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).