the guy in the white hat

So I've probably spilled most of the gory details of the events of SoMa as they played out for me. I still think I need to fill in some gaps - for posterity, and partly because I need to say some stuff.

It's my blog, I'll do what I want to.

In spite of my nervousness about my ITB issues, I wasn't exactly nervous going into this race. Which is weird for me, 'cos normally I am a basketcase. Things seemed to fall into place in a weirdly OK way. I left my bike with Go-Go, who graciously brought it to Tempe for me. I packed all my stuff, got on a plane and came over. I was a leetle bit stressed about packing. I always pack with the theory that whatever I forget I can buy later if I absolutely have to, but still, there are some things that a girl does not want two of...like a helmet. or a wetsuit.

Mostly I remembered everything that I needed, including nutrition, bottles, clothes, goggles.

I managed to find 21st Century Mom and everyone else in town in rather an impromptu way - on a street corner. I love that I recognized everyone on sight - I know so much about every one of these people, and yet I have never met any of them in person or so much as talked to them on the phone (except for 21cm, 'cos that's how we sushi twins roll). And yet, I knew didn't need to feel shy, they're not really strangers. They took the time to explain themselves to the world, I took the time to read all about them and get to know them.

It's really great how well everyone has explained themselves. There is no pretense. I could sense how genuine my company was. That's the beauty of blogging, I have found. I get what I give. I wrote about me honestly, they wrote about them honestly. I was in the company of people who have nothing to hide.

Except for the pseudonym thing. I think that was a little confusing for some. And certainly, nobody knows why I write as a Pirate.

I guess that will have to remain one of life's little mysteries.

We had a fantastic pre-race blogger outlaw dinner on Saturday. There was more food, more chat. Time ran out before I was ready to go home, but there was sleep to be had and stuff to be arranged.

By triathlon standards, I got to transition late on Sunday morning - about 5:45. Our wave, the slow old lady wave, wasn't due to leave port until 7:30. Technically this is plenty of time. But then, they announced that transition would close at 6:45 - suddenly I was rushed. Didn't they say they'd close transition at 7:15? WTF? I'm generally a forgiving person - I chalk this up as a minor thing. I tell myself I'm a strong athlete, I can deal with these little things. It's no big deal.

I hung out with Outlaws and gave my last goodbyes to my blogger friends, who were so sweet, so reassuring. NOW I was starting to get nervous. Commodore said, "You're a Pirate. Water is your element."

Huh. I guess I need to own my persona.

Early in the swim I had my freakout. It never seems to matter that I've done it before, that I've swum that distance a bajillion times, I freaked shortly after takeoff. I fought my panic, I fought a strong urge to quit the race and go home. I kept swimming. Water was cold and tasted like lake.

The course seemed long. I'm told that people who are more experienced than me thought the course was long. In talking about it afterward, we thought the course was weird. Coming back toward the East, most of the swimmers seemed to follow a path between the 3rd archway under the bridge - but I and others I knew cut to the right pretty far. I was probably far off course.

I should note that they said reassuring things like "plenty of buoys" and "counter-clockwise swim" in the pre-race meeting, so the whole thing had changed by the time I got into the water. I'm generally a forgiving person - I chalk these up as minor things. I tell myself I'm a strong athlete, I can deal with these little things.

They hauled us out of the water (they mentioned stadium steps at the pre-race meeting? where were they?) and Comms peeled off my wetsuit like a pro. Don't let that man tell you he doesn't know anything about stripping - Commodore is a professional Stripper. Or should be.

Swim time: a pathetic 55 and something. Nothing to write home about.

I still had to pee. I had to use the danged porta potties - I couldn't pee while I was swimming! This is something I can't exactly practice in the pool. Except the porta-potties were outside transition, and outside the lane from swim to transition. So I had to break out of transition to go pee. T1 was a really long 5 and something.

The bike was the part I was most looking forward to on this course. All year long, I heard flat and fast. I could smell a bike PR. The turn-arounds would undoubtedly slow me down, but that seemed minor compared with the flat and fast part. Having driven most of the course the day before, I had determined that it wasn't all flat and fast, but certainly do-able.

Off I went into the wind out of transition. Immediately I picked up that Suzy wasn't shifting right. The shifting was iffy, and wouldn't stay. This was not how Dave and I had tuned her - she was perfect when I left the shop. Perfect. Flawless. I figured at some point, I'd have an opportunity to stop, and I could maybe loosen up the derailleur cable a little. Or something.

I did notice a lot of drafting - by pros and non-pros. I did notice a few vehicles on the course who I thought were rolling SAG - two of them in a row. I thought well, that's good to know. I also noticed that the traffic was really busy - especially at intersections. This was not at all what I expected - I expected the road to be pretty well closed to car traffic. Even so, I saw a few cars wander on to the course. Between the twitchy shifting and the traffic, I got a little nervous. I held back. But, I chalk these up as minor things. I tell myself I'm a strong athlete, I can deal with these little things. I decided that the first loop was going to be the test loop - I'd let it rip on the 2nd and 3rd loop.

About 12 miles into the course - maybe less, I'm not sure, I race naked - is the only real hill on the course. I downshifted (big ring up front) to make it up the hill and suddenly a horrible noise came from the rear. I pedaled a few more strokes just to get my balance - the tension was hard, then soft, then stopped completely, and then I clipped out. At first I thought Oh crap, I've lost the chain, no big deal. I leaned over to put the chain back on.

Oh crap. why can't I get slack in the chain?

Oh crap.

I had shifted the chain right off the biggest gear in the back and it was now wrapped around the wheel. The links of the chain were trapped between the spokes and the rivets of the cassette cog. I pulled, I pried. Someone at the side of the course offered to help. I took them up on it. He held my bike while I pulled and pried. I loosened the wheel - the chain came with it. I got out my tire tools - I could not pry the chain out. I got greasier and greasier - to no avail.

So I hiked my bike to the top of the hill - I decided that I would have to wait for help. The top of the hill seemed like the most visible place to be. There was an aid station below - but it was for the run. I had a feeling they didn't have anyone there who could help. I thought, I have seen two SAG wagons - they'll come soon.

My team-mates passed, they asked if I needed help. I told them to find the support and send them back. They said, OK. Other racers who passed me said they'd go find support and send them back.

Some of my team-mates stopped. They asked if I needed tools. I said, do you have a cassette tool? Nobody carries a cassette tool with them on a race. They promised to seek help and send it back. And I am pretty sure they followed through with that.

Wiz passed me - do you need help? Of course - but call someone and send them back. Mighty passed me. Geekgirl passed. Other racers I knew. All of them said, I'll get help.

I stood for awhile, and I thought, this is down to bad luck and poor circumstances. If SAG comes really soon, I'll be able to salvage my race. It won't be too bad. Lots of people have called for help - and I can deal with these little things. They'll come along soon, and then I'll be on my way.

So I kept waiting. For maybe another 45 minutes or so. Shit happens, I thought. This sucks. Is there anything else I could be doing? No, that wheel wouldn't turn. I wasn't going anywhere. If I was going anywhere, I'd have to hoist my bike over my shoulder and hike in my bike shoes Cyclocross style. Even if I gave up my race, I'd need to get a ride back to transition.

Wiz stopped. Bring me your bike, let's try something. And he pulled on that chain with plenty of force. It was not coming out. He tried to help - no such luck. Go race, I said. Go get your ride.

I was starting to add it up. How long had I been off? What time was it? This was looking grim. Should I just go home? Was it worth it to continue?

Wiz passed again and said, "DO NOT QUIT. DON'T. YOU WILL GET ON YOUR BIKE AND GO. YOU WILL NOT QUIT." Well, that settles it. Wiz says I can't quit, so I guess I'll go as long as they let me.

Too bad I can't go right now.

Then a cop on a motorcycle came. Whew - now I might be able to get back on the road! He said, do you need help? I said absolutely - is there a support truck? He said, "Oh sure. They're like unicorns. You hear about them, but they don't really exist." Thanks dude. He called on his radio for a support. There was no answer from anyone. He hung out with me for awhile. He got out his Giant Cop Knife, in an attempt to pry my chain loose.

Um, no - it still wasn't coming off.

The cop had to go suddenly, and he left with a sudden engine rev. I thought, he'll find someone and send them back. I won't be here much longer.

It may have been about then that Bolder showed up. Bolder of all people - who I'd met in person for the first time yesterday. He said, "what's a pirate doing out here?" He stops. Do you want some help?

Sure.

He gets off his bike. That chain really is stuck. He gets tools out. Chain still really stuck. He manages to free one link - which is more than anyone else managed to do. He says, I can't fix this, I'll go get help. He leaves me his water bottle.

By this time I assume that pretty much every athlete on the course has gone for help for me, they've all lapped me twice as I stood there. I figure the SoMa Gods have left me for dead.

Bless him, he tried too.

I was starting to believe I was doomed to stand here for the rest of the day. I was totally rudderless, I didn't know what to do. I was slowly dehydrating, cooking away in the sun. I had given up even trying to compensate for the break in racing - I gave up eating. I just gave up.

I think it was about then that I realized that I might actually not get to ride anymore. All my training would be flushed down the toilet. All that time, energy, passion. Gone. I worked so hard to get here, and for what?

And that's where I really lost it. I leaned over my saddle and cried. I was standing there like a tool, baking in the sun, totally impotent. I am a cryathlete. I'm not strong, I don't care anymore.

It was about then that a guy on a bicycle shows up - with tools. Bolder is trailing him. I said, are you the support guy? He says yeah - but he's not supposed to be there. Huh? Bolder hangs for a little while, and then goes. I'm good now - go run your race - thank you.

I think it took me awhile before I realized what he had done - he'd actually made the guy come to me. It turns out that several people had mentioned to the Landis support station that I was back there, stranded, but he wasn't allowed to leave. He was supposed to stay there. Weird. Somehow, Bolder had talked him into leaving his post. He'd borrowed somebody's mountain bike and hoofed it down.

He still didn't have the tools. He said, I'm going to go get the right tools, and I'll be right back.

sure you will.

No really, he was - he came back with a danged cassette tool. Didn't I say it needed a cassette tool? I can't remember - did Bolder stick around for this too? It gets fuzzy here...

He got the cassette off, un-wedged the chain, and re-tightened it. He made it work, but it made a horrible racket. He sent me up the road to his support spot where he said he'd fix it better. Ride slow, don't push, he says. And then he laps me - on the 50 lb mountain bike - up the hill. My ankles are swollen by now.

He fixes it for frictionless shifting at the turnaround. He makes it so the chain can't get to the biggest cog - so at least that won't happen anymore. They say, "at least you'll finish" and then I explain to them that I've been waiting all morning - I had been on my first lap.

Oh. Crap.

I got on, and hammered - as best I could. I got through lap one and continued on to lap two. I started lapping people who were finishing their last lap . I stopped at mile 20-something and asked the time. 11:40. Cutoff is 12:15.

I won't make the cutoff.

Fuckit. I'm going to ride 'till they make me stop.

So I did.

Going into lap 3, the course was closed. The guy at the bike course exit was perplexed - he didn't know what to do. He said, go find the race director and talk to him. I went to transition and asked the timer guy where the RD was. The timer guy said, no, I have to take your chip. Sorry.

I went into transition and started packing everything. I was really angry. My plan was simple: I would just take all my things and get on the shuttle and go to the airport. My flight wasn't until 8:45, but I could use this as an opportunity to get a head start on some quality sulk time. I wanted to run far away from Soma and never come back.

I called my husband. He was empathetic. It's just a race. You'll do other races. He put one of my daughters on the phone, and she said, "You're my best Mommy."

Oh, perspective. Who cares about my stupid race, I have a family I love, and they love me.

Then it dawned on me - wait a minute, I came here for my friends. Screw this stupid race, I'm going to go watch my friends come in. That's why I came. That's why I'm here.

I left my stuff and called Momo and started walking. Everyone would be on the run, I could go watch them come in and cheer them on. I saw Momo and couldn't explain. Then Stronger. Then 21st Century Mom.

I sat. I cried. I told my story. I watched and cheered as everyone came in. Nytro greeted by Benny. All my Outlaws. Comms and Duane.

Wiz had probably killed at least 10 minutes of his race helping me. I walked with him on the course. He was genuinely upset to have to leave me there, couldn't believe the state of my chain. It's OK - I said. Thank you for trying. Now go run your race. Go have fun.

And Bolder - finally.

Then I realized how far I had put him behind in his race. They'd been waiting for him all day - and he'd sacrificed his race to help me. Helping me had added about a half hour to his race. He was melting in the heat and still had a sense of humour.

People don't do that. But he did. There was nothing in it for him - but he did it. Would I have done the same? For these people, I think yes.

What do you say when somebody does that?

You say Thank You.

So I did.

And I am.

The rest of the details? It's just details. The thing I'll remember most is the person who was so selfless on the day to a person he barely knew. And the person who stopped on the course because he felt it was the right thing to do - who shouted encouragement at me when I was ready to quit. And the other people who were there to comfort me, talk me out of the trees, be real with me. Laugh with me.

These are the kinds of people I want in my life.

These are the kind of people I want as friends.

And really, that's the most important part of my whole race.

Thank you. I don't have all the words to describe my gratitude. I only hope that I have the honor of giving it back when you need it and you least expect it. Payback is cool that way.