Just five days after returning to DC from the New York City Triathlon I was loading up my little green dinosaur (Mini Cooper) Yoshi again, this time bound for a weekend of team-sponsored insanity at Rev3 Williamsburg. It was a full weekend of events with a sprint and kids race Saturday and an olympic and half distance race on Sunday. I would be racing the second day but I hit the road Friday afternoon so that I could volunteer with the sprinters and the young’ns before it was my turn.
Excited for the racing and team hijinks to come I got on the road around 3pm, thinking I would beat rush hour traffic on my way out of DC. But it is rush hour from dawn to dusk on Fridays in DC and so within blocks of my house I found myself mired in a vehicular slog for the second Friday in a row. A slog that crept the whole way to Williamsburg – despite Waze’s creativity I don’t think I ever broke 45 mph the entire trip down.
No no it is tooooootally reasonable for the 115 miles from DC to Williamsburg to take four hours, that is not infuriating in any way. I finally rolled into the La Quinta where I would be staying around 7pm – already 30 minutes late for our team dinner reservation. I checked in and unloaded Yoshi as fast as I could and made it to Paul’s Deli New Town where I was happy to find the dinnering still in full swing. I got to meet a few teammates I hadn’t yet met in person and followed one of their leads in ordering the french dip sandwich. This was a mistake – not because it was bad but because the pizzas that others got were surprisingly excellent. Forgive the Calabresi in me for not expecting a restauraunt called Paul’s in a tourist trap town to be serving up legit ‘za. I was wrong and if and when I am back I will eat that humble (pizza) pie, and I recommend it to all Wburg carb-loaders.
I was back in the hotel by 9 and after a Normatec-HGTV(-pinot grigio) sesh (and an epic 711 run where I think I shocked the cashier with my haul of goodies) I tucked myself in pretty early. I was the bike lead for both the sprint and the kids races the next morning which meant I had to be at transition – 20 minutes away – by 6:30am. I’ll be honest, setting my alarm I had a few unsportswoman like thoughts of, ‘why the hell did I volunteer for a thing that meant I had to be up almost as early as the athletes.’ But I got over it and got some surprisingly good zzzzzs in.
That alarm went off at 5:30 and I made myself some mid-market chain hotel coffee and packed up my massive haul from 711 – fruit platters, croissants, lunchables (oh yes, you read that right), and plenty of gatorade – and was out the door by 6am. My why-did-I-volunteer-for-dawn-duties sentiments only hung around through my first sip of coffee. By the time I parked at the race 20 minutes later I was fully onboard with with the early hour.
I rolled Koopa Troop into transition to await our bike-lead duties with plenty of time to spare. As bike lead, I would be riding out a little ahead of the first place runner in the sprint so I got to hang out a bit as the race got underway and the sprint athletes went swimming and biking.
While waiting I got to see Speed Sherpette Erica and cheer for our fellow Sherpette, Peyton, who was one of the first out of the water. Once Peyton was on her way pedaling up the hill out of transition I returned to Koop and got ready for my own ride. I knew whoever the first place athlete was they wouldn’t take too long to complete the 13.1 mile bike course and I didn’t want to get caught unprepared.
When I’d volunteered as bike lead at the Williamsburg 70.3 in 2016 I had waited for the first athlete just outside the “run out” from transition as I’d been directed. Transition – and the whole race ground really – is a large field, and upon exiting the “run out” the run course traverses 100 or so meters through high grass and uneven ground (more on that later) up a steep hill before your feet (or in my case tires) find pavement. In 2016 I’d struggled to get up that hill with the rough ground, aggressive pitch, and hard right turn you have to make onto a bridge that leads runners out onto the main stretch of course. I remember feeling panicked as I struggled to stay in front of the crazy fast runner while trying not to crash my skinny tribike wheels in the grass or smash into the side of the bridge.
I’m a better cyclist now than I was then but I didn’t want to chance it or feel that panicky again, so I walked Koop up to the bridge to wait for the runner on pavement. There I met one of the many fantastic volunteers who’d come out to make the race a success. We had about 15 minutes to chat while she kept a lookout for a runner heading out of transition. I learned that she and her husband volunteered every year and had convinced their son to come out too. We compared notes on our obsessive affection for our pets and discovered a mutual love of lizards (it’s not weird, it’s cool) and she told me about her weightloss journey and how volunteering at the race inspired her to keep it up. I was happy to hear she got something so beneficial out of being there because I am always floored by how generous race volunteers are with their time.
Soon enough she saw the first place athlete speeding out of transition toward the bridge. I swung my leg over and waved goodbye to my new friend, getting myself the good head start that I would need to stay in front of the speed demon charging my way. I took care this time to stay further ahead of the runner than I had in 2016. It was easier this time around because we were the only ones on the course whereas leading for the 70.3 winner we’d been on the course when there were already hundreds of olympic athletes running their 10ks.
It had proven challenging then, given the narrow run path and out and back nature of the course – there had been runners going every which way to weave around while I stayed ahead of a guy running sub-7 minute miles. This time with the sidewalk all to ourselves I easily maintained my distance, even as the maniac behind me pounded out sub-6 minute miles!
We rode/ran the out-and-back and with half a mile to go it was time to face the grass and wobbly ground again. I accelerated down the back of the bridge to bank some space ahead of the runner, but I had to slow way down to navigate the tight turn and rough terrain and sprinting for home the guy was able to overtake me running past transition. There was a stretch of gravel road coming up that I was anxious about, not wanting to pop a tire before racing the next morning, but I thought if I can get there safely I can get in front of him again. Happily though, as I approached the gravel I saw Rev3 teammate Davey waiting on his mountain bike to lead the runner in. He took over and led the final quarter mile to the finish line. It was a huge relief and Koopa and I got to avoid some grass and gravel for which his little tires and frame were not designed!
Having (mostly?) discharged my sprint duties I wheeled Koop back to transition to wait for the kids race which we would also be bike leading. I joined Rev3’er Clarice at the “bike in/bike out” where she was directing athletes to the mount/dismount lines and cheering people on. As I yelled and cheered with her – yelling the loudest at our own teammates – someone ran up to me and saying my help was needed by the “run out” – that a runner had fallen and hurt himself.
I sprinted over and found teammates Josh and Ed tending to a gentleman who was lying to the side of the course. He had stepped in a hole and twisted his ankle and Josh and Ed, who were racing, had stopped to help. Ed is an EMT so he knelt with the guy trying to assess the ankle, as Josh stood in said hole – clad only in a very small shimmery Rev3 speedo – directing people around the obstacle.
Josh asked if I could find some way to mark the hole so no one else would take a dive. Not sure exactly what I was looking for I took off again back around transition. I thought maybe I’d alert an actual staff member when I happened to glance at the parking lot, and all the orange cones delineating rows of cars. I hurried over, grabbed one and sprinted back. (It was much heavier than I expected!) We replaced mostly-nude Josh with the bright orange hazard warning, and eventually he and Ed were able to get back on their heroic (ridiculous) ways.
Having been up at that point for many hours I took some time to dig into my stash of lunchables and 711 fruit (which everyone knows is the freshest fruit [it’s not but it was better than expected]) to keep my energy up to deal with the childrens. I also found Davey and his mountain bike and we worked out a plan to colead the kids’ race so I could continue to keep Koop’s tires clean (and unpunctured.) Their race was a 2.6 mile bike 1 mile run duathlon and we would be with them for the whole thing. The bike would follow the same route as the adult races out of transition on the road, but then would hang right onto the sidewalk over the bridge on what was the adults’ run path. They would then cycle that narrow path out and back for 2.6 miles. The run was the path out of transition along the bumpy grass and gravel that comprised the last half mile of the adults’ races.
We decided that Davey would do the bike lead for both legs and I would patrol the bridge to keep an eye on the kiddos. Having consulted with teammate Robert who had ridden with the kids the previous year it sounded like best practice would be to have someone (me) there with the kids the whole time – not just clearing the way for the winning youngster.
When the race kicked off at 9am Davey rode out with the fastest kiddos and I hung back with the middle of the pack. True to the plan he biked in the winner while I rode back and forth over the bridge (Yeah that’s up and down a sizable hill repeatedly – optimal activity for the day before a race??)
Being a narrow path my main role was to keep the kids riding to the right as they shared the little path coming and going out-and-back. Robert and one of the many Erics (DePoto in this case) were also on the bridge cheering the kids on. During one pass over the bridge I found DePoto with a little girl who had dismounted and didn’t want to continue. I sat with the two of them for a while trying to coax her back on the bike, offering to ride with her the rest of the way, but eventually she said she really just wanted to be done, and DePoto escorted her off the bridge. I was sad she threw in the towel, but moved by how gentle and encouraging my teammate had been. Proof point a billion that these Rev3 people are special.
I got back on and resumed my bridge patrol. The numbers began to thin as most of the kids finished the bike and got to the run. As the kids trickled off the bridge I came upon a boy walking his bike looking miserable. I slowed down and dismounted to walk with him and see if I could get him back in the saddle. He was shutting down and didn’t want to talk to me beyond telling me his name, Adonte, so I just hung back behind him as the last kids passed us. Eventually he was the last one out there.
As we headed down the bridge toward transition I let the volunteers and Rev3’ers know he was the last one but tried to be discreet, not wanting him to feel bad. Exiting the bridge and heading back down the hill to transition I tried approaching him again. I told him how proud of himself he would be if he got back on even for 30 seconds. Finally he engaged and responded to me – it felt like a breakthrough – that he didn’t think he could because he’d really hurt his hand. He lifted a palm off his bike and showed me and sure enough there was a sizable bloody gash down the center of it. He’d fallen on the bridge – a mini-pile-up apparently – and beyond being rattled he was sporting some good road rash.
We were almost back to transition at that point and I really wanted him to push himself a bit, knowing he would feel better for it afterward. I agreed that he had a painful looking cut and suggested instead that we jog our bikes into transition. He didn’t look at me or respond, but he picked up the pace and found a little run. The crowd support was awesome as we ran in.
With help from more volunteers we found his rack and got his bike put away. He did have a real cut that would need cleaning and bandaging and I asked if he wanted to do that now or wanted to go do the run. Teammate Thea was in transition and chimed in, ‘You want to finish don’t you? We can clean that at the finish line!’ I’m so glad she did, I was hedging too much not wanting to push him, but he clearly needed the little push she gave. He silently nodded to finishing and we told him we would run with him the whole way. Davey was back in transition too so we recruited him to join us and the four of us headed out.
It was so fun to have them to run our last-but-so-far-from-least little in. (I say little, but he was taller than me. * Shrug. *) We tried to get him to talk to us but he didn’t respond much, at least vocally. We told him he set the pace and we would follow his lead. He did an awesome job getting down to work and finding a rhythm. We also told him now that he’d had his first crash he was a real cyclist; Adonte stayed silent but I saw him brighten a bit at that.
He probably didn’t want to talk because he was focused on finishing. Not wanting to intrude too much into his experience we chatted amongst ourselves and stayed by his side. At one point as the finish line came in view he noticeably picked up the pace ans we cheered him on, as did the spectators lining the path in. As we approached the finisher’s chute we yelled at him to run ahead and finish it off which he did. While he ran ahead I found the group he’d come with to let them know he needed someone to wash and bandage the cut. I didn’t get to see Adonte again after but I hope he felt proud of what he’d accomplished and that he’ll give the bike another go.
Feeling all hopped up on Rev3 teamwork wandered what was now the expo for the next day’s longer form races. I caught up with Erica and Peyton and Coach Josh. At some point I realized I needed to pick up my own packet which I did as I started to remember I was racing the next morning.
Trying to shift gears to my own athletic endeavors I found Clarice again and we decided to hit up the practice swim. (See actual race report for more on that.) After that I stuck around the Expo helping with packet pick-up and touching all the dogs I could. When I finally headed back to the hotel to meet up with Scott and my own dogs who had suffered terrible Saturday traffic to come down from DC it was almost 5pm. And I’d been on my feet (or biking or swimming) for almost 11 hours. Not the best way to go into a race but it was a stellar way to pass a Saturday. Every triathlete (or runner or whateverer) should make time to race-volunteer at least once a season. Pay that endurance sport karma forward!
