Boise

This weekend in Boise I chalked up the first, and hopefully last, DNF of my triathlon career.    I also may have set some sort of record for the earliest drop out in a race, since the problem came about 10 strokes into the swim. . .apparently, this is about as far as I’m comfortable swimming at race pace without oxygen, which was the scenario I found myself in on Sunday in the snow-melt filled Lucky Peak reservoir.     

All week we had been hearing reports of how cold the water would be.  I’d heard everything from 47 degrees, and speculation that race organizers would change it to a duathlon, to an “almost 60” at the pre-race meeting.  The real water temp was probably somewhere in between. I knew it would be chilly, but was more worried about being cold on the bike than any impact it might have on the swim. 

Yet, within a few seconds of the start cannon, I was stopped dead in the water, head up, gasping for air that wouldn’t come–it was as though I had an elephant on my chest and bronchioles superglued shut.  My lungs simply would not expand.  Trying again, I put my head down and attempted to swim.  Three strokes later, same thing.  After what seemed like an eternity of hyperventilating, while treading water in place, and surrounded by an army of concerned sea kayakers, I got things under control and set out after the pack.   “Even with a bad swim, I can make something out of this,” I reasoned.  No dice.  Every two minutes or so, I’d experience a repeat occurence, prompting the kayaker (who at this point had become my personal escort as I limped around the course) to ask if I wanted a ride into shore.   

The only thing keeping me in the frigid water was the knowledge that I probably wouldn’t be allowed to get my bike if I accepted a ride.  Besides, my appendages were all frozen by this point, anyway.  I finished the swim, but handed in my chip.  Although I’m used to racing from behind, Lance Armstrong would have had a hard time making up this defecit.  With an Ironman on the horizon, I knew the best thing I could do at this point was to make a good training day of it, which I accomplished with a hard bike ride, followed by my own 2.5 hour run back out along the bike course to cheer on the other competitors. 

Although I didn’t necessarily need to travel all the way to Boise for this sort of training day, I appreciated the opportunity to get to know so many friendly Boisians and other athletes–including my awesome homestay family–the Markleys, as well as Jody, Tom, and Bart, Dan, Poppa Regensburg, Joe, and many others.  Congrats to all of you who DID manage to brave the cold water! 

After a little research, here are a few tips on cold water swimming:

1.  Do whatever you can to warm up your core temp before getting in the water.  A pre-race jog and/or warm clothes.

2.  Neoprene caps.  These are more thermal than double capping, but that also helps (a little).

3.  Ear plugs and vaseline on the back of hands and other exposed surfaces (feet & face)

3.  Get in gradually, if possible.  The cold water shock symptoms (hyperventilation, increased blood pressure) improves after 3-5 minutes, so use the warm up.

4.  Relax.  Anticipate some shortness of breath at first, If it continues to happen during a race, try some backstroke. 

5.  Acclimation does occur, so swim in water of similar temperatures when possible.

If your bored, a little more info on cold water shock. . .It’s from a kayaking magazine, but still interesting.

http://www.seakayakermag.com/2008/Feb08/cold-shock.htm