On Sunday Wilkes Barre ¶ held its’ 24th annual triathlon. I was excited to compete in my second triathlon ever and my first Olympic dist. event. Although (I hear) the race has shrunk in size over the years 300 + participants is still big race to this small potato. I was impressed with just seeing that many triathletes in one place.
The course was safe, the volunteers were great and the spectators were an encouraging bonus. All in all it was a really nice race.
The swim course wasn’t as daunting as I had expected and I completed it with some ease sans wetsuit. In short…I was happy with it.
Then back into my element I emerged and made the transition to my trusty road bike. The bike course was hilly but just shuffled up version of what I’m used to. It was great. I relished the steady climbs and all of the little “kickers” as I popped out of the saddle and buzzed up the hills. I was making great time and couldn’t have been happier.
Even the weather was perfect. Everyone seemed to be racing their race.
Then it happened. A loud “ping-pang!!!” issued form my rear wheel. I didn’t see a stone. I thought oh pleeeeze let it have been a stone! Then the steady shhh, shhh, shhh, of tire on brake or tire on something came with each revolution. Suddenly I was pedaling through molasses. I dismounted to check my brakes. They were fine. But there it was…a broken spoke. I blinked…it was still there and still broken. With shaking hands I did my best to wrap it around a neighboring spoke.
It took all of 2 minutes (at the most) for two motorbike volunteers to come to my aid. With a couple of simple tools they were able to completely disengage my rear brakes. They were calm and helped keep me anchored while I ran the gamut of all possible emotions. I was disappointed for sure. Like a giant baby version of myself tears welled up in my eyes. I think I swore like a truck driver too. For ten minutes I was able to see the faces of all of the racers I had worked so hard to bridge and pass. I was ready to quit. At that moment if one of those volunteers said anything about bringing me back without my bike I would have let him. But neither of them said anything other than, “You should be ok now…just remember all you have are your front brakes.” “Be careful…good luck.” I finished the bike leg with the extra mental and physical energy that it took. My rear tire continued to rub on the open brakes and for the remainder of the bike leg I tried to shut out the rubbing noise.
By the time I got my running shoes on…my legs were pretty well toasted from the rubbing wobbly rear tire. But I made it! Now the run portion of the race was a treat. I have never been so happy to run 7miles in my life.
Personally, I hope to never break a spoke during a race again. However, it did transform what I was prepared for into something completely different. I’ve never prepared myself mentally for things to go wrong. I was always afraid that I would somehow be setting myself up for predetermined disaster. Now I know better. Next time there will be less swearing and NO tears. In addition to that I felt the need to express my gratitude to the two men who helped me out. Without them the spirit of the race would have died (on the spot) for me. They helped me keep it together. They helped me race my race. At the time I was so numbed by what had happened I wasn’t able to muster anything more than a feeble thanks. After I cleaned up I made it a point to find a race official. I asked her to relay a more heartfelt “Thank you” to the volunteers that helped me. She took a note of it for the post-race meeting. I hope they got it.
Sure, I still feel some residual disappointment but it is what it is and I’m ready to try again!
I know that many other STers had races on Sunday. I hope you all had a great day!
Jen
