Open-water swimming is one of life’s acquired joys. Unless one grows up swimming in ponds, lakes, or oceans it takes a bit of practice to get used to the idea of climbing into the water and swimming over whatever depths a day might call for. I’ve gotten used to the open-water segment of triathlons through a few years of practice, but that doesn’t mean race day always starts out smoothly.

Most of the races I’ve done have had “rolling” starts. That is the method by which three people at a time enter the water together and it’s all spaced out by 15-second intervals. In that circumstance, I find my rhythm quickly and know not to start out too fast. It takes a good 5-10 minutes of swimming (or running) to get my (senior) body warmed up and working efficiently. Start too fast and fatigue goes ripping through the upper body. The breathing goes shallow. It’s easy to panic a little at that point.

That is precisely what happened yesterday duringn the Pleasant Prairie Olympic Distance triathlon. At the start I treaded water among the group of 55+ swimmers and when we began swimming the water churning all around me put me on edge. In response, I swam too fast for the first two minutes. Plus, I had big goals for improvement in the swim. Over the past year, my per-100 time has dropped to a best pace just above 1:40, which is a significant improvement over my previous 2:00 per 100 pace. But I had no business going so fast from the get-go. I paid a price.

Anxiety seemed to rise up from below the surface and take over my mind. I stopped, breathing too shallowly for comfort, and glanced at the shore. Every ounce of me wanted to swim in and call it a day. Instead, I treaded water while talking to myself. “Be cool,” I said out loud. “You can do this.” The wetsuit kept me afloat as I calmed my nerves.

I regained some confidence and started swimming again, but the panic had not subsided completely. Stopping again, I realized that the strange tugging feeling of the sleeves on my Zoot kit was giving me the willies. That’s my bad, not Zoot. I had not practiced swimming in that new kit and it felt a bit restricting at first. Then it loosened up. So I paused, cursed a little, and did a few breaststrokes to keep moving. Only then, after probably three minutes of messing around with my brain did I get back into a solid, less frenetic swim stroke.

Passing the first orange buoy, I told myself “Okay now just keep a rhythm.” But dangit… I was pulling to the left and soon found myself in the company of an event kayak with a kind young paddler who told me, “Hey, you need to go back over that way…”

I looked to my right and saw the line of swimmers about twenty yards away. I was heading off course. I cursed again out loud, asking myself, “How the f***?” and heard the kayaker laugh. In a minute or so I was back on course.

From there, most of the day went much better. The swim wound up taking me 39 minutes versus the expected 35 or so with my self-predicted pace. Perhaps it was the sudden sensation of being surrounded by forty other swimmers, or just the anxiety of being in the event at all when life itself has thrown me a few things to be anxious about lately. Whatever the case, I’m proud that I was able to calm myself down, push on to the Swim Out and smile at my wife who was taking photos. “I had a little trouble out there,” I told her.

The chop that blew up during the swim didn’t help either. It was flying right in my face as I breathed on the right side. That meant adapting the stroke to longer rotation to allow for breathing. But again, I’ve gotten good at some of these things. And here’s the joy in how the race swim ultimately went: I actually swam quite well once the anxiety thing subsided. Take away the frenetic mess at the start, and t actually swam my target pace. There’s something pleasant to build upon.

There’s an allegory for life itself in that eventuality. As lifelong owner of Generalized Anxiety Disorder, time and circumstance have always caught me off guard now and then. I’ve learned how to deal with much of it. Perhaps that’s part of why doing endurance sports is important to me, and why I still do them. There’s nothing like facing fears head-on. I believe it’s not so much about “conquering fears” as learning to move through them.

If the bike fits…

During the transition, it’s always a challenge yanking off the wetsuit and pulling on the bike helmet and shoes. Then it was time to get on the bike and ride. Recently I invested in a new triathlon bike, a Cervelo P Ultegra. As with any new bike, it takes time to tweak the fit and see how your body works with the machine. I’ve gotten in a series of perhaps ten rides, long and short treks on the Cervelo. Getting the new cleat angles took time as well as finding out how the cadence rate (spinning pedals) and shifting work to create a “whole package.”

I’d say that I’ve reached 80% efficiency so far. As my wife pointed out when looking through the race photos she took, it looks like my seat needs to come up a centimeter or two. That’s typical when dialing in a bike fit. It takes some serious tweaking to get everything right.

Racing a triathlon bike is an odd sensation if you’ve never done it. Pros spend hours getting it “just right” to maximize aerodynamic efficiency. I’ve been riding in aero using my Felt 4C and aero bars for two years, so I’m used to it. But having the shift levers on the bar ends changes things with an actual tri-bike. I learned from practice that there are basically two gears where I can spin efficiently at 20+ mph. Any higher gear than that, and right now my legs tire out. The strength for high gears needs to be built up over time and through many miles. I’ll work on that.

Learning to navigate in the wind on aero bars is important. The Cervelo is the most aerodynamic bike I’ve ever ridden. It feels like it cuts through the wind. That’s a confidence builder. I still struggled up the false flats a bit and the crosswinds were cruel, but still managed to average 18.5 mph for 25 miles on a really windy day. That’s a start.

The bike course is interesting as it makes a loop around the Haribo candy factory on smooth corporate drives, then a long out and back to the Southeast (with a south wind) on some rolling and somewhat scenic territory. On a less windy day (which may not happen often given Pleasant Prairie’s proximity to Lake Michigan) the course is fast. But that’s the thing with triathlons. You race in whatever conditions you’re given. It started out cool in the morning and as you can see from the photos that follow, got hot on the run. That’s triathlon. That’s also life.

Coming off the bike, I’d eaten a set of Shot Bloks and a couple salt tabs. But my water intake was low, and as my wife also pointed out after the race, I’d taken the Light Hydration bag to fill my bottles. It wasn’t enough “substance” to hold me through. I ran through three miles at 9:00 pace, then turned onto a long curving stretch of crushed gravel path with the wind behind us. Lacking that cooling effect, and with temps in the low 80s, along with others I began to suffer. Miles four and five were slow, even walking a bit to catch my wits back up to running.

The last mile went fine as a couple glasses of water at four miles kicked in, and a cup poured over my head felt good. I felt disappointed that the day had not gone more smoothly, but as it worked out I still placed second in my age group. So I’ll take that for a day’s work and look forward to the next Olympic distance tri with a bit less anxiety, a lot more nutrition, and the pleasant notion that I’ve done all this before. I just need to emphasize the good stuff to cancel out the bad.

I recommend the Pleasant Prairie Triathlon, by the way. It is exceptionally well-run, has a great vibe, and deserves the support of the triathlon community. They always give out great shirts and you get free race photos, as you can see. Plus you can visit the Jelly Belly store.

See you next time!