That's how I feel after a long bike ride.
I think about many MANY things. And among them, this time, about my first triathlon, and then Jason's first triathlon. The beginning. So, here's how they went.
My first triathlon. I took it on because my best buddy Deb somehow convinced me we should both do this. Our excellent community center hosted a triathlon and also offered training plans and swim clinics, all written and run by the trainer who is now taking care of our IM plans, ironically. So, I signed up. I did not own a ridable bike. And I was a horrible swimmer.
I followed the plan to the best of my life-limiting ability because, after all, life with one child was hard (this makes me laugh now). Race day came, and I had the gear I needed for a first tri: a swim suit, a pair of running shorts, a jacket (because temps were in the 40s), running shoes, and a borrowed mountain bicycle. I swam the fastest 300 meters I'd ever swam in a pool. I biked against some pretty crappy wind for a few miles and then with it for the last few. In the last mile of the bike, the bike post on my borrowed bike began to loosen . . . and slowly creep down. By the time I was pedaling my last mile, the seat was resting on the frame. And my knees nearly bumped my chin with each pedal. I transitioned with constant shivers thanks to the still 40-ish degree temps, and I ran the first of 2.25 miles unable to feel my right foot.
And I vowed to never do another triathlon again.
Two years later Jason's first tri took place near Gary, South Dakota (population < 200). Lightening lit up the far away sky as the swim start began (yes, seriously), and so the kids and I opted to hang out in the van while he completed his most challenging leg. We totally missed his T1 and seeing him ride the bike, but we managed to climb out of the van and deal with the lingering rain to see him come back into T2. . . with his helmet on backward. I felt SO embarassed for him that I didn't want to tell him, not even once he had finished. But once he crossed the finish line with the biggest grin I've ever seen and had some fluids in him, I told him. His response: "Awesome!" The endorphin high had hit along with some perspective.
And he's done triathlon ever since.
The first one is always special. We've both done a handful of tris and road races since that time, but that first one will remain imprinted indelibly in both of our memories.
And so will Choo.
Right now training is going well. The first week of IM-specific training meant some creativity and persistence. We did some weird things. I rode my bike in the garage while the kids played in the driveway. And it worked. And after a rained out race on Saturday, we came home, and Jason got his nap in while the kids all napped, and I tackled my long ride in the most beautiful weather of the week. Jason dealt with his long run and a short ride on Sunday afternoon after I cranked out probably my most uncomfortable long run yet. I was not saying nice things about Ironman that day.
But we survived. As my dad says, we lived to see another day.
Only 11 more weeks!
