from her latest trip to the board, and....wait, she has a smile on
her face.  What, what is it??

"Congratulations, babe, you got first!"

All right!!!  I'm the Number One Big Dog!!!!  Wow!!!!!   PSYCHE!!!

I was excited, but I was also HOT.  No doubt I was quite dehydrated;
I hadn't stopped drinking water since I'd finished, but I was still
feeling a bit woozy.  And still they weren't starting the awards
ceremony.  And that *&^(^%& band is so bleeping LOUD (and not very
good)!  I press my hands tightly over my ears to block the noise out
for a few seconds.  Ooops......that little effort practically made
me pass out.  All right, I *have* to get in some shade.  But there
is *NO* way I'm going to miss picking up my first First Place award!

Desperation is the mother of ingenuity.  There was nothing nearby to
provide shade, except....  I'll take it.  Skippy subsequently got
several pictures of yours truly sprawled under the boat parked in
the lot next to our table.  Yeah, yeah, a bunch of people there
thought it was funny too, but I didn't care!  It sure beat passing
out from heat stroke.

To add insult to injury, when they finally DID start the awards, I
was desperately in need of using the Port-a-John.  There seemed to
be hundreds of relay team awards.  God, come ON.  Ok, now
individuals, age groups, finally!  Women's Big Dogs:  "Oh, there
seems to be some trouble with the results for this division.  We'll
continue with the other divisions 'til we get it straightened out."

I have never been closer to experiencing an apoplectic fit.

Well, in the end, I got my award, I got to the Port-a-John, and I
did not pass out from heat stroke.  But I tell ya, it was a toss-up
which was the greater test of endurance:  the race or the awards
barbecue!

Finis.