Daddy Did It

Cleaning up my gear in the transition area. The medal was enough to convince my son that I "won." As far as I was concerned, for first timers that signed up a few days before and didn't know the first thing about tris, I was indeed the winner.  

Hey all, literally years since I've dropped in on a blog...a few of you have asked about the triathlon, so I thought I'd compose something a bit more put together than an email.

I started swimming with a Masters group this spring, and I've been sporadically working out with this group of ex college and high school swimmers at six o'clock in the morning. They are all stronger than me, and I feel like I am drowning some of the time, but I feel amazing when I get out of the water–none of the stiffness or soreness that follows long bike rides or runs. One of the swimmers is my colleague, a middle school English teacher, and she introduced herself at our first faculty meeting this fall by saying she was excited about the triathlon she was doing that weekend. I asked her about it afterward, she encouraged me to go for it, and so I got on the computer and just signed up. I guess the thought had occurred to me in the past that I enjoyed all the sports in triathlon, and maybe I would do one some day. Some day was that Tuesday morning, a week before my first official day with students.

I was immediately nervous. Actually, panicked. I admittedly lost a lot of sleep over the next five nights, palms sweating over the swim start, the thought of bonking the way I had a few times on long bike rides, or just the logistics of what gear or how much food or water I needed. I talked to lots of triathletes, did some Internet research, and kept running into encouraging, positive people. Everyone seemed to think it was going to be great, all the way up to the moments before the gun. Eventually, I bought this attitude, and a wave of calm washed over me the morning of the race, even if my guts churned a bit with the 4:30 am wakeup.

The swimming was hectic. The first third was adrenaline, the second third was panic as I came down from that initial burst, the last third was flow. I got swum over hard by one guy after the first buoy, and I got mad, and it really took it out of me. I started to doubt myself; it seemed like a long way to go, but eventually I found my rhythm and started passing people. I jogged up and over a train platform to the transition, threw on my bike gear and took off on the Oakland streets. The serious athletes with their space-age helmets passed me, but I did most of the passing. This was my area of most experience. By the time I put my running shoes on, I knew I could do it. The first mile was challenging, but then it was rhythm and determination. I felt great at the finish line. My wife and children met me a few minutes later, having taken the bus from Berkeley, and we shopped for vegetables at the Jack London farmers market until I could no longer stand.

I did a lot of lounging over the next two days, drank a lot of water, and ate a bunch of protein. I drank some beer, and at one point I even caught myself looking up the next local events. I have put in for the lottery for the Escape from Alcatraz. I find myself biking, swimming, and running every week, and my distances suddenly have a lot more meaning. I want to train to do a half Ironman. Sometimes life just tosses you these things and you have to roll with them. If not now, when? Seems like a good plan for the next twenty years or so!