Eagleman 2019 - Ceding Control

I’m a control freak. There, I admit it. I try to force myself to be laid back, but I’m anything but. Just ask Mike and he’ll roll his eyes and laugh, while running a tape of the past twenty years through his mind — freeze frames of all the times I’ve tried to control events and influence outcomes. There are times though, when a situation is too far gone for me to be able to force my will upon it. In these situations, I’ll do one of two things: I’ll pitch an adult-sized hissy-fit, or I’ll reluctantly open my hands and accept the fact that I’m not in control. Many times, I’ll do both of those things — have my hissy-fit, then open my hands. Like the time Mike surprised me at my work with suitcases packed and a pair of airline tickets. Two steps in a process: hissy-fit, complete with yelling and foot-stomping (I hate flying, probably because I’m not in control of the airplane) followed by opening my hands and surrendering my will. 

​I began obsessing about the weather three or four days before Eagleman. Logically, I knew that I couldn’t control the weather, but I wasn’t ready to open my hands. I willed calm winds, a glassy river, low humidity, and some sun, but mostly clouds. Logically, I also knew that the forecast would change multiple times leading up to, and including race day. When we checked in on Friday and saw that they had moved the swim course a little bit to the left — to the more protected Hambrooks Bay — I began to realize race day might not go according to my will, my desires, or the way I’d envisioned it for the past sixteen weeks. This was to be my fifth time doing Eagleman. Yet it was the first time I’d trained for it with a coach, and the first time I’d had a tribe of like-minded triathletes to train with. I’d also spent a great deal of time improving my swim technique. I had a plan and a vision about how the day would unfold, including my fantasy weather — there was no room for any deviation.
 
By the time we checked our bikes in on Saturday, the threads I’d woven into my perfect race day experience began to unravel. The Choptank was dotted with whitecaps and small rollers danced across Hambrooks Bay. Mike, who missed his calling and should have been a meteorologist, said if the the wind — which on Sunday was predicted to be 8 to 10 knots with gusts to 25 — stayed in the 8-knot range and blew from the north, then we’d be okay in our protected Hambrooks Bay. However, if the wind shifted early to the northeast and blew 8-10, we probably wouldn’t have a swim.
 
The weather on Sunday morning was deceptively okay. It was chilly — a first for me in Eagleman. Overnight, the winds did what Mike predicted and race officials shortened the swim. But then the kayakers — angels along the course ensuring our safety — had difficulty. The wind was only predicted to get worse, putting the athletes in the later swim waves at risk. The announcer broke the news: the swim was cancelled. 
 
I surprised myself. While I was disappointed that the weather had turned and I wouldn’t be able to put my new swimming skills to the test, I didn’t have a hissy-fit. I had no choice but to open my hands, because I was poignantly aware that there was little about this day that would be within my control. Nearly 3,000 bikes were ushered onto the course in less than an hour, creating an almost Tour de France feel for the entire 56 miles. I was on high alert as I navigated the congestion. The rain that started 15 or so miles in added a whole new dimension to the day. Every so often I found myself laughing at the absurdity of high winds, rain, and cool temperatures during Eagleman — the very word being synonymous with heat and full sun. I witnessed a woman crash at the first aid station. She’d been in front of me and slowed down to grab a water from the volunteer. I did the same. At some point after the trash area, she reached down to adjust her bottle and lost control of her bike and fell over, hitting the pavement with a thud. I instinctively stopped and assessed: she didn’t hit her head and seemed okay, a bit of road rash on her elbow and knee. At that moment I knew that if I was going to control anything, it was going to be my bike. I let everything else go and focused on keeping my bike upright. 
 
The wind and rain — a nightmare on the bike — were a blessing on the run. Both, working together in a delicate dance, kept me cool enough to not need to do the one thing that helped me survive the run during my previous four Eagleman races: I didn’t need ice. I usually pour cups of it into my tri-top at every aid station. Not this time. If I didn’t need to control my core body temperature, all I needed to control were my legs. They ached, but they didn’t fall off. Somewhere on the long slog to Lover’s Lane, a woman came up along side of me. We chatted about the usual things people chat about during Half-Ironman runs: the weather, the state of our legs, and peeing. She had to go. Bad. She lamented that in a one-piece tri-suit, she didn’t want to take the time to dismantle her race belt, unzip the suit, and shimmy it down over her sweaty legs. She was unwilling to “waste the time.” Yet she admitted that she felt on the verge of exploding. I, also in a once piece tri-suit simply shrugged and said that I just sit down and pee right through it. We’re already gross. What’s a bit of urine in your shorts? She dove into the next port-a-pot. I saw her again a mile or so later and she thanked me profusely. Such a simple thing, yet it meant everything to her. 
 
I crossed the finish line in a somewhat anticlimactic fashion. Yes, the weather had been a hindrance. But it wasn’t a show-stopper. I’m still in the process of examining why I feel compelled to, at least metaphorically, control things that can’t and won’t be controlled. Life can’t be scripted, this I know. Sure, I can plan. Sure, I can script. In the end though, life is more like improv theater than a carefully orchestrated production. And if I’m completely honest with myself, I think I like it that way.