My first triathlon was awful. I could not have done more things wrong if I'd tried.
I did my first triathlon in July of 2000. I was in graduate school at the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and a new student excited about triathlons had arrived in our department the previous fall. "Triathlons are fun," she said. "They're a breeze," she said. "You exercise. I'm sure you could do one without a problem." This woman didn't seem to be overtly athletic or have a regular exercise plan, so how hard could a triathlon be? Hah!
On race day, I was a nervous wreck, wondering what a woman whose main sport was lifting weights was doing in a triathlon. Before the start of my wave, my friend (hah!) dragged me to the front of the pack, declaring that it was always better to get out in front. And after all, it was only a 400m swim. It would be over soon anyway. The whistle blew, I took off, and immediately got swam over. Twice. My breathing was off, my nerves were raging, and I did an odd combination of breaststroke and doggy-paddle for the first half of the swim, trying desperately to suck in some air. I got myself under control but still couldn't manage to do freestyle on the second half of the swim.
I finally staggered out of the water and into transition, where I wiped my feet off as best I could, struggled into clothes (who knew spandex shorts were so hard to put on a wet body??), and grabbed my bike. My borrowed, 50 pound, Wal-Mart special mountain bike that I'd gotten from a friend a few days previously. I started to ride, quickly coming to the conclusion that I probably should have taken it out for a test spin before the race. It had been 11 years since my last ride, but my hazy memory of gear shifting told me the gears on this particular bike didn't work. No amount of shifting could get the chain onto the largest front gear, so I was stuck on the middle ring. I think that was the longest ride I've ever done. It was only 16 miles, but it took almost an hour and a half and it felt like three years. I got passed by everyone. I was literally the last person on the course, with the race coordinator riding beside me for the last couple of miles and the cop car with the flashing lights slowly cruising behind us. I kept trying to apologize to the race official for taking so long, and he kept feeding me platitudes, endeavoring to make me feel better. "At least you're out here. Think of how many people didn't even have the nerve to sign up today." As I finally arrived back at the transition area, I passed my friend, who had completed the race. I could see the shock on her face that I was just finishing the bike.
I dropped that awful bike and took off on the run. Except that I wasn't running. Those first few steps were unreal - my mind was telling my legs to run but my feet were still pedaling. I struggled to run, fully realizing that I didn't really run and hadn't since my freshman year in college. Half a mile into the run I'd come to the conclusion that the world sucked and I was never going to make it and I burst into tears. It is impossible to run and cry at the same time. Crying really throws off one's breathing. I jogged and walked for the rest of the course.
Half a mile from the finish I could hear the announcer trying to soothe the restless crowd of finishers who were anxious for the awards ceremony. "We'll get started in just a few minutes, folks. We've still got one racer out on the course." Crap. Now I was holding everyone up and I had to run by them to get to the finish line.
As it turned out, I had the absolute slowest time of any of the racers that day. I think my time was somewhere around 2:15. The next slowest person was a gentleman in his 70s and he beat me by about 15 minutes. My friend finished in about 1:30.
I went home from that race and took up running. I toddled slowly around my neighborhood, distracting myself from the pain by looking at houses and flowers. And I swam. There was a very nice lake two blocks from my apartment where I did open-water swimming in the summers with my friends. And I got a bike, an old ten-speed like I'd had in high school. I got reasonably proficient at all three sports and worked out a transition area routine, and ended up doing five more triathlons before I moved out of Madison. I even went back and did that original tri two more times in later years. But I was never really into it. And my horrible, awful first triathlon experience became a horribly, awfully funny story to tell.
Last year, my husband and I started working with Coach Joe. I've learned that I don't do so well when I jump into something without thought (really? Hah!), so I spent a full year getting into shape to do a triathlon. I became a competent runner, and my race times have dropped by over a minute/mile in the last year. My swimming skills and stroke have improved, with greater endurance and speed. I now own a decent road bike, and I don't hate the bike like I used to, but I will probably never love riding. Basic proficiency on the bike is all I'm looking for. I still lift, and it is still one of my favorite things to do. It makes me feel strong all over and is great for self-confidence.
I just completed my first triathlon in five years. My single goal was to have a positive experience. I was a little nervous in the weeks before the race, but not nearly as much as I had been before other races. I chose to do the Subaru Women's Triathlon in Naperville for a couple of reasons. For one, I heard it has a wonderfully supportive atmosphere and women of all shapes, sizes, and abilities. For another, I'm a feminist at heart, and it pleases me to see women doing something emotionally, physically, and psychologically positive for themselves. Lastly, it's close to home, and I wasn't going to make a potentially unpleasant experience worse by tacking a long drive onto either end.
On race day, I was up early to get a good spot in transition. Then I met up with several members of the ET team and our cheering section, comprised of the coaches and various spouses and family members. It was lovely to have so much support! I also had a strategy: start each section slow and speed up as I went along. I made a point of warming up on the beach before my wave started so I'd be ready to go in the water. I staked out a spot in the middle of the pack, which enabled me to get a slow start in the water. I still have a hard time with the nervous breathing at the beginning of races, so I figure I may as well work with it. I eased into the swim and was soon cruising along happily, passing people who walked in the shallow parts of the course. The bike was okay, too. I had planned in advance to make up rude and crude songs about biking to distract myself from any biking unpleasantness I might be feeling, but I kept getting sidetracked. I was too busy looking for friends, passing people (!!), and watching out for water bottles and potholes on the course. On the run, I started slow to give my legs time to adjust and then noticed I was actually running pretty fast. I finished the run doing pretty close to PR speed!
In all, after working with Joe, I can say I felt fully competent during the whole triathlon. I was actually smiling after the race! The experience was very positive, since I'd trained for it, had the right equipment, and lots of good support. It's amazing what a little preparation and some excellent coaching can do!
