I have a new acronym in my vocabulary now….the dreaded DNF. It was my first (more on “first” later) EVER on Sunday at the Harvest Moon Triathlon (HIM) in Aurora, CO.

Oddly the decision to abandon came to me fairly easily, and rather early in the endeavor. You see, I was literally freezing! With the air temperature below 50 degrees, my wet body could not generate enough heat to stave off shivers, even over the rolling climbs of eastern Colorado. As I rode along at mile 6 thinking about how I needed to start taking in calories I realized that I couldn’t convince my hands to release the aerobar and reach for food. I finally overcame that challenge and successfully took in 3 Clif Shot Bloks. I knew I needed to drink water to aid in the absorption of those calories, and thought about reaching for my bottles behind my saddle. I’d somehow blanked out the fact that as usual, my water was easily accessible in my aero drink bottle. That was weird. As I came to a turn in the course and tried to operate the brakes on the bike I found that my hands could barely grasp the bar and brake lever, much less apply even pressure to slow down. When I rounded that turn I knew that I had a tough decision to make. Continue to try to gut this out, or drop out. Amazingly, within less than a mile I had confirmed that this event was not about proving that I could do the HIM distance, was not about whether or not I was dedicated or strong enough to make myself suffer when I need to, and was certainly not about whether or not I am a good person or not. It very clearly was about my safety. The degree to which I my muscles had started to involuntarily work to warm me up was causing my bike to be visibly unstable by that point, and rather than making the trip further east and north at the right turn onto Watkins Rd., I eased the bike to a stop and with a strange degree of conviction told the volunteer who’d come over to help that needed to withdraw from the race. Thanks to the Sherriff that was posted at that corner I was quickly covered in 2 wool blankets, and sat on the side of the road shivering. My lips were fully purple, my fingers fully white (due to the joy of Raynaud’s disease which I seem to have inherited from my Mom), and I knew I had made the right decision.

This decision that was so right was a direct result of a very wrong decision in transition. Though I had all manner of cold weather riding gear in my transition set up, I opted to not put on my jacket, skip my gloves, and forego my little beanie that I wear on cold bike commute mornings. So it isn’t as though I don’t know how to dress for a cold weather ride. What got me was recollection of previous races that weren’t quite as cold, in which I put on a jacket in T1 only to find that 15 miles into the ride I was wishing I hadn’t, and 25 miles into the ride overheating. I think if I had known what the air temp was at that point I would have put the gear on. But somehow I just thought the weather and I would warm up. I don’t blame the weather for what happened, it was truly a lack of good judgment on my part.

The ironic part of this first DNF, is that it came on a day of another first for me. For the first time in my triathlon life I came out of the water first in my age group with a PR for the 1.2 miles at 30:19. I felt great while I was swimming despite the cold water (must have been all that practice I had at IMCDA in June). Though I had lost that first place before leaving transition, it was there for a very small part of the day. Just a funny combination of happenings.

I was (and still am a bit) really bummed about the DNF, but I’m making peace with it. It is a new perspective that is now a part of my overall racing experience.