Going into this year’s Nation’s Tri, for the first time ever, I felt strongest about the swim. As discussed in length last post, I hadn’t been exactly diligent putting time in on the bike, and my previously and likely again-broken ankle has turned running lit’rally into an exercise in pain management. So basically I’ve been left with planks, push-ups, and swimming over the past eight weeks. (Two of those things I enjoy. [Hint: Not swimming.])

Combining my want of bike-run preparation with my first-time-ever swim preparedness, and given the summer I’ve had, it should come as no surprise that come race day, the swim portion was cancelled.

For the second time in four years pre-race storms had washed an amount of raw sewage into the Potomac that was deemed just too much raw sewage to swim in. (Insert any number of jokes about the Potomac’s raw sewage levels on a normal day.) And here I was thinking if I contracted giardia from the swim (as Nations Tri participants are known to do), (my dog,) Birkin and I could have something extra to bond over!

I received notification via Facebook while transition-area-bound on the race shuttle at 5am. The news let loose a wave of emotions. I think I was happy first. No swim?! That’s the dream! Then sad, because it’s the last race of an already much-truncated and disappointing season. Then sadder still because Scott surprised me with a brand new wetsuit the night before the race. Then happy because brunch would come 27-29 minutes sooner than expected. Then terrified because the bike portion would come 27-29 minutes sooner than expected.

I set up my bike and running gear as the sun came up. It was a perfect morning, and without having to shimmy into my wetsuit I had a few extra minutes to savor being back in a pre-race transition area. Prepping alongside thousands of other excited, anxious athletes from all over the world and repping diverse skill levels is one of the best parts of the day. I don’t know if it’s the endorphins, but triathletes are ridiculously friendly. Strangers help each other with last minute bike adjustments – one of my bike rack neighbors patiently held Koopa Troop while I filled his tires – and offer extra food and gear freely.

I overheard people discuss the cancelled swim. Some were happy, others, especially the few for whom this was the first tri, were disappointed. Everyone agreed it sucked worst for the swimmers on relay teams. Eventually we were all kicked out of transition. I made my usual barefoot trip to the porta-potty (which I’ll never get used to) and lined up. We’d be running up the swim ramp in our swim groups to simulate the full day of events as much as possible, and as a member of the DC Tri Club (woot woot!) I was in one of the very first waves. It was odd and a bit anticlimactic to be sprinting into transition without swimming but I had little time to think about it as I pulled on my cleats and helmet and headed for the bike course.

It was only five days after my first post-crash ride and it was my first time clipping back into the pedals. I could feel my heart pounding against my new, aero helmet. (Why did I buy a helmet that would make me go faster?!) The bike course was two large loops and then an out and back on the 14^th St [Read: WORST EVER] bridge. Thanks to the DC Tri Club-granted privilege of an early start, the first loop was very quiet. It gave me time to get my bearings and settle into a quick but comfortable pace around 21-22mph. I had already resolved not to ride on my aero bars knowing I hadn’t had enough time back in the saddle for that yet. To get comfortable I sang showtunes and urged myself on out loud with a, ‘good job, Liz!’ every few minutes.

When I hit the second loop the course had started to fill up, and just like last year, I encountered a disturbing number of rude and aggressive riders. (There are dangerous cyclists in every tri, but Nation’s seems to attract them.) People drafted off of strangers, passed on the right, and one winner tried to get around me on the tightest U-turn of the whole course. If I hadn’t seen his shadow and moved he would have clipped me and caused who knows how large a pile-up.

Fortunately the first loop had given me a much-needed confidence boost and I got through loop two in good spirits. As I followed signage back towards transition I even had a little chuckle at the expense of people who still had another loop to go. My ego trip didn’t last long though. As I coasted past transition I wondered why the course wasn’t ending yet. And then I remembered: The *%#@ 14^th St Bridge.

By far the worst part of the day was that death march up the bridge and back. There were tiny, lethal piles of gravel everywhere springing flats for numerous riders. Every ten yards or so there were jagged metal seems that, when traversed on a road or tri bike, rattled the brains like an unwanted etch-a-sketch. The worst was the wind. Combined my bike and I top out at maybe 125lbs. Also known as nothin’ at all to an angry gust of wind. Several times the wind hit me so hard I thought for sure I was going swimming after all. My speed dropped into the teens and I switched from singing to loud cursing. With each big gust I screamed, ‘F*** you, wind!’ and tried to peddle a little harder. I wondered whether screaming expletives could result in a penalty but decided if passing on a U-turn didn’t merit reprimand, a few well-deserved meteorological castigations did not either.

Eventually that hell came to an end and I hustled to make up some mph back to transition. I reracked Koopa as quickly as possible, shoved my feet into my running shoes, and stuffed my pocket with shot blocks and energy beans. I set off on what is usually my happiest, fastest event, wondering how my ankle would hold up.

Last year in the run bit of Nations I bonked hard. The bike course had been so packed with crazies I had completely forgotten to fuel, and I’d started with a later swim wave (which we had actually swum) so it had been 90+ degrees when I hit the run. This year I made sure to fuel on my bike (yay Heed! [Product placement? I can haz sponsor??]) and had the advantage of the DC Tri Club early wave,  so it was much cooler and I felt energized for the run. However my ankle was once again busted. I tried to find a happy medium between (figuratively) painfully slow and (literally) painfully fast. I made note of my time at each mile marker and was holding steady just under 8:30. The miles ticked by quickly and were a lot of fun surrounded by mostly other DC Tri Clubbers.

Coming into the final stretch I saw Scott and Birkin. I called out to Birk who saw me and tried to leap into the race. Scott kept him on the grass and the two of them ran alongside me. The site of our overjoyed dire wolf tugging at the leash gave the athletes around me an extra padded kick in the chamois to turn it up a notch, and together we all sprinted the chute towards the finish line.

I collected my medal and met up with my two dudes. It felt good to be done for sure, but this finish lacked the sense of accomplishment that usually accompanies completing a tri. Not swimming made the morning feel more like an epic training brick with a thousand of my closest friends. Looking at my race receipt (2:19 total) I was both happy and a little deflated: if we’d swum this probably would have been a solid PR.

As I collected my third dude and headed home with my supportive little family I made myself focus on the most important part of the day: I had found joy on the bike again. And confidence. And some speed! Averaging 19:10 mph by my calculations (which are assuredly slightly off) is better than I had hoped for. And that first loop had been exactly what I needed to rediscover some peace in the saddle. Even the close calls with other riders and the river below the Bridge weren’t enough to dislodge that mental and physical harmony. Also, I continue to be amazed by how fast my little Koopa Troop is and I can’t wait to see what he can do as I continue building confidence heading into Ironman 2015.

It’s bittersweet to say goodbye to this emotional season. I had some lofty goals and I have to just exhale them out and be happy with what I did get done. I’ve still got the Army Ten Miler and, ankle-willing, the Marine Corps Marathon waiting for me in October. Then probably a short break for either surgery or a more time in the air boot (or both?) before M-Dot 2015 says to get moving.