The first triathalon is over. I daresay it was kind of fun. In an oh-my-gosh-my-butt-hurts-and-I-can’t-feel-my-feet kind of way.
All I can say is thank goodness for my sister and her husband, without whom we would have been sunk. And my husband, without whom I would have had no idea how the *&$@ to get my bike off of the car.
We headed up to Maine the night before the triathalon so we could fret get ourselves ready and not have to rush in the morning. I can’t speak for my daughter, but I tossed and turned all night just wondering what the next day would be like. Would I be mortified at the sight of my body in spandex? I mean, I did practice wearing it around the house but somehow it’s just not quite the same. Would I get a flat tire? Would I take a wrong turn and bike 5 miles in the wrong direction?
Mercifully. morning came quickly and it was time to get moving. Unfortunately, the weather was as miserable as the forecast had called for. Fifty-five degrees and rain. Cold, cold, Maine rain. Oh yeah.
The swim was fine. 12 minutes of all-out sprint followed by me struggling to get out of the pool. There was a huge lip on the end that you had to climb up over. With tired arms. And a large bod. At least it wasn’t like the poor woman who swam in my daughter’s heat. She had to have someone grab her arm and try and pull her out. I think I would have died right then and there.
Then it was off to the transition area for my bike. My lovely, darlin’ granny bike. Which seemed like a nice, safe, comfy way to do the bike portion. Turns out, I should have ridden further than 3 miles on the road before this event. If I had taken my bike somewhere on the car rack, I would have realized that the handlebars and seat can move with bumping. Like sideways. So when I hopped on the bike, both the seat and the handlebars were askew. So the seat was pointed slightly to the right, and the handlebars were also crooked, pointing to the right. I had to hold the handlebars off center to keep the tire straight. That was fun. Not. I briefly considered getting off and fixing it, but with my luck I would have made it worse. So I figured, how bad could it be? Riding like this for an hour or so—no big deal, right?
After the first mile or so I was wondering if I was even going in the right direction. I hadn’t seen or been passed by a single person on a bike. Just as I was about to consider stopping to look behind me I heard this sound like a huge WHOOSH, and someone looking like they were ready for the Tour De France flew by me. Well, at least I knew I was going in the right direction.
At what I think was a half-hour in I was really glad I didn’t have a watch on. It was so freakin’ cold and raining that if I had realized how far I had left to go, I might have thrown in the proverbial towel. I was being passed every few minutes by people throwing out words of encouragement. “Nice job 217, keep it up”, “You’re doing great 217, almost there”. It was really, really nice. Unfortunately it didn’t make me go any faster. My bike has severe limitations.
By the time I rounded the last turn and heard those glorious words “You’re almost there” I could barely feel my toes. It was then I realized I still had to get my tush off the crooked bike seat, unclench my elbows which had been holding the handlebars at an angle for over an hour, and run.
It was more of a wiggly leg run/walk, and it took almost 45 minutes but I did finish. To the sound of “Go, Mom, go!”
And then I was done. Two hours and one minute.
This is me and my daughter Adrienne at the finish line. She is smiling because now she can go inside and warm up. I am smiling because I am DONE!
Thanks for following along! And seriously, if I can do it ANYONE can!! All you have to do is TRI!
