The Race I Didn't Finish

A lot of people have asked how my race went.

Thank you. I appreciate you asking.

The truth is, it was the first race ever that I didn't finish.

But here is what happened instead...

Barrett and I arrived on time, received our jet black body markings, carefully set up our transition areas, and found a spot in the shade to wait for our race to start.  With many different races that morning, the very first off the starting line was the full distance triathlon - a grueling 2.5-mile open water swim followed by a 112-mile bike and a full 26.2-mile marathon.  Athletes generally finish that endurance race between 9:00 PM and 1:00 AM, and many who begin, do not finish.  It is a dream race distance for many athletes - should you have the time, energy, money, equipment and courage to make the pursuit.  Immediately following the full-length start, the other distances, including a 1/3 and 2/3 full, were started from the same shoreline. 

At 9:30 AM, the gun went off for the sprint triathlon - the one Barrett and I were participating in.  A fun distance for me, the race included a .25 mile swim, an 8-mile bike, and a 3.1-mile run.  Instead of my usual distance-induced fear, I walked up to the shoreline of the lake feeling relaxed and excited, knowing I'd be done in under ninety minutes.

The gun went off and out I swam with dozens of other women into the open water of Lake Minneola. I turned at each of the triangle buoys, was out of the water in under ten minutes, and was running soaking wet to the transition area.  I tossed on my cycling gear as water dripped down my face and legs, grabbed my bike off the rack, and quickly made my way out of the transition area.  As I threw my leg over the seat of the bike, I felt strong.  I knew I would push the pedals hard and fast for all eight miles.  Earlier that spring, I had pushed for 56 miles on an improperly fitted bike and without adequate fuel, because my energy bars were eaten by squirrels!  So this was going to be a joy ride - a low pressure and fun race morning.

After taking off, I immediately began passing people.  I wondered if I should slow down, but the wind and speed just felt so good, like I was flying!  I passed over thirty people as I cruised along at about twenty-one mph - not a fast pace for some, but a fast pace for me!  Halfway through the bike, I realized this would be a personal record - the fastest sprint triathlon I had done in sixteen years of the sport.  Excitement drove my legs to push even harder!  Around what must have been mile seven, I noticed my odometer not working - it was showing my speed, but not my distance.  "Oh well," I thought, "I'll just follow the pack."

Keeping up the high speed, and still excited for a personal record, I successfully climbed a steep hill, and then two more.  As I came over the third hill in complete anaerobic distress, I noticed the crowd had thinned out.  "That's weird," I thought, but continued pedaling.  Then a highway appeared - the same highway I rode alongside during last year's race when I competed in the longer, 1/3 distance triathlon.  I began talking to myself, feeling somewhat confused, "The sprint distance just looped around the lake, but I'm really far from the lake."

Uh-oh.
Oh crap.
No.
No.
No.

"Am I on the long course, somehow, instead of the short course?"

I sped up to the woman cycling ahead of me to peek at her race sticker.  I knew if it was red, I'm still in the game because red stickers are sprint triathletes.  If it was blue, she was participating in either the 1/3, 2/3 or full distance triathlon.  I pushed harder, trying not to look like I was trying to draft off of her.  I spotted the sticker.

Blue.
My heart sank.

Somewhere on the course, I  missed a directional sign for the short course and was now riding on the wrong course.  My shot at my fastest time was over.  On top of that, I didn't know where I was or just how far off the short course I had pedaled since my odometer wasn't working.  $90.00 race fee and all that training down the drain because of a missed sign.  Confused over whether to pull over, go back, or finish whatever loop I was on, I decided to keep moving forward.

A few miles later, it dawned on me my entire family would be expecting me across the finish line very soon and would start wondering where I was (hopefully they weren't just going to leave and grab lunch without me!).  At that moment, a water station came into view.  I pulled up to the aid station, explained to a young lady who looked to know what she was doing that I was on the wrong course, and asked her for a phone.  She said she didn't have one (or didn't want this sweaty, sun-burned athlete using hers) and so I decided to wait until a race official would eventually come around.  I stood there, trying to tell myself what happened was not going to ruin my day, my week, or my spirits, but I was having trouble holding back the tears and the disappointment in myself.

As I unclipped my helmet and tossed it on the ground, I turned around to see a female cyclist dismounting her bike with a race official next to her.  She let her bike slip out of her hands as it fell to the ground.  Covered in hard-earned sweat, she fell to the ground next to her bike, curled up in a ball, and began sobbing.  Her head was down in her knees.

I literally thought in that moment, "You have nothing else to do, so go see if you can help."

Leaving my helmet in the grass, I walked up behind her with my bike and asked: "What's wrong?"
The race official answered for her, "Her bike is busted.  She's done."
"Oh no!  What race are you doing?"
She answered, but didn't lift her face, "The full."

Because I've completed a 1/2 and because I dream of completing a full, I immediately knew what that meant.  It meant she had spent endless hours, energy, money, and passion training for today, the day she would conquer her mountain and live out a dream.

"How tall are you?"  I asked.
She looked up from her knees and through her tears, said: "I'm 5'4."
"What size shoe are you?"
"7," she responded.

She was exactly the same size as me.

"Here, take my bike."
"What??? Are you serious??"  (My bike is not a toy - it is carbon fiber, 18+gear, sleek Fuji racing bike with mounted aero bars, and I love her more than peanut butter)
"Where are you from?" I asked.
"Alaska. I came to do this race with my two brothers for one of their 40th birthdays."
I was flabbergasted by how far she had come.
"Listen, my race is done.  Now go finish yours."

We quickly exchanged names/numbers with the race official's pen and paper.  She slipped on my clips, got up on the saddle, thanked me profusely, asked if I'd get her bike back to the start, and courageously rode off on my beloved black and orange Fuji. To anyone who cycles, you know the risks of riding a bike not yours.  I realized after she took off, I wasn't even sure she knew how to switch my gears.  On a bike that was not her own, she was boldly embarking on 97 more miles in 87-degree weather, and probably on top of jet lag.

A man who had been standing about ten feet away, watching this three and a half minute scene, looked at me with a confused daze and asked, "Did you just give her your bike??"

I took a deep breath and smiled, "Yeah, I guess I did.  It's ok.  Today isn't my race.  It's hers."

When a race official with a large vehicle finally arrived, we loaded her busted bike into his Jeep and took it to race HQ.  I called her father, the number she had left me with, and he answered the phone with, "Is this the angel who just saved my daughter's race?"
My eyes welled up with tears and we worked out the logistics of getting my bike back to me.

I eventually made my way back to my family, still barefoot and sunburned at this point, and then to the race HQ to turn in my timing chip (my timing chip would have been removed by a race volunteer at the finish line, had I crossed it).  I extended the chip to the volunteer over the table, saying, "Here you go.  I didn't finish my race."
The volunteer asked, "Oh sweetie, are you the girl who gave the other girl her bike?"
I chuckled at the fact that apparently word gets out fast on a racecourse and answered, "Yes, I am."
She looked at me and asked, "Did you hear what she did?"
"No!" I said, fearing the worst of her crashing because she couldn't figure out my gears!
"Well when she came through the of her loop past the HQ, she was singing loudly on the bike!  She was singing because she got to keep going!"

I couldn't believe it.
My own lost race left my mind and all I wanted, was for her to finish that darn full.  I was in awe over the mysterious sequence of events that day:

- If I had not veered off course
- If I had been slower getting to the aid station
- If I had turned around
- If I had a crappy bike unable to complete the full distance mileage at a decent speed
- If I was 1 inch taller
- If my feet were 1 size smaller
- If I hadn't curiously walked over to ask what was wrong

I'll never forget when that afternoon, her father texted me she had severe cramps and still a lap to go on the bike (40 miles!).  I immediately began praying that my bike take her through those miles, that her legs be strong and her heart be full. 

I prayed she would rest, but not quit. 
I was praying for a stranger.

Over a shared passion of triathlons and love for family,  I knew how badly she wanted to finish.  She and my bike were in the middle of a journey I someday hope to take.  Praying and cheering for her on my bike, took me out of my own sadness.

Her father kept me updated and at about 5:15 PM, he texted Tiffany (that's her name) and Xena Warrior Princess (that's my bike!) had finished the 112 miles of the bike!  At 1:15 AM, he texted she crossed the finish line of the full distance race!  It was incredible.

To Tiffany, the full distance triathlete I'll never meet again:
I'm inspired by your courage to take a bike that wasn't yours and to get out there and finish what you started.  Way to go Tiffany!!!!!  Congratulations on being one of the few to even begin the full distance triathlon!  I hope your toes are recovered from being smooshed in my "small size 7" shoe, and I wish you the best on the next adventure you take, whatever it may be!

And may I prayerfully realize that just when I think I've veered off course, I might actually be headed in the exact direction God intended from the very beginning of the race.

Peace,
Annette