Well, I am officially a triathlete!
That and a buck 65 will get me a cup o’ coffee….
No matter… I feel better for having done it. I mean, my body hurt and after all the talk of doing this to lose weight – I didn’t lose a single pound but I do, somehow, feel pretty damn good about it.
Yeah, you read that right – 11 weeks of training and didn’t.lose.a.stinkin.pound. I love all the people telling me I’ve toned up and gained muscle, “…don’t worry what the scale is saying.” I get it, I really do but at the end of the day – how does the fucking scale NOT MOVE??????? In those 11 weeks I easily logged over 400 miles running/biking/kayaking – you know how many damned miles that is?
…yeah I don’t either; but I can tell you it was tough and I should’ve lost at least a few pounds. It’s all I can do not to slug the ‘ignore the scale’ people; and let me tell you – I’d hurt ’em with all these new kayaking muscles I got goin’ on.
So, with my main purpose for doing this thing (weight loss) a complete bust, all I had driving me was my intense love of a challenge. Well, let me tell you… 11 weeks of riding a 22 year-old bike on a constantly wet trail of cinders pretty much cured me of my challenge-loving ways. Who are you weirdos in love with biking?
Oddly enough I just met up with a friend I hadn’t seen in years – she’s at Lake Raystown for some biking festival – I have this unyielding urge to stand in the midst of these people and repeatedly scream, in a guttural voice, while dropping to my knees, “WHY? WHY? WHYYYYYY?” (she did post a picture of her doing beer tasting – hell, I’d ride for some beer…)
There are tons of little stories leading up to triathlon day that are fun but not so much so to get more than a mention – the torrential downpours that hit the week prior and continued right up until about 2 hours before the start, my leg injury that made walking difficult for the 4 days prior, the store alarm going off 20 minutes before we were to leave for the tri…
wait, that one does warrant telling.
I had everything organized and was ready to walk out the door when the phone rang. It was our alarm company telling us motion was detected inside the store – this is never great (especially at 2am when those calls usually come) but it was really a pisser when I was nervous anyway and fretting about getting to the start. Dan said he’d run down quick and check it out; I told him to text me immediately – it’s sorta worrisome, ya know… my triathlon anxiety was suddenly overshadowed by my Dan-could-be-going-into-a-bad-situation anxiety – my pacing bordered on furious. Then… the text…. a single word:
bird
Ya gotta love old buildings. I suggested a quick fix until we could dump the problem on Tyler [Tyler is billed as our other pharmacist but he’s actually more son, bestie, piece of my heart, etc.]; then I strongly encouraged Dan to get home toot sweet.
We stood in our kitchen talking about the bird for a few minutes when Dan said, “Oh! I know what I was gonna tell you… when I walked outside – before I even knew a bird was the issue at the store – I noticed the whole driver’s side of my car was covered – more than a few birds obviously saw it as a target…” Then he walked outta the room mumbling, “…some kinda Alfred Hitchcock shit goin’ on around here.”
Finally we were off. I rode with Gary to the registration point while Dan delivered our kayaks to the launch site. I’m going to say this now and you can mentally flashback to it throughout the story – there is no way, NO WAY, I could’ve done this without my husband. He was so incredibly helpful and supportive (well… for the most part, anyway; he did act like a dick around week 7 when I was grumbling but other than that….); he made it as easy as a triathlon can be.
We waited more than an hour for people to find the registration point (we live in BFE – when you enter some parts of Bedford county the skies shower you with laughter and bat the cell phone right out of your hands); this did nothing to quell my nerves. To my left were very tall, very young people with little-to-no body fat, dressed in matching attire promoting a local physical therapy establishment. To my right was a group of slightly-older-than-me people dressed in head-to-toe LL Bean, tanned, relaxed, talking about this being, “…a warm up for [their] hike later.” I hoped like hell to find somebody relatively comparable in stature and/or nerves behind me; I turned and looked….
I said to Missy, “Well… this is going to be humiliating when she kicks my ass.” I pointed to the 75-year old woman unloading her bike. (she did only the biking portion and started at a different time so I have no idea if she bested me on the bike or not – I’m just gonna assume she did. I feel like a 75-year old does not take part in this type of thing unless s/he is expecting to kick SOMEBODY’S ass).
We finally boarded the bus charged with transporting us to the launch site (which was 3 miles south, allowing us to kayak up the river – landing at the registration point). We arrived at our kayaks and started the launching process. Dan had my running and biking gear in the car with him at the launch site so he planned to see us off then hightail it to the registration/transition point (3 miles on water – but 20+ minutes to drive); he looked at our 2 friends who were also competing and said, “well, good luck guys!” turned and started toward the truck…
uhhhhhh… hello?????
He came back laughing, “Sorry babe! Good luck!” then gave me a quick peck and a pat on the tushie. The guys doing the launching were enjoying my reaction as I folded into my kayak, “…pat my ass… asshole didn’t even remember I was here… 11 weeks been trainin’ my ass off… walks away after wishing Gary and Mark good luck… fucker…”
“17 IN THE WATER!”
And there I was – starting my triathlon.
The river was angry that day, my friends…
Actually, it helped having the river so high, running so swiftly – took about 12 minutes off my time – but that bitch was COLD. Hitting the white caps resulted in water up, over and in – in my kayak and in my pants… holy hell, my calves were still numb 2 miles into my run. The kayak was by far the easiest event for me but I gotta admit – my neck and shoulders were very, VERY happy to see the landing site.
I pushed into the landing site as hard as I could. The 2 guys waiting to receive me grabbed the handle in front – simultaneously telling me, “get out” and “sit tight we’ve got ya” – thus… the disembarking tweren’t pretty. I got out, clumsily, and started my way up the ridiculous incline toward the transition area. As I was lumbering my way up the muddy, rocky, steep AF hill I was shedding my life vest. There was Dan, chasing after me…
I’m far from fast but I got a jump on him – not sure if he was trying to take a picture of me as I came ashore or if I surprised him with my lithe-like dexterity…. but there he was – chasing behind me shouting, “hand me your life jacket! let me grab it! give me your vest!” Meanwhile, I’m slipping, struggling, disrobing, looking around, “am I allowed??? is that cheating? I should probably do it myself..”
My thoughts on this 30 second snapshot of my life are these: I fully expected a 75-year old woman to dust me – why was I charging that hill like an American Ninja Warrior? And why do my husband and I bring attention to ourselves at every opportunity? I mean, literally NO OTHER voices were heard – yet I was shouting, he was shouting, there was running and chasing and shirking of flotation devices… And lastly what the hell compels me to attempt this shit, time and time again?
At the transition point, I got my dry socks and running shoes on (all the while Dan was fighting with my earphone cord – uh… a little less life vest, a little more earphone, babe) and headed out. The run was fairly uneventful, although the (female) runner stopping to pee was interesting. I did ask some onlookers to trip anybody behind me – when Gary passed me a coupla miles later I knew those bastards had let me down. I finished the run in a respectable (for me) time and began my transition to the red room of pain on wheels…
After donning my helmet and wolfing down a halo (clementine?) I – not so kindly – snatched my armband and phone from Dan, while he was frantically asking “does this even go in here???” (in his defense, the phone is a very tight squeeze into that arm band…. but I was Ninja Warrioring it man… hurry!) While I was eating my halo I looked over at my nearest competition and watched while she pulled some nylon bike shorts over her spandex running shorts.
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck
that’s genius! My ass started hurting on March 4th and hasn’t stopped… Early on I nixed the idea of wearing bike shorts for the whole competition, the padding is cumbersome while running. I tried a triathlon suit (the padding is specially designed to accommodate running) – let’s just say… I hope they run small, couldn’t even get that shit over my thighs. Never, in all those weeks of riding with a painful ass, did I consider shorts that could be added AFTER the run. I never thought of bike shorts made of anything other than spandex – which was not happening after kayaking 3 miles and running 5.4.
son
uv
a
bitcccccccccccchhhhhhhhhhh
I hopped on that hateful monstrosity called a bike and took off for the most gruelling, unpleasant, difficult event of the triathlon. Remember my friend who’s biking up at Lake Raystown? As I was leaving their cabin the other night I looked back and said, “Nice to meet all of you, good luck with your riding!” I continued walking and mumbled, “…you sadistic bastards…” The bike, like the run, was uneventful. As I neared the finish line with the event clock coming into view, I saw that I hadn’t met my 75 minute time limit. I was well ahead of time in each of the first 2 events but I really, REALLY wanted to make the time on the bike. It was a dissappointment.
But then I saw the 4 faces that make everything right in my world. Dan (I later discovered) raced around like a maniac collecting our kids (at our house and dad’s) so they could welcome me to the finish line. Boy……….
that shit’ll kill ya if ya let it.
In that all of my bodily fluids were clinging to my clothes – I didn’t have a tear to shed, but my heart sure swelled with each congratulatory hug. Alex was first – she just kept saying she was proud of me. A 15-year old girl hugging her mom in public, showering her with compliments… hits ya right where ya live. Abby came over for luvins; I’m not sure she grasped it all – I mean she told me she was happy for me and kept staring at me, but it didn’t seem to have quite the impact on her as the others. Dan gave me a kiss, grabbed my bike and helmet (it was over, I was pretty sure this wasn’t cheating) and handed me a water. And then Cal came over… he grabbed onto me so tightly… “momma, I’m so proud of you. You have more perseverance than I’ll ever have; you are amazing.”
If I hadn’t been a tenth of a mile away from needing IV fluids, Ida been crying like… well… like me, on most occasions.
We hung out for a bit, waiting for the awards to be handed out (I was hoping 3 or fewer women were registered for the 40 and over recreational class – this is how I’ve won every medal I have); listening for our bib number to be called for door prizes. Gary was 16 and I was 17 (I sent my registration in LONG before Gary… why was his number lower????? my sick sense of competition knows no bounds). I was standing there drenched in sweat, cold because of the sweat, sore, tired, wondering if my sports bra had actually cut through to the rib cage, listening for my number…
Whoever in the hell was wearing 14, 15, 18 and 19 – kudos to you; ol’ 16 and 17 here got blanked. The last number was called and I looked over to see a tall, blonde woman gliding toward the tent looking like she’d just walked out of a beauty salon, shirt tucked into her spandex tights with not a lump of any kind to be found and I groused, “welllllll, of course… why not? winning at life is never enough, she clearly needs a door prize, too.”
The board was finally loaded with our times. I came in 3rd!!! Even better is – there were 5 entrants!!!!!!! I out-triathed people! I was imagining all of the purchases ahead of me – I’d have to completely reinvent my look to best compliment my new hardware… I would take it off only to shower (unless I could find a water-resistant cover). My kids were beaming…
Monday morning brought with it the newspaper and the demise of glory…. The official times showed that I had actually placed 4th. Goodbye bronze, hello participation medal. Yes, yes, yes – I know… be proud of the effort, be proud of finishing, hold my head high for completing this thing 5 minutes faster than my goal time (2:59.26 vs. 3:05)… I get it and I am absolutely content, satisfied, thrilled for all of those things but… it was a blow.
I mean, what’s with you people? Let a girl lament about not losing weight; let a girl bitch about losing a medal, already, would ya? It’s ok to dip your toes in self-pity… just pull back before you’re completely submerged. The best were the incredulous friends, “are they making you GIVE IT BACK?” Well… no; but… who the fuck wants to keep a medal they didn’t win? (maybe that almost Miss America or that almost ‘Best Picture’ – they might keep that shit).
The official times showed me missing 3rd place by 9 seconds… 9… friggin seconds. Damn Dan… If he woulda taken my fucking life vest and helped me out a little….