Event: Sprint Triathlon
  Swim: .46 mile (.75K)
  Bike: 13.8 mile (22K)
  Run: 3.2 mile (5K)
Date: 6/12/05
Location: Naperville, IL

Had anyone suggested to me a year ago I'd complete a triathlon in June 2005 I'd have politely suggested they stop smoking crack. But turns out, it's not such a crazy idea after all.

This being not only my first triathlon, but my first foray into any kind of organized sport, I learned a lot about myself and what I can achieve. I also learned that my Reluctant Training Partner (RTP), who volunteered to train for and race this triathlon just to support me, is the greatest friend a girl can have. Months later I learned that she'd only offered to do it because she thought I'd never go through with it… but to her credit, she stuck it out and we crossed the finish line together.

We took the race literature seriously and were apprehensive about missing our alphabetically assigned packet pick-up time slots. The race venue is (on a good day with light traffic) a 90 minute trip, so we allowed something ridiculous like 3 hours travel time. When we arrived at Naperville Central High School we got nervous when we couldn't find anyone. We wandered the dark hallways of the school, desperately searching for a place to pee and for packet-pickup. Eventually, to our dismay, we found both in the parking lot on the opposite side of the building from where we'd parked. It was sunny, cloudless, and in the low 90s. I could feel my shoulders sizzling while we waited for the course talk, and the weather didn't do anything to improve the aroma of the porta-potties.

I don't know why I was surprised about the outhouses – what did I think they were going to do with 2500 women, outside, with bad cases of nervous peeing? Still, it would have been nice to let us use the school and spare us the port-o-lets in the blazing sun since we were going to get our fill of them the next morning.

Browsing the booths at packet pick-up was an interesting experience. I was happy to score a reasonably priced Bento box at a vendor booth, having failed to find one at my LBS. We noted with amusement the plethora of overpriced jog bras that we decided must be intended for small children, or possible large dolls.

The guy who did the course talk said that if we got there by 6 am we'd feel late and rushed. This was not something I wanted to hear since I'd planned on arriving at 6:15. I then realized I didn't have a handle on how crazy transition would be on race morning, so we decided to arrive at 5:45. I did the math and realized we'd have to get up at 4:30… ungodly early for a girl who became a writer in no small part because of the sleeping-in factor. I routinely set an alarm to get up by 8:30.

Before dinner we decided to drive the race course and check out transition. This led to getting kicked out of the transition area (Who knew you're not allowed to walk around? It was open.) and a parking ticket from the city of Naperville. But it was well worth it to get a good look at the swim venue, of which we were both terrified. We were immensely relieved to find a non-threatening, rather adorable little body of water.

We felt like rock stars at dinner. Tons of people asked us what the numbers were for. To have all those strangers telling us how great we were was an unexpected ego boost, and it reminded us that most people wouldn't even consider this, let alone train for it and show up to race.

Even though we'd solemnly vowed to be in bed by 9:00, it was no surprise to find ourselves in the van at 10:00 putting stickers on our bikes. As expected, the wake-up call was brutal, but we only ran a little late and made it to transition by 6:00. By that time the day was already hot and humid, but thankfully overcast.

In transition I tried really hard not to look at the skinny girls and think about my bulging tummy or cellulite in my oh-dear-god-please-let-it-fit tri suit. I thanked the powers that be I managed to pick a friendly, women-only race full of first-timers, because there was at least one woman there bigger than I (to whom I can only say "you go girl!").

RTP and I were in adjacent waves (19 and 18) and we'd scoped out adjacent spots on the bike rack the night before; we were thrilled to find the spots still open. We'd never seen that kind of bike racks before and stood there like idiots until we noticed the other girls hanging their bikes by the seat. Most of the other bikes had a wheel on the ground, but my short little bike was swinging in the breeze. I had a brief moment of panic that my seat would be pulled out of position, but it was fine.

While struggling like morons with the bike racks we “met” Aimee – she was one of those skinny girls I was determined not to find intimidating. Turns out we kind of knew her already - she recognized us from a Triathlon 101 clinic we'd all attended several weeks prior. Her two-piece suit and washboard abs had given me the mistaken impression she was a veteran triathlete. In fact it was her first race, she was alone and scared to death, and she remembered thinking we seemed friendly so was relieved to bump into us. As luck would have it we were in the same wave, so we clung together until the race started. (Race Checklist Update #1: pen & paper in transition bag for getting e-mails of new friends)

Due to my pre-race nerves and excessive hydration I learned that, contrary to popular opinions regarding transition, peeing in a sweaty tri-suit is really the 4th sport. I needed to go several times prior to the race start, and each time it was a major struggle with my one-piece suit. (Race Checklist Update #2: two-piece race wear). During my last wait in line I met Chrissy; we started chatting because we noticed we were in the same wave. On top of being a truly sweet girl she's an amazing person; she decided to do the Reebok tri because she found out it raises money for ovarian cancer research, of which she is a survivor. I brought her back with me to RTP and Aimee, and we four first-timers had a great time being nervous, cheering for the wave starts and in general hanging out. Aimee's husband took this amazing picture shortly before our waves lined up. (I'm proud to note that in a race where 1 in 4 participants DNF'd all 4 of us finished). L to R: Aimee, RTP (aka Rebekkah), Me, Chrissy

I agonized over water temperature for weeks because the spring was unusually cool and rainy. I don't just not have a wetsuit – they don't make ‘em to fit me. It turned out to be a non-issue; the water was a gorgeous 83 degrees. If you've got a lake phobia like I do, this is the way to go. The “lake” is a glorified swimming pool – this former quarry has been decked out with a lovely masonry rim and a partial concrete bottom. At warm up we were pretty sure we caught a whiff of chlorine. I wasn't scared at all.

I was pretty confident right up until they called down the wave before mine, then the doubts started to creep in. I knew I could finish… but, at 235 lbs, just didn't know if I could do it before they closed up shop. I looked back as my wave was called, caught a bug-eyed, what-the-hell-are-we-doing-here look from RTP, and then the gun went off.

Within seconds my wave left me behind. I passed only one girl, struggling even more than I was, with a Swim Angel by her side. While I basked in my lack of fear and my pride at not requesting a Swim Angel, I found to my surprise that I'm incapable of swimming in a straight line… in spite of the whole ten minutes or so I'd devoted to sighting practice in open water. This was odd because, since I couldn't find a groove to save my life, it's not like I didn't have my head up most of the time. I bounced around the lanes like a pinball – at one point I caught myself just before I clunked my head on a balloon-covered concrete lifeguard pylon. It was so ridiculous at times I was actually laughing out loud. Four, maybe five, waves started while I was in the water; at least three of them passed me as I muddled along. I can only assume I was not oozing confidence… or even competence… as several lifeguards and Swim Angels were compelled to check in on me during my time in the water. I suppose it's worth noting that somewhere in the middle of my swim the race winner crossed the finish line.

In spite of my abysmal performance I enjoyed the water so much I was sad to see the finish, but as I exited the swim I was definitely more tired than I expected to be. I was embarrassed I couldn't find the energy to jog up the sandy hill leading to the sidewalk into T1, and started to worry I couldn't finish the race. I got a boost as I reached the sidewalk: my friend Megan, a triathlete who volunteered at this race to support us, was there cheering me on.

I mildly sprained my ankle a month prior, and even though it had been feeling pretty good any running still bothered it. I'd decided to play it safe and wear an Ace bandage for the race. To save time in T1 I had the bright idea to wear it from the start; as a result it got covered in sand from the swim exit. I had a spray bottle for cleaning sand off my feet but couldn't get the sand out of my Ace bandage. I took it off, not wanting to rub my foot raw in the rest of the race.

My T1 was really slow but I still had plenty of time to kill. RTP and I had long since agreed we'd do this race together, no matter what, and after finding ourselves in separate waves had agreed to meet in T1. I didn't mind waiting the extra 10 minutes; I took the opportunity to pee yet again. I'd already wrestled with my tri-suit three times that morning and just the humidity had made it a nightmare; I knew I'd never get it back on soaked from the swim. So, as I understand it, I became a real triathlete when I managed to pee down my leg in an attempt to do a rather advanced maneuver: the porta-potty hover plus tug-aside.

The only problems with the bike leg were minor ones. The hand numbness I experienced when I first got my road bike two months prior made an appearance – I chalked it up to white-knuckling it on race day. The other problem was to be expected – the freebie pair of Nike Kato cycling shoes I got with my bike are too narrow, and my feet were painfully numb. Can't wait to find a pair of cycling shoes wide enough that I don't have to incorporate periodic coasting to restore circulation to my toes.

I repeatedly reminded myself to drink the bike bottle but there was about a third of it left, and in spite of my earnest efforts at hydration the previous few days I was thirsty. I really wanted water instead of a sweet sports drink, but we drank the spare bottle before the race started. (Race Checklist Update #3: pack more water).

In T2 I chugged the rest of my bike bottle – a big mistake – and we set out on the run. I jogged (and that's a generous word for it) the few yards to the first aid station and gratefully took a cup of water, but it was warm and gross and added to my growing queasiness. RTP, who weighed 100 pounds less than me (at the time) and is a much better runner, was urging me to run, pointing out that the faster we finished the faster we'd be out of the heat. Even though I'd been able to run up to a half mile at a time in training, I just couldn't find it for the race.

For the first mile we fell into a pattern of alternating running two cones, walking two cones, but I kept feeling worse. I couldn't shake the post-bike lead-flavored-jello legs, I got a stitch across my entire diaghram, I was queasy, and for a while I couldn't catch my breath. At the time I was kind of miserable, but looking back I realize I can be proud of myself for pushing on where others would have quit. Because never once did it occur to me to give up – as each physical discomfort piled on, I simply readjusted my plan for moving forward. DNF-ing wasn't even on my radar.

We walked between miles 1 and 3, chatting away like it was any other walk on any other weekend. When I started obsess over the calves of the runners passing us, bearing waves numbers that started an hour after me, RTP came to my rescue and reminded me why I was there. The point was to enjoy my race for what it was to me - a huge personal accomplishment - without dwelling on where I stood in relation to anyone else. And aside from a few twinges of regret when girls my size passed me actually running while I was forced to walk, I did just that. In fact, by the time we hit the 2-mile marker I was talking enthusiastically about my next triathlon, at which point RTP suggested I had quite possibly lost my mind.

But I hadn't lost anything… actually, it was then that I gained everything. It was then that the race revealed to me I would not just finish it, but many more to come. My fear that I would feel like an outcast or that I couldn't hack it or that I'd hate it were unfounded. It was then that I became a triathlete.

As we neared the finish we encountered the “you're almost there” phenomenon we'd (thankfully!) been warned about. Over and over spectators and volunteers shouted “you're almost there” – but we'd scouted the course and knew we weren't even close. At one point a volunteer said “just two more blocks!” but that “two blocks” was closer to half a mile.

We finally were “almost there” – we could hear the music and see the finish line. We dug down deep and found the energy to cross it running. We were damn near the last ones in – only 5 more came in after us. Then the race-finish assembly line: someone takes your chip, someone hands you a medal, someone shoves a bottle of something cold into your hands… I remember feeling relief that they understood I was temporarily incapable of making decisions for myself.

We stuck around to applaud the final finishers, to hear that Nicole DeBoom won the whole thing (as expected of the reigning Ironman Wisconsin champ in her hometown's race) and to cheer for the age-group winners. As everyone screamed like mad for the 70-something age-group winner, Megan (volunteer friend) and I affirmed our mutual goal to continue in the sport until we were that 70-something age-grouper taking the prize. Then RTP and I staggered off to collect our bikes.

I got bit by the tri bug and decided it was more important to scratch that itch with the body I had instead of waiting for "after I lose weight.” It took me 13 months to train for, and just shy of 3 hours to finish my first sprint distance triathlon. As far as I'm concerned, the key word in that sentence is "finish." And I had a blast doing it.

Race Results:
Swim: 23:16
T1:19:31
Bike: 1:00:14
T2: 7:10
Run: 57:11
Overall Time: 2:47:20
Age Group Place: 301 out of 301
Overall Place: 1666 out of 1671 finishers

Michelle Wood
June 2005