XTERRA 2016 and completion of the Double-Double

XTERRA was his idea. I had convinced Andrew that we needed to complete Ironman in Hawaii together, to wrap up 15 years of our IM experience properly, as we had both DNF’d from Ironman Wisconsin 2014. It was his idea to do XTERRA as well, two weeks later, known as the Double. The goal was to go from a double DNF to completion of IM and XTERRA at world championships in 2016 as a couple…with the cheesy moniker Double-Double. I said no, but here I found myself, two weeks after IM on a beach in Maui, with 800 other athletes from 46 countries.

The winds in Maui had been high all week, with regular intervals of torrential rain. I stood on the beach with helicopters overhead, waves crashing, media everywhere, and people excited to see the pros sprint into the surf. I had already said goodbye to Andrew, as there were four wave starts. I was standing with a friend from home, who was supportive, positive and fun. I appreciated her energy, but felt envious of her strong and lithe swimmer's body, knowing she would be a top amateur out of the water. After the 30 second warning was announced, a massive set of rollers pounded the beach, and 3000 people on shore all whooped and cheered at the enormity of it all. The gun exploded and we watched the pros run and dive through the waves. Some of them timed it perfectly, and others were lifted up and spat back out on the sand. As each wave start set off, my anxiety got louder as some swimmers didn't enter the water at all. They approached the start, tried to summon the courage, but turned away. It kind of broke my heart to know they would not complete their goal on that day. And then it was my turn, and I ran into the water like everyone else, dove under a few waves, and before I knew it, I was beyond the shore break. The swell felt enormous, and sightings of the turn buoys were brief, but I was turning it over ok. The course was an M shape with a return to shore, and a short beach run in the middle. While it was bigger swell than I'd ever experienced, I found myself approaching shore with half the swim almost complete. Breathing to my left I saw a massive curling wave behind me. I tried to stretch out my arms and body surf as Andrew had shown me, but in an instant I was thrown into a Scorpion bend, snapping backward, over and over not knowing which way was up. Fear filled my body, and then I hit other bodies. A foot came down on my head, and a toe pulled through my goggle strap, stripping my cap from my head. I grabbed it off the foot as I was pulled back with the tow. I got a breath, and had one more lesser wave tumble me onto sand, before I could scramble and hop my way to shore through the powerful receding water. Running along the sand, I did not want to head back in to complete the swim. Attempting to calm my ragged breathing, I stopped to walk and settle down. I put my cap and goggles back on, and watched the water to decide when to re-enter the fierce ocean. I got through the surf unharmed, and swam toward the next buoy. On that side of the bay, the swell was coming across our route, and rolled over my head not allowing a downwind breath. The wind whipped off the top of the waves, making it feel like hail on my head. Eventually I found myself approaching the beach again, and I felt a sense of panic. I looked back to the lifeguards on Jet Skis, briefly considering an escape from this situation.  As it happens, I made it to the beach with some tumble and scramble, but no drama. The path to transition was lined with people cheering, but I couldn't look up. I was shell shocked, and not ready to celebrate.

A pro getting tossed

I went through the motions in transition and got on my bike. Once I was rolling on two wheels, and had a sip of eLoad to replace the salt and sand in my mouth, I felt normal again pretty quickly. The bike course fires up a steep hill leaving Kapalua resort. Within the first mile I had passed about 30 people before we hit the single track. The terrain is mostly smooth path, with a mud base, and roughly cut Hawaiian thick grasses. There are sections that wind through trees, and some steep climbs. I felt a little stuck behind slower riders, but passed whenever I saw a small widening. I tried to relax and refuel from my camelback when I couldn't pass. The smooth sailing didn't continue for long. Over the next 10 miles the trails were either super slick and greasy, or deep condensed muddy glue. It became a game of pulling and pushing handfuls of gunk from between the frame and the back wheel, or hauling a forty pound mud-covered dead weight up slick climbs when the back wheel could not be released. At times I was at a complete stand still as riders were bunched in groups trying to negotiate sharp ascents or descents. I got a little frustrated as some people had completely given up, and were not moving briskly on or off the bike. I still wanted to race, even though it seemed a little ridiculous as we hauled our mud-laden bikes up the climbs. Eventually I reached the top of the primary climb, and I got the wheels turning for the long descent. It got kind of fun. I passed many more people that either couldn't free their wheels, or had broken derailleurs and chains. Part way down I was reminded to keep it safe as a guy yelled that there was a medical emergency below. I heard afterward that a fellow was medevacced off the mountain, and they had an all-time high of broken bones that day. Closer to the end of the course it got super fun. The slick mud was replaced with soft needles and roots through the trees, and it began to feel like my favourite Beowulf trail at Silver Star. Bombing down the hill into transition, I was finally ready to celebrate the joy of it all, and hooted and hollered with a few others through the final tunnel. Running my bike to the rack dedicated to my age group category, I was surprised to see virtually no other bikes there. Knowing how slow going it had been for me, I wondered where the heck everyone was. Had I missed part of the course? Despite my confusion I was ready to slip on my runners. Running is so darn safe! The only issue was that I couldn't release the buckles on my bike shoes. They were glued shut with Hawaiian mud. I grabbed a tire lever from my pack to scrape and bang at the mud, and tried to drip the fluid from my hydration pack on the buckles. Finally free, I clipped on my race number belt, and ran back up the hill to the trails.

A photo from a friend's pre-ride...it got worse!

The run is basically a two mile climb through the grassy paths, a mile of fairly flat single track in the trees, then a long descent back to the ocean, with some short up hill kickers to keep us honest. I tried to keep up some intensity, and repeat the mantra to race right to the finish line. My breathing dictated the pace though, and I kept it at the threshold of rhythmical. I was a little disappointed to keep getting reduced to a walk on the climbs, but just kept checking that I was working as hard as I could. I continued to pass runners, and was only passed by one brilliant descender. After the last steep grind,  down and down we went, ducking under and over fallen trees, through a tiny ravine and funnelled out onto the beach where it all began. A couple hundred meters on the sand sucked any remaining energy from the legs, but at last I found myself in the final stretch leading towards the infamous flag-lined finish chute. Andrew cheered from the side of the chute, and suddenly I was finished...we were finished...the cheesy Double-Double. To make it even sweeter, we both finished fourth in our respective categories, and I was the 15th amateur woman. The Double is actually a real thing, and I was the first female of the small number that took it on, so received a gift certificate for accommodation in Maui. And in case you are wondering…no, I'm not going to use it for another race.

The long awaited finishing chute