Ifi the Triathlete

I’m no Ironman, but I feel like one: my first triathlon (Somersault, The Canadian, Aug. 30, 2024)

-Ifi Chafy

On August 30, I ran my first triathlon! Organized by Somersault, The Canadian was a first-rate event, with multiple races, distances and sports, all starting at the Terry Fox Facility and Mooney’s Bay in Ottawa. Inspired by triathlete running friends and encouraged by my family, in May I signed up for the sprint triathlon distance: a 750 m swim in Mooney’s Bay, a 20 km bike ride along Colonel By Drive, from Hogs Back Falls to Clegg Avenue (just before the Flora footbridge), followed by a 5 km run.

Training

When Judy was devising my training plan (thank you!), I told her that I wanted to do a triathlon at the end of August but that my main race would be the Toronto Waterfront Marathon at the end of October. I also planned to play tennis on Mondays, softball Tuesday or Wednesday, and cycle, swim, and go the gym at least once a week. On top of working full time. She said I’d be busy. The reality is I quickly dropped tennis and the gym.

I didn’t really know how to train for the swim or the bike portion, so my main focus was to be able to cover the distance. I gradually increased my distance, confidence, and speed in the pool, but as August progressed, I felt like I was going backwards because my legs were so tired from the long runs. The day after a 32-km run, I tried open water swimming at Britannia Beach (thanks for going with me, Jennifer!); I quickly switched to my fall-back: the breast stroke! Much easier on the legs! And the arms. I don’t know why, but the open water felt so much “thicker” than the pool.

Cycling had its challenges as well. Conveniently, my sister-in-law was selling her Trek bike (thanks, Ilana!), so, for an amazing price, I upgraded from my hybrid bike that I’d bought at Canadian Tire. I bought cycling pedals and shoes and eventually got the hang of unclipping without falling.

With my new triathlon clothes, I now looked the part even if I was afraid I’d embarrass myself by being the last person in the race.

Pre-race jitters

Yes, I was seriously nervous and stressed. I tried positive self-talk and coaching techniques, but for days before and the morning of the race, I was a huge bundle of nerves ready to burst into tears. I checked my bike; it was ready to go. My son showed me how to change a flat, just in case. Randy said all the right things to support and encourage me, and my daughter voiced encouragement, too, reminding me of her triathlon as a kid (with no preparation). The pre-race orientation the night before helped settle me down, too. The swim course didn’t look nearly as bad as I’d feared, and talking through each step made it all seem achievable.

The race

Randy rearranged his training schedule so he could come with me to the race and cheer me on. We loaded my bike and gear into the car. Neither of us like these early starts to the day, but the plus side is that parking was easy to find.

It was a cool, windy day, threatening to rain, possibly storm. I brought a rain jacket just in case, but the rain held off. Good conditions overall, but cool enough that spectators wore jackets.

I almost quit the swim within a minute. At the orientation, the race director said not to worry, that if you couldn’t make the swim, you could swim/walk out at any time and proceed with the bike, just with a zero time for the swim. I lined up with people expecting to swim 100 m pace in 2 minutes. The horn sounded. I watched the faster (or more eager) swimmers start and decided to move back and wait a bit because there were still so many people and lots of thrashing in the water. I slowly made my way towards the water with the rest of my group. Some in wetsuits, some not. I splashed some water on myself and kept going. I started with the front crawl but the water felt thick and my legs felt too tired for the flutter kick. The water was so brown I couldn’t see an inch in front of me. My stress hadn’t subsided. How was I going to swim 750 m when even 2 m felt hard? I remembered I could quit. Just walk out. Skip this and go to the bike. But I wouldn’t let myself quit until I’d at least made it to the first buoy. I remembered the Paralympic swimmers, sometimes with just one arm. I had to try. I kept going. I made it to the buoy slowly, sputtering and coughing water. One of the volunteers on a kayak seemed to come closer, keeping an eye on me, concerned. Eventually I found my groove. I hadn’t trained to swim breast stroke the whole way, but that was a whole lot easier. And I knew from training in the pool that I can keep pace with a lot of front crawlers even when doing breast. Randy said that a lot of people were actually doing breast stroke. Some were even doing back stroke. I saw one woman swim straight into the buoy on her back. At least I could see where I was going.

You can’t train for weeds when you’re in the pool, but they didn’t bother me much. Even though the race director had pulled out hundreds of pounds of weeds from the swim course in the previous 10 days, they still got caught on my goggles and arms. When I got home, I found remnants under my watch and stuck on my bra.

The rectangular swim course finished, I ran barefoot on the sand, grass, and pavement up a gradual hill to the Terry Fox track. Randy was on the hill cheering me on. Bikes were all numbered and easy to find. It had rained all night and was threatening to rain more, so I’d put my stuff in ziplock bags and under a dry bag that I’d bought for canoe camping. With socks, shoes, gloves, sunglasses, race bib, and helmet on, I walked my bike across the grass to the start of the bike course. It was a longer walk than I expected.

The bike was two laps on Colonel By, along the scenic Rideau Canal. The road had just been freshly paved a year ago and was in great shape. A smooth ride. Wanting to save my legs for the final run and given the gusty conditions, I cycled at a comfortable pace along the mostly flat closed course (no cars). The periodic strong gusts of wind made me notice the slight hills (inclines, really) and work harder. I passed a few people but was certainly passed by more. It was inspiring being passed by people doing the half Iron distance and going more than twice my speed! A couple kilometers into the bike portion, I realized I was doing it, I was really doing the triathlon and I was on track to finish. Action had made the stress disappear. (Hmm, a life lesson.)

I didn’t think I’d see Randy on the bike portion, but there he was, camera in hand. As I was finishing my first bike lap, I was behind three half Iron cyclists who were finishing their final lap and proceeded straight ahead towards a finishing area. I was pretty sure I needed to loop around and turn left but I had just watched them confidently go forward. Fortunately, course marshals were on the lookout for newbies like me and called out my race number (“464, where you going?”). I looped around for my second lap.

The bike portion complete, I walked my bike back to my spot inside the track and changed into running shoes. I’d been warned to remember to take off my helmet, which I did. Then, I started back down the hill I’d walked up after the swim, this time staggering a bit until I found my legs again. Randy was next to the hill, cheering me on, and jogged beside me on the grass for a bit. Volunteers tried to keep pedestrians (and kids) off the path, but many were oblivious to the race taking place.

The 5 km run was definitely my strength. I easily caught up to people and passed them on the out-and-back course, shouting out encouragement to some of the other runners in my age group. (“Hey, 50s, keep going. Let’s show those young’uns.”) Having our ages marked on our left calf and our race distance on the right calf made it easy to spot “the competition.” Before I knew it, I was again running up that hill, past Randy, and onto the track to finish the race.

As I finished, I smiled for the photographer, hoping for a good keepsake, and grabbed some snacks. Spying some massage tables, I quickly headed there to work out the knots in my shoulders before they caused a tension headache. (Thanks to the massage school student for the great massage!)

Conclusion

Despite my stress at the beginning, by the end I was hooked. My only thought was, “When can I do this again?!” Even before I found out that I’d finished third in my age category and in the middle of all women. A big thank you to everyone that helped, in ways big and small: encouraging me to register, sharing advice and developing a plan, helping me with the bike, swimming together at the pool and Britannia, and more. The biggest thanks, though, go to Randy and our kids for their support.

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Lessons for next time:

• In general, cycling and swimming once a week worked well, but I really need to work on my strokes this winter. Then, practice open water swimming. And maybe buy a wetsuit.
• Trust that the training works and that I’ll pull through.
• Enjoy the massage after the race!
• Fine tune the swim-to-bike transition. Sit on the ground to my dry feet and then put on socks instead of trying to balance on one foot.
• Using individual ziplock bags inside and under a clear drybag worked well. That kept everything dry despite the wet conditions and made it easy to separate swim, bike and run gear, and grab what was needed.
• I can push myself harder on the bike ride and know that my legs will still be there for the run.
• There’s really no need to have been so nervous and afraid of failing. I was nowhere near last. And even if I had been, the fact is that I tried and finished. That’s what counts.