You can do it. You're doing it now.
Wake up at 4:30am. Check.
Drive to San Antonio. Check.
Arrive, get number. Check.
Get body marked. Check.
Setup transition area. Check.
Strap chip to my ankle. Check.
Stretch thoroughly. Check.
Get in pool and go.
Number 90 was written on my triceps, the number 29 (for my age) written on my left calf, I smiled and thought, "wow, I'm here...I'm really doing it." and then thought, "So that's what that number down there means...huh!"
I find out headphones are not allowed on the bike portion...makes the "Race" playlist I made a bit abbreviated..."How would I ever get to "We Are the Champions" if I can only listen to it during the run?," I thought.
Smile again.
Line up. Check. 89 women stand in front of me...some only 12 years old, others as old as 67. 110 women behind me. We chat casually to calm any bubbling fears or doubts. One girl tells me she's a divemaster and I recount my memories from Belize recently. The first girl starts the race. The crowd cheers are infectious: we find ourselves clapping and wooting as well. The line moves forward.
We're assigned to enter the water and start in pairs of two...my pair, number 89 didn't make it to race day. I enter the water alone. Ideal, really. It means I can pick my optimum placement next to the middle rope in a pool without guidelines on the bottom.
Here goes nothing, I think.
And there it went.
The swimming is my favorite and I glide past some before me, powered by sheer will and adrenaline. As I exit the pool, I think, "that wasn't so bad...could have swam for longer."
Jog, jog, jog to the transition area. Don't slip, Mary. Don't slip and twist your ankle, I keep thinking. That would suck.
Shorts, helmet, socks, shoes...get it on as quickly as possible...it's all on the clock. Damn boy's bike...the center bar is always tricky to get my leg over! Whoosh!! She's off, folks!
No music, just my thoughts to fill my head. The biking portion had a couple of small hills, nothing too brutal. I feel my thighs hardening, burning really having to think about pushing them down, down, down on the pedals. The wind wisps across my face. 4 laps equals 6 miles...I'm on lap 2 and think, "wow, I'm halfway thru the triathlon...I can do this!" At this point, I'm sweating.
Note to self: energy gel while cycling, not a good idea.
Goopy. Hard to hold onto while grasping the handlebars...it gets everywhere, except my mouth. Felt like a true Buster Keaton moment...good thing I'm the only audience. And anyway, it tasted pretty icky. Better save it for the run, next time.
Cycling came and went. I'm definitely on the path to becoming winded. I'm feeling my core muscles more than ever before. Onto running.
Park the bike, remove the helmet. Many times on the biking trek, I found myself looking down at the note taped to the bike frame from G: You can do it. You're doing it now.
It pushed me forward.
Earbuds in place, the song: Brighter than Sunshine by Aqualung kicks things off. It was the first song played after the Hamster WheelMobile finished the NYE parade, where unbeknownst to most, G and I snuck inside the hamster, embraced and kissed. It makes me weepy, ever since. But in a good way.
I hate running. Scratch that, I'm just not good at it. It's either fast jog or fast walk for me...I haven't figured out the endurance needed to be a constant jogger yet. I just can't seem to make my legs constantly go. I give myself sight goals...just run to that lightpole. Now, run to that bridge. Face hot, I have to slow down to a focused walk at time. Arms in motion, I push myself...c'mon, you can do this.
Only one water station in two miles, at the turnaround point. I felt my body overheating in the San Antonio sun. One to drink, one to dump on my head. I notice women passing me by...some have numbers lower than me, some higher. I notice their age on their jogging calf. Some lower, some higher.
I pace with a lady who's 35.
Almost there...So far, James Brown, Fantastic Plastic Machine, Gotan Project and visions of my friends in cheerleader-hosen outfits have motivated to this point. My pace partner's husband stands on the sidelines, cheering her on. As soon as she's in his sight, he begins running alongside her. I smile once again, envisioning mine is there, too.
Her pace gets faster...I can't keep up.
It's okay...it's not a competition with her, it's a competition with myself. Training myself to believe, to shift perspective and realize that this and well, anything in my life is possible. I'm proud of her for finding her 2nd wind and pushing forward. I'm proud of me for getting this far.
About to round the corner, I see the finish line in my sights about 100 yards away. iPod cues up: The Muppet Song - I'm Gonna Always Love You.
I feel my cheeks get hot as tears of joy start to well up. Miss Piggy belting out lyrics:
Gonna be a moviestar. Gonna learn to drive a car. I'm gonna be a good mommy too, and I'm gonna always love you-oo-ooo-oo!
Brilliant.
Absolutely perfect.
About 50 yards away, I lose steam and have to walk. Someone yells, "you can do it...run it out!" Piggy going into the chorus refrain, I shake it off and muster up something deep, guttural and indescribable...My legs move like a steam engine and I sprint to the finish line.
Mouth open wide, breath hard and fast, I made it.
59 minutes, :25 seconds
I finished 17 minutes behind the 15yr old gal who came in first...not bad in my books.
...........................
Back home, resting, recovering...and planning my next jaunt.
There's a Danskin women's triathlon in Austin on June 10th. This time, it's a:
1/2 mile swim
12 mile Bike
3.1 mile Run (5k)
That's almost double this triathlon...holy crap.
Anything is possible.
Drive to San Antonio. Check.
Arrive, get number. Check.
Get body marked. Check.
Setup transition area. Check.
Strap chip to my ankle. Check.
Stretch thoroughly. Check.
Get in pool and go.
Number 90 was written on my triceps, the number 29 (for my age) written on my left calf, I smiled and thought, "wow, I'm here...I'm really doing it." and then thought, "So that's what that number down there means...huh!"
I find out headphones are not allowed on the bike portion...makes the "Race" playlist I made a bit abbreviated..."How would I ever get to "We Are the Champions" if I can only listen to it during the run?," I thought.
Smile again.
Line up. Check. 89 women stand in front of me...some only 12 years old, others as old as 67. 110 women behind me. We chat casually to calm any bubbling fears or doubts. One girl tells me she's a divemaster and I recount my memories from Belize recently. The first girl starts the race. The crowd cheers are infectious: we find ourselves clapping and wooting as well. The line moves forward.
We're assigned to enter the water and start in pairs of two...my pair, number 89 didn't make it to race day. I enter the water alone. Ideal, really. It means I can pick my optimum placement next to the middle rope in a pool without guidelines on the bottom.
Here goes nothing, I think.
And there it went.
The swimming is my favorite and I glide past some before me, powered by sheer will and adrenaline. As I exit the pool, I think, "that wasn't so bad...could have swam for longer."
Jog, jog, jog to the transition area. Don't slip, Mary. Don't slip and twist your ankle, I keep thinking. That would suck.
Shorts, helmet, socks, shoes...get it on as quickly as possible...it's all on the clock. Damn boy's bike...the center bar is always tricky to get my leg over! Whoosh!! She's off, folks!
No music, just my thoughts to fill my head. The biking portion had a couple of small hills, nothing too brutal. I feel my thighs hardening, burning really having to think about pushing them down, down, down on the pedals. The wind wisps across my face. 4 laps equals 6 miles...I'm on lap 2 and think, "wow, I'm halfway thru the triathlon...I can do this!" At this point, I'm sweating.
Note to self: energy gel while cycling, not a good idea.
Goopy. Hard to hold onto while grasping the handlebars...it gets everywhere, except my mouth. Felt like a true Buster Keaton moment...good thing I'm the only audience. And anyway, it tasted pretty icky. Better save it for the run, next time.
Cycling came and went. I'm definitely on the path to becoming winded. I'm feeling my core muscles more than ever before. Onto running.
Park the bike, remove the helmet. Many times on the biking trek, I found myself looking down at the note taped to the bike frame from G: You can do it. You're doing it now.
It pushed me forward.
Earbuds in place, the song: Brighter than Sunshine by Aqualung kicks things off. It was the first song played after the Hamster WheelMobile finished the NYE parade, where unbeknownst to most, G and I snuck inside the hamster, embraced and kissed. It makes me weepy, ever since. But in a good way.
I hate running. Scratch that, I'm just not good at it. It's either fast jog or fast walk for me...I haven't figured out the endurance needed to be a constant jogger yet. I just can't seem to make my legs constantly go. I give myself sight goals...just run to that lightpole. Now, run to that bridge. Face hot, I have to slow down to a focused walk at time. Arms in motion, I push myself...c'mon, you can do this.
Only one water station in two miles, at the turnaround point. I felt my body overheating in the San Antonio sun. One to drink, one to dump on my head. I notice women passing me by...some have numbers lower than me, some higher. I notice their age on their jogging calf. Some lower, some higher.
I pace with a lady who's 35.
Almost there...So far, James Brown, Fantastic Plastic Machine, Gotan Project and visions of my friends in cheerleader-hosen outfits have motivated to this point. My pace partner's husband stands on the sidelines, cheering her on. As soon as she's in his sight, he begins running alongside her. I smile once again, envisioning mine is there, too.
Her pace gets faster...I can't keep up.
It's okay...it's not a competition with her, it's a competition with myself. Training myself to believe, to shift perspective and realize that this and well, anything in my life is possible. I'm proud of her for finding her 2nd wind and pushing forward. I'm proud of me for getting this far.
About to round the corner, I see the finish line in my sights about 100 yards away. iPod cues up: The Muppet Song - I'm Gonna Always Love You.
I feel my cheeks get hot as tears of joy start to well up. Miss Piggy belting out lyrics:
Gonna be a moviestar. Gonna learn to drive a car. I'm gonna be a good mommy too, and I'm gonna always love you-oo-ooo-oo!
Brilliant.
Absolutely perfect.
About 50 yards away, I lose steam and have to walk. Someone yells, "you can do it...run it out!" Piggy going into the chorus refrain, I shake it off and muster up something deep, guttural and indescribable...My legs move like a steam engine and I sprint to the finish line.
Mouth open wide, breath hard and fast, I made it.
59 minutes, :25 seconds
I finished 17 minutes behind the 15yr old gal who came in first...not bad in my books.
...........................
Back home, resting, recovering...and planning my next jaunt.
There's a Danskin women's triathlon in Austin on June 10th. This time, it's a:
1/2 mile swim
12 mile Bike
3.1 mile Run (5k)
That's almost double this triathlon...holy crap.
Anything is possible.