The Tri that turned out to be different: My Santa Cruz triathlon experience.
It was one of those days when life threw a curve ball at me. I panicked. Tears stung my eyes. Probably more than the sea water. The tears that ran down my face were saltier than the ocean water. My heart rate shot up more than it would have if I was doing my interval training.
I followed the usual routine. As I usually do before the start of every triathlon race. A small sea prayer. A warm up swim to acclimatize myself with the cold temperature. The waves were huge. Almost felt like I was swimming up a hill. I swam a few yards, turned and swam back to the shore. It was during my second time I felt this smack. Whoa! That powerful slap of the wave. I choked and spluttered. The wave retreated. My vision was unobstructed. To my dismay I realized the goggles were snatched by that wave. Goggles which I had tucked behind my ear. Goggles that felt like another pair of eyes. The ones that has helped me navigate through the open water swims several times. I searched frantically for them. Somewhere I hoped that the ocean wouldn’t be so cruel. But no! They were gone. I looked at another huge wave crash on the shore. I hurriedly rushed towards the volunteers.
The event was about to start. The race organizers were giving their athlete briefing. I had another pair of spare goggles in my transition bag. What time is you wave? the volunteer asked. I told her. She looked at her watch and shook her head. You wouldn’t make it in time. The transition was at least 800 m away from Main Beach. An announcement was made requesting for a pair of extra goggles. And there was a kind Samaritan who let me his pair. I thanked him profusely and placed the goggles on my head. I went into the water. They were leaky. Water kept getting into my eyes. I tried tightening them. Nothing worked. It was no point swimming with my head up, when one of the volunteers on the kayak suggested it. Incorrect form would only result in exhaustion and not meeting the cut off time. The wharf swim was a tough one. Having done it several times in the past, there was no way I was going to get through this one. A fellow woman triathlete was next to me during the wave. She wanted to make sure I was ok. I signaled her to continue with her swim. Bless her. Not many people would have done what she did. That kindness and selflessness exhibited by her is something I’d never forget for the rest of my life.
I had to take a decision that wasn’t easy but the right one. I opted to pull out of the swim. I walked to the volunteers’ section at the beach. Echoes of shouts, horns, and cheers erupted in the background. I saw other athletes take a plunge into the waves. The volunteer was considerate and empathetic. After having a word with the race director, she said I could continue with the bike and run instead. Only thing is you will not get your official timing. I nodded. Having come all the way, I decided I wasn’t going to quit. Alright! The swim was a wash out! Things happen. Besides, I would get a chance to bike on Highway 1-the Ironman 70.3 course. After two years!
I walked to transition with my head down. On the way, I met a lady with a dog. Not the character from Anthon Chekhov’s short story. Just a person who was cheering her significant other who was doing the race. She asked if I was ok. I broke down. Lately things haven’t worked for me. The previous week, I was supposed to do the San Francisco Half marathon. I had collected by race bib and T shirt. On Saturday night, I experienced insomnia. From 1 am I couldn’t get myself to sleep. My sensibilities told me it wasn’t advisable to run a half marathon without adequate sleep. I decided to skip the run and rest. The fiasco at the swim made me wonder about these little hurdles. Suddenly it was too much to take. She empathized and the dog licked me. An adorable little pug with big eyes. Feeling a little comforted, I made my way to transition.
I switched to my bike gear and wheeled my bike to the sign that read mount bike here. I began my ride. Bells, cheers and volunteers shouted good going. The weather was beautiful. I rode on West Cliff drive and smiled at the photographers. I cheered up as I got into a rhythm. I reached Highway 1. With its rolling hills and headwinds, this bike course is a perfect example of Bhim meets Hanuman moment. I was treated to the views of the ocean. A million thoughts swarmed in my head. Why did the wave snatch my goggles? This was the first time it was happening. I counted. This was 13thtriathlon race. I shook my head. I was just being superstitious. Just then I watched a surfer who was knocked down by a wave. They were certainly temperamental today. As I rode further, I noticed a few bikers with flat tyres. Some were sitting on the corner of the road. I stopped by the side to take a sip of my water. Another biker stopped near me and fell off his bike. I looked in concern. Are you ok? I asked. He nodded. There was something weird in the air. I continued pedaling and reached Davenport-the turnaround point. Taking a sip of Gatorade from the volunteers, I thanked them for their support. And I zipped downhill. Cars and other bikers rode past me. I enjoyed the feel of the wind on my face, the positive vibes from fellow riders. You are doing great, they said. I was grateful for the kind words. Especially since I was feeling like a rotten egg inside.
I reached transition and got ready for my run. I couldn’t spot Amit and Samara anywhere. My spirits sank. I was so used to seeing them after every leg. I ran up the hill on West Cliff Drive. Cheers, claps and shouts greeted me. That’s the best part about the running/triathlon community. Irrespective of how fast or slow you are, they make you feel like champions. I found my rhythm and glanced at the ocean to my left. The morning’s fiasco raised its ugly head. I stopped. Just then I heard a voice-you are doing great. It was the same woman who was trying to help me during my swim. I asked her name and thanked her. She asked if I was fine. I told her that I had switched to the duathlon. She said it was a good decision. We chatted for a few minutes. She advised me to wear 2 caps and insert my goggles in between them. I said I’ll try and incorporate it next time. I continued to run. My mind was disoriented as I reminisced my races here in the past. 2019 especially was a great year. I clocked PRs. And here I was a ghost of myself.
I decided to look at the positives. I have lost weight in the last two months, dropped sizes in my wetsuit, my blood test results were normal. Alright, I have a flare up of ulcers and inflammation in my intestines. Result of all that pandemic stress, working summer and taking up new projects. So far, I am able to juggle my training, household work, reading, writing, assignments of my Masters course. Not to mention the travel time as classes are back on campus. Even my medical adviser said I was doing a great job.
Just then I heard someone saying I was looking strong. By this time, I reached the halfway mark and was inching back to the finish line. Strangers smiled and wished me luck. I braced myself as I ran along the drive. For a minute, I was transported into my 2019 form. It’s the same old me. Nothing has changed. I told myself. By next year I’ll be blast this course with a new PR. Head held high. Steady strides. I crossed the finish line as the MC called out my name. Swetha Amit. I was handed the finisher’s medal. By now the sun was up. The waves calmer. The beach bustling with energy. I walked back to transition, held my bike high and almost embraced it.
As I drove back home later that afternoon, I thought about that day’s events. I realized that things may not go as planned. There will be hurdles and obstacles. What is important is that you stay resilient, battle the odds and never give up. Most importantly every race is a learning experience that makes you stronger. Today I learned how to safeguard my goggles. Tomorrow it might be another lesson. But you never stop tri-ing.
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