The breakneck pace of life has kept me away from finishing my recap of my very first Triathlon. I left off with the bike mount, the beginning of my favorite leg.
I know I have waxed poetic about Joshua, my beautiful bike gifted to me by Coach and his business partner Nick, but it truly is a great bicycle. He may not have the appearance of the "glorious" high tech, polycarbon, featherweight racing bikes, but he has a trustworthy durability, high tech upgrades, and old school cool. Yes, there are a few tweaks I would like to make, but they are oh so very minor as to be nearly inconsequential. I love Joshua, and he did me right on the cycling leg of my first Tri.
I was fatigued from my swim, and still had the 5K to run, so I did not push myself nearly as hard as I might have on Joshua. Still, I passed about 10 other riders, making me feel better about my bad swim time. Mostly I wanted to enjoy the ride, and I did. I am pretty sure I had a goofy shit-eating grin on my face the entire 16 miles. It was perfect weather; cool and overcast, but comfortable. The road followed the Columbia River, so the view was epic. I found my stride quickly and easily, and just kept up my pace. I was shouting out greetings, flipping peace signs, and peddling. It was a great balm for my spirit.
All too soon we were at the cycling dismount. I felt great, and jogged with Joshua back to the transition area. Carefully racking him, I planted a soft kiss on his seat, then quickly switched into my minimalist running shoes. I was off on the 5K, still grinning.
I ran the first quarter mile, feeling a little tight in my calves, so stopped and stretched for a brief moment once I was out of sight of the transition area. Then I was off, slow and steady. True, I was a little fatigued, but felt far better than I thought I would. It took me a while to find a comfortable pace, as my muscles were trying to remind me that I had just swam the longest half mile ever, and cycled 16 miles at a decent pace. I chose to ignore the whining muscles as best I could. I did slow to a walk a few times, but just for a few paces, then back to my penguin jog. With about a mile left I matched strides with a woman who I had been leap-frogging with for the last mile. I could tell she was struggling, and did not look like she was enjoying herself. I engaged her in conversation, to get us both through the last mile. I confessed to my horrible swim, my lovely cycling, and the fact that this was my first race of any kind. We commiserated over bad knees, and how much different it is to take these disciplines out of the pool and off the treadmill, and out into the real world. I told her, "now, when we get to the finish line we have to finish strong. Coach says to cross the line, hands in the air, chin up, and smiling for the camera. You can collapse later. He coached me on this. Three times." We both laughed. We both felt less tired. Yes, the last quarter mile was tough, hilly, and seemed longer than a quarter mile.
Finally, we knew we were close, I reminded her to finish strong, reminding myself in the process. Then, eyes forward, pulling energy from somewhere to stoke tired legs, we both pounded for the finish line. Crossing the line, head held high, hands held high, grinning like an idiot.
I don't really remember the last hundred feet of the race, just that moment of crossing the line, getting my medal, handing in my timing chip, and then the pride on Coach's face, and being wrapped in a strong, congratulatory hug. I felt the triumph of my achievement. The deep, satisfying sense of victory. Joy. Delirium. Exultation. The Elixir of success. In a matter of moments, even fatigue was forgotten and all I could think of was when I would be doing this again. And it will be soon. I am on the countdown to Tri number Two and Three, have run another 5K, and am doing my first 10K in 16 days. It is an addiction.
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