Leaving the transition area following the swim, I couldn't find my land legs. I thought I would run with the bike to the mount/dismount line, but my legs wouldn't work for a run gait. Walking was fine. So, I quickly walked that short distance. As I entered the mount area, one of the workers yelled out, "Way to go, 190 (my race number, strategically written all over my body with a large Sharpie marker)." Was she talking to me? She was!
Then the spectators started cheering. I listened. These wonderful people stood outside the transition area all morning, cheering for every single person. Talk about restoring your faith in humanity. They didn't cheer for their friends and family then walk away. They were there for everyone. The entire race was like this. Remember the swimmer who stopped to check on me? Every person encouraged every other person -- athletes, workers, volunteers, spectators, sheriff's deputies. It didn't matter. I have never felt so included in something that I thought I would be an outcast in. The encouragement makes you swim, bike and run just a little faster.
I looked at that worker and said, "I didn't drown. I can do anything now. Let's hope I don't crash on this leg of the race." And I rode away. I'd like to say I sped off into the beautiful sunrise and left everyone in my dust. I would be lying. I maintained a constant, steady pace for the entire 12.5 miles. When I was done, my official pace was 11.9 mph. Yes, that was my average for the bike. That means at times I went significantly faster, and peaked as high as 15 mph. This was the best bike time I have ever had.
As I entered the bike course, I made two decisions: Finish no matter how long it took, and talk to everyone as I went. I know that if I can talk easily, I'm not working hard enough. I should have been short of breath. I wasn't. I could have gone faster. I was afraid of getting to the run and not having any fuel left in the tank. I needed to pace myself.
The bike course is a straight shot up Lakeshore Drive from downtown Ludington to Ludington State Park. You turn around and go back. The out-and-back format meant you saw people more than once. You could see your friends and offer encouragement. You rode sandwiched between sand dunes with a spectacular view of Lake Michigan twice. It was beautiful. More than once, I caught myself sight-seeing instead of racing. It was liberating, breathtaking. It was awesome.
As I left the downtown area, I was replaying in my mind the instructions we had been given. Ride on right, run on the left. No drafting or blocking. Our course was not closed, so we had traffic to contend with. The sheriff's deputies working the event had no mercy on the cars. Cars waited for us. Self-preservation, however, does kick in. One driver was confused, lost or something. I couldn't tell where she was going. Apparently, her make and model of car didn't come equipped with turn signals. I was afraid to get next to her and have her turn into me so I slowed down. I didn't know bikes could go that slow without falling over! Then, the deputy yelled at me. "You have the right of way today, miss. You don't slow down for anyone." As I remarked that cars are bigger than bikes, I looked to see that he had stepped in front of that car to make her stop until all bike traffic had cleared. The pedals kicked back in to high speed.
My friend Tim, who started the race in a group after mine, then passed me on the bike. I saw my sister, Cathy, who had been ahead of me from the beginning, on her return trip. We offered each other encouragement. And kept pedaling. I felt the burn on a couple of long, low grades, but I also felt the wind whistle past my helmet on the return trip when I was speeding down those same hills.
The bike ride was peaceful. My mantra was going in my head. On the uphill portions, I said it out loud. "All things are possible with God who strengthens me." Over and over again. In sync with my pedaling. Four strokes of the pedal accompanied that phrase. I never stopped pedaling, and never stopping thinking, "All things are possible with God who strengthens me." I know I set a record for the number of consecutive times an individual said or thought the same phrase. It had to be 20,000 times. But I never got tired on the bike.
I maneuvered the turnaround like a pro, like I actually knew what I was doing. I didn't slip and slide on the loose sand blown across the road from the dunes. At one time, I just wanted to ride the bike forever. Alas, my rear-end and the bike seat were not getting along as well as I would have hoped by about mile 10. If my arms were tired from breaststroking the swim portion, my derriere was ready to rebel.
On the way back, I actually passed another competitor. I called out, "On your left" then proceeded to pass. I had never done that before. I not only knew the bike race rules, I got to use them! She was struggling. I felt bad passing her. I haven't had much opportunity to encourage others in physical fitness competitions, but I did here. "You got this. You're almost there." She smiled. That was enough. I continued talking and encouraging every competitor, even the ones who passed me.
As I got close to the transition area, I searched for the pink line. By the pink line, you have to be off the bike. No riding in the transition area. I spotted it and prepared to dismount. A squeeze of the brakes and off I jumped. Don't for a minute think I am one of those people who run to hop on the bike, and run as I hop off. I am not that coordinated and have a natural aversion to road rash. I got off the bike. Enough said.
When my feet hit the ground, the same worker who had wished me well 12.5 miles earlier congratulated me on a successful bike ride. She remembered me. Maybe because of my obnoxious hot pink tank, maybe because at this point I was second to last in my division. I don't care. She remembered me. "You didn't crash! You're in the home stretch now!"
I was in the home stretch. All I had to do was park my bike and complete the 5k. I had told myself all summer that, if needed, anyone could walk this distance equivalent to 3.1 miles. I also was beginning to feel like someone who could accomplish great things.
All things are possible with God who strengthens me.
Tomorrow, Part 3: The run
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