I entered my first triathlon on Sunday and at some point I'll stop eating … right?

Goals: Don't drown, don't crash, don't walk ... don't die of gluttony

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Swim, bike, run, eat, eat, eat

I did my first triathlon on Sunday and I’ve spent almost every waking moment since then alternately ravenously hungry and eating like a bear before hibernation. Oranges and bananas and protein shakes and protein bars and candy bars and chicken and rice and fries and scrambled eggs and toast and BRING ALL OF THE FOOD AND LAY IT BEFORE ME.

I’ve done enough endurance events to know how much I usually eat afterward and this is way, way more … HOLD ON, GOTTA GO GET ME SOME CHEESEBURGERS … than usual. It has to stop at some point, right?

Entering Sunday’s Rookies and Rock Stars Triathlon in St. Peters, Mo., I had modest goals. Don’t drown, don’t crash, don’t finish last, don’t stop, don’t walk, and (most important) finish.

Four days later I might have to add “don’t die of gluttony.”

This is going to sound immodest, but to maintain the adventure writing wing of my business, I keep myself in “just in case” shape. As in, “just in case” I decide to write about a triathlon, I can be reasonably confident … ONE SECOND, NEED TO FULFILL A MILKSHAKE CRAVING … I can complete it.

I knew I could handle the bike (13 miles) and the run (5K) because I’ve done both many times and focused on them in the training. I was reasonably confident I could swim 400 yards, even though I had not trained for that at all.

So I wasn’t ready, but I wasn’t not ready, either. In life and in business, so in endurance sports: If you wait until you know you’re ready you’ll never do it, so I said screw it, I’m doing it.

“Pretty sure I could swim 400 yards” became less so when I arrived at the pool. I watched the staggered start, with the fastest swimmers going first and thought, “yeesh, that woman has propellers where her feet are supposed to be. How am I going to make it with these anchors attached to my shins?”

My chest tightened with anxiety. I briefly thought of slipping out and going home, but I had already talked to enough friends there that drowning would be better than the humiliation of admitting I chickened out.

Among the many problems was that I had never swum 50 yards in a line in my life, and now I had to do that eight times in a row. I talked myself into believing I could make it if I swam really, really slow.

I don’t mind being slow or bad at something. I don’t mind making a fool of myself. But I do mind being in the way and screwing up somebody’s race. I intentionally arranged to be the very last person to get in the pool so that no matter how slow I went – and mercy, I was slow – nobody would have a beef … BEEF STROGANOFF, BEEF WELLINGTON, ROAST BEEF, CORNED BEEF, CORNED BEEF HASH … with me for holding them up.

I completed the first lap freestyle but knew if I kept doing that my arms might fall off. So I finished the final seven lengths in what might charitably be called breast stroke but was probably closer to doggie paddle. But whatever, see making fool of myself, don’t mind.

I felt like a dope because not only did I not bring goggles, I don’t own any, and I didn’t know I needed them until a friend asked where mine were. Another friend let me borrow his spare pair, and I don’t know why I bothered wearing them because my eyes were underwater for maybe 30 seconds of the 15 minutes, 12 seconds I spent “swimming.” All of which is prelude to say I felt pretty good when I got out of the pool except the point where my neck meets my shoulders was quite sore from holding my head above water.

I wasn’t expecting to hurt there.

A friend of mine who was helpful in every other way — giving me energy goo to eat, encouraging me, helping me understand where to go/what to do in transition — was kind enough to point out afterward that I looked like a turtle in the water.

The photo below (I’m on the left) suggests he’s not entirely wrong. But I gently corrected him that turtles don’t wear goggles.

I took my time in the transition from the swim to the bike, a valuable break for me even though some people might have snickered … I’M GOING TO RUN TO THE STORE AND GET A SNICKERS OR THREE … at my delay.

I walked my bike to the “bike out” sign and pedaled away. I turned at a traffic cone … I COULD GO FOR AN ICE CREAM CONE RIGHT ABOUT NOW … a few minutes in, and I knew this was not going to be my only triathlon. The neck pain evaporated, the sun kissed my skin, the rolling green hills danced all around me. I reached something like the flow state, pedaling at a steady clip as I managed my heart rate and didn’t crush myself before the run.

So goal No. 1 – don’t drown, check. At the end of the bike ride, I checked off goal No. 2, don’t crash. I passed enough people on the bike that finishing last was unlikely though I wasn’t yet ready to claim victory on that because I still had to finish.

I jumped off the bike, took a few steps on the al dente noodles … SPAGHETTI WOULD HIT THE SPOT … that were my legs, and it felt like someone had poured cement into my knees and it hardened between my calves and toes.

Hours later, describing this to a triathlon veteran, I learned that this happens to everybody and is called the brick.

My legs returned to normal-ish after a few steps, and I hit the paved running trail with more energy than I expected. I yelled encouragement and gave high fives to everyone I passed, though many of them weren’t even in the race. I like to think they appreciated the “attaboy almost there keep going keep pushing keep moving forward you got this” as they (laboriously) walked their dog … MMM HOT DOGS.

I made one last right turn, crossed the finish line, accepted congratulations from a couple friends and kept right on going to the food table, where I taught a bunch of vendors the folly of unlimited free samples.

I finished 101^st out of 172 overall and third of seven in my age group (50-54). As excited as I was to climb the podium, I question the accuracy/relevance of that. My time was nowhere near good enough for third in the next two age groups older than mine, so I wonder if there was a hiccup in the system. Regardless, I won a $10 gift certificate to a local bike shop, and I’ll happily spend it whether I deserve it or not.

I hope they sell pizza.

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Details

Swim (400 yards): 15:12

Transition 1: 4:39

Bike (13 miles): 55:45

Transition 2: 1:16

Run (5K): 29:27