Worth it? This is a small beach town 70.3 known for it's stunning ocean view course. It is a smaller half ironman event, so doesn't have a crazy large expo or any notable perks. The swim is around the pier with lower Pacific water temps, making the open water wetsuit mandatory. Beach to transition distance is mostly asphalt and stone pavement without a tarp, so it can be a little rough on the feet especially because the in between is about 1000 meters. Bike mount is pretty narrow, but quickly kicks the athletes out on rolling hills on the Pacific Crest Highway or Highway 1. Athletes battle head winds on the way out, but get the nice tailwinds coming back. I absolutely loved the bike course. Road can be a little rough at parts. The run is super exposed on asphalt, unsheltered from the ocean winds. Again, undulating hills for most the run. Athletes frolic (or struggle) for a couple miles on the lookout point, which is a trail run around the turnaround halfway point. Coming back, athletes climb and descend again before hitting the last downhill which ends with a sand run finish. Tough course, definitely. Worth it, yes.

I knew I was going to do Santa Cruz 70.3 some time. It was a familiar place and basically my backyard from where I grew up in the Bay. This was my Homecoming.

Leading up to the race, I was really dragging through the mud. A month before I was on the brink of burnout. A week before I was recovery from a cold. A couple days before I got mild food poisoning and was sleeping it off for 20 hours in a hotel room on a business trip.

Having pounded my body traveling and racing Ironman Taiwan, New Zealand, and Cairns within the last 11 months, physically I was fit and fatigued. Recognition was the first step to strategize management. I just needed to shed all the mental muck off before toeing the start line.

My main goal was to enjoy my return to California racing and ease back into racing. I loosely gave myself timing goals sub 40 minute swim, 3 hour bike, and 2 hour half marathon. Again, I was out there chasing my shadowing, basically racing against myself. The bigger picture for me was Kona or Ironman World Championships a few weeks after Santa Cruz 70.3.

Race day went semi-swimmingly. Ocean was calm with high visibility in the morning. Expansive blue skies and sun was already beaming. I dipped into the water for warmup for some icy shock therapy. At least, this way, swim entry wouldn't be as jarring. Two cannons went off, signaling pro men and pro women start. Then, I patiently waited, slotted in the 40-43 minute section. Volunteers had to funnel everyone into a 5 lane metered start. It took about 30 minutes before I was bounding off the beach, diving head first into the salty water.

Engage the core, catch and pull with power, and swim smooth into a rhythm were the thoughts running through my mind. I was breathing every two strokes, which meant I was rotating my head around maybe a little too many times and may have compromised my form a bit, but the pace felt good. The got the sense I was passing more people than usual and when I stood up onto the sand bank with the swim exit arch a few meters ahead, my watch showed just under 38 minutes. But no time to waste, as I walked off the sea legs then bolted straight to the wetsuit stripping and strode towards transition.

Helmet on and sunglasses on, I was corralled into the narrow lane towards bike mount. This was super sketchy as the barricades only allowed 2-3 bikes across. I slid my foot into my shoes which were mounted onto my pedals and felt the snap of the rubber bands that were holding that my shoes leveled. I saw the Wattie Elite stripped-navy kit ahead of me and cheered my teammate on.

Since my mandate was to ride conservatively, I wanted to get to the turnaround point before opening the legs up. I also knew I would be hitting the headwinds going out on Highway 1. The rollers were a blast and I felt I was cruising up the shorts climbs and tucking into aero position on the descends. I was having so much fun, that it wasn't until mile 16 when I saw my shadow that I realized both back bottles had flown off. I calculated I had enough backup nutrition on my bike, but needed to refuel at at least 2 aids stations for water. It wasn't the plan going into the race, but the saving grace was 1) I didn't lose all my nutrition and 2) worst case, I knew I could ride a half ironman bike course being slightly energy deficit.

The route came with the usual minor frustrations with riders that didn't understand bike etiquette, failing to ride to the right or male riders that couldn't let a female pass them. Overall, I was gawking at the beautiful beach course. On the return trip, it was the ocean below the cliffs, open road, and me happy to be whipping my new ice blue Quintana Roo PR5.

Coming closer to the village, I lost my last front hydration bottle. I was trying to pass a lady on the left and went onto the white line in the middle of the road. Unfortunately, the center line had square cut divots by design and my $70 front bottle flew out. It seemed more dangerous for me to stop in the middle of the road, but maybe I could've. I guess I saved a couple watts with the sheded weight.

Onto the run, the sun was beaming down and I was slightly dehydrated. It was blistering hot and windy (or maybe I imagined it). The run starts off with straight uphill, my legs were still spinning at this time and some Wattie cheering squad definitely screamed "move that ass" as I gave them a half smile.

I pounded some asphalt out and was met with rolling and rolling hills. My heart rate was through the roof and I was trying to stay controlled and settle. Relax and kick, relax and kick was the mantra I kept repeating to myself. From past heat experience that turned out poorly, I was cognizant that I needed to keep my core temp down.

A couple miles in, a girl in my age group ran past me and I knew I had to let it go. I wouldn't be able to throw down for another 10 miles and rationalized that this was a tune up race.

And the run was brutal. The hills were forever and just when I thought I was close to the turnaround, I was thrown into a maze of trail running. It felt like being blown lost on the lookout.

I finally cleared the dirt and wind and started headed back. My upper body went numbed and I shuffled along. I mentally distracted myself by trying to gauge how many miles were left versus what my eyes were perceiving as I slogged back.

Then the barricades started to look more familiar and I felt the downhill push me along. I knew the last couple meters were a sand finish. I was yearning for the finish line and prepared for the change in terrain and sensation under my feet. At the last turn, I kicked into whatever strong finish I could muster.

And it hurt. I mean everything did. But I was greeted by some of my closest friends. It was a sweaty, blistering, salty finished as I completed my homecoming. Always good to be back home.

Worth it? Taupo, New Zealand has a long history of hosting Ironman. The town breathes this triathlon event and locals come out in full force. The event had by far the best volunteers I’ve ever encountered. The race centers around Lake Taupo, a crystal clear, fresh water lake. Flood gates are closed during he 1 loop 3800m swim, but there is still a little bobbing, although most of up and down motion is mitigated by the route which is perpendicular to the currents. To T1 the run is long through the boat dock parking lot and there is a full flight of stairs before the green. Bike is 2 loops out and backs towards the farmland. Most notable are the rolling hills, tailwind out and headwind back, and the bumpy road conditions. Run is 3 loops along the lake front with a lot of elevation and downhill for an Ironman. The run is pretty exposed, but throughout the whole time spectators line the streets and cheer you on. Ultimately, you run down one of the best non-worlds gauntlet I’ve experienced to date.

2019 brought around a lot of changes. I dived head first into building a relationship with a coach. It was time for me to entrust someone else with the larger picture and dial into my day to day execution. With the new year, I joined Purple Patch and Matt Dixon’s coaching philosophy. I had a protracted timeline before my first big Ironman this season. Within 2 months I had to get to know my coach, get my bike fit, buy my first TT bike, figure out what gear I was missing, and train for Ironman New Zealand. Fast forward, I was still grasping the cadence and communication lines with my coach as I was getting my logistics pat down for travel in a few weeks time.

A couple weeks before the race and upon opening the athlete guide, I had my first freak out. There we 8 girls in my age group. Almost too much of a coincidence, one of my competitors followed me on Instagram during the same time and added fuel to my freak out sess. Ugg social media these days.

I was also expecting my new old TT bike to show up. I decided to buy a second hand TT bike as I have a really long torso (which also means I have short legs) and apparently only fit on 1 bike on the mass market. After scouring the forums for deals, I settled on a Trek Speed Concept from the now defunked Timex Team. It was a beautiful pearl 2018 frame with navy accents. I paid and decided to buy the shipping label with insurance up to the 2nd hand price I paid because the seller didn’t seem to really understand the necessity of insuring over the amount. He mentioned it was still under his property insurance. I should’ve pushed harder.

Upon purchasing, I was out of town and had to manage the logistic of making sure the bike was shipped out and that it then made it to my bike fitter. Chasing down 2 parties ended being difficult as the box arrived at the bike fitter shop right before he was leaving for a trip. My fitter called me after a couple days of me chasing him down. He had major concerns about the condition the box arrived in. One side was completely crushed, but he wouldn’t know for sure until he assembled the bike. I waited 7 days in agony. He returned to New York City to build the bike and I was running out of time only about 1.5 weeks out from leaving for New Zealand. My fitter mentioned that at first glance, the impact didn’t seem to hit the central part of the bike. I felt like I had some hope. After the frame was built, he then called me to break the news. The bike was completely unusable. In other words, he would not let anyone ride this bike, even with a carbon repair. Bikeflights/Fedex basically threw the box off a trunk, crushing the backend of the box. Their mishandling cracked the rear triangle and because the rear triangle takes a lot of load, even a repair doesn’t fix the compromised structural integrity of the bike. This was the TT I needed to race. I was absolutely devastated. To make matters worse, when I contacted the seller for pre-packing pictures and property insurance. He proved his negligence and didn’t take the photos of the bike in the box pre-shipment that I explicitly asked for beforehand. I was fuming as that was a completely rookie mistake, almost non-excusable as he was very well situated in the triathlon community.

I realized my best supporter was my fitter, who felt really bad about the luck I had. He knew Bikeflights had already destroyed another bike a year beforehand. He did his best to provide the market value to help me claim the insurance. Of course, that was a lot of time and energy and after the fact I wished I insured it up to the MSRP, rather then the price I paid.

Well, nothing I could do, so I beg my fitter to slot in an appointment to get me refitted on my road bike with aero bars. I didn’t have any other options. This race may not be willled.

The nice icing on the cake was that none of my necessary packages arrived either. Aero helmet missed delivery promise and tubes and nutrition got lost in the mail. Just my luck.

Woossssahh. Motto of this race was definitely control what you can control.

Off I went to New Zealand. The trip was 30 hours of travel tome to get to Taupo, New Zealand. I would fly 15 hours from JFK to Hong Kong to redevouz with my mom. We would then fly 10 hours from Hong Kong to Auckland.

The drive from Auckland to Taupo we broke into two parts, stopping halfway in Te Kuiti. My mother, who I see a couple times a year, had our heart to hearts early on in the trip. I had my short learning curve of driving on the left side of the road and roundabouts. There were some missed turns and hitting the wipers instead of the signal button, but I got the hang of it within the first couple hours.

My first impression of North Island was that the scenery was very similar to middle California. I felt right at home. I wanted to see the Waitomo glowworms, hence the 1 night pitstop, but after so much travel I wanted to just enjoy the Airbnb I booked. It was a cute cottage with a back garden and antiques strewn around. The closet town definitely represented the country side. We had a brief, pleasant stay with nicely decorated rooms, homemade muffins, and fresh eggs.

The next morning we headed off towards Taupo. Most the drive was rolling hills and single track highways. I did get pulled over by the NZ police for driving too slow on the highway, which definitely was my introduction to NZ driving. I honestly didn’t know the speed limit (I’m American, not sure how fast I’m going in kilometer) and traffic was nonexistent. The cop was super nice and just let me know to speed up a bit.

Pulling into Taupo, I rounded the last hill and see the massive lake. This town was spectacular. The Ironman M Dot banners were already up. Town central was a shopping center with a bunch of shops and restaurants.

My mom and I checked into Garage-mahal or the temporary garage space we would be living in for the next week. Not without some mishap as I parked in the driveway next door and seemed like I was breaking into the house, until the owner pulled up and kindly let me know it was the house next door.

The next couple days were meticulously planned out: drop off bike to be built, get a massage, pick up registration packet, and slot in my needed workouts. Most notable for race prep was a Women for Tri breakfast with a handful of pros. I had a great time speaking to the other female age-groupers that made up ~20% of the ironman competitors. It was also a female centric event with almost all female attendees.

I felt in the flow and just waited for race morning.

There was a calmness to race morning. Not a frenetic as Taiwan for sure. I shuffled into transition to prepare my bike. Somehow lost my mom during the herds of people, so I opted to head towards swim start.

I was appropriately greeted by the haka dance to sanction the race. To bless us warriors on the journey ahead. It was a ceremonious morning, although I was pretty nervous about the mass start in Lake Taupo. When I finally got into the water, I positioned myself as far from the swim line as possible to take a diagonal path to the first buoy.

And the cannon went off. The water was fresh and clear. It was calm enough that I barely needed to sight as I just kept swimming. Out of the water, there was quite a distance to back to T1. Unfortunately, the path makes me climb a full flight of stairs to enter transition.

In and out with the bike I went. I knew I was behind as usually from the swim, so I started pushing to a good effort on the bike. Going out on the first loop, tailwinds inflated my speed on the bike and I was getting my muscles loose for the ride. I was a little wary of left IT stinginess, but hope I could ride it out. Once I whipped around the turn around, the rolling hill landscape was less forgiving. I came head onto a headwind and just pedaled to keep momentum. 3 hours later, I went through a series of turns and merges to go back onto my second loop. This time knowing a bit more what to expect from the elements.

After 6 hours on the bike, I finally got off and hobbled my way through T2 and onto the run. I tried pushing through transition, as hey it's free speed. And I felt great on the run. The run was another series of rolling hills. It was an extremely exposed out on the asphalt then looping back along a walkway towards town. After the first couple miles, I'm faced this big hill then do some hopscotching up and down hills through the first loop.  I was trying to stay steady the whole run, but was already pounding coke and water pretty early into the marathon.

I hit the marathon wall partly through my third lap. My skin stun from all the sun exposure and achiness and mental fatigue set in. I zeroed in on putting one step in front of another and leaning into the cheering from the crowd in New Zealand. They came out in full force with cheering pots and pans, little kids dressed up and giving high fives, along with non-sanctioned aid stations. I just kept my head up and kept moving, walking the uphills and aid stations when I needed to.

By the time I rounded into the gauntlet for the finish line, I figured I was mid-pack given how many girl that I guess were in my age-group that I passed on the bike and run. I bolted down the red carpet in arguably the best gauntlet experience ever. The speakers were on full blast as Mike Reilly shouted, "You are an Ironman!"

I still figured I finished mid-pack as my mom mentioned she saw some younger looking girls finish before me. When I asked for my phone, I was confused why everyone was talking about Kona and Hawaii. I thought, "but I didn't get the slot allocation." I asked my mom for the tracker and when I pulled it up it showed 1 out of 5. I was screaming and yelling in disbelief as I said, "Oh my gawd, I'm going to Hawaii!"

Worth it? I would have loved for Taiwan to put on a phenomenal Ironman, but the quality was far from what the brand entails. This smaller Ironman is only worth it, if you are strategizing for a Kona bid. The venue is a small fishing island off the coast of Taiwan. The company that put on the event did not seem to understand the scope of what an Ironman event should be. Event staff were not on the same page. I’m dualingo and the transition walkthroughs are murky at best; more confusing than just reading the athlete guide at worse. During race day, restrooms are few. There were 2 male and 2 female restrooms in T1 and a couple on the run course. Temples, connivence stores, or the great outdoors are your best bet, but foreigners would have no idea of the cultural norms. Road are supposed to be partially closed, but actually completely opened. The police force isn’t super attentive and I almost got hit by a car 3 times. Volunteers are dragged out of the local university, disgruntled about manning their post for hours (though those the aid stations ones were pretty good). The worst is the route signage are insufficient and not intuitive. Outside of the things the event organizers could control, the race is death by wind gusts and out and backs. The swim was supposed to be 2 loops, but was cut short because of dangerous wind condition. The bike is around the whole island with a double loop section at kilometers 60 and 120. You run the run course 4 times but feels like 8 loops as it was concentric loops that made you pass same point 16 times. The views are really phenomenal if you can spare a moment of focus trying not to get blown over. All and all know what you are getting yourself into.

I signed up for Ironman Taiwan to race for a Kona bid and it was quite a short turn around to last minute sign up and race within 2 months. I’ve raced four 5150 olympic distances and one half ironman within half a year, but it was still quite a jump. Fast twitch muscles and constant grinding ask the body to do different things.

My mom was captain of this whole escapade. She planned a family reunion around my race. Her friends were my all star support crew. They rode mopeds to take my mom and me around on Penghu. My mom and aunt booked out a whole airbnb, bought everyone’s flights, and got the time table of everyone’s arrival and departure. My mom was also the main contact for borrowing my friend’s TT bike and bike box and meeting up to grab everything. We rode out the back and forth and snafus along the way. Up until the day we were supposed to pick up the bike, my friend was did not provide clear indication as to where the bike was or whether she was back from her Xterra race. I also assumed boating allowed me to keep an eye on the bike at all times where as plane would incur higher risk. Luggage handlers are rarely careful in the states. I ended up being completely mistaken. Luckily, high winds threatening to halt all boats which forced us to switched our travel method to plane. This saved us time and money traveling another hour south to board a boat, but then incurred a very frustrating bike packing incident. To assure my friend that her basically untouched bike would be okay, we agreed to get a shop of her choice to pack the bike. I know how to break down a bike, just haven’t packed up the Liv Avow TT. I didn’t communicate this in a manner for it to be well received. After finding someone willing to fit me on the bike really last minute, the very next day, we took the bike to get packed at a shop my friend used to frequent. THE MAN HAD NO IDEA HOW TO PACK THE BIKE. He was reading the manual the whole 2 hours we were there. Spoiler alert: after much anxiety we got the bike, got it fitted and packed, and got on a plane, made it to Penghu. 😪

The first moment I wasn’t trying to scramble and close enough to the race that I had no excuse not to know my number and read the athlete guide, I had major freak out, realizing the other 3 girls in my age group had pretty solid stats. My internal monologue was I wasn't fast enough, I didn't train hard enough, I'm not sure I'm going to accomplish what I set out to do. I wasn't enough. It was a wave of emotions mixed between anxiety and anger. My heart started racing and has no words to explain my frustration. It was super difficult to explain my mom and friends the training load put into increasing distancing at the rate I did within half a year. I flew all the way to Taiwan for the best chance at this slot. It was within my reach but I had to swim my fastest, bike well, and run.

I finally calmed down, leaning into how grateful and blessed I was to be racing. I was healthy, young, and had a great support team. I had to soak up every moment of it. Once that passed, I was completely focused on pre race mentality.

Leading up to the race is where the last shake out swim, run, and bike happens and the final mental commitments are made. I got a chance to take the TT out for a spin on the main island and get two jogs in. Once in Penghu, we checked into a 3 story airbnb with multiple rooms to house my extended family. I stocked the kitchen with bare sustenance. One of the mornings, I decided to do my own pre-race undies run in this small fishing town. Haha no, just kidding. I ran down the streets in my one piece swim wear for a run-swim-run but because of cultural differences, I might as well have been running down the street naked. My last long ride to preview part of the course was hot and windy. Weather forecast was supposed to be even more windy race day. I decided to go with the Adidas Ultra Boost, Giro Empires with elastic laces (not clipped in), and bikini shorts and sport bra instead of the wetsuit. Water was warm, crystal blue, and choppy both days I jumped in. I decide to go without a rear bottle cage because it wasn’t worth the impulse buy; it would be an inconvenience but I could make it work. I was working with a front cage bottle that would consistently be refueled and a reserve bottle on the frame.

The morning of the wind was already howling. I dropped off a frozen bottle at T2 and then headed to T1 to set up the rest of my stuff. Walking towards GuanYiTing the cove and bridge where the swim would take place was a sight to see. The bridge and park area had neon lights illuminating the night scene. As I padded back and forth along the transition path that was being nailed down, I made the game time decision of wearing my wetsuit. The chop was pretty bad in the water and I needed to survive 3800m. Just as I headed back to the swam of people near swim start, the announcers broadcasted that there was a special announcement: due to high winds, the swim has been shortened to 400m. That’s a huge difference! The section between swim exit and T1 was longer than the swim. The organizers needed time to pull the course line back in, so race start was pushed back. I didn't really register or have emotions towards the announcement, as I was zoning out external stimuli to focus on the race. But the shortened swim was in my favor, as I am not a strong swimmer. I guess I could've gone without the wetsuit, but I already made the decision to put my neoprene on and had my bib shorts underneath. I would just have to deal with the extra transition time.

After warm up, the pros were off and we were crammed like sardine into the queue. Originally, the rolling start based on expected completion times was split into 3 zones. With the swim shortened, I couldn’t gauge exactly how fast people around me were. Basically impossible to put myself with people I could draft off of. The volunteers were also letting people in 2 by 2 into the water, as the entrance was down a set of concrete stairs. Unfortunately, I picked wrong section and the men that dove into the water with me were doggy paddling and swimming breaststroke. I swam around them only to have sea water seeped into one goggle. One eye handicapped, the double left turns back toward shore had lines going all over the place. Atlas, my swim route was not optimal.

I came up a set of stairs then ran up a hill and continued along the red mat, long and straight into transition. I tried going in and out the changing tent fast, but I was soaking wet. Socks were on wet feet. As I ran to my bike with my cycling shoes in tow, my feet picked up some debris before going into my cycling shoe. Wet soles, socks, then soil...this is a bad recipe.

I pushed the bike to the mount line, clipped in, and was off. Within the first 20 minutes, I got caught between 3 cars and made a face of disbelief to a volunteer. Once out of the city, I was biking out on the open road. I stuck with the aero position for most the ride. Cept for the other 2 close calls when the police officer didn’t make an asserted effort to halt oncoming cars. I was decently comfortable on the Liv Avow TT bike. The long distance seat was sightly wider than my pelvic bone structure so I expect there to be minor aggravation. My left arm went number in the first hour and my pelvic floor felt pressure after 80k. If anyone wonder what a bike seat burn is....

And mang the wind was brutal. I’ve never felt so scared on a bike. It was a consistent force with gust bust that made you thankful you somehow were still upright. The course had some hills embedded in the 180k and infrequent tree lines provided fleeting shelter from the sun.

The thing that killed me were blisters on the balls of my feet. They were so concentrated within the cycling shoe that the pain felt like I fractured my fourth toe. I was moaning just to pedal through the last 20 kilometer. And this is where I lost the race. I had an internal timer going for the chase. I figured I was about 40 minutes behind on the next girl, so actually about 20 minutes. What I didn’t realized was I was in second; I thought I was sitting in 3rd.

Coming into T2 I just wanted to get off my bike. My feet were still wet and the sun was blazing at 2pm. I’ve been racing for almost 7 hours. Switching into my runnings shoes took the pressure point off where it hurt the most. I was barely moving at the start of the run. I ran from sun up to sun set. The wind was relentless. I started with a hat and had to ditch it with my family during the first loop because of the wind.

Worth Level? This course was brrrrilliant, including the coldest ever start to a half ironman. The amazing 2k swim is with a sight line in a calm crystal clear lake, so sighting was almost optional. The swim route almost spans the full length of the lake before swimming back to shore. For how frigid air temp was, the lake maintained a comfortable 70 degrees. Rollings hills for 56.1 miles, with the steepest incline coming out of the Olympic slope/village area. For the run, most of the 700ft climb is in mile 10-12 of the run.

My training had shifted towards endurance as I geared for my first full ironman. Racing national championships a couple weeks before, I learned from my mistakes of going into a race fatigued and stressed. I couldn’t have been more excited to taper for the half ironman. I stuck to the taper schedule and didn’t overexert myself the last week before September 9th.

Driving up to Lake Placid from New York City was beautiful. The directions took us through lush green woods and uncrowded highways. Somehow the forecasted rain has shifted out of upstate, but the expected temp was hastily dropping. My teams’ anxiety about the cold started to creep into my consciousness and on the way north, my co-captain and I sped-shop through the local outlets. The plan of action was park the car where the bikes were visible, speed walk in, disperse, regroup, then move onto the next store. It was a hit and run through every store. The winter gear I picked out was either too expensive or the color was meh. I was still overly optimistic about my tolerance to the cold. I came out empty handed without a windbreak or base layer.

We then completed out 4 hour drive to the Lake Placid, arriving at the lodging for the weekend. The house was up this steep hill past the ice rink and Crowne Plaza hotel and a little ways down the neighborhood street. The airbnb we rented was an old cabin that barely fit 11 people. The background whiff was musk and stale air the whole weekend. My teammate and roommate Lyndze was the first to buy candles and febreeze to cover the smell. We added the amazing scent of homemade french toast, gnocchi, eggs benedict, and burgers through the couple days. I was totally spoiled that my teammates were so adamant about cooking, cleaning, and eating together.

Leading up to the race was the regular race prep drill. The team got a test swim in Mirror Lake. We went through the expo, organized our transition packs, and numbered our bikes. I was lucky to find a discounted Ironman windbreaker and also impulse bought an under armor turtleneck before Sunday. Race briefing confirmed it was going to be 36 degrees race morning. This wasn’t the race to disregard layering and clothing strategy. First half ironman, first frostbite conditions. ☃️ The events coordinators promised warming tents and full clothing change tents to alleviate the biting cold.

I was super excited race morning. Got my coffee and oatmeal, then suit up completely in my wetsuit. We walked down the large hill in darkness. There was no pressure for this race and I was surrounded by my favorite people. My transition set up was not standard as I expected to do a full change. I was swimming in a sport bra and shorts. I would then change out of the shorts into warmer layers- or warm enough layers I hoped.

Swim start was self-selected based on expected completion time. Water temp was in the low 70s, so I opted to stay in the water until I saw the sign for my time marker group. Athletes were swimming back and forth in the warm up section of the lake or hid in the warming tents.

A couple of my teammates were my speed and I joined them in line as we got released into the water. The swim was not frantic for once. I focused on consistent swim stroke and pulling, while strategically hugging the site line but also leapfrogging anyone that was going slower. I actually stuck on the heels of my teammate that has the same swim speed as me. Helpful she was had blue stripping on her wetsuit in a sea of black wetsuits. Once out of the water, I picked up my pace with quick feet towards transition. Running on the blue tarps, I waved and pass by a couple teammates.

I saw a couple missing bikes ahead of me and kept at the concerted effort. My transition time was threw the roof. Understanding the effects of the cold, I leaned into letting go and recalibrate my ambitions. I made the game time decision to not run into the warm changing tent and instead change where my bike was. I wrapped the large towel around my waist and stripped off my wet bottoms. I was juggling holding the towel up, pulling my dry bib shorts up, and trying to not flash any other athlete. Semi dried, the base layer came over my head, then tri top, the neck buff, calf sleeves, and wind breaker. I had toe-warmers in my shoes and I hobbled towards the mount line.

Upon the first slight incline, my legs were frozen. I couldn’t really turned my pedal strokes. Two of my male teammates passed by me. As I recognized their bikes, I cheered them on. A stiff popsicle on the bike, I reached down to grab a sip of electrolyte drink. When I tried shoving my bottle back in the bottle cage, the bottle misaligned with the hold. Thunk! It went straight to the ground. I yelped sorry to the athletes behind me and panicked for a moment, but I knew it was much more dangerous for me to turn back and salvage the bottle than to ride on. I was only a few miles into the 56 mile ride and already missing half my hydration.

It was a slow, cold grind uphill before I hit the fabled descent. Neck warmer drawn over my face, I tucked into my road descend position: hands gripping the drop bars, chest fat onto the stem and stop of my handlebars, and nose doing a hound point. I did as little weaving around other competitors and found another roadie counterpart. She was as comfortable as me to not hold the brakes for dear life and rode through the turns. I tailgated her down the ice chamber descent.

The rest of the ride was more hills and more trees. More hills and more trees. Steepest incline was going into the Olympic village center and climbing out of the cul de sac. The long highway stretch on. I got super excited when I surmount the last uphill before making a right to the neighbor roads. My lower back was aching the last 6 miles. Still a ways to go but I was riding back into transition.

Into T2, I shed the wind breaker layer and got my road shoes on, then bolted straight towards the porta-potty in transition. Most likely added another ticking minutes into my T2. Once relived, I was feeling rock. fucking. solid.

Within the first couple miles, I blazed past the two teammates that biked past me on the first mile into the bike. One, keeping me company, ran with me for a bit. I cheered on 2 other male teammates as I saw them run the opposite direction towards home stretch. I felt really strong off the bike.

The 13.1 miles was on asphalt flanked by forest for the majority except for 1 big hill at mile 10. I hydrated with gatorade and water at every aid station. The last couple miles which led away from transition was mind-numbing as I just wanted to speed back into the finish line. I tried pinpointing girls in my age group, but I didn’t know who to gun for as they could easily not be in my age group, so I just ran solid.

Going into the race, I estimated a finish time of 6 hours. I crossed the finish line at 6:00:45? I ended up coming in 6th place in my age group, which set my baseline. I was ready to take on the world!

I wrote off this event when I decided to sign up for a half Ironman in September and then doubly wrote off it again when I signed up for a full Ironman 2 months out. This was my biggest regret because this course, the competition, and Cleveland exceeded all my expectations.

This event brings together the best age-groupers in the nation. Top 18 from each category qualify for world champions and get to represent team USA. We are talking the best of best amateur olympic and sprint distance triathletes. Any sport enthusiast ever dreaming of representing Team USA would recognize this as the golden ticket.

Leading up to the race I was pushing my endurance and didn’t taper throughout the week as I usually do. Perhaps I was overconfident in my fitness level, or I already thought I was also taking it easy, fending off some hip, calf, knee, and shoulder tightness. I was naively overconfident that I could place top 18 just because the pool of 20-24 years old is half if not one third the size compared to all other age groups. I reckoned I needed to be in the top 30%. My focus leading up to nationals was ironman training, which proved to be a major miscalculation.

There was also some underlying stress around this trip. I booked accommodations and flights last minute having go jump through hoops to get airbnb’s software to cooperate with me. To save money, I was spending 24 hours in Ohio. My schedule was hour by hour packed: 8am arrive at CLE airport, 9am grab breakfast, 10am registration and expo, 11am swim practice, 1pm pick up rental bike...

A day before leaving, I realized I shot myself in the foot. The Team USA website stated top 18 slots needed to be accepted at awards ceremony, no exceptions. That didn’t even cross my mind when I decided to book a day trip. I guess I could “miss my flight”. You only live once that the motto f**king yolo.

Ready for the big unknown, my trusty companion was an oversized chrome bag and a helmet hanging off the side. I travelled with it on the short flight from New York to Cleveland then to breakfast near 65th st. I then walked across the quaint restaurant strip, past cute houses, then toward the expo area. I waited in the zigzagging line outside of packet pick up, hauling a 30lb pack that basically held my life in it. Everyone else already had their training kit on, finished their bike or run today, and was early in line for the 10am open. Perfect living examples that triathletes are type A personalities. The line weaved back and forth through the lawn before pick up even opened and once inside the tent, the bib number tables were so close you couldn’t move. Age group lines spilled out, blocking anyone from coming in and moving through. I opted to jump the rope and get out of the tent to see the expo, as I wasn’t going to get my timing chip anytime soon.

The expo was filled with quality booths. Roka, USAT, the Escape Series, Gatorade, Normatech all showed up. Nothing crazy in swag, but I soaked in the excited overall atmosphere. What hit me like a wave was the feeling of doing this race completely alone. I didn’t have my tri team to go through expo with me or parents to help with race prep. Confirmed, I was recently single. All byyy myyyseeellfff..

After making a quick round through the booths, I dragged my belongings through the lawn area and trekked across the sand to get a practice swim in. The beach had a pavilion to the side decked out with a beach bar and swings. The swim finish and barriers were already set up. The lake was brown, resembling a sheltered ocean cove with its waves and possibly too high bacteria ppm (concern was not ameliorated from an email sent days before). I stripped down to my suit and left my belongings next to a barrier. The water was littered with bark and dirt and athletes in the water were bobbing up and down in the 2ft swells. I dove in to do a quick dip to get my feet wet and feel out the lake. All aboard the Lake Erie kiddie coaster! First order of business once out the water was google search of “how to combat open water currents”.

Thinking I’ve accumulated enough apprehension for race day swim, I jogged out of the water, grabbed my belongings, and found a shaded picnic spot to dry off and reorganize my bag. A quick bite from the taco trunk provided lunchtime sustenance and I weaved through the packet pickup tent again to retrieve my timing chip and event t-shirt.

Soon enough I was headed off towards Lakewood, a short Lyft away from Edgewater to pick up my rental bike. The ridiculous fees for a bike bag flying to Cleveland deterred me from bringing my own race bike. Luckily, Spin Bike shop had really superb race bikes in their demo fleet. The amazing staff got me situated and even found a way to let me screw on my aero bars to a mint 2019 Specialized Tarmac. Now that’s called service. I took a quick spin, riding through Lakewood to the beginning part of the Rocky River river path. Weather started to turn bad, so I rode back to the bike shop. Back at the shop, the staff was doing their best to help frantic triathletes whose bike had been damaged in shipping. Yikes! But case in point.

I strapped my 30lb chrome bag on my back to ride 20 minutes to my airbnb. A small asian girl in a black tee and Nike Pro Combat shorts, with a bag the size of her on a $5,000 carbon bike. I must have looked crazy riding the streets of Cleveland.

After getting slightly lost en route, I could not for the life of me find the apartment number in the new development area Battery Park. I swear my airbnb house number did not exist. Texting the host, walking up and down the block, then finally figuring out google maps was wrong, I finally found the right door. Only then to realize, I couldn’t get the fancy-smashy smart lock to open.😑 10 tries later- I swear the host must’ve gotten an alert that someone trying to break into her house- I opened the finicky door. The host’s 2 house cat were there at the door to greet me. I tried straddling the entrance step to keep the door open, get the bike through, and drag my bag in. As all my limbs were outstretched, one of the host’s cats found this opportune time to escape. House rule #1 already broken.

Got the cat back don’t worry.

The bedroom I was staying in was up 2 flights of stairs of the townhouse. I dumped all my stuff into relevant piles, took a quick shower, and head back out toward transition. It was already nearing 5pm. Bike and overnight transition stuff in tow, I rode through the Battery Park development through the underpass that popped me right back out to Edgewater Park, where the race was going to take place. I racked my bike and tried to wedge it with my transition bag to stop it from swinging from the wind. More expensive bikes had covers and I noticed that athletes only left their bikes at their spot and that was it. Guess overnight dew and water overnight was a problem.

After a quick picture and taking a moment to marvel at the amazing weather and Cleveland skies, I headed back through the tunnel and decided where I wanted to grab grub. Local West was close to the airbnb and a casual fare. The roast beef sandwich was delicious. I took dinner as the opportunity to sort through my flight options as I felt semi-guilty to "miss my flight". I figured it would be in the best interest to notify the airline that I was racing and might be on a very risky timeline. On the phone with the airline rep, she urged me to keep my right after race flight because of pending inclement weather in NY.

Around 7pm, I started winding down to go to bed early. My host had already left for the weekend, so it was just me in the apartment. I hit the sack. Zzzzzzzzz time.

Halfway through the night, with the fluorescent hue from the street lamp light polluting the room, I heard vacuuming. In my dazed state, I assumed the host had come back? Race nerves brought me out of deep slumber another 2 times, before my alarm actually went off at 4am.

I felt like shit race morning. My back was fatigued and tense and didn’t help I was getting up earlier than what my natural body clock was used to. The cats were already prancing around as I gathered the last of my stuff to head over to transition.

Transition area was quiet and dim. I got the time to myself to set up and say a quick hello to the competitors around me. Slowly, the air starting buzzing with anxiousness and excitement. At one point, I heard a scream. Really sounded like someone died. I glanced over to a whole bike rack collapsed with a handful of carbon TT bikes piled on the ground. Yikes, I felt so bad for the women age groupers in that mess.

Once the announcer confirmed the race was wetsuit legal, I put on my wetsuit then headed towards the beach. Swim start was a water start based on age groups. Athletes would swim up to the start buoys and bob in the water until a horn. Off to the side there was some warm up time, but most age groups were held on the beach until pretty close to their start time. My age group is starting earlier, so all the girls lined up in between buoys and waited for heart beats track then the ultimate horn to start.

I fluttered my kick to propel myself into the 50 meter sprint start and felt waves crashing on me. Freak out ensures! My heart was pumping, mind was racing, and my arms and legs were flailing. Gone was the meditative calmness or swim technique. I was struggling every stroke. Every couple open water sighting, I saw the girls in my age group swarm further off in the distance. The rest of the swim didn’t get any easier and buoys markers didn’t seem to get any closer. My body was dealing with salt, soreness, and shoulder pain.

Finally out of the water and running through the sand, I usually get a breather on the bike, but definitely wasn’t the case. The age-group rack was basically empty by the time I went through T-1. I just wasn’t feeling like myself.

I jump onto the bike and start spinning out. There was a sense of fatigue throughout my body. Legs were just moving. My psyche also went through an emotional rollercoaster the few weeks leading up to the race and mentally I was off. I ultimately needed to respect my physical and emotional state. Of course the self-talk was saying that I was just making up excuses and didn’t have the mental strength to overcome how I was feeling. The demons inside my head went back and forth throughout the race, as what else do you do but sit with your own thoughts for 2 hours.

The perfect weather and phenomenal experience riding through downtown Cleveland forced me to reckon with how blessed I was to be healthy and compete at this stage. Highway into the city was completely closed along with the route weaving between the hospitals and modern edifices. Some doctors came out in their white coat to see what the commotion was about.

Off the bike and onto the run, I felt I was going at a decent pace, but everyone around me was crazy fast. I was on my first loop while athlete were already blazing through their second. The route was beautiful and had some hills I didn’t expect.

Worth level? What did a entry fee 2x a local Olympic distance race provide? A closed bike course along the Hudson Highway, an awesome shirt without a back panel of sponsors logos, and the opportunity to race a premier Olympic distance event in NYC! The expo gave out some freebie gel, bar, and drink samples. What I didn’t expect is the large distance between swim to bike transition and entering the bike in. The city residents came out in full force offering chips, ice, water sprays, etc. on the run course. At the finish, the event provided Panera sandwiches, water, ice towel, banana, and water.

Wouldn’t be a triathlon if something didn’t go wrong for me.
I receive a hilarious email from the organizers a week before. Local car show? Not a problem.

As usual, car packing and prep starts days before the actual race. The drive to south Yosemite Valley was a solid 4 hours, but the car was putting up the bigger feat. With a bike rack strapping in 2 bikes and box a-fixed like the car’s hard hat, the car ready to haul. The complete load was a full bed frame, cook stove, food for the weekend, and loads of gear. This was the first race my boyfriend would race with me, so we were double packed. Yay for spreading the triathlon bug!

We detoured through Fresno and made a long work stop at Tioga-Sequoia Brewing Company, as work not being accommodating to the trip plans. Late afternoon, we made the drive into Bass Lake. The sun was blazing down the mountain side when we drove into The Pines Resort for packet pick up. My boyfriend did a last minute registration and I was ecstatic I finally got a neon pink swim cap.

First stop was going to the lake to see the swim route. Blonde hair lifeguards and skinny brunette shop girls padded around the docks and store. We were right in the middle of a Disney teenage rom-com movie.

Second stop, we took the car to drive the bike route. The road was rough and hilly. Okay noted. Racing against sunset as we drove the full 26 mile loop, we quickly gots the bikes ready to do a small ride. I gave my boyfriend Alexander a crash course on triathlon tips and tricks, as he rode circles and showed off his fly mounting skills. Thanks dude.

We took our bikes to do the first steep inclined right after the mount line in preparation for the race. Coming back, we heard half of race orientation then racked our bikes into transition. Alexander then bolted to find wifi and get work sorted out which dragged into the night. I hit the sack early in preparation for the race. Half way through the night we had to move the car because the local church didn’t like car campers. The closest secluded spot was the entrance to a outdoor shooting range. The dirt road in was completed eroded, making the van wobble as Alexander drove into the parking area.

At 5am in complete darkness, our alarms we off and we drove back down into transition area. There was no one. I guess I was really not used to how small this race was.

Check my set up, checking Alexander’s set up. Going to the bathroom. Giving Alexander a CO2 cartridge. Taping his spare tube. Getting into my wetsuit. Taking a picture.

Somehow we made it to the dock for the start and perfectly timed was Vegan Cyclist with his drone.

All the athletes crowded at the boat launch site. Flanked on each side were small rental speed boats that showed the swim path. Yellow caps were the first horn, I quickly followed. The day was perfect, water was calm, and full visibility in the lake.

With the last left turn buoy in sight, I was passing a yellow cap swimming to my right. As I turned my head to breath, his left arm whacked my head. I felt my goggles fling off. My hands went straight to my pink swim cap. I I felt no ridge just smooth silicone swim cap. Looks like I lost my goggles halfway through the swim. I get back to my stroke rhythm. Not having goggles slower down my pace a little. Good thing I was in fresh water and everything was clear as far as I could see. I keep sighting and swimming, sighting and swimming. I dialed in to the water feel of the water with my fingertips, hands, and arms (maybe aqua-location?). I turned around the last green buoy with yellow and pink swim caps all around and swam towards the exit.

I knew a girl set up in transition next to me was in my age group, so I tried to track where she was as I was slipping out of my wetsuit. The start of the bike route off the mount line is a straight hill. Not attempting to fly mount and fall on my face. I mounted better than I did the 2 previous triathlons and had only the ball of my foot in the shoe climbing up the hill.My boyfriend was yelling GO JASMINE! as I ran up the dock through the private resort pool picking up my flip flops. I hobbled up the inclined parking lot jogging towards transition.

The start of the route had longer ascends and descends. My legs felt sluggish and I was moving in slow motion as other cyclist passed me. It was a low hum ache and pain through my back, quads, and lower back. The road was bumpy; at least it was nicely shaded. I felt like I was riding in slow mode; I was churning in a middle ground effort level, but not having the strength to go harder. It must have taken 30 minutes before my legs shed the fatigue. Having driven on the road the day before, I knew the turn on 222 road was a steep incline. I could see the riders in front of my visibility stall upon the sudden uphill.

The hilly parts where I usually take advantage to make up some distance wasn’t working so well this time. Urban city flats had made me weak. I imagine a bird’s eye view looking like little ants moving over a large log. And the hills just kept coming. The small offshoots revealed ranch style homes on acres fenced off to create rectangular plots. I was hopscotching between shade and sun through the grind.

Up ahead I saw a black dog with a chain around its neck on the road. The pitbull repeated ran up to bikers spinning slow up an incline. Oh nooo. Not a good sign. I keeping trekking forward and the dog intercepted me. It nipped with its front teeth first, gnawing at my left heel. I tried to stay balanced and rolled along. I was also acutely aware that my timing chip was velcroed onto my left ankle. I just kept pedaling until I left the disturbance a distance behind my rear wheel. To be fair to the pit bull, it wasn’t attacking but I was vexed by whoever the dumb owner was let the dog loose. I was relatively lucky, apparently, there where athletes that got bite and someone who lost a timing chip to the dog then had to chase it down.

The rolling hills stretched on and at one point I was heading towards the south tip of Bass Lake. This was were the local car show was setting up. Knowing I was heading towards the end point, I picked up my rpm. I caught up and passed a couple people but was riding alone most the time. Roads were wider heading north on the westside of the lake. Longer stretches of rolling hills also brought about potholes and bumps.

A truck hauling a boat drove by me. 100 feet later, I swing around a bend and dodge the truck with the boat parted on the yellow lines in the middle of the road and a SUV with its front bumper on the ground. Good thing I wasn’t going fast enough to be in the middle of the accident.

I was so ecstatic to see the last orange cones marking the last right turn downhill. I was reluctant to pass another athlete clinching onto his brakes in front of me, as I buzzed towards the dismount line. Off the bike, cycling shoes off and running shoes on, I tried to fly through transition.

The initial jelly legs and locked up glutes did not hit me as I ran out of transition. Maybe I wasn’t biking hard enough? I zeroed in on keeping my running past quick and light. I always imagine smooth spinning wheels. To motivate myself from slowing down as the hurt kicked in, I would find a female in front of me and work to overtake her.

The run was not forgiving. The route was 2 hilly, y-shaped loops with the steepest hills at the beginning and middle of the run. I took water at all the aid stations. Mentally, I was trying to make my legs go slightly faster. I player the mental game of leap frogging pass the females runners in front of me. The classic physics problem set: if runner a was running at a rate of R1 and runner b was running at a rate of R2 50 meters ahead, how long would it take runner A to catch up?

Along the route, neighbors, offering ice or music or motivation, came out on their front lawns to cheer runners on. I definitely made too many pit stops to retie my shoes. (Alexander benefited from my elastic laces more.) Too much fatigue, but too strong-willed I crested over the last hill then down towards the finish arch.Before the race, I set a verbal goal of 3 hours for hilly olympic course. I finished at 3:07 on the master clock. Timing chip confirmed I finished at 3:00:46. Sometimes you are just that close.

Check out my super awkward race debrief from Vegan Cyclist's video at 12:21. Looks like I also angered some New Yorkers with my "no-hills" comment. Ooops

Worth level? Half Moon Bay Triathlon swim at Pillar Point provides a decent rookie ocean swim. The harbor is sheltered with no currents early in the morning, but visibility is poor. The 0.3 mi between swim to transition is some little problematic as sandy feet and running shoes causes small abrasions and irritation throughout the whole race. Definitely bring some feet washing water. The overall route is mostly flat. The cycling portion is on the main highway 1 where participants bike on the shoulder plus a little extra leeway marked out by safety cones. Road are not closed, but the police and traffic control volunteers do a great job of giving all athletes the right of way. Road conditions can be bumpy and tight as times, especially when both sprint and Olympic distance athletes merge onto the asphalt. The run is completely flat going out and back along a concrete path along the harbor. Unfortunately, there are almost no sponsors for the race this year. Expect the general fruit, bagel, muffin, and personal size burrito with an electrolyte station. The age group award consists of a beer pint glass and a couple small cliff bars.

I struggled a lot with this training round. Lack of workout variety through the 5 winter months and higher expectations may have spiked my anxiety before the race. I wasn’t training hard enough, wasn’t training smart enough. Was my diet of fruit, peanut butter, eggs, cold brew healthy enough? Was my body recovery well enough? Did my swim technique improve or regress? This time I didn’t have the fortune to graze out of the anticipated swim and ocean course brought out feelings of the salt, sighting, and sinking.

I was in a mental and physical rut, so I enlisted some coaching help. Thursdays and weekends were for group swim classes and throwing myself into high heart rate situations (nothing like getting used to being last). Mondays were private coaching day (nothing like 5am days). 2 weeks leading up to the race, I started tapering and packing for my trip to California. Somehow, I assembled my bike into my EVOC Pro travel bag, though the struggle was real for a couple days. My 150 sq ft of kitchen/living room/hallway of a barely passable space for a bike working area was littered with cardboard, plastic, tape, bubble wrap for a bit. I then wheeled the 4.5-foot-long bag, meandering through the subway system from Manhattan to JFK airport.

Additional expenses this round:

Flights + Bag Check $300+$25

Entry Fee $210

Bike Bag ~$350

Northern California was my first love, so I was excited to be back in the Bay Area as New York was just showing signs of shedding winter. By May, the sun was out, and I was getting minor migraines from the blazing Golden State rays, but I felt the warm embrace of home. I unpacked my bike and was still struggling to understand the upgraded components of my new Cannondale EVO Supersix Hi-Mod. My race bike was semi-assembled, but it was a better idea of bringing my bike into the shop. Armed with a bag of bagels, I sheepishly requested a last-minute bike tuning and the shop owner fit me into the mechanic shop's schedule 2 days before my race.

BIG shout out to GoRide Bicycles in Redwood City, CA. They're actually the best. I bought all my race bikes with them and would highly recommend anyone who lives within continental U.S. and is looking to buy a bike.

1 day before the race, my boyfriend (who I enlist as my all-in-one support crew) and I were frantically packing the car for the glamping set up. We also wanted to head over to Sea Otter in Leguna Seca race track in Monterey, CA. We wanted to see the big exposition and meet some industry people who we have gotten to known over the years. The day went by with threading through the booths, testing new trainers, and collecting some goodies. Looking back, it may have been a little too much activity the day before my race.

Complete darkness enveloped the drive to Half Moon Bay and at the end Oceano Hotel marked that we were close. The car stopped in the triathlete designated lot and I stepped outside the car to brush my teeth and wash my face next to a bush. Everything else could be cleaned up with baby wipes. Trust me car camping has been A+ glamorous.  I bolted back to the car to put my wetsuit on and speed walked towards the beach in my sneakers. I would need the sneakers at the end of the swim because the distance from the ocean to transition was sizable. I left my sneakers on a patch of succulents, not really strategizing the positioning. Into the cold, bone chilling water for the warm up.The announcer repeated the swim route exasperated and berated the Olympic distance athletes for not reading their packets. Guilty as charged.

Sounds of sea, shipping horns blows, then cars turning into the lot had me semi-asleep throughout the night. I really didn't want to get up at 5am from under the covers and the body heat fog created in the mini-van. I was terrified.

The morning was a frenzy to go to the bathroom, get dressed, get tattooed up, get all my stuff in a bag for transition. My boyfriend reorganized the car, checked my bike, pumped the tires, set my bike up. We weaved through the crowd towards transition for set up. We still had to rubberband my shoes to my bike and of course forgot extra pair of scissors and tape. The hoard of people going in and out didn't help the stress level as I realized I was running out of time to wetsuit up, get to the beach, and warm up. And I was quite dismayed to see free racking for the bike section. Essentially, it was a free for all to stake out your own transition space. I opted for a sport near the entrance, and after ranking realized I made a big mistake. I would need to run the full transition loop barefoot with my bike. Too late to change positions now.

All the athletes were bobbing up and down waiting for the start. I inched towards the start line and then we were off.

And I choked. I felt like I was flailing around and felt bodies on me, hitting me, everywhere. My goggle immediately fogged up and sight was not a given in open water. Swimming blind. I swam a bit, stopped to clear my goggle, and tried to see the buoy. The line between water and sky was nonexistent. Everything was grey, and I couldn't see the neon yellow buoys. This was not a good start. To keep from hyperventilating in the water, I dialed into my own thoughts. Really just got to swim in my own lane.

Way too long later, I exited the water dazed. I think there was a woman waving at me to go towards my right. Oh yeah, I was off-center to the exit sand bank. Rushing towards my shoes set on the succulent strip, I swooped up my Nike Shield shoes and hobbled out. I halfheartedly tried to use my toes to scrap the sand off the bottom of my soles then gave up and wedged my feet into my sneakers. I jogged along stripping the wetsuit off. Velcro strap off, zipper down as I brushed past other athletes. Beach asphalt to concrete path to rolled-out turf turned into the transition area.

I turned the corner through the metal barricade and sh*!. Someone jammed their bike right next to mine and moved my transition stuff.

Breath.

Shoes off, helmet on, strapped clipped. Ugg my race strap fell apart, so I spun the elastic around. Loop through loop, I tied 2 quick knots fastening the strap below my chest, the race bib resting on my rib.

Grabbing my bike seat and handlebars, I was cursing the whole time yanking my bike out and pushing this infuriating bike away. During the process, one of the rubber band that held my cycling shoes leveled snapped. The shoe swung down perpendicular to the ground. With the cleat attached to the pedal acting as the axis, the shoe kept bouncing as I ran barefoot pushing my bike to the mount line.

The transition area is a loop around a parking lot. There was a sidewalk to the left and a curb to grass strip to the right flanking the asphalt road. The intersection of bikes, people, and a sign marked the mount line. I hugged the curb next to the grass anticipating some struggle getting into my shoes now that I couldn’t use them as a platform. I first tried to balance my weight in the free dangling right shoe holing to get a split second to contact my left and start pedaling. Right foot on, I felt my balance point shit right and I fell right on to the curb. I quickly got up.

Try again. I put my left foot onto the top of my left shoe with right foot steady on the curb. The rubber band was still attached to this one. Immediately, I heard click signaling the clasp tightening. Not what I wanted given my foot was still outside the shoe and it would make putting my foot in harder.

Back to the basic. I pulled my right shoe off the pedal and put the shoe on my foot careful to hold my bike steady with my left hand. I mounted my bike while jamming the ball of my left foot into the now tightened shoe and reclipped my right shoe to the cleat. Right pedal stroke to break inertial then left pedal stroke to get the bike rolling. My left foot stayed half in the shoe with my heel still outside.

The road was narrow with other riders going. My left heel was out for longer than I liked. I did not have full power transfer withe my foot half out. I would pedal, try and steady my bike with one hand, coax the heel piece of my shoe for a split second, then grab onto the handlebars with both hands again. All the while other rider was buzzing by me, I slowly I made way for my heel to slip into my shoe. Finally, I could pedal consistently without lopsided stroke.

Now I was in business to make up some time. As I raced ahead, my eyes were glued to my competitors’ calf, usually where place the tattoo marking the age is placed. 27-30-26-32 no one I passed was in my age group. Of course, the 52-year-old males whizzed by me; this was not their first rodeo. I played leap frog with another female for a bit. Around the turnaround point, the pack turned left towards a short uphill climb. I took advantage to make up time and speed up a bit, also to halt the leap frogging and put myself ahead. After the descent onto the main highway 1 again, the route heads back straight towards transition, overshoots the starting point to then loops back. Right before passing transition another time, the sprint distance bikers merge onto the road. This get hairy as there are all types of athlete caliber and bike speeds on narrow, bumpy asphalt. I tried not to get tangled in the pack and opted to weave inside and outside of the orange cones.

The scenery changed to more open space and field flanking the road. I rode back into transition and made my last right turn into transition. I mentally prepared myself to have jelly legs. I also need to strategize to refuel a.s.a.p. My energy gel was stuck in my back pocket during the last 1 and a half hour and I couldn’t refuel on the bike. A bad idea because it put me pretty dehydrated and depleted going into the run.

I racked my bike. Kicked off my shoes. Quickly exchanged some chitchat with my rack buddy. He was doing the shorter distance and was taking his dang time putting on sock. Ain’t nobody got time for that. My shoe was still wet and sandy from the swim. My legs carried my tight and sore body onto the race course. First things first, teeth to energy packet and water at the first station. The late energy refuel also let a stitch creep up in my rib. Regret hit me like firetruck as I felt hotspots and blisters forming with these shoes. They were worn and hardier winter running shoes. I opted for them because I wanted the support and not risk injury like the last triathlon. I visualized smooth spinning and kept picking my feet up. I saw one 24 calf marking on a female athlete that was heading back and noted I was definitely not first. It was hot by now and I was so so jealous of the sprint distance run. I cheered and clapped at the turnaround to motivate myself. Got a “Go Wattie” exclamation from a fellow athlete clad in a Wattie Ink kit. It was a drag, but I kicked up my pace when I saw the finish line and raced through the end.

And ohh I hurt. I didn’t want to move. I also was so grimy that the dirt layer made me not even notice the dust streaks on my face. Major props for professional athletes looking so clean in photos. I will be using the pouring water on my face technique in the future. My heels were also bleeding through the fabric of my shoes. I hobbled over to the first aid station to clean and get my blisters bandaged. While I was there, a woman that fell off her bike came in. She most likely fractured her left brow area where her body formed a bruise the size of a golf ball. Yeah, triathlon is a hardcore sport.My boyfriend found me and recounted how new he was to being the all-in-one support crew. As he was on photographer duties, he noticed all the competitive males’ wives seemed to be all-business. When their husbands ran out of the water, they approached their counterparts and instead of snapping photos, they ran along side with them. Like the stats coach, they fed their racers exact position, time delays, and necessary splits to make up the gap. We have a lot to learn before power couple status.

Somehow, I scooted right on to the podium having the 3rd fastest time in my age group. Plus, one beer pint cup to my collection and I will bask in the one advantage I have right now, which is youth. Now time to grab some fish and chips (offishally my after race refuel meal).

Worth level? Mightyman Montauk is a local triathlon to get your feet wet (well clearly not for me). The small number of participants makes the event very manageable and the entry fee is relatively cheap. The course is scenic with rolling hills on both the bike and run. Other than the early morning, temperature during the majority of the race is temperate. The beach town and surrounding Hamptons area is small enough for a weekend trip. However, it definitely lacks sponsors, unless Tate's Cookies is your thing. The event organizations also didn't offer much other than a shirt and post race bagels. Unfortunately, the course doesn't have full road closures and there is definitely a lack of signage indicating exactly where you were on the course.

"I want to do an Ironman" said my best friend when I visited her for her senior night basketball game. "Why don't we let your body recover for a bit after graduation," interjected her mother. She was then subjugated to a stationary bike watching her team practice from the side lines due to a slew of longstanding injuries: stress fracture on the foot, a pulled shoulder, and a torn ALC from her first year. Being a crucial player granted her a starter spot to play in games, but her body was clearing indicating that the relentless collegiate sport schedule was taking a toll on her body. I wouldn't call a half Ironman- a 6-hour, grueling, body-battering sport- the recommended recovery plan. It definitely would put the "active" in an active recovery plan. But, who am I to hinder an athlete's retirement bucket list. And wait, doing a triathlon actually sounds pretty fun. I cycle..and run..and could possibly relive my childhood swim lesson days. Well, maybe minus the crying, freezing in an outdoors pool in the winter, and the scent of chlorine and bleach.

But I do have a road bike. I really nice Cannondale Supersix Evo Ultegra to be exact. It may as well live up to its categorization as a race bike and actually be entered into a race. Nice bike ✅  Everything Else ?

Look! New York has this massive triathlon event in the city. wait what? Events slots already sold out 6 months ago, unless I want to raise $2,5000 for charity entry. Sounds like another version of the friends and family fundraising round, let's save that for when I need it to start a business. So far I've gotten that there are different distances and different sanctioned events. Ironman?USAT? More like they definitely did not sat. Cool instagram places? Definitely the summers in Idaho, Tennessee, and Atlanta, if I'm not melting in the heat. 

After too much time spent on the interwebs, I finally decided on Mightyman Montauk slated for October 1, 2017 based on my most important criteria:

• Saves money i.e. Gotta pay for the New York rent

1. 1. Local to New York City. I definitely didn't want the added complication of checked bags, flights, etc. for my first triathlon. Saves me hassle and money.
   2. A cheaper entrance fee. It was already well into the triathlon season and entrance fees increase as it get closer to the event. Ironman sanctioned and more publicized events will cost more. I didn't need a [Iron]man to make me happy.

• Provides enough time i.e. Ain't nobody got time for that  Gotta make time for that

1. 1. Far enough that provided ample training time with some buffer. I opted for 4 months and searched online triathlon training programs. I opened this program provided by NSPCC and RG Active more times everyday than facebook or instagram. Well maybe.

I spent the next 4 months at Equinox, riding my fixie to and from work as cross-training, and pumping money into the economy. If you don't believe me, look at my break down below.

I did try and skimp out on certain items that I didn't think were imperative. For example, a sports watch would've been nice and flashy. The inundation of data would not have made me a pro triathlete  by my first event, so I passed on that. To save money, I tracked July 4th and Labor day sales, browsed and guessed for coupon codes, and took full advantage of Paragon's annual warehouse sale. All geared out with the lightest gear combos and a substantially lighter wallet, I was speeding towards the faithful triathlon race day.

A couple days before the race, my bike broke. My bike broke 2 days before my race. The race bike that was finally supposed to fulfill its calling never made it. The bike's carbon drop out, where the derailleur hanger connected to the cassette splintered. It was this tiny one inch piece of carbon attached to the rear wheel that deemed the bike now useable. WHAT?! Wasn't carbon supposed to be really strong? There goes my $3,000 dollar bike and I'm not bikeless. So I scrambled to find another bike. My boyfriend called every single bike shop to see if there was anything I could rent this close to the race. Shop after shops, no carbon bikes, no aero bikes, nothing that was close to caliber I was looking for. The only bike I could rent was a whatever the shop has left. I mean at least, I think I have a bike?

As I was still packing up my stuff and headed to dinner the day before driving to Montauk for check-in, I get an email from the events organizers stating, "We are sorry to annouce that we have to cancel the swim for the MightyMan Sprting, Olympic and Half Iron Distance Triathlon..."

The perfect storm. I now have a triathlon with the bike situation up in the air and where athletes that are barred from stepping into the water. Next thing I know the roads are going to be under construction. Kidding. Just kidding but almost.

At this point, there was nothing I could do. If the triathlon powers wanted my first triathlon to be this way. There was nothing I could do. The next morning, my significant other and I loaded the bags and gear into a small black hatchback I borrowed for the weekend and heading out along Long Island. The drive out along New York's jut out included pitstops at Walmart and Harbour Freight to replace the windshield wipers and outfit the car with necessary bike tools. The weather was already ominous and gloomy and as we drove through the Hamptons, the heavens opened up and the rain came down in relentless streams. The rain droplets formed a sheet and even the newly replaced windshield wipers barely maintained a clear field of vision. The showers let up as we rolled into Montauk, but a depressing gray hue still masked the beach town. Once we got settled in the hotel, we walked out in search of the Mightyman Montauk check-in tents.

The check-in area was filled with agitated people, understandably because of the cancelled swim portion. I positioned myself next to a group that was interrogating about retesting the waters and communicating their displeasure about the entrance fee without a swim portion. The answer we got was no and no. I was resigned to the fact that this was going to be a duathlon, run, bike, run that I could've easily done within New York City. I grabbed my race packet [useful] and a bag filled with cheap promo items [not] and went to sort out my bike situation. My boyfriend at this time had already snooped up free pairs of winter riding gloves, while I was collecting all my race stuff. Always good to bring someone to grab the goodies.

After reconfiguring my rental bike, we took a ride along the Montauk highway. There was definitely some nice headwinds coming from the unsheltered part of the shoreline. Coming back, I carbed up on some pizza

It was frigid at 5a.m. as I walked my bike along the pitch dark road towards the transition area. The stadium lights illuminated lines of bike racks, as people padding around to their assigned spots. I picked up my timing chip, strapped it on my ankle, and situated my things. Damn it was cold. It was that type of morning chill where my muscles were just frozen. I tried jogging around to warm up, but this required expending more energy than I would like to be constantly moving. As 7a.m. rolled around, participants started congregating towards the start line. Everyone was eyeing the tattoo on each other's calf that branded the athlete's exact age. Everyone was sizing up the competition and validating that they were in the correct group. Yep, I was feeling twenty-two. Women were the third wave that went out and at 7:08a.m., I was off.

My legs were running fast, maybe a little too fast. They still felt like frozen popsicle sticks that were moving beneath me, as I drafted off a couple females in front of me. I went along the sidewalk, all the way out to the turnaround, and blazed into the transition area. I kicked off my shoes, pulled my bike, looked both all ways, and padded across the grass. I ran across the asphalt barefooted, which was a little rocky for me, to avoid the cluster of athletes. One foot fitted into the shoe heel and one rubber band that was keeping my shoes leveled snapped. I pedaled a bit and the other foot followed suit, as I heard more veteran triathletes whiz by. Slow start, but the flying mount was definitely not in my repertoire. Thank gawd I didn't fall flat on my face.

But not even 5 minutes in, I was already trying to coax this Liv Avail bike. The bike course consisted of rolling hills, which was partially good for me. I was a decently climber, but got burned on the downhills and flats with this sluggish bike and also no aero bars. Up and down towards the lighthouse, as I pedaled on: upstroke and downstroke, upstroke and downstroke. The sun was just starting to peak over the horizon and a small breeze picked up. Oh right, I needed to refuel. My teeth ripped the gel tab partially off, so I could easily slip the package all intact back into my back pocket once I was done. I held the SIS gel in my mouth and it tasted just like tapioca. The water and electrolytes in my bottle spurred a bleh reaction. It was too liquidly and saline.

The cycling portion was mentally taxing. Every other breath I pleaded with the bike. Please, please just be a little more reactive and faster. Nothing. I did have some good correspondences as I was biking. Other athletes said hello and another female athlete complimented my kit. I call that a win. There was a very frustrating participant that made it very difficult for me to adhere to the drafting rules. He was set on being in front, but failed to keep up the pace. When I overtook him, he would play leap-frog. Man, just stay in the lane because this wasn't working. A couple out-and-backs and 1.5 hours later, I was descending towards the neon sprayed dismount line. As I was spinning, I partially slipped a foot out of my shoe to prepare to hop off my bike. Unfortunately, I misgauged how close I was to the girl ahead of me and gave her a little love tap with my shoulder. This was followed by a profuse apology. Racing foul numero uno.

My legs, my glutes, my hips had too much lactic acid. Read: holy sh*t that is some next level soreness piercing pain. One foot in front of the other, I dragged my bike, which was dragging my cycling shoes on the gravel to my transition area. Robotically, I put my running shoes on and I was racing, or racing with what energy I had left, out of the transition area to do my final loop.

The run start with a circle around a reservoir and then the only place to go was up. At this point the sun was blazing down, as I started my jog along the rolling hills. My strategy was quickened step cadence uphill and longer strides downhill. A nice participant gave me a brief intro to the neighborhood we were running in. It didn't help the soreness or fatigue and lack of enthusiasm I had for running, before he sped off. By this point, all the athletes were decently spread out. It was just me and the pavement.

With blisters and strains building up, I came down the last segment of the hills and saw the last exposed stretch before the tents. I felt my legs hit the sidewalk again that blended into grass. I turned right into the barricaded area and tents.

As I crossed the finish line, the announcer broadcasted Jas?%$! Cho from New York City, first triathlon. Nothing like finishing with the announcers completely butchering my name. I'm pretty sure I became a Jason from New York City. 

My boyfriend was there to greet me, but he beelined to get my result receipt. The marvel about technology now is that my timing chip already gave me my exact splits. I was too food-motivated to care and went to scour for bagels and a banana. After I was satisfied, I took a look at the paper.

Run 1 6:44 minutes per mile. That was definitely faster than I expected. Run 2 definitely slow. Overall Rank 76 and wait what? Division Rank 1 of 1? Was I the only one in my division competing.

20 minutes later, my standing still hadn't really changed. It wasn't a fluke, I did place 1st in my age-group, though I do have to say it was only out of 5 participants.

I won't bore with the rest of the award ceremony. Essentially it was a lot of roll calling and podium pictures. There was some drama between the female athletes vying for the overall title. It started with a confrontation about start times. The younger athlete defended herself briefly and then dipped out as fast as she could to avoid anything more of the unwanted questioning. Long story short, the local older triathlete thought she won first, but was blindsided by a younger triathlete that passed the older triathlete in the cycling portion. A triathlon couple tried consoling the local athlete by offering their winnings of Tate's cookies. The abundance of Tate's Cookies, really the only thing that the event gave out, obviously did not ameliorate anything. It was hilarious seeing competitive athletes not knowing what to do with the excess of calories and trying to trade off the stacks of cookies. But, know what, I will take it.