Triathlon, A Beginner's Primer

Saturday was the triathlon. Remember the triathlon? The one in which I was supposed to avoid humiliating my team by running three miles without crying or needing medical attention or otherwise embarrassing myself. Saturday. A June day which dawned wet and freezing cold (high in the fifties). A fact that normally would annoy the living crap out of me (Because HSSH, why do we live in this frozen Arctic wasteland, huh? Why? For your job? That you hate?) and cause me to spend most of the morning whining at my husband about why we ever left the tropics, except that I had to compete in a triathlon and I figured that in my pursuit of avoiding the need for medical attention, cool temperatures were probably a good thing.

By triathlon, I mean mini-sprint distance triathlon. Just in case you had pictured those Olympic distance triathloners, who are insane and who can swim like 10 miles, bike 4000 miles and then run a marathon all by themselves in less time than it took the three of us to finish our mini-version. We had registered for the family division - a quarter mile swim, 12 mile bike and 3.1 mile run. I was well aware that I was the wimpiest member of the team. The runner. Of three miles. Anyone can run three miles. A fact that became very clear to me by the end of the day. Swimmers and bikers are brave and hard to find. Runners are completely interchangeable. But, I don't care because my team rocked and we did it!!

I already loved my teammates - Annie and Elana (names changed to protect the guilty) - but I knew they were my people on triathlon day. Venti Starbucks - check. All teammates in the minivan - check. Running ridiculously late so that we would have no time to stress about Annie drowning in the lake - check. We rolled into the park about ten minutes before our start time with a minimum of panic, having already decided that if we were too late to triathlon, we could eat a lovely breakfast, grab another coffee and head home. At the registration desk, we found that we were registered in the sprint category instead of the family category.

The difference? Only the small matter of the swim distance. It's double. Half a mile instead of a quarter of a mile. But, no problem, nice triathlon organizer lady could fix it for us. The first moment in which I realized that Annie was out of my triathloning league occurred then.

Me: Scraping jaw off of floor, "Double?" Gulp. "Yes, please. Fix it. We want family please."
Annie: "No, that's okay, it doesn't matter."
Me: Unintelligible noises of disbelief. "Gasp. Choke. It's double?!"
Annie: "The distance doesn't bother me, I'm worried about the cold. What's the lake temperature?"

Processing. Processing. Squinty-eyed sideways glare at Annie who claimed to be an 'okay' swimmer. Processing. The distance (n. length one has to swim) you have to swim (v. stay above water so as not to drown) in a lake (n. body of questionably clean water (n. liquid which cannot be breathed if one's head drops below it)) without becoming so tired as to sink (v. syn. DROWN) below the surface and DIE (v. syn. DROWN) doesn't bother (v. syn. FRIGHTEN, TERRIFY, INTIMIDATE) you. Hmmmmm.

I simply could not comprehend this kind of competence because I am one of those women. The one's that give the rest of you a bad name. The kind that shies away and covers her head when a ball is lobbed at me. The kind that has absolutely no athletic talent whatsoever. None. Tennis? No. Skiing? No. Do you run? No. Pick up soccer? No. Toss a football at the beach? No. Natch. Zip. Nada. Nothing. I walk with a ginormous triple-wide stroller. That's it.

My sad lack of athletic hobbies or talents is exacerbated by my thin, possibly athletic if you didn't know me, build. That build is the result of two factors over which I have no control and take no credit. First, genetics. I metabolize like a champ. If there was a metabolizing triathlon, I could win it. My blood sugar is perpetually low. Second, an overactive brain that focuses with syndrome-like exclusiveness on my anxiety of the moment. I always have an anxiety of the moment. I'm anxious. I stress. When I stress, I don't eat. If I have nothing particularly glaring to stress about, I can easily make something up, or do something stupid to create stress, like for instance, sign up for a triathlon.

What I'm trying to say is that Annie's nonchalance over swimming twice the distance I told her she would swim in a cold lake impressed me. Then, she blew through the water dusting the competition and blew me away. She beat some of the men that started ten minutes before the women in our division. That's what I'm talking about.

We learned some things about triathlons. There is an intense PEN OF TRANSITION. Inside of which, everyone is very serious and you must know where you are supposed to be at all times. There are also rules to be followed that are not clearly posted at the entrance. Everyone shares the PEN OF TRANSITION. So, when our incredibly late, giggly little team was trying to set up our transition space in the PEN OF TRANSITION, Olympic distance triathloners who had just completed a 4562 mile bike after swimming 45 miles in 10 minutes were trying to transition to the run. And, no matter where we stood or how small we made ourselves, our puny little sprint distance first time triathloner asses were IN THEIR WAY. Yikes. Seriously.

Elana kicked major triathlon butt on the bike leg, leaving me with plenty of time to walk three miles clutching the stitch in my side and still finish without having to ride the cart that picks up stragglers. As we stood waiting for Elana to finish the bike leg so that I could attempt to run my puny three miles, I had the second moment when I realized Annie was out of my triathloning league. She turned to me casually and asked if I minded if she ran with me. Squinty-eyed sideways glare number two. I am on to you, sporty girl.

"Um, Annie, I have to run it slowly."
"I don't mind, I just want to see how my legs do."
"Really slowly."
"It's okay."
"I can't hurry at all. I get this stitch."
"I don't want to make you nervous."
"No, I don't mind, I just don't know if you are properly comprehending the non-speed of my race pace."
"It's fine."
"Okay."

She did run with me. Cheerfully talking the entire time while I gasped for air and nodded occasionally. There is no way I would have run the whole three miles without her. A combination of mortal shame and distraction via conversation (and amazement that there are people in this world with the ability to talk and run at the same time with no wheezing) kept me moving forward.

End of the story? I finished. No humiliation whatsoever. We did it! We had a blast! We are even talking about doing another one. Annie wants to do the whole thing. Go figure. Know what though, it was really, really fun. Being on a team that finishes something is a cool feeling - even if you are the interchangeable non-athletic runner girl.