Brain Freeze

 I knew I was in trouble the moment I stepped into the water.  It was early Saturday morning, only minutes before the start of the Palm Springs triathlon.  I needed to warm up before the gun went off, but the waters of Lake Cahullia were breathtakingly cold, chilling me to the bone as soon as they made contact with my skin.  Who did I think I was kidding?  No matter how many strokes I got in pre-race, I wasn’t going to warm up.  If anything, every cell of my body was slowing to a complete halt every moment I spent in that water.  I’m pretty sure my well-worn wetsuit wasn’t doing me any favors, either.  I might as well have been treading naked in Artic waters for as much protection it was providing me.  The frigid water poured into each and every tear, giving me the sensation of being held down in an ice bath.  It was painful.  I was fighting back the panic.

I don’t remember many specifics from the swim, besides struggling to find a good breathing pattern and barely feeling my arms as they pushed through the water.  I do remember the relief I felt when I looked over to find my friend swimming next to me though.  And, of course, I remember feeling even more relief when I realized our swim was over.

I wish I could say that, after exiting the water, I was in the clear, but nothing could be further from the truth.  Now I had to deal with the aftermath of spending thirty-plus minutes in such bitter conditions.  If I’ve ever been close to hypothermia, this was it.  My body felt like a block of ice and my extremities took the form of foreign, frozen bodies.  There was a disconnect between what I wanted them to do and what they were actually doing.  Try as I might, I couldn’t get my wetsuit off.  I knew I needed to hook my thumbs around the fabric around my ankle, but all I could do was sit and shake.  It was like being caught in the middle of a really bad dream.  The world was coming at me in slow motion, and I couldn’t figure a way out of this dilemma.  Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, my hands began to function again, and I was able to get out of my wetsuit, into my bike shoes, and out of the transition area.

The remainder of the race went by unremarkably, as the majority of races do.  At the time, I’m giving it my all, focused on pushing through the pain, and trying to bike/run as fast as I can.  Afterwards, I wonder if that was truly my best effort, or if I could have pushed just a little bit harder.  The only observation worth mentioning is that both the bike and run were personal records, coming in at significantly faster times than previous races.

Now I’m giving myself a couple of days off and nursing all of the muscles that are thoroughly fatigued from Saturday’s effort.  Of course, by “time off” I mean hiking Mt San Jacinto yesterday and yoga today, but relaxation is a relative term.   Right?