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Tritonman Classic 2024 by Cameron Cox

Dorienne Larbig

Friday

Karena Lai: “U guys a fan of the duathlon??”

Me: “hell yes is that confirmed?!” 

insert picture sent of email informing racers that due to recent rain, both the Classic and DL races have been changed to Duathlon consisting of 1.25 mile run, standard 20k bike and 5k run. To say I was a fan of the swim getting canceled would have been an understatement. As a run/bike favored triathlete, any mention of the swim being shortened or canceled filled my ex-cross country heart with joy. 

Sunday

At the diabolical time of 4:15am my watch buzzed me awake. For a concerning moment I forgot where I was and wondered why I was lying on a stack of sleeping mats on the floor in an unfamiliar house. Then it hit me that I was voluntarily racing a triathlon, and while that still did not fully make sense, I had enough wits about me to know I had to get up and moving. The next hour was a blur of getting ready, packing up to leave, then scarfing down a bagel with banana. 

We arrived at the race site and after my usual routine of panhandling the team for a multitool (my third time out of three races forgetting mine *thank you Bethany and Sam*) I secured my bike in transition. Then it was a frozen shuffle with Bethany and Veronika around the run course to warm up (that did not get me nearly warm enough). 

As we lined up on the starting line, I went through my mental checklist that I’ve done at each triathlon so far: 1. I voluntarily paid to do this 2. I’ve been training 3. I enjoy these things. This gets me out of any anxiety funk because there’s absolutely no pressure for me, it’s just for my own enjoyment and to see how much I can reap from the time at practice I’ve put in. Standing (emphasis on the standing not treading) on the starting line, I added one more to the list: 4. I don’t have to swim! 

The gun went off and the first 800 passed in the same mindless blur that I was used to with any cross country race start. I was a short distance behind Liz and was pushing to not let the gap increase. When I made it into T1 I had to remind myself that I was not done (transition does not feel like a real part of the race to me). I fumbled with numb fingers for too long with my helmet and bike shoes until I finally made it out of the transition area. 

After hopping on my bike I immediately started mentally singing ‘U Can’t Touch This’ and going as hard as I could and prayed that my training would save me from dying. I had a few lapses of concentration, mainly as I would stare in disbelief as the pro racers would glide by at mach speed on their TT bikes, but for the most part the next 12 miles were ridden by the most competitive alter ego I could muster. This actually was not too difficult, considering I was frustrated by the game of cat and mouse a pack of 3 girls and I were playing. In the end they beat me back to transition but it was the perfect motivation for me to chase them down on the run. 

Coming off the bike into T2, I don’t recall having any coherent thoughts. I relied on pure muscle memory and was grateful for the bricks that had prepared my body for this feeling. That’s not to say I felt fresh at this moment, my legs simultaneously felt like they were missing and made out of concrete. But I knew that like any 5k I ran in highschool I could mentally deceive myself into running fast. 

On the first lap I told myself that I should run fast because it would help shake the lactic acid out of my legs. On the second lap, I thought about how little I had left until the final lap (which was basically the end of the race). Finally on the last lap, I told myself to give it everything because I was (basically) done! There was also the bonus of running by Coach Matt and teammates who gave me extra encouragement to run fast (they wouldn’t know I was grateful because I was too dead to smile at them). 

After crossing the finish line and high fiving Donovan, I immediately ate as many free snacks as I could. Then it was the blissful chaos of congratulating everyone on their races and comparing funny race moments. Super grateful for everyone who made this race possible and all my teammates who got us there. Can’t wait to do it again next year (hopefully following another season of rain)!

Ironbruin 2023 by Lauren Salerno

Dorienne Larbig

As one of the travel officers, I have read the Cal Tri website what feels like a million times. Since Sunday, I have revisited the site and honestly (I know this is a false accusation) I truly believe it was updated mid-race, after they realized their masterful fuck-up,  to say the following: 

“There are police at major intersections and volunteer course marshals at other key locations as well as route arrow markings on the road.  The police are primarily there to provide athletes the right of way at intersections and not provide course instructions.  Athletes are responsible to study and know the course.” 

So yes Cal Tri, against common sense, we the athletes should have never listened to your volunteers at said “key locations.” It is entirely our fault that the swim was not in fact 400 meters, but 750, and the ride was not 12.6 miles, but a minimum of 15. 

And how clever of you Mr. Race Director to try to DQ 88% of racers for following your volunteers’  instructions. Seriously, hats off to your intelligence and rationalization skills. 

Thanks to the careful planning and contributions of Cal Tri, I have the following congratulations to give: 

  • To newcomers, congratulations on completing your first triathlon!

  • To Donovan, who went the wrong way not once, but twice, congratulations on completing your first Sprint-Olympic (Sprympic?)  hybrid, mess of a race. 

  • To Connor, the know-it-all and the only person I know of who stayed on the correct course, congratulations on a well-deserved 3rd place! 

  • To Ava and President Gigi, our resident girl bosses, congratulations on 1st and 2nd! 

Moving onto even better news, WE HAD NO CRASHES!!! I want to say this is unprecedented (Is it unprecedented?). We’re going to say that it is because last year Ironbruin was a battlefield.  

While some left more mentally defeated than others, everyone left with all their teeth accounted for and zero road rash, so I’d call that a major accomplishment.  

For me personally, this race had a ton of mixed emotions. Leading up to the race I was ridiculously nervous. Both for the race itself and whether all travel arrangements would go according to plan. Thanks to a group of wonderful drivers and hosts, everything went relatively smoothly! When all is said and done, my pre-race anxiety seems so silly by the time I cross the finish line. 

Something I was reminded of multiple times this weekend is that “the best part of triathlon is the people.” This is a sentiment I think will sit in my heart for the remainder of my time here at UCSB. All my stress is trivial in comparison to the teammates I’ve met along the way.  

To anyone else who gets anxious before races, or is still doubting themselves and debating whether or not to join our team, come find me and we can be nervous (for no reason) together. 

I’ll end with a note to UCLA. We wholeheartedly support your decision to host your own race separate from Cal Tri in the future. Thank you for your sportsmanship along the course and for kicking our season off to a very entertaining start!

Nationals 2023 by Thea Zalunardo

Dorienne Larbig

Nationals, the trip that had been the bane of my existence for the month of March. It cannot be understated how little time I spent doing anything else other than nationals preparation in the few weeks leading up to the trip: from personal training to team logistics and planning. Every race this past season, my brain was filled with a healthy glaze of team issues, and none of my own. This trip was no different. I have come to actually prefer this; you can’t fret about your own race until you’re staring it in the face and you’re on the starting line because the rest of the time you have every problem except your own on your mind. 

The beginning of the itinerary, Wednesday April 12th, 23 of us loaded into vans at 4am to head to LAX. Our bikes had already left for Georgia with Paxton, Sean, and Ava a few days before. The journey to Georgia was relatively uneventful and we arrived at the cheapest motel Buford has to offer tired. We got dinner at chipotle and then headed to bed.

The next morning we went to Walmart for food and any other essentials and then we got breakfast at Waffle House. Following which we packed up our stuff and got ready to head to the race site. The same as last year, Margaritaville did not disappoint with its clear and beautiful water of lake lanier and beautiful white imported sand. The weather was foggy and rainy, but not cold. Megan, Ava, Dori, and I practiced some DL starts and fighting for a draft with Coach Matt. We stood in line for our packets and then other cars left to drive the bike course while DL people stayed behind. We had a DL meeting right after the coaches meeting. We killed the time in between by driving the bike course. While driving it finally occurred to me that I raced the very next day. And that it was DL. AND that it was only my second time ever doing a DL race, and it was at Nationals. And then I had a second triathlon the following day. My DL experience at Tritonman had been a ton of fun, but the swim had been brutal and I was scared I would have the same experience again. The DL meeting was the shortest meeting ever, and the race directors were blase about their explanations. I wasn’t sure whether to take this as a good or bad sign. We all got our packets and then headed to team dinner at Cava, where we ended the evening singing happy birthday to Maya! I headed to bed finally stressed having realized I was personally racing the next morning.

I slept fitfully and did not feel rested when my alarm went off at 5am. I was still sorta half asleep when I got downstairs to find that the trailer had been blocked in by a big truck. Ava, directed by Connor, did an amazing job maneuvering the trailer out. I felt like absolutely no help, which as president is sort of the worst feeling in the world. We got to the race site and set up transition. We put on our wetsuits and headed to the start area to warm-up in the water. However, due to lack of lifeguards, they did not let us warm up in the water so instead we just sat in the shallow area to get water in our wetsuits. None of this was helping my confidence. I needed a decent swim to catch a draft group on the bike and not get lapped out. Unlike Tritonman’s DL start, this was a run-in, which I much preferred. And I did not get drowned or punched, which was great. At a certain point I did have a lot of people grabbing my feet and overtaking me, but that was to be expected and it was not nearly as brutal. I had a goggle side slightly knocked off around the first buoy and spent the rest of the swim sighting with one eye. I was grateful to get out of the water and see properly. The T1 run was long with a nice steep hill and I used it to try and pass as many people as possible, with no idea where I actually was in the race order. I had been fretting the day before about being lapped out. Entering transition, I could tell from the amount of bikes left on the rack that I was somewhere in the middle of the pack, which relieved me a little. I mounted my bike right behind two girls and set off on the bike. This race was weirdly spread out on the bike, and I dealt with an annoying group of two girls who did not want or could not pull and then one who only wanted to pull but then would slow down when she did. They refused to work together and take turns. As a result the bike was a frustrating leg of the race, which was sad because drafting done properly can be a ton of fun. The race finished with the run, which also had some nice hills, though most of the run in my memory is a blur. I felt only pain on that run but Coach Matt’s unintentional encouragement of “You can slow down if you want, Megan is in a good placement”, fueled me to keep trying. On the run I also got to finally input the cheers from my teammates who were not racing DL. It’s funny as a racer what you block out and choose to ignore and what you do notice and hear. I do not remember any of them from the bike segment, though I know they were there. I finished happy that I hadn’t been lapped out and ecstatic that Megan and Ava had done so well!!

The best part of the day was cheering for Connor and Henry as they raced DL. With all my stress gone I could just have fun. I got to run around the course aided by the propeller hat, which spun as I cooled down/jogged for cheering. When it was time for the run portion, I ran to the far end of the course where the hills were. I was the only one out there other than the course monitors cheering people on and ran back and forth over the tunnel pass they ran under to catch them on either side for both laps. Whoever says cheering isn’t a sport is very wrong. I got about 3 miles total while running around cheering for the race. When they finished, we went to lunch and I spent the rest of the day rolling out and trying to get some homework done before the olympic race the next day.

I’m not sure what it is about olympic distances, but I’m way less stressed. I know I can maintain pace for long periods of time, and it seems easier mentally than going as hard as possible as fast as possible for a shorter length like the sprint triathlons. Also a benefit of having done the DL race the day before is that most of the race nerves, at the moment in that morning, were gone. The hardest part of my racing was over. There was no fear of being lapped out, I was there to just try my hardest and enjoy the race. 

We all lined up next to our wave number spots, multiple seas of collegiate athletes, all sporting their wave color cap. Those of us in wave 2 women’s sought out other UCSB teammates and made a small conglomerate to do our team cheer. In opposition to popularity, I am not a fan of doing the cheer. But it was a nice way to start the last race of the season, and end my collegiate Triathlon career. The first few waves of men and women took off and then I was lining up on the start line. The gun went off and I dove in. Oddly, this swim start was slightly more brutal than the DL start the day before, I think mostly due to the large numbers of people starting at once. I managed to catch onto the back of a line of girl’s swimming side by side around the first buoy, and managed to maintain that draft until the exit from the water. An even longer T1 run to transition than DL. I honestly have very little memory of getting out of the water or the first part of that run until I reached the bridge and coach Matt started blaring the siren on the megaphone. He had so much joy in torturing me in the middle of a race. Up the steep hill, find bike, wetsuit off, helmet on, mount bike (struggling to get my foot on top of my bike shoe) and I was off on the bike portion. 

The previous year at nationals I had been in the last wave of girls and athletes to be set off for the race and so spent the entire bike passing people struggling. It was the first race however I distinctly remember enjoying the bike and learning to push myself instead of just biking aimlesly. I enjoyed the rolling hills. This year, actually near girls my speed, I was able to choose a girl in front of me to keep pace with. The course, same as last year, was as fun and enjoyable as I remembered it. The bike is the longest portion of the race time wise by a long shot yet I barely remember anything from it. Each new stretch of land was another segment I tried to go faster on, into the next, and the next, … and the next. I made sure I shoved down one Gu not long after getting on the bike and then again near the end of the bike. I went purely based upon my knowledge of the course to estimate where I was at because I refuse to wear a watch during races. About halfway through the bike I caught sight of Dori, who was also in wave 2. Her and Megan are faster swimmers and so my overall goal was to hopefully catch them on the bike, but it is hard to know just how far ahead they will be out of the water. Dori was in my view for a while, but just out of reach. I stayed consistently the same length behind her for a long while. Eventually, I passed her, I’m sure choking out some half-thought-exhausted-race-brain words of encouragement. Having caught her, my next goal was to hopefully catch Megan. Not long after, I saw a small red bike in the distance. I passed Megan as she choked down a Gu. This is what reminded me to think about taking my second Gu. I also realized I needed to drink more of my water, as little as I felt like doing so. Forcing down Gu’s and water during a race is never easy and I tend to feel horrible after doing so, but all I can hear while racing is the coaches saying how much water and fuel successful athletes take during races; so I forced myself. As I biked back onto the island, I caught Gigi from wave 1. That last stretch hurt so bad, and the only thing keeping me going was Gigi pushing as hard beside me and that it was almost over. As I approached transition, my mind started to shift to the run. 

The run is by far my favorite leg of the race. During the sprint triathlons I usually sort of feel like I’m slowly dying on the runs and my heart rate is usually insanely high, and my breath very uncontrolled when I come off the bike. I learned the hard way at Tritonman that this leads to asthmatic issues and wheezing. I always take some albuterol before a race (some call it drug usage, I call it survival) however I also have an inhaler in transition. Coach Matt had my second inhaler. I biked into transition, dismounted (as I heard someone say “oh wow, a stop and then dismount” with slight disdain in their voice; some of us, by which I mean me, have not yet mastered a flying dismount or mount and apparently the spectator did not approve) and ran to my spot at the racks. The one thing I can say is that getting my feet in and out of my shoes on the bike has become almost second nature and I have no memory of doing either, but obviosuly must have. I took the extra 3 seconds to put on socks – which was a great call because everyone who didn’t had blisters or blood when they finished the race – and then stuffed my feet into my shoes. Of course, my quad cramped up. I shook my leg, desperate, half pretending it wasn’t there and started running out of transition. I came out right behind Gigi and in the first stretch (the same as the DL run from the day before), we passed Coach Matt, who told me to slow down and not overdue it. He assured me everyone else would die after the 5k, I just had to hold pace until then. I usually tend to listen to him, but I was surprisingly feeling really good and so did not slow down. I wasn’t sprinting or anything, but I just aimed to hold my pace consistently. Again, all based upon feel. I passed Gigi somewhere around mile 1 and got a horribly tired high five. Around mile 1.5 I had the realization that I had to run another 5 miles still. But I still felt fine, aside from my quad that was consistently on the verge of cramping, but as I said I was ignoring that. it was just a mental challenge. The course was essentially mostly uphill on the way out and mostly downhill on the way back. My goal was to utilize the uphill and pass people. I slowly passed girls one by one. The benefit of the out and back course was that you got to pass teammates. Every one of the guys I passed though looked like they were absolutely dying and all that was exchanged was eye contact. Paxton and Sean cheered for me as they passed by on the bike. I finally passed Ava on her way back and she gave a very encouraging high five. I then passed a girl on the side of the sidewalk near mile 3 having a full on asthma attack; I tried to yell at her to breathe regularly (which I know as someone with asthma is particularly unhelpful) and yelled at the next volunteer I saw that she needed help. This also made me realize I forgot to grab my inhaler out of transition. I had a mini moment of panic that I couldn’t breathe but then realized I was just psyching myself out. I didn’t need my inhaler, I felt fine.

I shoved down my 3rd Gu of the race just after mile 3, and felt horribly nauseous but convinced myself I was fine. Basically half of this race was convincing my body that I was totally okay even if I sorta wasn’t, but looking back I think it worked. Because despite all the things that came back to me while writing this, overall during the race, I really did feel strong and calm. I enjoyed the first set of twisting hills, and felt like I was running a cross country race. I passed the last water station and happily accepted water, but instead of drinking it, dumped it on top of my head to cool myself down. The final set of hills on the run back almost killed me. I sped-walked more than ran that final super steep hill, and tried to breathlessly cheer Harry on, who was struggling up the hill (only later did we find out he had broken his toe; nobody knows how). In the last stretch, Coach Matt encouragingly yelled at me that every place counted and it was the last stretch and the last hill (which was a blatant lie). Then, another coach got aggressively in my face because I was right behind a runner from his school and I almost pushed him out of the way. I rounded the last hill and heard teammates screaming at me. I raced a girl to the finish line and she beat me by a few seconds, but it was a great way to end the race!

I accepted water and stole as many of Welch's fruit snacks as possible. I made sure to drink the water but felt too nauseous to do anything else. Then I joined teammates to cheer on others near the finish line. The next hours of time went by very fast and included trying to eat and cheering. We finally went and collected our stuff, took team photos, and then grabbed stuff from transition and headed out. 

It was at this point as we reloaded the trailer, half of everyone lying on the ground too exhausted to move, that we realized the inner structure of the trailer was shaking a lot and needed to be fixed. We drove back to the hotel where I showered, ate, and then headed to home depot for supplies. The presidential duties never end. We fixed the trailer and then it was basically time for dinner soon after. I was exhausted and brought my canned and microwaved food to the restaurant and tried to just not fall asleep at the table. That evening I crashed so hard, relieved I didn't have to race again and hoping for a fun and restful next day. Unfortunately, that was not in the itinerary.

I thought last year after being stuck in the ATL airport for 27 hours straight and missing two flights was the worst nightmare nationals could be. I was wrong. Paxton and I’s itinerary, which so far had gone according to plan and smoothly, which was a relief and a huge success, unfortunately fell apart on the last day. We were so close to a perfect itinerary and everything going to plan.

The morning of MTR, I woke up early to go with the athletes, but for once, not racing. It was such a relief to just be there to cheer. Another part of me however was a little sad, realizing I had finished my last collegiate race with the team. This was the first time that thought had occurred to me. Megan and I focused on the task of cheering at hand. However, cheering is not a simple task. You have to be strategic about where you set up. We decided to go up near transition since you couldn’t switch between the start zone and the rest and of the race. We watch the T1 run, transition, and then found a good spot on the bike course/run course to set up. We watched Connor come up and bike and then run, and then Dori! We were in 7th. We turned after Dori passed us going down the last hill to watch other racers. About one minute later my phone dinged: 

<Triathlon Nats 2023>

James Pflaging: need a coach at the sharp right turn. Asap.

Part of me hoped that it was not Dori – that James was just looking out for another racer. But I called him. He picked up instantly and said something along the lines of “Get down here” (I honestly do not remember that whole moment of time is a blur). All I know is I started running. I’m not sure I ever communicated with Megan what was going on, but she followed. We sprinted down the hill, and when it got too muddy and I was slipping in my sandals, I started running on the road, which was part of the course. We got yelled at, but I didn’t particularly care. We got down there and saw Dori lying on the ground obviously in a lot of pain and not just recovering from a normal slide-out. The next bit of time was very confusing and stressful. Long story short, she eventually was transported to a hospital and Megan, Coach Matt, Daniel, and I drove there to meet her. The rest of that day was long. We spent the day first in a sketchy hospital waiting room and then in a nice surgical wing waiting room. I spent the entire time either on my phone communicating with people and figuring out logistics since we had left so abruptly and everyone else had still been at the race site or I simply zoned out. Dori’s dad managed to catch a flight out and we got to see her after her surgery. She was in bright spirits despite having broken her femur. I was so relieved she was ok. 

That evening when we returned from the hospital, I felt like I was in a different world. I realized my co-president, Paxton, had left long ago and it was just me in charge. Everyone else still had lots of energy. I, on the other hand, was utterly spent. I showered, ate – realizing I had barely eaten anything all day – and then packed. I went to bed later than I wanted and as a result got only 2 hours of sleep. The travel day back was long and I only managed to sleep on the drive to the airport and somewhat on the first short flight. By the time we reached the drive back, around 10am California time, after having left Georgia at 2am Georgia time, I was so confused and exhausted. We’d had a whole day of long flights and drives and it was only morning. The drive back to school felt short. I drifted in and out of sleep, or some form of it. When we reached UCSB’s parking lot I had a huge sense of relief and weight lift, however at the same time I was still so existentially stressed I didn’t want to stop moving. The final last leg of the trip, I returned the van to the TPS parking lot.

I thought doing that would bring a great feeling of relief, but my body was most definitely still running on stress and shock and keeping me going despite lack of sleep. I felt nothing. Just the need to go do something. When I got back to my apartment and my roomates welcome me back, happy and excited to hear about the trip, I realized I had nothing left. They asked about my races, which I had honestly sort of forgotten had ever happened after the day before. I had full on presidential burn out and emotional burn-out from worry. 

However despite it all, I would do it all over. The experience of racing was amazing, and looking back, my races went extremely well, and I can’t believe I only joined this club my junior year. I will never get to participate in this experience or race again (or at least until I break and inevitably go get my PhD). It is a sad/happy thought. The trip didn’t end on a high necessarily, but my final races and overall the nationals trip in general, were a great ending to my collegiate triathlete experience! 

MTS Conference 2023 by Ryan Chaudoin

Dorienne Larbig

On the evening before MTS, UCSB was blanketed in a strange sense of quiet. The sun, shaking off the clouds that had strangled it for months prior, lay just above the horizon, its reflection blazing a line of fire across the calm ocean. It illuminated the lagoon, which was devoid of life save from the ducks floating serenely on its still surface. A few students could be found on various corners of campus, reveling in the bucolic post-final air. As the sun’s last light died, a group of students stepped out of a dining hall, breathing in the cool dusk air. The quiet twilight was a final moment of sanity before the events of the weekend unfolded.

“Bing and James gave you their locations? How many people’s locations do you have?” I demanded of Derrick.

“Not as many as me” Donovan boasted, with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I’ll give Donovan and Ryan my location if Donovan can find a way for Ryan to get ice cream,” Bing proclaimed.

“I won’t need that next year,” I said, lip-biting aggressively at Derrick and Donovan. Donovan contorted his face into an awful imitation of one of those gigachad memes.

As the twilight dwindled, so did our conversation, until Derrick and I were left chatting as we biked back to our dorms. 

“See you tomorrow at 4 AM” Derrick laughed, turning to his dorm. I scoffed; I had a few races under my belt, so I was no stranger to early mornings. Plus, my roommates were gone, finals were over, and I had spring break to look forward to. How hard could it be to fall asleep?

My roommates are gone, finals are over, and I have spring break to look forward to. How hard can it be to fall asleep? I thought, popping a melatonin and flopping into bed at 9 PM.

My roommates are gone, finals are over, and I have spring break to look forward to. How hard can it be to fall asleep? I thought, checking my watch at 10 PM after laying wide awake for an hour.

My roommates are gone, finals are over, and I have spring break to look forward to. How hard can it be to fall asleep? I thought, trying to get comfortable and feeling no closer to sleep at 11 PM.

My roommates are gone, finals are over, and I have spring break to look forward to. How can it be this hard to fall asleep? I thought, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape at midnight.

Well shit, I thought at 1 AM, beating my pillow against the wall.

90 minutes of sleep is still pretty good, I thought at 2:30 as I moved my blankets and pillow to the floor of my room and slept there.

What the hell was that? I thought as my alarm beeped, rousing me up from an uncomfortably sensual dream about a non-bald Donovan. I shook my head and scrambled to get ready. I stuck an Ortega breakfast burrito in the microwave and threw whatever I had been too lazy to pack the previous night into a duffel bag. Five minutes before we were supposed to be meeting at the rec cen parking lot, I stumbled out of my room, clutching a suspiciously sticky and still unsettling cold burrito in my mouth, and tripping over my bags. I wobbled all the way to the rec cen, teetering like a car dealership tube man in a hurricane. 

Arriving at the rec cen, I was pleased to find that I was on time enough not to have been left behind. In fact, I was so close to being on time that I didn’t even receive panicked phone calls from Bing or Derrick.

The drive to the race felt like a dream, in that I was only half awake for it. Shout out to Thea for getting us to the race in one piece, since I think I would have fallen asleep behind the wheel if I had been the one driving. 

The race arrival and setup were fairly standard, which was actually not very standard. I suppose this just goes to show that the mean of a distribution can be misleading since a distribution can be such that the mean value has no chance of happening. Fortunately, in this case, we landed on the seemingly 0% chance that nothing went super wrong at the last minute.

Something went a little too right though. For the week leading up to the race, rumor had had it that the swim was going to be canceled. It was not.

I am not prepared for this, I thought as I stepped into Lake Lopez. I am not the greatest swimmer, and I had spent the week mostly preparing for a run/bike/run. As I waded into the lake, the water seeped into my wetsuit through the zipper on my back. I braced myself, and fully submerged, then pulled out instantly out of revulsion. While submerged, the color of the water was a little too similar to the water in my toilet that morning after my body rid itself of the remains of my breakfast burrito.

Slowly, the water filled with the athletes in the collegiate men’s wave, and we all made our way to the in-water start line. In-water starts are great since they make you so cold that your brain forgets to work and you don’t have the capacity for pre-race nerves. As the crack of the starting gun sounded and the water immediately transformed into a churning froth of limbs and aggression, the pummeling from all sides felt like the soft tap of fluffy pillows to my numb body. That was until someone kicked me in the face and knocked my goggles off. I spluttered, pulling them back on, and started fighting my way through the watery warzone.

I better never find out these guys' identities, I fumed as the swimmer to my right started swimming on top of me for what seemed like the fiftieth time. However, it was at least comforting to feel like I wasn’t completely alone as I swam through the empty space between buoys, far from transition and spectators. The guy on my right started speeding up (or maybe I was just slowing down), and I increased my effort to match him. However, he kept going, and as he pulled up next to me, I caught a glimpse of large, aviator-esque goggles that seemed like they would have been more at home on an airplane than in the water. Of course, I would recognize these goggles anywhere, and I wasn’t about to let Luke drop me, so I redoubled my efforts and stuck on his tail. 

I found out after the race that there was some confusion with the course, and people ended up swimming wildly different distances. However, I didn’t realize anything was amiss during the race, as I just turned my brain off and clung to Luke. I’m told we did the longer route, which makes me feel better about the fact that the front pack swam times that were about half of mine.

After dragging me through most of the swim, Luke picked up the pace as we neared the marina and I couldn’t hang on. I muscled through the last 150, feeling like a napkin that had been drowned in a lake and hit by a truck. My feet found the rough concrete of the boat ramp and I stood, spitting drops of muddy water from my revolted mouth. As I ripped my cap off, the roar of the onlookers assaulted my ears; simultaneously, the sun, an orb of pure white surrounded by a fiery red halo, blinded me as I took off my goggles. My eyes cleared, and I realized I was actually just looking at Donovan, who stood beside Paxton in the crowd of spectators. Encouraged by their cheers and Paxton’s luscious hair, I stumbled into transition, ripping my wetsuit off in record speed and pulling on my helmet. James arrived moments later and I tried to offer words of encouragement, but the only sound I could muster was a raw gurgle. I pulled on my shoes, grabbed my bike, and ran, joining Sean and Luke. We dodged and weaved through the chaos and carnage of the veritable warzone that was transition, eventually fighting our way to the mount line.

The first six miles of the bike passed in a haze as my brain and body tried to shake off the chill from the swim. My quads were frozen, my fingers numb, and my mouth dry. I ripped open a Gu and succeeded only in gluing my mouth shut.

As I neared the first U-turn, I started to see the leaders racing back towards me. Not long after, I started seeing people I knew. Daniel, Henry, Connor, Matt, Nathan, Derrick… Derrick? Shouldn't there be a few more people in that mix somewhere? As I reached the U-turn and was still yet to see several of our fastest athletes, I became concerned. 

Who’s missing? I pondered, but no sooner had this thought crossed my mind than I saw Taylor on the side of the road fiddling with his gears. Still, several people seemed to be missing.

But there was no time to worry, Derrick was irritatingly far but tantalizingly close and I had one goal: to catch him.

The bike flew by, and soon I was anticipating the run leg as I sprinted back toward transition. Still, a nagging feeling of confusion gripped me. There should definitely be more UCSB people ahead of me, I pondered. Logan hadn’t passed me yet. Had he died on the swim? 

My questions were shortly answered, as I saw a familiar blue tri kit, sleek aero helmet, and enormous pair of quads on the side of the road fiddling with a flat tire.

Clarification: the quads themselves were not the things fiddling with the tire, but I was so enamored with them that I couldn’t look at anything else. At least Logan had made it through the swim, a flat tire was probably the worst thing that could happen to him at this point…

Shortly thereafter, I arrived back at the transition area.

“How are you feeling Ryan?” I heard my dad yell at me as I pulled my running shoes on. It sounded like he was talking from the end of a very long tunnel.

“Bleeurpghfth” was all I could manage.

After hitting an alleged heart rate of 218 during the second Stanford run, I figured the best approach for this leg would be to take it easy at the start and settle in before pushing too much. Additionally, after an IT band injury and very limited running for most of the quarter, it seemed like a good plan to pace conservatively. As long as Derrick didn’t gain on me at the start, I was pretty confident that I could catch him during the second half of the run. So I forced myself to assume a comfortable pace. As I started approaching the first U-turn, I saw the succulent face of Derrick Chan heading back towards me, red with exhaustion like a sweet interior of a watermelon, if watermelons got exhausted. He was less than a minute ahead of me.  However, by the time I got to the second U-turn, I realized I had gotten too comfortable: Derrick was gaining on me, and my heart rate was certainly under control, it had dropped below even my tempo heart rate. It was go-time.

I negative split as I had never negative split before (mostly because of how slowly I went for the first three miles). I caught Derrick with a mile left and tried to turn on the heat. However, the thermostat must have been broken, because he was hanging on annoyingly well. As the finish drew nearer, I became increasingly concerned. I’ve been notoriously bad at kicking in the past, and I knew my only chance to beat Derrick was to tire him out with a decent amount of distance left. However, my run fitness was at an all-time low and when we rounded the final corner, still together, Derrick pulled out a kick that I just couldn’t match. He beat me by five seconds in a two-and-a-half-hour race. 

Allegedly, Derrick and I were in the top seven from UCSB. However, something about that seemed off. Then I realized that like half the team was sick, or injured or had some kind of disaster during the race. Maybe the reason nothing went wrong the morning of was because things went wrong for people way beforehand. But maybe things going wrong is just an occupational hazard of being a triathlete. Maybe it’s just an occupational hazard of being a person who’s alive. Who’s to say? However, seeing my teammates push through injuries and setbacks, and whatever is thrown their way has been a huge inspiration to me. I guess the nice thing about being insane enough to do something as difficult as a triathlon is that it really demonstrates the resilience of the human spirit. This team, and triathletes in general, are crazy kick ass. You all inspire me to be a better person, and I love you all for it.

-Ryan Chaudoin

Treeathlon 2023 by Jean Chen

Dorienne Larbig

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🤙