After tossing and turning all night, living the triathlon in my head I was so glad to climb out of bed and actually be preparing for the race.
Bob is my emotional and organizational support. He puts my number on my bike. He puts my timing chip on my ankle. He hauls the unnecessary stuff back to the car. Then he asks, "Where's your helmet number?" Helmet number? I can't find my helmet number. Parts are flying everywhere while I search for my helmet number. One of the coaches comes along. He calmly cuts a helmet number out of my race envelope and tapes it on my helmet. Scissors and tape. Those were two of the things listed in that handy-dandy packing list Team in Training provided.
It's time to put on the wetsuit, but it is so difficult today. Oops, it's backwards. "No, no, don't take my picture now." So I turn it around and try again. Funny how it fits better.
Then we are off to the beach area, with our rousting final "Go Team" cheer. Three waves of swimmers leave first, 5 minutes apart. Then the Team in Training group goes.
The water is not cold. It's a small warm lake compared to what we have been training in. The swim is an out and back around a buoy, with only one minor collision with an oncoming swimmer. In 15 minutes, I come out of the water exhausted, but manage to hop up over the 3-foot bank, and fumble my way through the transition. I'm soon on my bike.
There's a short steep hill at the start. I weave around a couple of stalled-out bicyclists and head down the road. Did I say down the road? It's up the road. Definitely up. And up and up and up. It's not too steep but my legs are screaming. Finally, I crest the hill and get a chance to recuperate. It's a beautiful ride, looping around Lake Samish, back down to Fairhaven in Bellingham. The police wave us through the red lights, holding back the car traffic. I'm having loads of fun rolling down the road, then I turn a corner, and there's the HILL. That looming, in-your-nightmares, HILL. It's several blocks of just put-it-in-your-lowest-gear and grind-up-the-hill. So that's what I did. I didn't walk. I didn't tip over. I made it to the top.
Then it's another mile. I yell, "We're getting close!" Another teammates adds, "Wriggle your toes!" (Remember how it feels like you are running on ice cubes when you have no circulation in your feet?). I zoom around the last corner, skid in, dismount, and run my bike through the transition. OK, I actually walk my bike. Off with the bike shoes, helmet, and on with the tennis shoes. That went smoothly.
What a beautiful running trail. It's the sort of trail I would love if I hadn't just spent the prior hour and 45 minutes swimming and running. I did mostly run it, slowly, except for the hills. There was so much cheering and people yelling "Clear the way," I felt like a queen. A sweaty, gasping, running queen.
One of my teammates was running beside me. She started getting cramps, so I pulled ahead a bit. Foolish me. She kept me in her sights. When I got to the finish line I didn't see it. I missed the markers to exit the trail. So I kept running. Everyone was yelling "Sandy". I thought everyone was just cheering for me. Such nice people. Then I asked the spectators "Where's the finish line?" They all pointed backwards. So it's a quick u-turn, across the grass, and in to the finish chute. Meanwhile, my lagging teammate finished ahead of me. Should have stayed with her.
So I was done. I didn't drown, crash, get a flat tire, bonk, or pass out. What else can I say, except that I now have a tremendous group of supportive, fit friends.
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