The weekend got off to an unsettling start while waiting for my ride down from Indianapolis to check in to his hotel. A fellow competitor noticed my Indiana t-shirt, came over to chat, and immediately informed me that two cyclists had been hit by a car that afternoon. Both were in town to race; one had been killed, the other seriously injured. Oh great.
Logistical failings became clear the next day (the day before the race). Bikes had to be checked in to the transition area on Saturday. Transition was 11 miles away on the shore of Lake Pontchartrain, but the host hotel was right next to the French Quarter. Sunday, race day, there were shuttle buses to get the athletes up to the race site, but Saturday, nothing. There were no public transportation options, and it would be a very expensive cab ride. The race organizers' answer to those who had flown in and not rented a car was not acceptable: take a cab or hitch a ride with someone. Really?
Thankfully there were plenty of us there with cars, and a friend of mine had driven over from Austin, so we were covered. One member of our group befriended a car-less Canadian woman who was roaming the parking garage looking for a ride. Unsat.
Sunday morning brought the usual gawdawful early alarm, and we were at transition setting up our gear by 6am. It was now time to relax, watch the sun rise, and await our turns to go into the water. It was a beautiful sunrise, and everyone stood around yawning and chatting to pass the time. My Austin friend enjoyed the human eye-candy.
Before the race started, the newly-minted widow of the athlete who had been killed spoke to us. He had been a firefighter, and left a young family behind. She told us that he would not have wanted anybody's day to be ruined by what had happened, and urged us all to have a good race. I don't think there was a dry eye in the house. We all marveled that she was able to hold it together long enough to even try to speak. The race director then spoke, and he was very plainly deeply upset. He explained that a fund had been set up to help the man's family, as well as help the surviving man's family pay for his rapidly-mounting medical bills. (I haven't heard any follow-up, but was told he had broken his back, along with multiple other injuries. He was still in serious condition when we left NOLA.) The crowd was very quiet for a few minutes, while everybody filed the experience away and got ready to switch gears into race mode.
The swim start was surprisingly efficient and kept swimmers from crawling all over each other in the water. I was in the very last wave, women 40+. Each wave worked its way down the dock to a floating platform, 4-6 swimmers lined up at the front of that platform, and went into the water every 15-20 seconds. All 1230 (or so) of us were in the water in under an hour, as promised.
It was a very nice, sheltered swim in a harbor off the lake, so no chop and relatively warm. The sleeveless wetsuit was perfect for the 68-degree water. My swim was slower than I had hoped, but it felt good. I had only swam once in the last six weeks, since dislocating my shoulder, so I didn't expect to do exceptionally well. I was very happy that the shoulder stayed put and felt solid, and annoyed at the constant fogging of my goggles. When they'd fog up so badly I couldn't see the buoys, I'd stop and tread water long enough to clear them out. Not great for time. Sigh. The hardest part of the swim was the exit, up some very steep stairs they had lowered into the water. I barked my shin on the bottom step, trying to find it in the murk. Ouch! The wetsuit strippers did their thing, and I was quickly carrying my wetsuit to the bike - which was very easy to find due to my slow swim! Waved hello to my friend, and got ready for a long-ish ride.
Took off on the bike, and immediately had to climb a 40-foot highway ramp. Lovely. However, I surprised myself by passing the two riders that were ahead of me, and got ready to enjoy the ride.
...which I did for the first 35 miles. The only hills were the occasional overpasses and ramps, and the wind, while annoying, didn't particularly affect the ride. The winter indoor training paid off, and I was averaging 18-20mph (great for me) and passing many people. A 64-year-old man (our ages are written on our calves) and I played tag for a while, passing and catching each other, until he finally passed me for good around mile 30. That one was actually pretty humorous. I was passing two people at the time (ages high 20's early 30's), and he passed me as I was passing them. I heard one of the young 'uns exclaim something to the other, and had to chuckle.
At some point it occurred to me that there had been an abundance of caution in how the roads were closed. Usually, they'll close one side and have traffic pass on the other. Not this time, not even where there was plenty of room. Later in the ride, someone had placed a bicycle that was completely painted white, handlebars, tires, everything, up against a tree. It was covered with flowers. Afterwards, several of us wondered if that was where the two cyclists had been hit. I'm quite sure the excessive road closures were a direct result of Friday's accident. Sobering.
After the race, there was universal agreement that the suckfest had begun around mile 35, when the winds got completely out of control. A weather front was blowing in, and the winds were all over the place, either pushing us from the sides or trying to stop us from the front. There was no tailwind, of course. The last 20 miles everyone just put their heads down and kept cranking as hard as possible. I have never used granny gear on a flat ride, but had to that day. The only encouraging thing was that I was somehow still managing to pass people, even though I was spinning a tiny gear and going painfully slow. The last half mile we had to go back up that 40-foot ramp, into a headwind. Are you serious? Oh well, I could see transition so I knew the torture was almost over. Thank gawd.
Headed out for the run, feeling all alone. Since I was in the last group to enter the water and had a pitiful slow swim, the bulk of people had long since left on their run. There were only two others in front of me for the first quarter- to half-mile, but it didn't take long to catch and pass them. It was very clear that the bike had beaten up everyone pretty badly, as virtually no one was running. The vast majority of us were walking/trudging/walking, and it really was a death march for many. As I would gain on groups of people, their silhouettes reminded me of the Walking Dead. It actually was quite humorous.
Somehow I managed to work my way up through groups of fellow wasted runners, and was soon within two miles of the finish. Hooray! It was great to see a friendly face around mile 11 and whine a little about the wind on the bike. She just smiled and reminded me the finish was near. At mile 12 I finally caught the woman I'd seen earlier who was doing the race as a relay, and clearly suffering. She was heavier, and it looked like this might be her first seriously long event. She had been maintaining a passable trudge earlier, but by mile 12 it was obvious her feet were really hurting. As I passed, I said, "I think we're going to finish this thing!" "Oh, we're definitely going to finish," she said, "I've quit four times today!" Excellent!
As usual, the last quarter mile felt like several, but finally I saw my friend and a fellow competitor from Indianapolis (who had already finished), and knew there were only a few yards to go. Huzzah! I'm done! Time for a good local brew and some red beans and rice. We found a place to sit, and gradually the Indiana contingent all found each other and bitched about the wind. I felt a little better about the bike after I heard that even one of the pros had commented on how tough the wind was. Ok, it's not just because I maybe went out too hard and got tired; it really was that bad. Whew!
And here is where the logistical failures again became clear. The finish was in City Park, nowhere near either transition OR the French Quarter/hotel. All of our race crap was back in transition, and had to be retrieved by 8pm. There was a shuttle to go back there, but then no way to get anywhere from there, especially not with a bike. Great. Once again, it was a good thing we had plenty of vehicles, but I know it was a real hassle for some who had flown in.
After a badly-needed shower, we hooked up with the group and swapped war stories. I almost fell asleep in my dinner, and had to call it a day.
So. Am I glad I did this race once? Yes. Would I do it again? Probably not. The bike course wasn't very scenic, though it's the first elevation chart I've downloaded that was all in the negative numbers(!). The swim and run were fine. However the pre- and post-race logistical failings were bad enough not to want to fool with it again. The expo also was far smaller than expected, and a bit of a disappointment.
But the beignets, fried shrimp po boys, and grilled oysters were heavenly!
Overall Time: 7:13:08 Swim: 54:54 (yeah yeah I know, slow) T1: 5:47 Bike: 3:27:20 T2: 3:26 Run: 2:41:42
