Ironman Boulder Race Report Pt 3 of 5 – (T2)   Leave a comment

T2

No. Not the Terminator, although, that might have been more pleasant. Remember how smooth and awesome T1 was? Yeah, T2 was NOTHING like that. First off, we come into transition on the east side of Boulder High School, and have to run with our bike, in our cycling shoes (think running on a sidewalk in rigid plastic shoes with metal plates under the toes – not an easy task) for about ¼ mile. Coming into the stadium area, a volunteer grabs my bike, and *whoosh* it’s gone. I knew this was going to happen, but it was way faster than I expected. Still in my cycling shoes (the ground was HOT), I run down the track to my transition bags. They are all lined up neatly in a row, and I yell my number as I start down the correct row. A volunteer throws my nag at me, and I’m off to the changing tent. Good god, this is the LONGEST fucking transition ever, and I have *just* gotten to the changing tent. I think I’m at about 5-6 minutes by this point. This is where the whole transition just falls apart. A volunteer meets me at the entrance and grabs my bag from me. “YAY,” I think. “This is going to be super fast and easy, just like last transition!” HAHAHAHAHAH Nope. 1) I am changing clothes this transition. 2) I am WAY more tired during this transition. 3) My inability to form actual words made it about 3 times harder than it had to be, and I couldn’t figure out how to communicate to my volunteer how to help me streamline shit so that I could get through there quickly. It’s funny, I had been riding solo for a long time, and hadn’t had to communicate to anyone, so I didn’t know that I was mentally malfunctioning. But the minute I tried to actually USE my words, they failed me. FAILED. So here’s how it went:

Me: thbbbthewa bumble mumble gibberish (strips off clothes down to just a sports bra) I’m naked. thbdfsdfhkuhe. Fuck. What do I need? I need the things.

Volunteer: What things?

Me: The things. You know (mimes cleaning my arm pits). These things.

V: Wet wipes? (hands me wet wipes. Still in the zip lock baggie. Still sealed)

Me: Shit. (fumbles for what feels like EONS trying to open the zip lock bag, meanwhile, the volunteer is asking me what else I need) Duuuuuh. Fffffffuuuuuuuck…. Help? (See? words. I had none.) (Finally I get the baggie open. The volunteer is still trying to hand me other shit. In my head, I’m like, “BITCH CAN’T YOU SEE THAT I’m CLEANING MYSELF?” But of course, the words are not coming out.) Ohhhhhh god, that feels good. Too bad they’re hot. If these were cold, I’d be in heaven. (Again, this is what I think I said. It probably came out like “sdflkhh aslkjfbsidufh fuck ksjdnh shit lskjf; damn sdfh;sdj ice would be cool.” Finally done wiping pits and stuff) I need the green thing. In the pouch.

V: ???

Me: uhhhhhhhhhhh slippy shit?

V: (finds little packet with a SportShield wet wipe thingie in it… which is green) This? (Hands it to me… also unopened)

Me: YES! (tries to tear open the packet, can’t. Desperately looking to volunteer for help, because my fingers are swollen little sausages and have ZERO dexterity left in them. Volunteer just stares at me. I seriously start thinking hateful things about her at this point, because she’s supposed to be helping me, and she’s just NOT. I finally get it open, and – after a thousand years of fumbling – get the little wipe thingie out of the packet and start hitting all my chafey spots.) Done. Clothes. I need clothes. (Volunteer hands me skirt. GREAT! I step right into it. Then she hands me my shirt, still folded. WTF, dude. I’m dying over here. UNFOLD THE FUCKING THING. I know, I know, I’m asking a lot, but I’m 114 miles into a very long day. Is it too much to ask for the goddamn shirt to be unfolded? I unfold my shirt and as I’m throwing it on…)

V: Do you want me to untie the laces in your shoes?

Me: (Tangled in shirt) GOOD GOD FUCK NO!!!! (Wouldn’t I have untied them before putting them into the bag if I had wanted them untied? SHEESH!! CAN I GET A NEW VOLUNTEER OVER HERE, PLEASE???)

As soon as I get my shirt on, another volunteer looks over and says, “YOU!!!! You’re CC! I know you from that group!!!!” I am pretty sure it took me 450938 minutes to figure out which group. I’m a member of quite a few large groups on Facebook. This being a triathlon, I assume I know her from the Athena Triathlete group, but nope! She’s a Badass Warrior Goddess (HI CLAIRE!!!!!) Hooray for BAWGs being ubiquitous! And for our uniforms being pretty easy to recognize (Wonder Woman themed with BAWG across the chest) I give her a giant, sweaty, nasty hug, and secretly wish that she were my volunteer. A BAWG would NEVER hand me a folded up shirt or hand me my wet wipes still in their Ziploc. The beautiful thing though, is that this hug from a veritable stranger lifted my spirits tremendously! So much so that I was able to get through the rest of transition without neck punching my volunteer.

***Side note*** Yes. I know that the volunteers work harder than anyone during these races. And I fucking LOVE them for the work that they do. I was just tired, and pissy, and had been completely spoiled by my first transition.

After the BAWG hug power-up, I crammed the rest of my stuff from my bag into my pockets, sunscreened the shit out of myself, and took off. T2? 12:13. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m totally going to blame my volunteer. (In reality, the time I was in the tent was just about 6 minutes. The never-ending run from the street to the stadium took about 4:30, then I had to run out of the changing tent, and the timing mat was a ways away. Oh, and I totally walked until I hit that timing mat. But who needs logic when you can just use emotions and blame others. That’s totally healthy, right?)

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Posted August 20, 2016 by CC in Uncategorized

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