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.