My First Triathlon

What can be said about a triathlon that hasn't been said before?  The chilling highs?  The thrilling lows?  It's a continued insult to dinosaurs as a solid reminder that we've had, and continue to have, too much time on this planet.  That being said, in an effort to remind myself that I have yet to have kids, I decided it was time to try one.

Now, keep in mind,  It's not easy to buy that much equipment.  It takes credit cards, stands, and a place to wash and keep it all together.  Not everyone can measure up to this, but I...I was ready.  My heart was in good condition to spend all that money and I had been training my arms and legs for months now to pick it all up and even carry it.  Would I be this cash positive next year?  There's no way of knowing...I could be in a relationship or worse...so now was the time to strike.

The first part of the Tri was the part I was dreading: The Swim.  I'm a pretty avid pool swimmer, but the open ocean always freaks me out a little.  It's like unfolded claustrophobia; there's no way to make it stop once you're out there.  And it's cold.  Being that I had no time to train for the open water I did what any sane man would; I bought a wet suit a week before the actual event and wore it in the pool once the day before.  Training complete.  Now, to calm my nerves I started the race slow, and in the back of the back, and thinking about cookies.  I knew I would pass people, I just wanted to make sure they would notice.  It should also be mentioned that the way these things go is they give you a color cap depending on your heat/wave, and nothing says "35-40 male" like orange latex.  

Our turn came up and slowly I went into the water, arms and legs out stretched as it was hard to bend in all that rubber.  But slowly I got comfortable, realized I was more pool toy than man in that wet suit, and began casually passing my entire group.  By the time I had reached the first of two bouys I had dropped nearly every one in orange.  I switched to back stroke for a minute to confuse those around me and open up the suit a bit more, then went charging on to the next bouy at what I would describe as a "medium rare" pace.  You see, that suit was going from flotation device to "sous vide" pretty quickly.  I was debating about peeing in it to cool off, but I thought a casual pace the best action...especially since the blinding isolation of the void that is open water swimming kept creeping into my head.  Eventually I met up with a group in silver caps....and then purple caps....and then even some green caps before I could finally use my legs again and crawl from that ocean like that great fish in the history of evolution that decided it wanted to choke to death on air.  By the time it was done I had come in 3rd for my age group, 40th overall including the professionals, and had a very easy and humbling cook time of 9 minutes flat-ish.

Now came the part I was dreading:  The Transition!  You see, we're not allowed knives, at least not for the races in the continental states, which makes the removal of the wet suit far harder and the run less interesting.  Still! I was ready to persevere. From what I've been told the people behind me saw my form stretch and take on a red hue while the people in front of me claim to have witnessed two Nick's moving at the same time.  I attribute this to time dilation as I was moving so fast that reality was starting to warp.  If only Guinness had been there to record it, I may have actually won something that day as I set the new land speed record for swim-to-bike in 3:59 seconds.

This, however, was the part I was dreading: The Bike!  I am a man of many things, and one of those things is thighs.  When I lived in SF I actually went into a Levi's store as a leg refugee.  They claimed to have one pair of pants, in the back, with experimentally large thighs and I volunteered to be their rabbit.  I could get both legs in, but sitting down and remaining fertile were out of the question.  Eventually I came to rely on a Costo brand of workmen's stretch jeans that I'm pretty sure were originally made for use by bears in more modest Russian factories.  That being said I loaded "Clutch" (left leg) and "Wild Bill" (right leg) into the bike pedals and set them loose, firing foot bullets into the gears of a machine I have come to loving call "The Hammerhead".  

Now, I was just in straps and sneakers for this, no clip-ins, because I am a firm believer that the hamstring muscle group is a lie told to us by Big Jump Rope....and we need to fight the power.  As for the ride itself, it was very pleasant and I actually did well again.  I knew the course thanks to google earth and the power of imagination, and managed to pass 50-60 riders...which I was sincerely not expecting to do. There were only 3 riders who over took me in that time and each and everyone one of them seemed to have exceptionally stronger wallets and credit limits than my own.  It's good to know your place.  By the time my half machine, half human, war wagon had made it back I clocked into an overall pace of 19.9mph for a 9.1 mile course and finished in 31 minutes....which goes against math, but I attribute that to the left over gravity wake from my transition.

Finally, it was time for the part I was dreading:  The Run.  Like a seizing grasshopper I showed the world you could return a bike without the use of your knees...and then proceeded to make my way, with all the style and ambition of a new born, to the track.  You see, I am not a runner.  I will never be a runner.  And I have made my peace with this.  I was on a 5/20 pace.  That means every 5 minutes 20 people would pass me.  I've never felt so alive.  With a stride that would make a duck jealous, I kept a Gatorade handy and contemplated just getting back into the water for the remaining 5k, as I would have been debatably faster.  But, crazy enough, I never felt bad.  Even started feeling alright.  And towards the end I even managed to pass someone.  

I remember it clearly: It was almost the finish line.  Her husband had begun running along side her and both of them were crying in joy, but I was still 10 feet behind her with 100 to go.  I knew it was going to be tough to beat her, especially when it became clear that the rest of her family was waiting for her with signs at the finish line and cheering her on, but something inside of me told me I could do it!  So, I dug down deep, thought about all the cookies I was going to have, and made every step count!  The finish?  She was 1:14.00...and I was 1:13:59.  Managed to pass her at the last second, scoop up a medal and cheer for myself.  They say that it's not about winning, and it's not; it's about beating those that are closest to you, both in your heart and in your area.  That's why, Facebook, I implore you to join me in this new age of pettiness; Fathers, beat your sons.  Mothers, tell your daughters they'll never be as pretty as you.  If we truly believe in ourselves we can keep others from believing in themselves, too!  Can't wait to do this again next year...