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🤙

Tritonman Draft Legal Race by Megan Kou

As race day got closer and closer I became increasingly more excited and nervous about racing and tried to convince myself that I hadn’t made an epic mistake signing up for my first draft legal race. Little did I know that I would have the best race of my life that Saturday.

Friday: Day Before Draft Legal

6:30 AM- I dragged myself out of bed to meet Dori at the rec center pool to do a quick shakeout swim before we would embark on our long drive down to San Diego. 

7:30 AM- Speed biked home to pack for the race, which I saved for the last minute of course, because of my excellent time management skills. The Presidents (Thea and Paxton) had told all of us doing DL that we needed to be at the rec center parking lot at 8:30.

8:50ish-  Made it to the parking lot and wasn’t even the last one there. Very swag.

Once everyone had made it to the parking lot, we began debating who would be the lucky individuals that got to sit in the back row of the van. Connor insisted that his legs were longer than Dori’s (which they weren’t) and we spent a very productive segment of time comparing their leg sizes and telling Connor he was delusional.  We finally got on the road, picked up Coach Matt, and started the drive down to SD only about 30 minutes later than we planned. Paxton was driving and Coach Matt was in the passenger seat. Daniel, Dori, and Thea sat in the middle row, and Connor, Donovan, and I sat in the back row. 

When lunchtime rolled around, all of us knew that we had to suppress our hunger until we got to Senor Grubby’s in Carlsbad. Before we had even left SB it was already pre-determined that Senor Grubby’s was going to be the place we would stop at for lunch in order to continue the tradition from the previous year. It did indeed live up to the hype.

3:30PM- We finally arrived at Mission Bay and decided to do a short shakeout spin around Fiesta Island (where we would be biking in the race). Everyone went to get their bikes out of the trailer, and I remembered that I had made the unlucky decision to put my bike in a separate car. Welp. It looked like I was going to have to borrow a teammate’s bike, but the real issue was trying to find a bike that would fit me (I am….very short). After some searching, I spotted another team member’s TT bike that looked like it might fit. I tried riding it around the parking lot and although it wasn’t comfortable, I decided it would do the job. That was a poor decision.

The second we started biking towards the island, I got dropped. One mile into the four-mile loop, I really started to regret choosing to ride the ill-fitting bike and prayed to sweet baby Jesus for the chaffing to end. As I inched my way around the island and watched my teammates get further and further away, I laughed at how ridiculous I felt and hoped for a much better ride during the race.

5:30PM- We made it to Gigi’s house and Paxton very smoothly parked the trailer while the rest of us tried to give somewhat helpful directions. Off to packet pickup and the DL meeting. Our packets came with two! pairs! of! socks! We were all very psyched about that. 

7:15PM- The DL meeting felt like it would go on forever and I could feel the hangry-ness starting to creep in after we had been sitting there for an hour listening to the race officials listing all the rules and penalties of DL racing. Across the aisle, 30-year-old Olympic steeplechase runner, Colleen Quigsley, sat looking ready to destroy the rest of the amateur collegiate field.

When the meeting finally ended, all of us hustled back to the van and Gigi took executive control by telling us where we were going to stop for dinner, no questions asked. Half of the van (Paxton, Daniel, Dori, Donovan, and I) split off to stay at Jim and Sue’s (a friend of Gigi’s) house, where we inhaled our dinner and got ready to race the next morning.

Saturday: Draft Legal Race Day

4:15AM- The alarm went off and Dori and I groggily began getting prepared. Hair was braided, bagels were eaten, and race kits were put on. We picked up the trailer and the rest of the DL crew from Gigi’s house and started making our way to the race site. While the rest of us sat in sleepy silence, Gigi asked, “can we play music? It’s VERY IMPORTANT to me.” Shortly after, Vroom Vroom by Charlie XCX started playing from the back row. 

5:00AM- We arrived at Mission Bay and started unloading the bikes. Everyone got to work putting on the wheels and stickers in all the correct places….and then Conner said that he had forgotten his race packet, with all the stickers and the timing chip, at Gigi’s house. BRUH. Since the boy’s race was before the girl’s race, Gigi very generously offered to drive the truck/trailer home to get Connor’s packet for him while he tried to figure something else out. 

5:40AM- Thea got a call from Gigi. Bad news: the trailer had UNHITCHED from the van while Gigi was driving. The girls needed to bike to where Gigi was and lift the trailer back onto the hitch. We headed over and I remember starting to feel slightly panicked at how unfortunate our morning had already been so far. 

6:20AM -Luckily, five of us were able to lift the trailer back onto the hitch, and directly after doing so, we got a call from Connor saying that the race official was able to get him an extra timing chip so Gigi didn’t need to go get his packet. We made our way back to transition and quickly set up our bikes before it was closed.

6:45AM- The boys were lined up for their in-water start and Dori, Ava, Thea, Gigi, and I watched from the shore. The horn went off and all we saw was a flurry of arms and legs. From the shore, we could see the fastest swimmers already starting their ride on Fiesta Island. We cheered for the boys as they finished the swim and soon, it was time for the girls to warm up before our race. 

8:00AM- The boys’ race had finished by now, and the girls swam out to the start line. I tried to stay close to Dori and Ava but lost them among the sea of red caps around me. I put my finger on the start button on my watch and treaded water, waiting for the horn to go off. 

When the horn went off, I immediately started swimming and kicking as hard as I could, trying to get away from the swimmers behind me whose arms I could feel grabbing at my legs. This was the most aggressive swim I had ever experienced, and for most of the 750 meters, I was constantly fighting to get distance from the girls around me, and trying to stay calm when I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Finally, when I saw the last buoy I picked up the pace, just trying to get to shore. I started running toward transition, feeling like my heart rate was going through the roof. 

I made sure to put all of my gear in the bucket and put my helmet on first. Then I ran towards the mount line and got ready to try a flying mount for the first time at a race. I heard Coach Matt yelling at me, “You can calm down! This is your pack!!” while pointing at the girls in front of me. Once I got my shoes on, I saw one girl ahead of me and pushed hard to catch her. Together, we drafted off of each other, catching another two girls in front of us and forming a single pack. 

Holy cow, I was actually in a pack. I still had no clue where the rest of my teammates were and just kept trying to push the pace of my pack. Halfway through lap 1, a huge pack of girls blew by us, and I pushed to make it onto the end of their pack. I was now in a draft pack with 11 other girls. At times, it was really confusing when girls didn’t know when to drop back or which way to go, but one girl tried to keep us all accountable by yelling at us when to drop back or pull through. My legs were burning so much, but I knew that I COULD NOT get dropped. I felt so happy that I was actually getting to draft.

At the end of lap 3, my pack made our way off Fiesta Island and back towards transition. My feet were completely numb when I slipped my shoes on and started the run. As I started lap 1 of the run, I saw Connor yelling at me “You gotta go!!!” The first lap went by quickly and seeing all the coaches and teammates cheering for me boosted my morale. As I was turning a corner on the second lap, I saw Ava chasing me down the path a quarter of a lap behind me. Ava is a beast, so I knew I needed to pick it up. By the third lap, I was really hurting but I was close to the end.

I sprinted towards and crossed the finish line, feeling like I had nothing left in the tank. The guys were all cheering for us at the finish line and they congratulated me on having such a great race. A minute after I crossed the line, Ava came close behind me, and then Thea, Dori, and Gigi. Gigi had crashed on the bike but powered through like a champion

I was so proud of myself and my teammates for racing so well. For my first draft legal race, I was pretty darn happy with how it went. After getting all our stuff together, we piled into the van and headed off to brunch. In less than 24 hours, all of us would race again at the Tritonman Classic Race, but until then, it was time to feast and sleep.  

Tritonman Classic Race By Donovan Truel

It was four in the morning when I heard nobody's alarm go off. Eventually, everyone got up and we somehow made it to transition with all the bikes, people, and timing chips. The Tritonman classic was the second triathlon of the weekend for me and although my legs were almost too sore to walk and it took me twenty minutes to get my (wet and cold) wetsuit on, I knew this would be one of the races of the year. After I set up transition, I had to walk barefoot on the (some descriptor for cold) icy grass, which according to unreputable sources was around -30°F. 

When it was finally time for the race to start, the other wave-2 swimmers and I swam out to the start line. The bottom of the bay was smooth and sticky, the water tasted like it shouldn’t, and my body didn’t want to swim. We were all having nice conversations about the brutality of the swim during the previous day’s triathlon when all of a sudden the officials blew the air horn. After a few seconds of confusion, people started kicking and punching their way to the first buoy. 

There are two ways to open water swim, you can either look where you're going, or you put your head down, bump into people, and let them guide you to the finish. In this race, everyone was doing the latter. Although it was only the second most aggressive open water swim I’ve done, someone still managed to rip off my watch which wasn’t appreciated. After ~700 yards, my hand hit the familiar sludge so I stood up and hobbled out of the water, then proceeded to have my fastest ever T1, before beginning the bike leg of the race.

Regarding triathlons, you only have to remember one thing, dfoyb4R: Don’t fall off your bike 4R. The first time I did a triathlon I misremembered it as foyb1R, which I personally do not recommend. The bike was a flat 3-lap course. It was a chill ride except for every minute or two when a run-biker would zip by in full aero at 30 mph on an over-engineered death machine of a bicycle and almost run you over. 

The other place on the course when the bike got intense was by a puddle where there was a narrow path about one bike width wide. The race director was very clear that going fast at this point was not going to win or lose you the race. However, I think people just heard: “All your competitors will be slowing down and this is your time to pass them.” Either way, the puddle zone was not a fun place to be. 

After the bike course, it was off to T2 (my best event) and the run. I was planning on taking the run a little easy because I didn’t want to hurt myself too much, but no plan survives contact with the enemy. I started at a comfortable pace, and about 1200 meters in, Matt passed me. I started to pick it up a little after that and by the third lap, I had almost caught up to my brother (who is on the UCSD Triathlon team).  I started my sprint with half a mile to go and while I did pass my brother he passed me back and won by one second. Overall, I was tenth for our team, and almost everyone had a good race. More importantly, they had free fruit snacks at the end which is the only motivation for doing triathlons. 

After the race and some futile searching for my watch, we loaded up the trailers and started to head back (with pockets full of fruit snacks of course). Not much happened on the ride back because everyone was so tired from the two triathlons, but I think Connor was the first to fall asleep so he lost the… game.

UCI Zot Trot by Gigi Mitchell

The morning of Zot Trot, UCI’s triathlon, Liz and I left Ellie’s house and were 10 minutes down the road before we realized we left our timing chips on her counter. We ended up making it to transition with 20 minutes to spare, but were able to set up our stuff quickly, and luckily didn’t forget anything. For me, the less time I have to sit around before a race, the better. At UCLA’s Ironbruin I had an hour of nothing to do and I psyched myself out so bad. At this race, we had about 15 minutes before the gun went off, and the time was spent running around trying to make sure everything was in place, so I started the race fully head empty. No thoughts. Perfect.

Zot Trot is a reverse triathlon, beginning with a 6k run, then the standard 20k bike, and finishing with a 250m pool swim. To start the run, we lined up in two rows, cross-country style, the official yelled go, and we were on our way. I was running right behind the front girl for the first half mile until I looked at my watch and saw that my pace was 6:45, 15 seconds behind where I wanted to be running. So, I passed the leader and began to push the pace. I’ve never led a race before and was used to just mindlessly following the leader (sheeple behavior). The course was well-marked, but it was unusual for me to see no one ahead, and have to fight to keep people off instead of always trying to catch the athletes ahead of me. After another half-mile, Ava and I had dropped the rest of the girls and were just running together. I didn’t look at my watch for the rest of the run but could tell that I was pushing it by the lack of girls behind me, though I still felt good the whole time.

Ava was on my tail when I entered transition. I did my first ever flying mount in a race, so was out of transition in record time. I knew the bike was where I had to fight to hold onto my lead, as Ava is a slightly faster biker than me and a substantially faster swimmer. At the beginning of the bike, I was less than a quarter mile ahead of her. The course was four laps, and every time I went around one of the U-turns I saw her gain 10 meters on me. It didn’t help that on one of the first turns I had to slow almost to a stop because Paxton was clamping on his brakes. As I came up behind him, I shouted at him that there was no need to brake, which I think he really appreciated.

I was fighting as hard as I could to go fast on the bike, both in an effort to stay ahead of Ava and because I knew I didn’t have to save anything for the swim, as it was only 250 meters. I was holding steady until the last U-turn when I saw that Ava had gained significantly and was right on my tail. I booked it down the last hill and sprinted through transition. I had put my goggles in my suit pocket before the race, but as I saw Ava charging me down from behind I didn’t even think about them and just jumped in the pool.

This swim made me realize why the swim is usually at the beginning of the race. I could not breathe. Every lap I would see Ava approach behind me, but I absolutely could not go faster. Every time I leaned to the side to breathe it was just a weak gasp. My legs didn’t feel strong enough to push off the wall. The last lap finally came, and I heard my teammates cheering on the poolside. In a daze, I hoisted myself out of the water and ran as fast as my oxygen-deprived body could to the finish line.

The second I crossed the line I collapsed onto the grass, 9 seconds later Ava finished and collapsed next to me. We laid there on the ground breathless but smiling so wide, as we had just finished first and second, our best ever results in a triathlon. The photos we took afterward look like I’m crying from smiling so much. At the end of last year, I told Ava that this year would be our podium year. When we stood on that podium together, with our teammate Liz who came in third, we were absolutely beaming. We had a full UCSB girls sweep, and our president Paxton came in second in his race, with a lot of great finishes from all our athletes.

After the race, when Ava and I were finally able to stand up, we were handed bottles of what we thought were regular Gatorade. Only after Ava drank the whole bottle, however, did we discover that each bottle had 200mg of caffeine. Her face went white when she learned this, as she never drinks caffeine. However, many of our teammates saw an opportunity to save money on energy drinks, and started filling their bags will as many as they could. We had already accumulated over 100 bottles by the time we discovered that the UCI team had a shed filled with cases of the drink, and they would let us take 12-packs. The haul was incredible, and over a month after the race, I still have a shelf full of the stuff.

We drove back with heavier vans, one piloted by Paxton and the other by our team soccer dad, Casey. There was lots of arguing about when we could stop for bathroom breaks and lots of stoic pee holding by me. In the end, we reached Santa Barbara exhausted but happy and had the easiest trailer unloading ever. Zot Trot was obviously an excellent race for me, but I think it also was a wonderful, unique triathlon experience for all my teammates who came out and raced. 

Collegiate Nationals by Thea Zalunardo

Amount of time I spent in the Atlanta airport over a 48 hour period: 27 hours. Horrible, right? To make matters worse, I was running on about 5 hours of sleep or less per night for the past few nights. I’m considering now this isn’t the most encouraging first statement for Triathlon or the nationals trip I could have chosen. But despite the chaos and exhaustion, I wouldn’t have traded the experience for anything else. 

Wednesday

At 6am on Wednesday March 30th, the twenty of us and our coaches met at the UCSB rec cen parking lot to load into team vans and drive to LAX for our flight. Most people rolled up at the last possible minute (per usual), except for Logan who insanely ran at 4 am before we left. This airport journey and flight were relatively smooth. We saw multiple other triathletes packing up bikes at the airport and even ended up on the same flight as the Cal Poly triathlon team. Despite the early hour, everyone was pumped to be headed to Georgia to compete in Nationals, momentarily ignoring the havoc missing school would cause. I tried to get homework done on the plane and managed to not fall asleep, unlike many of my teammates. Though, I’m really not sure how productive I actually was. 

When we landed the original plan was to stop for food at a place near the airport. But, it was soon discovered that the restaurant planned upon was closing sooner than we could reasonably get there and order to eat for 23 people. So started the hunt for food. This was not the last time this happened on the trip, and I can safely say that tired and hungry triathletes DO NOT make a rational or patient combination. An Olive Garden closer to our hotel was finally decided upon, but when my van arrived we were told that the other van had split between going to Steak N Shake and Chipotle without letting us know. I opted for Chipotle. We got to the hotel at last and all split into our room groups to sleep after a long day of traveling.

Thursday

The next morning we got to “sleep in” and we headed to Waffle House. The journey there included a fair amount of jaywalking and some sketchy crossing of highways. I, and a few others did not think it was the safest idea, but with no other option we eventually caved. Our team filled up pretty much the entirety of the Waffle House and we got a photo with the staff as well as really cool paper hats. Afterwards, we hit Walmart for food supplies and costume necessities for the spirit competition. After this very long, but successful Walmart visit, the next stop was the race site.

Filled, supposedly, with ghosts and graveyards, Lake Lanier was surprisingly clear and nice. A pleasant change from the dark, salty, and/or very gross waters we’d swum in the past few races. My bike and its pedals were reunited at the TriBike Transport and we did the shortest bike ever to make sure it all worked. Those of us not racing draft legal or the relays drove the bike course, despite Connie’s protests. It did nothing but instill concern, and sitting near Matt and Cole -- whose consistent critique and commentary of the course only added more worry -- did not help my confidence. We had time to change, shower, and get some work done before heading to dinner, this time actually at Olive Garden. 

Friday

6 am the morning of Draft Legal and relays, those of us not in those races left at 6:30 for the race site. Despite everyone telling us Georgia was muggy, it was quite chilly that morning and many of our SUPER AWESOME jazzercise costumes stayed hidden for a large part of the day to avoid the cold wind. Jayson, Eddie, and Dori finished their draft legal races with smiles on their faces. Our team went all out with our spirit costumes and cheering. Jazzercise group exercises were attempted, we sprinted around the course to see each part of the race, and we screamed ourselves hoarse. During Dori’s race, we did the wave as she came out of T2, and her smiling reaction rivaled only against her response to our cheering at the finishing line.

Relays were next up. We recuperated between, gearing up for more cheering. Connor started off the relays for us; he killed it, finishing as the 6th guy coming in. Gigi took off sprinting into the water, and other than some confusion coming out of the water she speeded through her portion as well. Eddie had a mini heart attack as Daniel slowly and very relaxed waited to put on his wetsuit and cap. But, he had it all on on time and when Gigi tagged him in, we were still number 6. Daniel came back in, tagging our last and final relay member, Megan. Overall we finished 12th in the relay out of all the teams!

Tired and exhausted we headed back to the hotel, showered and changed, and went to dinner. We had a team meeting about the plan for tomorrow and went back to our rooms to pack our stuff for the Olympic race the next day.

Saturday

4am. Race Day. We rolled out of bed and put on our kits and layers against the cold. Having done a few triathlons now, I felt semi-ok heading to the race site, at least aware of how to set up. Mostly I was nervous for the full Olympic distance as this would be my first one. Our van showed up extra early because a few of us still needed our time chips. They told us they’d be there before 5. 

They were not. We were. 

We waited probably about a half an hour for the people to show up and then they scared us trying to find the time chips. But on the bright side, we got free laces. Chips in hand, we got our bikes from TriBike Transport and set up our transition. I lined everything up and took my inhaler (a necessary precaution with asthma and cold water) before leaving. 

It was very brisk and all of us put off getting ready as long as possible to avoid the cold. We found out the mile swim was cut in half due to cold water temperatures; there were varying reactions to this. Some were stoked and others, me included, were sad. I had really wanted to do a full Olympic distance. Additionally, I was not in the mindset for a faster swim. Finally we had to cave and put on our wetsuits. Those of us in the final wave jumped in the water before our start to get acclimated. The water felt frigid at first, but I still believe the water at the Stanford race was much worse. At the race start, people diving in were losing their time chips left and right. Thank you Connie for pointing this out and causing me to look down at my ankle, only to find out mine had come off during the warm-up. There was one single time chip floating where we had warmed up, which luckily was mine! In a desperate attempt to not lose it again, I duct-taped the top and bottom of mine securely –– it ended up looking (and feeling) like a very janky probation ankle monitor. Which, I guess it kind of was, tracking my whole race. Despite the supposed cold, I didn’t think the water was that bad once we were swimming. But it was probably the right call given how many people stopped during their swim to hang onto the side of the lifeguard kayaks, or just tread water to get their head out of the cold. I ran into a ton of people who stopped randomly, which was sort of annoying. It totally threw off my stroke and didn’t help the effort of continuous sighting of the buoys. Despite that though, this race swim felt controlled. Coming out of the water I was happy to see most of us who had been in the final wave - Dillen, Katie, Anna, and I - were not far apart, one after another running up the hill to transition. About halfway up the steep hill, my calf started to cramp painfully to the point I couldn’t step properly. I hobble-ran up the hill to my bike. I was not smart and forgot to double check what row our bikes were in inside Transition, which despite everything else in a triathlon, I believe is the second hardest thing during a race. Luckily, I was behind everyone and saw where they ran. 

Then came the hardest part of the triathlon: taking off the wetsuit. T1 is by far my least favorite part of the race every time. Getting the wetsuit off is a challenge. Disoriented, trying to rush, I almost always keel over. This time, I could not get the wetsuit over the time chip and ended up sitting on the ground to try and shove it over. Turns out this was even a worse idea. My body in confusion from being horizontal and weightless and then sprinting up a hill, instantly became dizzy upon sitting down. I had to take a second as my vision went blurry and I felt more off balance than I had standing up. I finally managed to get the suit off and basically kicked it out of my way as I stuffed my feet in my shoes, donned my helmet, and took off to the mount line. After this, the bike went as smooth as it could have. My team bike, with questionable gear shifting abilities, got a lot of looks as it struggled to shift on the hilly course. But, despite the fear going into the bike course, my bike and I survived. And it actually felt better than I thought it would. But although my bike survived, I saw more bike carnage on the side of that race than ever before. And our team was not spared. Really short into my ride I saw Maya on the side desperately hand-pumping her bike tire, shivering uncontrollably. Afterwards I also heard multiple other people had problems as well. During the early part of my ride, I choked down a full Gu on a flat stretch. I am however not proud to say I did end up throwing the leftover garbage on the ground like a very inconsiderate and un-environmentally caring human. I usually try to stuff them in the pockets on the side of the tri kit, but as I finished mine I came on one of the turns that lead straight into a hill and I didn’t really have time to think through methodically putting my trash in a pocket. 

I made it back to transition for T2 and took off running. My legs felt tired, but overall I felt better than I had expected. The Gu and electrolytes definitely did their job. The run course of this race was absolutely amazing, a series of rolling hills. There were points of time in which I was having way too easy time breathing wise, but my legs couldn’t move any faster as fatigue set in slowly over the miles. I attempted to down water and gatorade on my second loop, but most of it just ended up on my race kit or on the ground. The 6 miles of the run went by quite fast and I was speeding down the final hill to the finish line before I’d really comprehended I was done. As I rounded the last corner, I could hear everyone else on our team who had finished screaming and chanting. I crossed the finish line, excited and happy that I was able to complete it and shocked I felt fine, good even!.

That high however –– which if you’ve never experienced a triathlon high let me tell you it feels amazing –– quickly faded after my race. My legs and hips started to ache soon after. And then came the post-race exertion nausea. That stage quickly followed by extreme hunger. We all stayed at the finish line until every last participant in the triathlon finished, cheering everyone on. Our spirit, in my opinion, was unmatched. All exhausted and hungry, we stood around waiting for the rewards ceremony. Which took a very long time; longer than it needed to. We all wanted to sit, but we knew we weren’t gonna stand back up if we did. So instead, we stood in extreme pain, fighting off our hunger and stiffness. Even more annoyingly and disappointingly, we did not win the spirit award, despite our impeccable outfits and amazing support (but congrats Wisconsin).

We went back to the hotel to drop off our stuff then loaded right back up to go to food. Once again, our original food plan failed and there were MANY HANGRY TRIATHLETES trying to figure out where to eat. A few split off to go somewhere else but most of us went to a place super near where we were, which ended up actually being pretty good food. I think we were all just glad to eat. 

Back at the hotel, people showered, packed for the next morning, and took naps. Then, all of us got together in one room to celebrate the trip and the race! 

Sunday

4 am wake-up, again. In the vans and to the airport. We were there about 2.5 hours early, which is crazy early for a domestic flight. Apparently, it was not early enough. All half-asleep we stood in a line at American for our boarding passes for I’m not even sure how long. Then they finally called anyone with a 7:45 flight up to a separate line to streamline us. When we got the passes, we rushed through security, which in all reality really didn’t take that long. However, it didn’t make a difference. We missed the flight. The next 4 hours or so, we sat around. People slept or tried to do homework. Multiple people were on hold waiting to talk to American airlines. It was a waiting game until the next flight to LA to see if anyone would get off stand-by. Most everyone was relatively calm through this time; I think we were all too tired to really comprehend how problematic it could be. As the afternoon approached, things started to get a bit more tense as the realization of our situation set in. Many people couldn’t afford to miss more school, and would literally be dropped from classes if they did. Our agitation was probably not assisted by the fact we had been up since 4 am, most of us had very little sleep, and none of us had eaten a proper meal. Some started to hopefully wander around to discover food options –– which now that I’ve seen the whole airport I can confidently say the T terminal is a wasteland compared to the others –– but about the same time lots of coordination was happening. We were standing by terminals to hear stand-by, constantly moving from place to place to talk to American Airline employees, others were trying to call their parents and/or other airlines to see if they could get a flight to LA that evening, and as a team we were collectively trying to figure out who needed to get back first. In the end about half the team got tickets through a different airline out of their own pocket. A few people decided to stay behind and try to get off stand-by for the evening. They were all lucky enough to do so. Looking back, I wish I had done that. Overall, the day was exhausting and discombobulating. I was thoroughly worn down from communicating with my parents and keeping track of all the different information. I couldn’t remember what I’d eaten or when, and I’m pretty sure I didn’t have a filling meal almost the whole day. But I had a flight the next morning for sure and Paxton’s Mom (huge shoutout!!) used her credits to get us 2 hotel rooms for those of us leaving the next day. Overwhelmed and stressed, I was just thankful not to be inside the airport anymore. My body had no idea what time it was, running on very little sleep over a couple day period and having been up since 4 am. I showered, which made me feel human, and then we got pizza, which tasted amazing, watched Ratatouille, and then I went to sleep. 

The next morning I headed to the airport alone since I had the earliest flight. As I got there, I got a text from a teammate who had touched down in LA and was currently driving home. The end of their 26 hour ish day was approaching. Mine was just beginning. I won’t go into the details of my specific issues of misinformation in this airport, but I ended up at the wrong gate due to their internal confusion and then sprinted across the airport. In a 15 minute period I saw every terminal and ran a few people over who did not move out of my way fast enough. My legs, not recovered from the triathlon and all the sitting from the day before not helping, screamed in pain as I sprinted at top speed across all the terminals searching for my gate. I sprinted without direction. Nobody could tell me where my flight actually was, or even what terminal I was in. Finally figuring it out, I made it there at 8:02, and 2 minutes too late. They had just closed the doors. The people at Alaska were kind enough to rebook me on stand-by, but they had very few flights leaving from ATL and had no guarantee I would get off stand-by till the next day and even then I’d be on stand-by for wherever I landed back to LAX. This was not ideal. At this point I will admit I was panicked. When I finally got a hold of my parents we decided I needed to try and get back on the American Airline stand-by waitlist. A random guy heard me on the phone with my mom and kindly offered to help me, and brought me to a desk. I’m not really sure what happened, but somehow his informing the lady at the desk of my situation pissed off a flight attendant who was flying as a passenger and an altercation erupted. I’m standing there, my mom on the phone, confused and exhausted, just wanting some assistance, and suddenly there are people yelling, security guards are running in front of me to break the two up, and passengers are angrily still trying to get to the desk for help. I felt like I was in the middle of a carousel, at the exact center point that’s not moving but everything else is in garish, tainted colors, and is ominously circling around and around and around. Finally, the lady at the desk did help me and got me back on stand-by for the direct flight to LAX. With a new boarding pass added to my increasing stack, then I met teammates who were flying out that afternoon. Then, I waited. And I waited. And when the flight got delayed, I waited. Luckily, the coaches and Eddie were around so I wasn’t alone. I did in fact end up on the final and last flight to LAX. I have never been so relieved in my life to leave an airport. In total I spent 27 hours in the ATL airport. I visited every terminal, experienced both security entrances, and I can confidently say I never want to return.

When we landed, we met with the others waiting for us and loaded into the van. And when I finally got to my apartment about a full 24 hours later, I collapsed from exhaustion. 

The trip overall was insanely fun and exciting! It was a privilege to be able to go, race, and enjoy quality time with teammates. I can’t say that I’m fully recovered from the airport debacles, but it didn’t taint the rest of the trip. So lessons to be learned from this insanely long recap of a crazy long and amazing trip it should be this: 

1. Do not fly American 

2. Keep triathletes fed 

3. Travel with people who make even crazy situations enjoyable!