“Don’t think, just do. You think up there, you’re dead, believe me.” – Maverick.

This line was going through my head as I was shivering at about 6,000 ft. above sea level, heading straight into a blizzard at the top of Mt. Bachelor during Beastman 70.3 triathlon. I’ve never thought about the possibility of losing my life during a race, but it crossed my mind at this event. I don’t say this to scare anyone from trying the event – it’s actually my top race memory bar none – but to honor the battle every participant experienced. I am writing this 48 hours after finishing so that I can truly recall the vivid details for years to come, and after processing the emotions, the pain, and – for lack of better words – the trauma I experienced race day.

Elliot and I both heard amazing reviews about Why Racing events, the small family-owned company hosting the event, particularly about the Pacific Crest Endurance Festival in Bend, Oregon every June. After I was cleared to compete following a hip exam in April, I knew I wanted to attempt the brutal course with Elliot. It’s a cold, but short, 800m downriver swim in the Deschutes River, a fierce bike ride 56.7 miles up Mt. Bachelor with over 4500ft of climbing, and a rolling run course. Bend sits just under 4,000 ft of altitude, but athletes must climb high into the mountain before turning around for a fast descent, meaning you’re at fairly high altitude most of the bike course. It’s a new course for Elliot and I both, and suited my skill set as someone who excels at long, sustained climbs and fast descents.

It was warm leading into the race, but the race directors had warned everyone in an email leading into race week that temps were expected to drop. It’s always 10-15 degrees cooler at the top of the bike course climb in the mountains, too. We’ve both experienced cold races, but still had no idea what we were in for. The river was just under 60 degrees (57* official temp) and we felt fine swimming a few days out from the race at the venue. The current was strong, and we knew the water was going to be warmer than the air on race morning.

Race morning, after an air temp update of 42*, the announcer let everyone know it was snowing on Mt. Bachelor, and to prepare for slick roads and hard conditions. Everyone was lighthearted and in good spirits, though. I remember saying something along the lines of: “There’s nothing we can do now but see what it’s like” to the gentlemen next to me, who was doing his first ever triathlon that day. Elliot and I did our usual pre-race stuff, and walked to the swim start together.

I want to highlight how well the event was put on. Not only did the announcer clearly state conditions, course rules, and wave start times, he encouraged athletes to LAYER UP. The organizers also got everyone into waves in a timely fashion and started on time. I really appreciate that at local events. They featured an *elite wave start, called a champion wave, for anyone (male/female combined) who wanted to compete for overall (versus age group) podium and a hefty prize purse. The male/female winners each got $1,000, second place $650, third place, $450, fourth place $250, and fifth overall got $125. That is UNHEARD of for local events…many pro Ironman top 8 finishers barely clear that kind of take-home money.

*We wish all races, local and Ironman alike, would begin offering an elite wave for overall contenders after pro fields (if the race features one, like Ironman) before age group rolling starts. It’s a much better experience for the competitive athletes so we do not have to guess where we are in the race, and women can race with the men. It’s simple and safe, and would allow athletes like myself a chance to develop skills necessary for pro racing. The only other opportunity I have to race this way is the few local races that offer these types of starts, or make the jump to racing professionally – which I don’t feel ready for.

The elite wave had 3 women and about 12 men. We started in the river and, despite a chaotic start due to currents, a fast approaching bridge, and sunrise in our eyes, got the race underway. Given that it was only 800m (instead of the traditional 2,000meters) and that the current was fast, we mainly stayed in two distinct groups with a small time gap. I didn’t have a good start, losing the front pack after being converged on by two confused athletes fighting for a good line. I even stood up to dolphin dive mid-swim in the shallow river to get by some athletes! I can usually make 30-60 seconds up in transition and, given the short swim/downriver current, I knew I was fine. However, as a lesson for down the road, if I made that mistake in a swim that was longer or non-river, I would likely lose out on good bike groups.

I had the best transitions of the day, and got out of T1 second overall behind leader, first year pro triathlete Devin Volk. Elliot was right behind me. I got right to work, knowing he would come by soon. The only time I was passed that day was by the second place male, pro triathlete Evan Price, at mile 6, and again by Elliot at mile 10. “GO ICEMAN!” I shouted, referencing Top Gun (one of my favorite movies that we happened to watch pre-race). From there, my only mission was to keep Elliot in sight. I let him drift away almost immediately – I have raced at altitude many times and know to check my ego when it comes to chasing. Matches burn brighter the higher you are! The first hour on the bike was a lot of climbing, so we were the warmest and the lowest altitude-wise at that time. Around mile 16, it began to rain. Around mile 22, it began to snow. Lightly at first, and then steady, heavy precipitation. I kept my eyes on Elliots blue kit and white helmet, refusing to look anywhere but forward. The hands and feet had never gained feeling out of the water, but seemed to steel to the numbness over time. I knew from racing Boston in 2018 to not get behind in calories so I clawed at my gels with my frozen hands until I got them between my teeth, the process taking up to 5 minutes sometimes.

The clouds loomed over the top of Mt. Bachelor, and the quiet snowfall was only interrupted between occasional violent gusts of wind. The air got thinner and colder (hovering around 30*F) but to stop would have meant sitting in snow – which had accumulated a few inches on the ground – and freezing until a safety vehicle came by. The organizers had a few motos and safety cars making passes, so we never felt completely alone out there. Elliot would glance back every 5 miles or so to see if I was still hanging in there, and I was! I would drift as close as 400meters or so at times when climbing, but other times, particularly when descending, the gap was closer to a mile behind him. Just seeing each other in the distance was heartwarming (…the only source of warmth!)

After the turnaround at the top of Mt. Bachelor, just over 28 miles into the bike leg, I braced for a cold descent. It continued to rain/snow mix. My wheels continually spat water up at me from the road, while the snow/sleet mixture pelted down on us. My jaw was clenched so hard I gave myself a headache, so I had to remind myself to breath and relax. The roads were in good condition which was a relief when I chanced a glance down to read my speed and saw just over 47 miles per hour. The vision can get a little blurry at bit at those speeds in those conditions, so I’m very thankful the roads had been swept by volunteers the night before and were very smooth (thank you!). I figured being afraid would only instigate a crash, so I let go of that emotion as best I could to trust my bike to ride straight and true. My shivering was so violent my front wheel began to swerve at high speeds, but sitting up only made it worse with the wind and apparent lack of muscular control. Aero was safer, I decided. I tried to relax to keep my front wheel as straight as I could. Mentally, I went to another place outside my body, and promised myself I would feel warm again soon.

Elliot descended much faster than I did; I lost sight of him around mile 40. However, I saw him when I got off the bike in transition and remembered saying “Good job, Boo!” but he was not coherent enough to respond. I’ve never been so happy to get off my bike, even after doing Ironman!

I got out of transition about 30 seconds behind him, but didn’t feel pressure to chase. I felt horrible from the cold, and sick from the violent shivering/pushing hard at altitude with less fluid intake than normal. I forced myself to continue my nutrition plan, and reminded myself I was probably leading the female race by about 10 minutes (this was based on the girls I clocked at the turnover on the bike course.) The race was more mine to lose at this point, so all I had to do was hold strong mentally and keep my legs moving. Elliots blue kit continued to bob into sight on the straight portions of the generally uphill out-and-back run course, which encouraged me. I know how imperative it was to just see another person during a race, and it really taught me how key being in a good position out of the water is. I know riding solo and running alone is demoralizing, especially in bad weather. Witnessing his continued resilience was the main thing pushing me to continue on.

Before long, the charging male leader Devin (who went on to finish in an impressive 4hrs3mins) was coming down from the turnaround point, crossing paths with me at mile 4 and shouting “LETS F*ING GO!!!!” He lifted my spirits with his enthusiasm, and I was encouraged to keep my effort up. I made the turnaround around mile 6, about a minute after Elliot. I was hesitant to return the high 5 he extended for fear it would cause me to lose my footing, so I raised a few fingers in acknowledgement and made my “I feel terrible” fast to him. After the turnaround, I was enthusiastically encouraged by all the male athletes still heading uphill – which I really needed and appreciated. I was searching for the other girls I had seen on the course and became worried there had been a crash. Later I would learn many male and female participants (just over 30% based on official results) DNF’d on or shortly after finishing the bike due to hypothermia or safety/conditions. I didn’t see another female competitor until I was about 50 minutes into the run. I shouted at her to continue, that she was the only other female I had seen, and she responded enthusiastically with a “Hell Yeah!” Rain began to sprinkle down, and I laughed. Mother Nature wasn’t done! It’s much easier to run in cooler temps and rain than it is to ride in them, so at this point the light rain didn’t bother me.

The final 5k’s or so was on a trail that ran along Deschutes River, and I took my time in the uneven rocky sections. Again, I just needed to survive. This race wasn’t about speed, pace, power or even overall positions but overcoming the elements and internal dialogue. The last mile took an eternity, but I knew I would get to stop and see Elliot soon. Sure enough, he was waiting for me at the finish with arms open. I knew he would be so proud of me for fighting through the conditions! “That was so hard and so scary!” I said to him as he held me at the finish line. He finished exactly 3 minutes in front of me taking home 3rd place overall behind two male professionals AND winning $450 himself! I’m pleased to have crossed the line 1st female, 4th overall, and technically the 2nd amateur to Elliot.

The first thing I did was call my dad and wish him a Happy Fathers Day, thanking him for raising me to be strong. I was raised in the farmlands of the Midwest, where temps drop into the -50*F often during winter. I chuckled and said, “Pulling lambs with you in the dead of winter must have prepared me for today…thats a course that’ll put a little hair on your chest!” (a line my dad used to say growing up) He laughed and was amazed at what we endured. I always enjoy hearing the pride in my dad’s voice after a race, regardless of if I perform well or poorly.

The next female came in about 50 minutes later, and I greeted her with a big cheer! I was massively impressed by the 9 women who finished the race, and 55 men or so too. As my friend Brent Detta would say, “fast times are fine but let’s have a crazy f*ing experience and a great story!” I felt bonded with every single participant, even ones who stopped due to safety. The males on the course were SO supportive of the women who fought through the day, female empowerment at its finest IMO; everyone at the awards ceremony was bleary eyed with relief. Truly, the most satisfying finish line albeit the most humble. No finish line tape, no red carpet, and maybe 8 (VERY excited!) people at the line to cheer me in. I am incredibly proud of what Elliot and I overcame at this event.

All I can say to wrap this up is do hard things. 5 years ago, I would never have believed the things I would come to endure. I am stronger, more resilient, and more at peace with myself because of this sport. I cherish daily comforts more, I feel generally less anxiety, and I have more confidence because of my racing experiences. It’s not the winning that has changed me, it’s the mental fortitude I find when things get tough that have equipped me to handle the day to day challenges life throws at me. I respect Mother Nature immensely, too. I know there is quite likely a scenario where I would not have been able to handle the elements, and I respect that. Elliot’s fingertips STILL don’t have any feeling!

A huge thank you to Why Racing for putting on Pacific Crest Multisport, and to photographers Brent and Mark Wohjon. This was hands down THE BEST local event I’ve ever done! Clear course markings, well organized, and amazing swag bags/prize money. It renewed my passion for grassroots local racing that doesn’t shy away from hard courses or conditions. Thank you for that!!!

As always, thank you for your time reading this reflection.

Warmly (pun intended)

Becca