Treeathlon 2023 by Jean Chen

Friendly warning: the following text is a glorious manifestation of stress, sweat, and tears. Contains controversial opinions and jokes that will blow your mind. Brace yourselves for an epic read.

Hello blog. This is Jean, a second year on the coolest, bestest triathlon team in the world, and this is my attempt at recounting the events of Treeman 2023. 

Wet dreams of last year’s flag of Lebanon-esque socks have finally come to fruition. The long awaited weekend of Treeathlon was finally upon us. Nestled between Tritonman and MTS, Treeathlon is a relatively flat race, featuring a relaxing cold dip in the harbor followed by a lovely 7-U-turn bike course (typed with love </3) and garnished with an out and back run course. With this being my second time racing this course, I came prepared with one goal in mind: to absolutely destroy my time last year. And to have fun, of course.

Having stayed up till an ungodly hour the night before finishing homework that I knew I wasn’t going to touch the coming weekend, I was able to get a quick shakeout-study-break run in at midnight before showering and promptly KO’ing. The next morning (a.k.a. the Saturday before Treeathlon) rolled around all too soon. Despite having a less-than-ideal amount of sleep, my excitement and anticipation for TREEMAN (YEAAAAAAA!!!!!!) had me absolutely pumped and ready to brave the long five hour drive up. Having met with fellow isla vista dwelling triathletes Lauren and Will, we made our slow, long trek to the Rec Cen parking, hauling our bags filled with the essentials: towel, wetsuit (more tea on this to come…), and other swim bike run necessities. Spotting 6/5 star van driver August, ambushed by a sneaky Abby, and inducting Juan to our pack-hauling cult, our now hearty group of gabbing gauchos made our way to our majestic modes of transport.

~9:00 am: Probably the World’s Fanciest Starbucks Restrooms

After a head count and a quick van swaparoo (welcome big dawg speed demon Megan to the #bestvan), we were en route to [redacted] (censored for privacy reasons, but from hearsay, this super duper secret location shares a name with one of the best dining hall weekend brunch spots *hint hint*), kudos to our gracious host and van magician, August “Doormatch”. After a hot debate about Californian geography (from a SoCal perspective SLO IS CONSIDERED NORCAL. SUE ME), we took a quick obligatory pee stop at Starbucks where we had the privilege of relieving ourselves in what was indubitably THE fanciest Starbucks restrooms. I may have had some bias from the amount of hate coming from my bladder, but picture this: the smell of freshly roasted coffee in the air, nervous sweat grazing your upper lip from hours of marinating in a van 200,000 miles past its prime, only to stumble upon three restrooms, each equipped with a gleaming porcelain toilet, high quality toilet paper, air freshener, and plenty of room to circle and ponder the square root of 2. After answering nature’s call, you emerge from your cave only to be greeted by automated sinks, equipped with a soap dispenser AND a hand dryer, both INTEGRATED INTO THE FAUCET HEAD. Absolutely amazing. Splendid. Wonderful. Magical, even. I’m getting off topic here. Anyways, after grabbing a few snacks, or the entirety of Starbuck’s pastry line-up via a 5-years-old gift card in Jessilin, a.k.a. the coolest little in the world’s case, we hit the road once more*****. 

Sometime Early Afternoon

Packet pickup was located at SportsBasement, essentially the bay area miracle child of a threesome between REI, Costco, and IKEA …let your imagination run wild young’uns....After aimlessly wandering before seeing the GIANT arrows taped to the ground pointing towards packet pickup (an honest mistake, we were just taking in the views), we picked up our packets, witnessed the beauty of this year’s Treeathlon socks, and were, once again, on our jolly way.

**I could probably live in SportsBasement if I could. I probably could. Maybe I will….anywhosies, that’s a thought for another day…

Sometime a bit after early afternoon: The Arrival

As a SoCal gal, seeing this much green quite literally broke my brain (in a good way). Never in my life would I have thought these words would be typed of my own accord, but here goes: NorCal kinda slaps. After hours of driving and quality nap time, our arduous journey had come to an end as the driveway announced our arrival to August’s almighty fortress. When I tell you his house is straight from a woodsy cottage fairytale, I ain’t tellin no lie. Stepping out of the van was an euphoric experience. The clean, crisp air was heavenly, and did I mention that there was not one, but TWO mini bell tower decor pieces in his front yard (one of which we rang, obviously)??!

After unpacking and each claiming a place to sleep, we, as self-proclaimed triathletes of academia, sat our bums down and toiled away as the delicious smell of August and his browned-butter-chocolate-chip-cookie-making activities wafted through the living room. Well, that is, until the rumbling of our stomachs signaled what has to be the third most exciting event of each day (after breakfast and lunch)...give it up for….….****drum roll****.......DINNER TIME. 

~5:00 pm: Wolk + Dinner Shenanigans

Of course, as the dedicated triathletes we are, some crazies (namely Ava THE BIGGEST DAWG Smith, JUan the DEstroyer Ramirez, and Megan I-Am-SpEed Kou) went on a hilly shakeout yog while the rest of us normies followed fearless-supreme-leader August on a lovely pre-dindin stroll through the neighborhood.
We headed off not long after to the Stanford Shopping Center to keep our restaurant options open. After much deliberation, we decided to grace the doors of California Pizza Kitchen with our presence…until we found out the wait time would be 30 minutes, in which we then promptly dashed off to find a faster alternative to quell our hUnger (joke explained: Unger is the surname of a teammate. I have an unquenchable thirst for intentional puns. Hunger can’t be spelled without Unger. ∴ hUnger was born). After what felt like hours of relentless meandering (it was, in actuality, more like 5 minutes give or take), our carb-radar led us to the beautiful establishment of World Wrapps. 

And let me tell you, the moment our eyes landed on the menu, we knew, in our little jolly hearts, that this was the place to hunker down. But, being the hungry triathletes we were, neither the bowls, wraps, nor the Annies Pretzel bag that Juan obtained (a bountiful sidequest of utmost success) were enough. So, we did what any other normal human being, or perhaps, Hobbit, would do: we sauntered over to Shake Shack for second dinner (ROUND TWO BABYYY). 

Sometime after first dinner: The Betrayal

Guys we were lied to. Betrayed. Click baited, even (the horror!). To my future Shake Shack goers, their non dairy chocolate milkshake and frozen custard is ONLY AVAILABLE in FLORIDA and NEW YORK (in fineprint on the bottom of the website we later realized). As a lactose intolerant, I was devastated. Hopes and dreams? Completely crushed. But alas, all was well because Shake Shack’s thick cut squiggly fries have never disappointed…right?

…

NO. WRONG. The fries were UNSALTED. PLAIN. At least the ones that Megan got. But they were still nice, pipin hot, and very much welcome to our screaming stomachs. So we munched away regardless of their oddly unsalted nature (I swear everyone else’s was salted to perfection :’)))  ). Now, with our hungry little bellies finally satiated, we made our jolly way back to August’s humble abode for the night. 

~9:00am: RACE MORNING

After a night of studying attempts and scrumptious cookie munching (HUGE shoutout to August for whipping up his heaven sent browned butter chocolate chip cookies *chef’s kiss*), race morning had finally arrived. Despite waking up to a beautiful sunny morning, a night of apparent pouring rain and crazy wind had caused this morning’s draft legal swim to be canceled. As we pondered this news during breakfast, the once sunny day slowly transitioned to an overcast, followed promptly by a light drizzle. This was not looking too hot (figuratively and quite literally).

Of course, there was a variety of mixed opinions on this. The swimmers boo’d and the runners rejoiced while average-at-all-three-sports triathletes like myself were conflicted. On one hand, I hauled my wetsuit from the depths of my closet in anticipation of braving the waters and was deathly afraid of burning my legs out in the initial run. On the other hand, I did appreciate the chance of avoiding the inevitable water flailing (although it does provide great entertainment value). Alas, the formal announcement was not to be made until 10am around when transition opened, so we packed our things up, said goodbye to August’s humble abode, and made our way to the race site (not without taking the most awesome van picture in existence).

10:00am: race site and transition

With all our items (and us) repacked into the van not unlike a can of sardines, we journeyed to the race site. Of course, pre-race nerves hit me like a truck. Despite having the most hypebeast playlist on the way there, my stomach was NOT in the mood to partay. To this day, I’m still not sure if it was motion sickness, pre-race anxiety, or a healthy mix of both, but the moment my foot touched the floor of the parking lot, I made a mad dash towards a tree (there were no bushes unfortunately) and projectile vomited what was probably the entirety of my breakfast (Disclaimer: no grass was harmed in the making of this blog #touchedgrass #grasslover #grasslivesmatter).

Anyways…I soon rejoined the group who had gathered around the trailer and unloaded my child (my bike for you normies), Phreddie, (originally Fred Eats Lotsa Shit → Fred → Freddy → and now, Phreddie). After checking his tire pressure and for rubbing brakes (a rim brake issue, it eez what it eez), a group of us made our way to transition, which already had an absolute bonkers line. Because they kept a portion of the transition closed (what the heck stanford???) we were forced to separate and fend for ourselves. Fortunately, I was able to squeeze in a spot on the very outside of a rack relatively close to what would be the swim in. Using a tree as a landmark, I made sure that I would NOT lose track of my spot. By this point, it was probably 10 minutes past 10 am and I’ve still yet to hear confirmation of the swim being canceled, so I conferred with a fellow triathlete on the logistics of the unfortunate morning. From the intel I gathered, the swim was to be replaced by a 1k mad dash from the swim start to transition. Fun (typed with much sarcasm. yay.) Going through a mental checklist, I made sure I had my socks, sunnies, and running shoes on in preparation for our less-than-ideal start, Phreddie racked facing the direction of the “bike out,” my helmet looped around the handlebars, bike shoes loosened and ready to rumble, and race bib ready to be tied around my waist for the run. Whether I liked it or not, I forced myself to take a nice death breath and made my way out of transition before the nerves had a chance to resettle. 

Sometime before race start

After setting my things down next to the tree our team had taken over right outside transition (one step closer to world domination!!), a group of us made our way to join the massive line leading to the porta potties. Although the line was heinous, it  was conveniently located alongside a table piled with arguably THE BEST thing in the world: jars of skippy crunchy peanut butter, which made everything 1000% better. As the hungry hungry triathletes we were (and to replenish the precious fuel I had lost to the grass. You’re welcome grass), we went absolutely ham. It wasn’t like the line was moving anyways…and it was destined to be. Right as I finished my scoop of chunky delishness, I had reached the front of the line.

10:50am: the moment you’ve all been waiting for…*drumroll* THE RACE

I’m sad to report that I don’t remember much about the swim..wait…that’s because WE DIDN’t HAVE ONE 🤯. 

Anyways…as we made our way to the swim start, now the run start, the collegiate male wave had already started. I think I smelled the boys before I saw them. From the way the stampede came upon us, you would think that it was a 1k all out sprint, or a zombie apocalypse. Who knows. Anywho, before I realized, we had arrived. 

11:00am: Le “Swim”

“OLE, OLE OLE OLE. GAUCHOS, GAUCHOS” was one of the last things I remembered before the sound of an air horn set the ladies off. Picturing the Merriam-Webster definition of organized chaos would not take you too far off from what this “1k run” was. As expected from lining up in the middle of the pack, I was caged in by shoulders and flailing arms the whole way. Powering through, seeing the neon orange plastic around the fencing of the transition area was pure bliss. By this point, adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I was so ready to absolutely destroy my favorite leg of the race: the bike. 

Le Bike

“Shoes off. Helmet on. Shoes on. Get bike. Go ham.” played like a broken record as I entered transition. As a very not good runner, I knew that the bike was the only time for me to make up some time. After switching my gear as fast as humanly possible (transition itself should be a sport. sue me), I got on on my bike and pedaled [insert funny comparison].

HOLY CROSSWINDS. I’ve never been gladder for not having fancy deep set carbon wheels. I swear I almost shat myself when a sudden gust of wind almost blew me into a bush (maybe the plants were angry at me yikes). I thought the lollipop U-turns were sketch but the wind definitely took it to another level. Nonetheless, I dug deep and got into a rhythm. Slowly but surely, I began to make my way to what I gandered was the middle of the girls field. 

Approaching the second U-turn, I suddenly felt a looming presence approaching. A bird? A plane? No, it couldn’t be. Alas, the radiating testosterone and neon kit revealed A PACK of fellow macho gaucho men speedy through the round-a-about. Evidently the non-draft legal enforcement was going great but I wasn’t gonna be a tattletale. 

The fatigue started to settle in on the third lap. With one lap left to go, it came time to dig deep and really push it to maintain my pace and hopefully negative split my last lap. But with my legs screaming and toes a tad bit numb, I was starting to lose moral…that is until I heard an odd scream in the distance that was getting louder at an alarming rate. Perchance a holler. Or a caw? It was Marina! Her scream (screech?) of “JEAANNNN AHHHHHHH” was so full of vigor it could rival that of the raw, unadulterated call of an IV seagull. With renewed energy, my legs seemed to move of their own accord. In retrospect, whether this sudden speed was out of fear or adrenaline I do not recall, but I was able to hammer out the last lap and a half and successfully pull a flying dismount back into transition. 

Le Run

When I tell you I let it rip on the run, I mean this both literally and figuratively (a little extra boost never hurt). Coming out of T2, I was no longer able to confirm the functionality of my toes. Maybe the canceled swim was a good idea. Damn it was cold. Finding my footing, “Everytime we touched” by Cascadia playing on loop in my head got my feet into a rhythm. The game plan for the run was simple: Start fast. End fast. Don’t trip. And leave nothing left in the tank. With that I took off. Thankfully, it seemed that all the Saturday morning bricks and Thursday track slogs worked as my legs seemed to take on a life of their own. I felt AMAZING. That is, until adrenaline wore off with about 1k left to go. Everything before this felt like a fever dream. The accumulation of the first 1k run and the bike seemed to assault my legs all at once. It seemed that the metabolites finally declared war. The lactic acid buildup made my legs feel like lead. The only thing keeping me going at this point was the thought of scoops of skippy crunchy peanut butter and cuties waiting for me at the finish line. Holding onto these thoughts for dear life, I moved my legs, one foot in front the the next, whatever it took to take me to the light at the end of the tunnel (I was HURTING). Alas, I seemed to snap out of my daze at the sudden ringing of cowbells…wait cowbells? Was I hallucinating? No, I heard it again, followed by the sound of voices. 

Let me tell you guys this. I have never been happier to see a cowbell wheel in my life. The moment I crossed the finish line, I flopped on the ground to catch my breath before promptly making a beeline towards the snack tent. I kid you not when I say that the orange I inhaled was probably the most delicious morsel of food I’ve had in years. 

Sometime after the race: The Reflection

Looking back, I can confidently say that, despite the mishaps, I thoroughly enjoyed this silly little race. And, in case you were wondering, I did, indeed, absolutely obliterate my time from last year by 16 whole minutes (LFG). Honorary mention to Ava for placing THIRD in the collegiate women’s field (HUGEEEE), everyone on the team for being rockstars and speed demons, and our van for not completely falling apart. 

Ramblings of a sleep deprived madwoman: The End

If this bio major thing doesn’t work out, maybe I’ll become a full-time blogger. Or maybe a professional napper. Enough of my rambling, that’s all for today folks. To those of you who’ve made it this far without falling asleep: kudos and a huge thanks for bearing with my rambling (it is currently 2:23 am on the friday, well, saturday, before finals week as I am typing this. I should probably go to bed. Or study. I will most likely be doing the former. I definitely do need more of the latter. I digress). If you made it this far because you skipped to the end, I don’t blame you, because I myself typed the ending before being remotely close to being even halfway done with this monstrosity.

I just want to finish this by giving a huge shoutout to Stanford for organizing such an amazing race, to our co-presidents, officers, and coaches for being awesome, to all our drivers and hosts for being amazing human beings, to Pedro the Squishmallow for saving my spine from premature aging, and to the beautiful sport of triathlon for bringing us crazies together.

Logging off for realsies, 

Jean Che(a)n🤙