As someone who writes for a living, the idea of creating - and updating - a blog isn't wholly appealing. But after my experience Escaping the Cape earlier this month, my mother, likely tired of listening to an exhaustive race report, helpfully suggested I should write about my experience.
I'm a newbie triathlete, and the toughest thing for me to date has been adjusting to the sheer amount of logistics involved in a race. From the gear to the food to the clothing choices to the teeniest of details (handlebar ends are required?!), it's like planning the Normandy Invasion just to get to the starting line. (Contrast this with the marathon experience: Running shoes? iPod? Garmin? Glide? Let's go.)
Escape the Cape on June 14th was my first experience traveling for a triathlon - which meant all of these details needed to be taken into consideration before hitting the road. Fortunately, I had my favorite tri-caddy/Sherpa/IronWoman Darlise as my traveling companion. Those who know Dar know that she's a fantastic cheerleader and lover of both a good time and good beer, so I had no doubt the weekend would be fun.
We shoved off Friday afternoon, headed to Cape May for a two-night stay at the Beach Shack. Before we were out of the driveway, Dar ran through her pre-race checklist, and I passed with flying colors. (Bike - check. Running shoes - check. Snacks - absolutely.) An uneventful drive and an easy check-in behind us, we hit the charming Rusty Nail for libations and dinner.
Over lobster rolls and Leinenkugel, we met a couple who was also in town for the tri. He was competing in the international (versus sprint) version like me and insisted it was the best race around. We had high hopes, indeed.
The plan for Saturday was to hit the race expo relatively early for the mandatory bike racking and swim meeting. After more carb loading at Uncle Bill's Pancake House, we headed to the ferry terminal. The event's race management company, Delmo Sports, sent one of the best pre-race emails and athlete guides you could ask for, so we knew we needed to park about a mile from the ferry and walk to the terminal.
We dutifully followed instructions, and like dozens of other athletes and support teams, began the mile+ Bataan Death March in the baking sun. While I walked and Dar pushed my bike, we noticed street after residential street where we could've parked, saving time, energy and a painful sunburn due to my poor choice of a boatneck shirt and forgotten sunscreen.
Lesson #1: Don't assume you have to follow all the rules.
After signing three waivers, picking up my race packet and purchasing my one-day USAT membership, I headed to rack my bike (picking a good end spot near a landmark like Andrea and Kelly cautioned me at my first tri last summer). With time to kill before the swim meeting, Dar and I grabbed a Cape May brew and toured the expo tents. I feared this would be a bore for the accomplished tri-girl, but Dar spotted a new saddle she HAS TO HAVE and quickly made friends with its rider.
We settled on the grass for the swim meeting; me, resigned to the wicked sunburn I was developing from an entirely-outdoor expo. Steve from Delmo Sports gave a great overview of the event, expectations and safety precautions and took questions from the crowd. One of the questions hadn't occurred to us: How, if we park and ride a shuttle in race morning, do we get our bikes and gear back to our cars post-race? Steve's answer: Take your bikes on the shuttle. We thought that might be a challenge for boarding and exiting the bus, but we figured he knew better.
Lesson #2: Even the race organizer doesn't know all the answers.
When the meeting wrapped, we opted out of the long, hot walk and hopped the shuttle to our car. Dar suggested we pop in to the dollar store for last-minute supplies, including throwaway flip-flops for me to wear on the ferry to the swim and a Sharpie to write my number on my arms and age on my legs race morning versus that afternoon. (Two excellent ideas from my Sherpa to help me avoid contracting ringworm or Mrsa from walking around barefoot and saving my clothes and skin from smeared, sweaty marker.)
Dar and I joined the toddlers and oldsters for the early-bird special at the Blue Pig Tavern and picked up coffee for the next morning. (The Beach Shack is nothing fancy, but the mini-fridge in each room is worth every penny.) We were in bed by 8 pm.
Fortunately, Cape May is no Sea Isle, so the live music next door ended before it was even dark out. Like most people, I never sleep well the night before a race, so I was none too happy to be awakened at 3 am when several guests came home from last call to splash around in the pool below our room.
Dar and I were up by 4. She loaded the car while I finished getting ready. In the darkness, I heard what sounded like rain, but figured it was the whir of the AC. When I asked her if she heard thunder, Dar shook her head emphatically. "Nope, it's fine," she said as lightning flashed outside the window.
Seriously? It hadn't rained in days, and there's a damn thunderstorm at 4 am on the only day it mattered? I couldn't believe it. Fortunately, Dar had strongly suggested we get to the race site well before we needed to be, and we were out the door by 4:30.
Pulling into the field to park, we were greeted by bag-sniffing dogs and school buses to take us the two miles to the race site. I abhor pre-race shuttles, point-to-point rides, etc. because there's always at least one fool who talks loudly and incessantly about his/her races, training schedule, goals, etc. This ride was no different, and I thought about impaling her with the Sharpie she kept asking to borrow.
The rain let up as we disembarked, and with the sky clearing, we hoped we had seen the last of the "weather" for the day. I headed into the transition area to set up my spot. I was relieved to see my bike hadn't been moved and that I hadn't forgotten anything important. (Including sunscreen, which I copiously applied at 5:30 am).
As transition was closing at 6 am, the skies opened back up and 1,500 participants huddled together outside the terminal, waiting to board the ferry. We could deal with the rain; it was the occasional thunder crack and lightning flash that was worrisome and would impact the start of the race. Sure enough, once we boarded the ferry, we learned that we'd be sitting in port for a bit until the storm passed. [Per USAT rules, the required waiting period is 30 minutes post the last lightning flash.]
What seemed like hours on the ferry dragged by, punctuated by booming EDM over the speakers and periodic weather updates from Steve. Now we're cold and wet, and the race hasn't even started. Fortunately, wet suits keep you warm in and out of the water, so I put mine on well before I needed to. A cup of coffee would've been nice, but at least I wasn't barefoot (thanks, Dar!).
In reality, we only waited about 30 mins longer than expected, and sure enough, the storm passed. We headed out into the bay as the skies cleared.
One Mile Swim
The international distance was up first - a mile swim into shore. While I'm used to swimming two miles in practice, the difference between pool swimming and open water is never more apparent than when you're headed out to sea. The mile looked loooooooooooong, but I was too relieved to be getting the hell off the boat to worry.
We anchored, and the international swimmers gathered on the lower deck. Like lemmings to the sea, we inched to the edge as five swimmers at a time jumped. Fortunately, I had connected with another Delaware participant, Lisa, and she and I decided to go together. When it was our turn, I peeked over the side and decided that what was rumored to be "just" a 12-foot jump looked a lot like 20. [It's closer to 15, but it looks a lot higher.] There was no time for internal debate, and with several hundred people waiting behind us, we flung ourselves off the boat. (Side note: There was a sports psychologist at the line, presumably to talk nervous nellies off the ledge. When it was our turn, all I heard him say was, "Next!")
Lesson #3: Protect your goggles when you leap.
I forgot that very important lesson, but Dar's advice to put my goggles on under my cap saved the day. I was more worried about my Road ID bracelet, which nearly came off upon entry, so after I popped up to the surface, I strapped it back on my wrist and set off.
My swim was GREAT. The water was a comfortable 71 degrees, smooth as glass and offered plenty of lifeguards and support. As a bilateral breather, I can adjust to breathing on either side as needed, and I chose to breathe every other stroke to my right so I could make sure I stayed close to the rescue line. I do need to work on my open water sighting, though, as I found myself having to stop and tread water for a second as I checked on my progress toward shore.
Having received only one inadvertent chop to the head and no one swimming over me (every triathlete's nightmare, I imagine), I came out of the water and trotted up the beach. The transition run was long (as evidenced by the seemingly slow T1 times in the results). Dar yelled at me to run it in, and I helpfully gave her the finger. After a quick sit to take off my wetsuit (great suggestion, Dar), I came into the transition area to grab my bike.
25 Mile Bike
The wet roads were a bit of a concern for me. Obviously not for others as they went whizzing by, but I've heard too many horror stories of wipeouts on slick roadways. Steve from Delmo had been very clear about the need to watch our speed, particularly on the bridges, so I was cautious leaving transition and getting on the road.
Having just put my tri-bars on the week before, I wasn't planning to use them, but I did drop down on the straightaways and found it helped. The two-loop course had a few more turns than I would like and the rough macadam in sections contributed to a high number of flats. (Side note: Nearly every flat was a Cervello. "How do you like those racing wheels now, kids?" I thought as I flew by on my trusty Cannonade with Gator Skins on my non-carbon wheels...)
My second loop was faster than my first, helped out by drier roads and a Gu. Overall, my bike was a tad slower than I'd have liked, but it helped my confidence on wet roads, and I expect my next race will be a faster mph.
5 Mile Run
While it was the last leg, it was also the one I'd been dreading. Not only was the sun beating down at this point (and we were 30 minutes later than expected), but a good third of the course was on the sand. Steve from Delmo warned us that the run would suck (seriously, that's what he said), and he was right. Thanks to my practice transition runs after long bikes, I got into a comfortable shuffle quickly, but the sand was impossible to maneuver. Like many others, I gave up trying to run it and just walked the dune stretches. (And that, Joel, explains my run times!)
While I carried a bottle, the three water stops - and residents with hoses - were much appreciated. The best part of the run was the midway water stop with ice and Heed. (That should have been made available to the sprint participants, as well - no recovery drink on the run portion of a triathlon?)
I ran the last mile in with a guy who had done the race before, and he and I compared notes on the race and others we'd done. It was nice to have someone to chat with at that point because I was seriously OVER this run and the heat.
As I headed to the finish, I saw Dar and heard her cheer me in. Grabbed my medal, my box of water (first time I'd seen that!) and headed to collect my finisher's shirt while Dar hit the beer line for us.
Post Race
Please explain why there were 200 people in line for the race shirt. Fortunately, the line moved quickly, but I don't see any reason why they can't adjust the shirt creative (which said "Finisher") and hand it out at the pre-race expo. To use my phrase of the weekend: "Unnecessarily complicated."
I never eat right after a race, so the post-race buffet was lost on me. We enjoyed our beers and connected with friends of Dar's, who, due to their day jobs, were able to park at the ferry terminal.
Why is this important? Because the shuttles didn't permit bikes. (See Lesson #2 above.) Anyone who has run a marathon will agree that there's nothing worse than having a long walk back to transportation or a hotel post-race. I sure wasn't looking forward to a 2-mile bike ride back to the car while Dar waited for a shuttle or walked back with me. Ridiculous. Fortunately, our new best friends drove a really big truck, so three bikes and four gals caught a much-appreciated ride back.
Because our hotel didn't allow an extended check-out, I had changed in the terminal and we headed for home, stinky and sweaty. ("We," because Dar wisely got her 10-mile run in during the race.)
All in all, we both agreed it was a great weekend. Good food, great company, a fun event. Would I do the race again? Nope.
1. I don't dig novelty events. Color runs, mud runs, etc. just aren't my thing. Jumping off a ferry is likely a one and done...
2. For $250 in registration and several hundred more for a hotel, it was a lot to spend for an international tri.
3. Too much running on the beach. Enough said.
4. Despite excellent communication prior to the event, I felt as though the post-event logistics were poorly managed. For the race director not to know how 1,500 athletes would get their bikes back to their cars isn't acceptable for a race in its third year.
Also, it was ten days before the race photos were available. And even at that, we had to scroll through 4,000+ to find our bike shots. Only the run photos were searchable. (The ferry jump pictures, which went up the same week, weren't searchable and many of us don't even have a shot. So much for that free download.) Believe me, I know how time-intensive it is to sort and identify athletes. But the Delaware Marathon photographers do it for 3,500 runners and have the link up within four days post-event.
Would I recommend Escape the Cape? Yes, if you're into new experiences and novelty races. There were some amazing athletes who participated, including a woman who holds a world record in open water swimming. Was it for me? No.
Next up:
Shorefire Century 8/15
Newark Sprint Triathlon 8/16
Diamondman Half Iron 9/12
With a shorter T2, I headed back up the path to the reservoir. I wasn't expecting a strong run and was relieved that a portion of it was out of the sun on the trails. Finishing out the reservoir loop, my favorite cheerleader Darlise and her partners in crime John and Laura urged me on, which gave me a boost for a downhill sprint and the final 300 yards straight up the hill.
