In my previous post I described my entry into the world of triathlons and my lofty goal to do a 70.3/Half-Ironman in the fall…maybe qualify for the worlds in 2025 (to celebrate my 65th).
I explained that I’d been a long-time competitive runner, but still, you must have thought: She’s a cocky one. (Perhaps not the best choice of words for a feminist-based blog.)
I’ve come a long way in just a few months. I can now clip in and out of my bike; I don’t seize every time I enter the water; and I have the right clothes, gear and fuel to qualify me as a triathlete.
The training has gone well, minus a few broken ribs. Nothing that a tensor bandage couldn’t hold together.
A few weeks ago, I watched our son, Jonathan, complete his first-ever triathlon, also a 70.3/Half. (FYI: 70.3 = 1.9k swim + 90k bike + 21.1k run.)
Other than being disqualified on a technical error he wasn’t aware of, he did great. More than great.
Jonathan on the right.
Bring it on! I thought as the athletes went by.
Starting with a 70.3 is wildly ambitious. Forty-year-olds are wild. I had decided to start with something shorter so off I went last weekend to lovely Bluewater, Ontario to race an Olympic distance. (FYI: 1.5k swim + 40k bike + 10k run.)
Me setting up. Clearly, no clue about what’s to come.
Everything was going well. Until the race started. Within the first 100m of the swim, I had a full-on panic attack.
I tried breaststroke, then floating on my back.
I cannot do this. I am done.
“Take your time,” said the nice man in the safety boat as I clung to its side.
Then, for whatever reason, I started swimming.
I’m so far behind. I’m not even in the picture. But I’m swimming!
It wasn’t long before I was being passed by the top male athletes who started 15 minutes after the women. Was that humiliating? I’m not sure, but I kept going. And I did not stop until I reached the shore.
Back in the race!
I remember someone telling me that the cool thing about triathlons is that while you’re swimming, you can hardly wait to get on the bike, and while you’re biking you can hardly wait to run.
I was not hardly waiting to get on the bike.
I cannot tell you how many men zoomed past me on that ride. I tried to stay strong with my three revolutions to their one. I didn’t see many women out there. For all I knew, I was dead last.
You’ll make up for it on the run, I told myself.
And holy moly, I certainly did that! Not because I ran the race of my life, BUT BECAUSE I TOOK A WRONG TURN AND RAN 3K TOO SHORT.
The run start line. Where I went right and was supposed to go left.
When it was all over, I called my son.
“I DQ’ed,” I said. “Made it a family affair.”
“Mom,” he said, “we got ourselves to the start line and we completed the distance (well, almost.)”
Interesting. That’s exactly what we told our daughter years ago when she was running track for a US school and struggling with mental health issues.
You got yourself to the start line and you completed the distance.
The trick is to see this as a positive when things go wrong.
I’m getting there. I’m telling everyone who will listen, and I’m getting amazing advice and support. (Thank you, Laura, Ryan, Anne, Cheryl, Pat, Gabbi and Erin.)
Who would’ve thought that broadcasting such a disaster would be more fun than trying to find an acceptably humble way to share success!
That being said, nothing beats broadcasting the success of good friends.
Martha Wilson gets first in her age category, while daughter Jeanette shoots the lights out in her first triathlon.
I really enjoyed reading your honest reflections about how it went and how you processed the event. I’m simply impressed with the goal setting, training and showing up.
Congratulations! Yes, really. I can’t imagine having the nerve to go through any triathlon, and that length? Wow! I figure that unless you’re a pro, or a kid dreaming of being in the Olympics, the only thing to do is to race with yourself. It sounds like you did an amazing job of that. Thanks for posting this!