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HOW I BECAME A TRIATHLETE

A True Story

Not that long ago, I was sitting by a neighborhood pool, eating my 4th hotdog and polishing off my 2nd soda. After watching lap swimmers go back and forth, I decided, “Hey, I can do that.” Two lengths of choppy “freestyle” later, I was breathless and way too tired to feel the embarrassment I would later feel. I laid down in the pool lounge chair and slept for nearly two hours before I could must enough energy to get my stuff and go home. On my way home I thought, with some discomfort, about why I had let myself get to such a poor physical condition. That’s when I decided to become a triathlete.

Once home I did some research and was enthralled. I hate to run, and hadn’t ridden a bike in decades, but I love to swim. All together, the sum of the three looked way better than the individual parts. I bought some books, starting with Triathlon for Ordinary Mortals, and got a reasonable walk-to-run program a friend. Like any good deskbound nonjock, I made up an Excel chart on my lunch hour and posted it on the side of the fridge. I marked off each day’s walk with a diagonal blue line. My dog loved the increased activity, too.

Backing up for a second, I say “deskbound nonjock” because that’s what I am. I’ve never been an athlete. Ever. I was an honor student growing up, a band kid, a nerd. Not that I don’t love sports. I have always had a passion for them, I just never pictured myself as an “athlete.” I thought, it just wasn’t in me.

But this triathlon thing had me between the ears. I read and read and read. I walked, then I jogged. I swam in the pool at the Rec Center and rode Life Cycles when the weather turned cold. I bought a bike on ebay and I entered an event.

The Event: Ten months (and many Excel reiterations) later, minus a few pounds that are being replaced by muscle, I was standing by the pool at the Rec Center, ready for my first triathlon. I had competed in a YMCA tri a few weeks earlier only as part of a team, but this time it was all on me. 25 laps in the pool, 10 miles on the bike, and a 3 mile run is probably not enough to get any respectable triathlete out of bed on a rainy morning. But for me this was a Big Deal.

One, two, three, four, GO! A nudge on the shoulder from the race director, and into the pool I went. Uh-oh. Goggles immediately filled with pool water. I got to the far wall and adjusted, but it was too late. I was over-excited, breathing too hard, and couldn’t find the groove I had practiced in so many Total Immersion drills. It was back to freestyle-breaststroke-freestyle and hope for the best. I didn’t mind the crowded pool lanes, but I really could have done without Mr. Furbag who kept pulling my shoulder away to pass, especially at congested lane turns in the “snake” formation. Hey, pal, you’ve touched the side. If you wanna pass me (and the 3-4 others at the edge), go around. Or under.

I figured my swim was toast, so after my last lap, I took the ladder out of the pool and strode out to the transition area. “Wanna go for a bike ride?” I asked the volunteers. Bet they hadn’t heard that one all day! What a Dork.

It had poured rain while we were swimming, but I had put my running shoes and socks under a bucket. Much more pleasant to put on soft cotton. Aaahhh. I gulped a gel for practice’s sake, slurped some Gatorade, buckled in, and headed out.

Although it had stopped raining, the road was slick with fresh rain, all of which Godzilla kicked up on my nice fluffy socks. I know that “Godzilla” isn’t much of a name for a sleek machine like my bike, but I was amazed by how much of a beast this machine was (in a good way) after I rode it for the first time. The name just popped into my mind.

My worries about not being able to properly inflate the tires pre-race were allayed somewhat when I realized that a little more rolling resistance might give me better traction on the turns. This was especially important since I primarily train on the Life Cycles. Not too many turns there. But the ride wasn’t too hard, and I managed to ride my goal speed of about 12 mph, despite being winded from the swim.

I cruised back into transition and gulped another gel and Gatorade. Because it was a short event, I put dual-sided pedals on Godzilla to avoid changing shoes. Uh oh. As soon as I set out…slosh-slosh-slosh. Runners were already lounging about, eating post-race bananas, and here I was, heading out with water balloons on my feet. Great. But hey, it’s not that far and when it is over I will have finished it, I can handle it, right?

Then came the Big Uh Oh. Knife-like pain seared up my outer legs from my ankles, while my calves seized up in charley horses. Oh-kay. I can run on knives and charley horses, or I can walk on knives. Walking will take longer. Run, walk, run, limp, walk, run, try not to cry. Quitting is not an option. The charley horses went back to their stall about 100 yards into the course, but the knives just kept going. I just realized would be done. Run, walk, try not to cry. Rinse, repeat.

Finally I finished. My first triathlon. As soon as I took the shoes off and walked a bit, the knives were gone. The shoes. I should have known. I didn’t mention buying new shoes over the past ten months because…I hadn’t done it. They finally gave up.

I made some new friends, collected my stuff, and trudged home with no clue about my final time. Didn’t matter. I finished my first triathlon.

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