The pinnacle moment finally came. All that training. YEARS of waiting. Two pregnancies in three years behind me and I could at last DO this. I was ankle deep in the cold and murky Merrimack water. Excited, but oddly calm. This was it. I waded out into the water, stumbling in the mud, feet and legs of the swimmers ahead of me in my face. The water was roiling with bubbles churned from the movement of so many bodies. I took a big breath of was what supposed to be air but instead was a lung bucketful of hellacious black frothy riverwater and began sputtering and panicking.
Oh shit, I thought. This is NOT what I thought would happen. I've gotta get the hell out of here. I can't do this! Current's too strong!! Panic Panic Can't Can't Can't!!!
And then, my inner Drill Sargent sprang forth. I love him.
Bullshit! You will complete this race! You will swim to the other side and back. You will breathe. You paid $90 to be here goddammit you are not getting out now! You can and you will. Goddammit move your ass! Swim! Swim!
And so I did. Thanks Sarge.
But....there's a little trick in open water swimming called sighting. No big deal, just a small matter of looking up to see where you're going every so often to make sure you are still where you are supposed to be. I, who had spent so much focus on my bike and run training, overlooked this simple technique of open water swimming (had been training in the pristine chemically treated softwater of a relative's swimming pool). Our swim route up till the point of departure had been...ambiguous at best. Not even the volunteers seemed to know the route we were swimming, and we received several sets of differing information. The best info I got was from a couple of women who had done the race the year before and said it was just out and back. By the time we got to the actual start of the race, I had heard so much and was so jangled I wasn't sure where the hell I was going but I figured I'd just follow the pack.
So after the initial panic, I struggled to stay calm and chug through it by swimming ball-ass as fast and hard as I could - in completely the wrong direction. I had volunteers on surfboards yelling at me to turn around- lucky I didn't get friggin' disqualified. And then it happened again. I was halfway to Methuen. I actually probably should've gotten extra credit for swimming double the distance as everyone else. I never have been one to do things the easy way. I fought my way back through the current and was The Last One Out. Everyone who was still standing around cheered. I waved my arms in the air like a monkey champion and flew into the deserted transition area, hopped on my bike. I did have one of the shortest transitions times - that was one thing I managed to practice successfully!
BIKE!
This being my first Triathlon, I was a novice at all this stuff like "sighting" and "gear". I have a mountain bike that I tool around town and woods with and I figured it was good enough. Leave all that fancy stuff to the Lance Armstrongs of the world, I thought. I'll just make do with what I have and see if I like it. I practiced frequently on the bike course, having home-field advantage, which served me well. I knew where the hills were and when I needed to shift my two functioning gears. I actually managed to pass someone! I thank god for her everyday. I know, I know, it sounds awful, right? Petty. My only goal was to finish the damn thing, I shouldn't have been concerned about passing anyone. But after the emotional wounds of the botched swim I felt really good about not being last. Sorry sweetie. She had a mountain bike, too. After the race we chatted a bit and both decided to invest in road bikes for next season's races.
I finished the bike feeling strong, jumped off at the transition and hit the ground on jellied legs. A traffic cop asked me if I was OK. Come ON! I was only a little wobbly. I wanted to swear.
Inside my Head: I'm fuckn FINE! You never seen someone fall of a bike before?!
Actually said: Fine, Thanks!
RUN!
And so I ran. Wobbly at first, then stronger. Now I was starting to catch up with some folks. Other runners on their way back, some chuffing along, some walking even. Sucked down a gross gel (Horror. I have yet to find a good one. Free samples for the blogger, anyone?) I stayed steady and strong, did my out-and-back 5k, and finished strong. I think I could've run even harder, but given that my goal was simply to finish it didn't occur to me to race harder. Especially since by that point I felt like I was running the race alone.
I stuck around for a few for some watermelon and to applaud the people who won medals. Secretly I was hoping to win a "Slowest Swim" or something of that ilk. I once was on a bowling team and won an award for "Lowest Score" in our division. I've always been proud of that. If I'm gonna bomb, I'm gonna bomb hard. No mediocrity here! I was surprised that they served hot dogs and potato chips afterward. It was nice they served lunch but for the triathlon crowd I guess I expected more...kale? Grilled chicken maybe?
Well, my family, who had planned on being at the finish line, did not manage to show up. There had been a...err...slight timing error and we missed each other. So I rode my bike home to a quiet sleeping naptime house and sat in the dark sweating for a while. I felt very strange. I was very disappointed in myself for the swim. I should have been proud of myself for finishing it at all, but I was really hung up on that. There is a post race deflation that a lot of folks experience. I was sad for about a week after. Then I decided to run the half marathon and instantly felt better with a new goal to work towards. Which I did, but was too cheap to actually sign up for, so I did an unofficial one.
And then there's next year!
Lessons Learnt: The value of sighting and the merits of having decent gear. Open water training is essential.
