The trusty RAV4, got us there in a nick of time—actually during the “mandatory” team meetings and racers’ instructions. Thankfully, DYC updated us on what we missed and helped us get situated in the transition area. Later on, I was surprised to find out he didn’t email us (this is an inside joke—but DYC verbosely [but in a good way] emailed us almost everyday about this race and about how to do things.)
In this sense, I think waking up late and getting there was good for Chicken—she didn’t have too much time to THINK about the totality of this mini-tri, how we had to go in to water (she’s deathly afraid of drowning), how she didn’t practice kayaking, how she really doesn’t like mountain biking, and had nagging injuries (thanks to my spazzy daughter). But I did have enough time to THINK that this event wasn’t structured to my liking. I hate running and want to do that first to get it out of the way, and love biking and want to do that last so I can “coast” to the finish. But the order was a short sprint, biking, kayaking then running. $h!*
As is my custom, I fidgeted right before the race, putting this tool there, trying on this shirt, tying and retying my sneakers (after seeing if I was more comfortable wearing one or two pairs of socks), organizing my camelback, and evaluating if I really needed this contraption or that. But I had enough time to win $20—a female racer was all contorted stretching out next to our contingent, when I was challenged to do the same. I did! Afterwards, I returned to fidgeting, But then I heard, “Racers! 30 seconds until the start!”
Our short sprint up and down this elevated walkway that crosses I-91 was uneventful, as was the approximately six mile bike trail, which was flat as Kansas, except for one 40 foot rocky incline. But my prevailing thought was, “I wish this was at the end of the race so I could finish strong.” Check Point “CP” 1 done.
During our training, I didn’t expect kayaking to be difficult. In comparison to my first mini-tri, we had real kayaks—not inflatable ones, which are slower and more difficult to direct. Plus (not to sound sexist), I had a woman as a teammate. I believe this is a huge advantage. Women are lighter and have more than enough arm strength to paddle.
For these reasons, I was so excited to kayak. But our instructions had a twist! We were not allowed to use our paddles until CP2! But Chicken and I found a good rhythm though I totally miscalculated the tide and the wind, which proved to haunt me mentally later on. I was on my stomach “swimming” at the stern enjoying the cool and hopefully clean Connecticut River waters. CP 2 done.
Our pace quickened once we were allowed to use the paddles, but we attracted onlookers, who were observant enough to know that we were lagging behind. We also annoyed the fishermen--we were within casting distance, enjoying the shade from the trees along the riverbank. We beached the kayak at CP3 but it was muddy. Plodding along, I strangely thought of the World War I soldiers in the Netherlands who had to probably had to endure harsher conditions while carrying almost 80lbs worth of gear while under attack. Despite sinking ankle deep in the mud I miraculously kept my sneakers and with that CP3 was done.
As we pushed our kayak back into the river, I expected to fly up to CP4 because we now had the wind and current working with us. But our kayak was easily pushed to down current and down wind—away from CP4! This is when I panicked, realizing that I was 100% wrong—the wind and current were against us. Compounding this error was my decision to stay on the leeward or west side of the river. Here the headwinds swept across our starboard, making us paddle harder to go upstream. We were also in direct sunlight. Had I simply followed everyone else on the right side of the river where we were just a minutes ago at CP3, we would have had the trees to block the wind and provide us shade.
I wallowed silently in my tactical error-- in the heat of the race I couldn’t draw upon my 20+ years of experience as a boater/sailor. My wallowing must have loud as Chicken tried to console me while I kept shifting around in the kayak, looking for that magic position that would somehow invigorate me into propelling us forward effortlessly. It wasn’t happening.
Watching two other teams head over to the west bank, and carry or drag their kayaks on land inspired me to copy them. They were faster than us and disappeared into the bushes, making me believe they were beamed to CP4 ala Star Trek. I convinced Chicken that we should try it, and as we approached the bank, I seemed invigorated. We clumsily fell out of the kayak and onto the bank.
I had no problems carrying the kayak, but it was too heavy for the Chicken’s wings. Hehe. One problem “solved” another one created. Thinking quickly-- I had zero intentions of returning to the water—I harnessed my life preserver strap around the bow’s hitch. Both of us could now carry….errrr….drag the kayak. This was easy, a piece of cake, until the pavement ended. Now it seemed as if we were in the jungle. OK, it wasn’t that bad. But now the river bank was walled off about 15 feet below. We dragged that yellow plastic piece of $h!* through the underbrush, though some industrial yards, while the getting really puzzled looks from random fishermen. Some talked amongst themselves in foreign languages, while some directed us. I jokingly said to one, “excuse me, where’s the river?” which was right behind me. The humor was lost on him.
After 20 minutes of dragging the kayak on land I suddenly got tired. I scanned the river bank for an opening to re-launch that plastic piece of $h!*. We found one at the base of Founders Bridge. This time, I decided to be up front (yet another bad move) and climbed in and poled the kayak into deeper water expecting the Chicken to be right behind me. Hmmm…another bad move because the Chicken was still on shore. Calmly and daintily she directed me to return. After a few minutes of paddling, another bout of indecision hit me. The tide and wind were still against us—no big surprise—but I contemplated to myself about going across the river to the sheltered side, even though we were only about one mile away. We stayed on the windward side and by the time we reached CP4, where a race organizer told us NOT to drag the kayak on the ground a mere 15 feet away, I was toast. But I was so eagerly awaiting the next stage--mountain biking—where I could sit down and relax. CP4 done.
As we read the instructions on the laminated 8.5” x 11” sheet of paper, I wanted to destroy it. There would be no leisurely bike ride. Our team had to do one lap, approximately 6 miles, with only one bike. Thus, one teammate had to run and we had to remain 10 yards within each other. I was so depressed inside, and this was the only time of the race where I didn’t think I could make it. Ahead of us was 9 miles of running in the hot sun, 3 miles in the biking/running stage, assuming we split times, then 6 miles of real running throughout Hartford. I’ve never done more than 8 miles in a row, and that was at the beginning of my first mini-tri in favorable conditions--a brisk September morning.
Chicken thought running would be much easier, so she volunteered to run first. Without hesitation, I agreed to bike because I knew it would be easier and I really needed to sit down. I chugged a Red Bull, which at the time was the best drink I ever had (it really isn’t), adjusted her seat, and pedaled slowly towards the shade. The canopy of leaves and the plush bike seat, relative to that yellow plastic piece of $h!* was heaven. I longed for my ipod, loaded with Bruce Springsteen, U2, and other 80’s music.
Alternating running with biking wasn’t too bad—we were in the shade--but my stomach started cramping at the halfway point, where we had to navigate on the top of a dyke that gave us no protection from the sun. Great timing, Cesar Salad! Thankfully, the Chicken let me get back on her bike and I took a number of deep breaths, drinking water and Gu. After five minutes I was rejuvenated and finally settled into a brisk (for me) pace. In no time (relatively speaking), we were at CP5. We were over the hump and only one event left—running, which would lead us to CPs6 – 9. Errr….make that faux-running.
Though physically tired and hungry, I was jacked up by this thought--navigating in Hartford would be easier than in the woods, which I had to do in my previous mini-tri. Landmarks are easier to spot, and I believed that Chicken and I were good navigators. My problem is that I like taking the straightest path on the map which isn’t always the easiest route. We needlessly climbed over numerous embankments, crawled under spaces where humans aren’t supposed to be, crossed major highways and trudged through muddy waters. Our stroll through the shaded streets of Hartford (veering off the straight line from Point A to Point B to be in the shade is permitted!) was rather uneventful, though we joked a lot. We navigated to CPs 6-9, and took a lot of pictures along the way. Was this a tour or an adventure race?
My penchant to take the straightest way to the finish line cost us some more agita. We were stuck on one side of the highway, and had no visible way of crossing it. After a few minutes of exploring, climbing and getting nowhere, the Chicken thankfully found the way. But the last obstacle that remained was that same elevated walkway that started our race. However, after 6 hours, it looked ominous like something from “the Empire Strikes Back.” As we both ascended the walkway, our legs began to cramp. Eeep! How embarrassing would it be to fall at the finish line? Fortunately our stomachs took control, navigating us towards the food and ice cold drinks at the finish line.
Our time to complete the novice course was 6:03. It wasn’t great but we finished and got back safely. I’m so glad that the Chicken had fun. She’s more athletic than she cares to admit—and I truly admire that. She’s encouraging, spunky, and a good listener who knows when to intervene. I just hope that we can do more races together--once I learn to kayak.
