"What's my name?"

I can’t believe Barb’s race is over. It came and went so quickly—even though it was way back in December when I registered for my 1^st half-ironman triathlon.

Looking back, I think I put more time and energy training and preparing for this race than planning my own wedding---but that is just because I was a lazy bride. Barefoot on a public beach in Maui was much more appealing than choosing hideous bridesmaid gowns.

I camped with my mom, sister-in-law and three nieces the week before Barb’s. We were in this great little town of Duncans Mills and our campsite was right on the Russian River. We played cribbage (Google “cribbage” if you don’t know what it is), swam in the river and made s’mores (by the way--peanut butter cup s’mores are delish).

One day I took my 4 year-old-niece Susie to the restrooms and we decided to run back. She was wearing flip flops and suddenly fell on the road. She started crying and I did a quick assessment to make sure there were no broken bones or skinned knees. I helped her up and wiped away her tears. I told her she was fine and not to worry because Aunt Jill falls down a lot when she runs (see blog entry “Greatest Hits” for proof).

“Why do you run then if you fall?” She sniffled.

I thought about this. I couldn’t tell her, “Well, your aunt is kinda foolish, huh?”

“Well,” I said as I grabbed her hand, “Just because we fall doesn’t mean we stop doing what we love.”

Dennis finally got to the campsite the Friday before the race. We drove to the race packet pick-up and the nerves I suppressed all week finally came bubbling to the surface. Was I really going to do this? What was it going to feel like? How long would it take me?

Dennis calmed me down and we checked out the expo and went to the course pep talk. My nerves changed into excitement and I knew that I was ready to do this race.

We woke up bright and early to head to the race start at Johnson’s Beach in Guerneville. My race OCD was in overdrive as I kept checking my transition bag to make sure I had my bike shoes and helmet. There was no parking available and I told Dennis to just drop me off and I would meet him at the finish. I was pretty freaked out as he drove off because I felt all alone. Luckily as I was walking towards the beach, I saw one of my friends and we chatted nervously. I set up my transition area and squeezed my wetsuit on so I could jump in the river and do a warm up swim. My friend and I swam a little and then headed back. I accidentally knocked her in the head with my arm and we started laughing because the race hadn’t even started and she already got hit in the head. When we were back on shore I heard “Jill!” I turned around and saw my coach Heidi and was so relieved. It was too hectic the night before the race for us to meet up and I was so glad to see her before the race.

We went into the water again and she calmed my nerves by telling me it was going to be a great race. We headed back onto the shore oblivious to a volunteer trying to get us back in the water. Finally we noticed her.

“Are we supposed to get in the water?” I asked.

“Uh, yeah,” she said, “The race is starting now.”

Heidi and I made a mad dash for the water and heard the starting horn go off.

“Oh my gosh,” I though to myself as I started swimming, “This is it.”

The swim went well. It was an out and back which seemed more difficult then the Catfish swim from a couple of weeks ago because that swim was more of a triangle shape. The swim felt good and finally I saw the last buoy and ran to the shore. The best part of the swim was the volunteers who helped take off people’s wetsuits. Shimmying out of a wetsuit is the hardest part of the bike transition and it was nice to have people order me around and tear my wetsuit off.

As I ran to my bike I heard. “Yea Jill!” and I turned to the crowd of spectators and saw one of my friends from the training group holding a sign that said “Go Jill!” I was truly touched to have my own sign. I waved at her and she shouted our team motto: “Dominate!”

The bike started off well. A lot of people passed me, but around mile 17, I was passing people. I had done the bike route before and knew that I had a ways to go. But—I was feeling good.

That is until mile 22.

I am not sure what happened, but I think my mind wandered and I wasn’t paying attention to the road. The road was bumpy and one part was higher than the other. I guess my wheel was right between the raised part of the road and the flat and my bike lost control. I tried to steer it in the right direction and everything was in slow motion until my body hit the ground.

Everything else is kind of a blur.

Somehow I got up, but I don’t know if someone helped me. My vision was going in and out and it was a very out of body experience. Someone asked me if I was ok and I said yes, I want to get back on the bike. I wanted to finish the race. I couldn’t see anything but kept talking. A man told me to rest and guided me to a place to sit down but I had a difficult time balancing. Suddenly, I heard my name:

“Jill are you ok? Are you ok?” It was my friend whom I met up with before the race. At least I think it was---I still couldn’t see anything.

“Yeah,” I mumbled, “I am fine.”

Luckily there was a man who owned a bike shop in Santa Rosa who was helping people repair bikes, I sat in his truck as people discussed whether they should call an ambulance or take me to the medical tents at the finish line. I felt floaty and discombobulated, but just wanted to finish the race.

The man packed up my bike in his car and said,” You can’t finish –your bike is in no condition to ride. Also,” he said holding my beautiful new pink helmet, “this thing is cracked and you cannot wear it.”

The cracked helmet explained my floatiness—I had a mild concussion. We drove away and I tried my best to remain coherent.

“How is my bike” I asked him.

He started laughing, “That is a sign of a true triathlete—worried about your bike. Your bike is fine”

I smiled weekly and suddenly felt all the pain my body endured. I looked over at my left shoulder and saw blood and road rash. It seized up when I moved and I wondered if it was dislocated. My left thigh felt like it was on fire and the fingers on my right hand were banged up from the gravel and starting to look raw. I was glad I remembered my bike gloves that day.

Somehow I made it to the medical tents at the race finish and was examined to make sure I didn’t dislocate anything or do damage to my head. A doctor came up and introduced himself before examining me I called Dennis’s cell phone and left a message. He was with my mom at our campsite and I knew he didn’t get reception. I had someone call the campground so they could let Dennis know where I was (it was a good 3 hours before I was expected to finish). I told the person calling the campground to make sure they know I am OK because I knew my mom would freak out if someone told her I got hurt at the race.

The doctor came back again and asked how I was doing. I said fine.

"What's my name?" He asked me.

Crap. I don’t even remember names on days I don’t crack my helmet.

He said, “It is Mike. Remember that, because I am going to be asking you that for the rest of the day. Do you know why?”

“Yeah,” I said, “to make sure I didn’t scramble my brain.”

It was about an hour until Dennis picked me up. We gathered my stuff from the run transition and I know I must have looked pathetic with my arm in a sling. My head was killing me and it was pretty depressing seeing the finishers with their medals and smiling faces. Honestly though, I was much more concerned about my brain hemorrhaging and felt lucky I didn’t hurt anything else or that I didn’t take anyone down with me.

I am so glad Dennis was with my mom when the campground employee told them I was hurt. He is so rationale and I guess he told her that if I was really hurt I would be in the ER, not the medical tent.

Dennis packed up our stuff and drove home. It was a miserable drive because I got nauseated on the back roads and Dennis wouldn’t let me fall asleep because of the whole head injury thing. Plus he kept asking me what our address and phone number was to make sure I was still with it. I finally got to shower when we got home, but it was too painfully to take off my sports bra that we had to cut it off. I must say I am pretty impressed with how durable Zoot tri shorts are---they didn’t get torn at all from the fall.

It has been almost two days since the accident. My shoulder is staring to feel better and the huge welt on my thigh is going down and turning colors. It feels strange to be slightly immobile and confined to a couch because the last 2 months I have been a non-stop training machine. I must admit, I am a little heartbroken about not finishing the race. It was my first DNF ever, and I figured that it would happen eventually. I planned for so long for this race and it was pretty much all I could talk about.

But, honestly, it wasn’t like I was trying to win the race or that it would be the last half-iron EVER.

There is a half iron in Santa Cruz at the beginning of September and if I am feeling better toward the end of the week, I am definitely registering.

After all, just because I fell doesn’t mean I am going to stop doing something I love.