First Triathlon

By now, it's senior year. I'm losing weight by running and swimming again. My knee feels awesome. I'm starting to be happy again. I decided I wanted to really push myself. I had heard rumors of this evil event in which you swim, bike, and run--all in one day! A triathlon. I wanted to become a triathlete! See also, one who doesn't understand that sucking at one sport is hard enough. I was slowly running, I already had the swimming background, and really, how hard could biking be? Done. I registered for my first triathlon! Quad Cities Triathlon. Sprint Distance. 600 yard swim, 15 mile bike, 3.1 mile run. Seemed completely doable. 

I started training. And by training, I mean I'd sort of go for a run. Or I'd sort of go for a ride. The riding part was particularly laughable. I was in college. There were few places to bike. My bike sucked. I had all of the excuses. But in my head, I still knew I could do it. No problem. Or so I thought. 

The morning arrived. Unfortunately, because I'm writing this 7 years after the fact, I have no idea the date. I know it was June, 2010. And I also have to pictures, despite the internet holding on to everything. Wtf internet?! Where are my terrible pictures?!?! Moving on. My parents came down for the race. They were worried. I could tell. But I wasn't. I could do this. I had "trained." 

The swim was great. If you like being in a murky, freezing quarry where you can't see anything. Simply delightful. I swam in just a one piece suit. What did I know about wetsuits? What's a wetsuit? Don't you use that for scuba diving?! But for how ill-prepared I was, I did fairly well. Felt good coming out of the water. I had this in the bag. 

And then came the bike. I had an ancient, rusted out mountain bike that had to have weighed 800 pounds. I mean, obviously not, but it certainly seemed like it! I was virtually moving backwards. Hindsight being what it is, I really killed the swim because just about everyone passed me on the bike. Everyone. A 70 year old, legally blind woman passed me. True story. 

And then came the run. My least favorite part. I was still worried about my knee, it was freaking the surface of the sun by that point, and I was so dead. Legs felt like jelly. I don't remember how much I walked, but I know it was most of it. I vividly remember passing a group of firemen at one point. I must have looked utterly horrendous because they all begged me to stop for a bit. To stop the race. I didn't feel that bad, so I replied "no, I'll see you at the finish. Wait for me." (I probably didn't say anything nearly that smooth, but I know I kept going--this is my story, right?). Finally, I hit the 3 mile mark. Just 0.1 to go! I started sprinting. Well, my version of it. But I sprinted right across that finish line, through a tent that was there, and into the firemans' arms because my momentum was that powerful. I did it! I was a triathlete! Time was 2:46.48 (that information I could find...). I came in second to last overall. And I loved every minute of it!