This is a long blog, much longer than I usually write. I'd like to think it's worth your time. The story is not about me, it's about what God allowed me to do. You see, I completed an amazing task in the company of amazing friends yesterday. Overweight, not in the shape I should have been, and behind in my training, I did a triathlon. I'd love to simply say, "I did it!" I can't say that. My body did the exercise; my mind kept me focused, but Jesus was my personal trainer yesterday.
Last winter, I apparently lost my mind and convinced my sister Cathy, who is a distance runner, that we should do a sprint distance triathlon. For those who don't know, a sprint tri is a 500-meter swim, a 20k bike, and a 5k run. Then, I convinced our friends Tim and Ruth to sign up. I can be very persuasive. My husband, Paul, knows this and withstood the pressure. To clearly illustrate how out of my mind I was, let me share my train of thought in February.
I can swim 500 meters in about 22 minutes now. I've got six months to improve that! Bike? Seriously, anyone can ride a bike! And a 5k, well at the very least I can walk, right?
Now, before you think I was totally delusional, I never expected to win. My only goal was to finish with an official time, meaning I wasn't still out on the course when the organizers packed up their timing equipment and went home. I also didn't want to finish last. I told myself, "Someone will get hurt." I was thinking sprained ankle, hamstring. More about that on the bike portion.
I let my training slide. I told myself the extensive yard work I love to do was sufficient cardio and weightlifting. It burned calories, but was definitely not in the category of "targeted workout." For a week before the tri, I was scared. I didn't sleep well. I didn't want to embarrass myself. I didn't want the "real" athletes to look at me and laugh. I certainly did not want anyone to watch me wrestle into that wetsuit. I even toyed with the idea of not using one. On Wednesday, I mowed the lawn and took a rock to the eye. En route to the doctor, I half-heartedly hoped my cornea was scratched and I would be medically barred from lake swimming. No, I was not in my right mind. Kind of like when I signed up.
No injury or illness came along to save me. I had to go. I had to race. We went to get our race packets, which included awesome shirts and not-so-awesome swim caps color coded for our gender and event. We looked at the swim course. We were very quiet. The first buoy, where we would turn and circle back, was very far away.
In the company of my amazing friends, who also are intelligent, logical people, we went to the optional, instructional meeting the day before the race. Tony V from Einstein Cycles should be a motivational speaker. As a trainer, he is one. His humor and knowledge put us a little more at ease. Then we found out, they wouldn't let us drown. Excellent! The goal of the people at 3Disciplines is to have everyone finish. They would have people on paddle boards and jet skis if you just needed to rest a bit during the swim. Resting would not disqualify you! I was amazed. Then it dawned on me. If you had to stop running, or biking for a rest, you would not be disqualified. It would just increase your time. We picked up our gear, now complete with rented wetsuits and went back to the motel to grill steaks.
No one slept well. Fear and adrenaline played a role. Noisy motel neighbors played a role. The 5 AM alarm came. We groaned. Coffee, oatmeal, yogurt and we were off. At the course by 6:30 to check in, get our timing chips, and for me to exchange my wetsuit. I needed a different size and a "shortie." There was no way I was going to manage the full-length version by myself and no one can help you get them off after the swim. Then we waited. Anticipation breeds fear. Small fears become big fears when you have time to dwell on them.
Moving down to the start, we prepared for our "wet start." Lake Michigan was a mere 64 degrees. This requires a start in the water rather than on the beach so competitors are acclimated to the water. We watched the Olympic distance men and women wade in and start. We were awed by their speed. Then it was our turn. We waded in. The wetsuit lessened the cold. You could wade past your bikini line without any trouble. Then our arms went in. I splashed my face. It took my breath away. So cold! I couldn't force myself to go all the way under. Not yet. This was a big mistake.
At the sound of the air horn, I dove forward to start my freestyle. Remember, 500 meters in a heated pool in 22 minutes or less, right? I managed a dozen or so strokes and my breathing wasn't rhythmic. I couldn't find my stroke. The cold water had taken my breath away and I couldn't get it back. By now, the water was very deep. I lost my head and started to panic. Did you know the severe cold combined with panic can trigger attacks in an asthmatic? So now I am out of breath, scared to death, and wheezing. I had gone about 50 meters.
This was the first time I thought, "I can do all things through God who strengthens me." I've never been good a memorizing verses. Philippians 4:13 says, "I can do all things through He who strengthens me." I edited the Bible in my mind to change He to God. I didn't want any doubt about who I was asking for strength.
I looked ahead. The first buoy was still so far away. If I couldn't regulate my breathing, I'd be done and disqualified before half the contestants even started. Somewhere, I found some resolve, and Philippians 4:13 again. I looked around. I wasn't the only one! Two other women had flagged down the first jet ski and were regaining their composure. They pushed off and the jet ski driver saw me. I put my hand up. She was there in seconds. I grabbed her ski and just held on. She was calm, asking if I was OK. I decided right then I would finish if it meant stopping every 50 meters. I told her I had trained in a pool and couldn't find my rhythm in the cold water. Putting my face in the water made it even worse. She told me to stay with her as long as needed. Then she pointed out the next paddle board. The operator was named Katie. Katie was only about 30 meters away. I could make it that far!
Off I went. Apparently, I don't learn from my mistakes. I tried to free style again, face in the water. Cold. Couldn't breathe. I switched to breaststroke. Breaststroke is the slowest stroke for any competitor. I can, however, breaststroke and maintain my breathing, keep an eye on the next buoy and not panic. I made it to Katie's paddle board, where I stopped to regroup. I was there less than a minute. When I swam off, again using breaststroke, she yelled after me that I was a smart swimmer! I was a smart swimmer because I brought more than one stroke and adjusted so I could regulate my breathing. Believe me, at that point, I wasn't feeling smart, but Katie said I was smart! Those words stayed with me the rest of the race. I didn't have to be fast. I was smart. And I had God's strength.
From that point, I went buoy to buoy with my slow breaststroke. Instead of looking at 420 meters to go, I was counting buoys. Four buoys to go, three buoys to go, two, one.... I stopped very briefly at each buoy to make sure I was ready for the next stretch. The wave of men who started after us caught up to me. I stayed at one buoy a few seconds longer to let the really fast guys pass. They were churning up wakes I didn't want to try and swim in. They were fast. I was smart.
At the last buoy, one young man stopped to make sure I was OK. He stopped. He stopped swimming, in deep, cold water to check on a middle-aged woman. He didn't tell me I had no business being out there. He told me I could do it. Finish strong, he said. This was the first time I cried at a competitor's kindness. My faith in humanity got a bit of replenishing. I assured him I was fine, just regrouping for the last leg to shore. He took off. Literally. The man must have been part fish.
I swam until I could touch bottom in chest-deep water. At that point, I could walk in the water faster than I could swim. My arms were shaky rubber. Wet suits zip in the back. I grabbed the string and pulled. It unzipped on the first try! I couldn't get my shoulders free, though. Every time I tried, I strangled myself. Then I remembered: velcro. I undid that and got my arms free. I had reserved a shortie. The rest should be easy to remove. Have you ever tried to take off a neoprene suit in 64-degree water with rubber arms? In my haste, I forgot to pull the leg below my knees. I ended up with the entire suit wrapped around my knees. Couldn't swim. Couldn't walk. Couldn't get it off. Couldn't pull it back up. Remember, no one can help. Spectators were watching from 20-feet away.
I decided to sit down in the water to wrestle with it better. The water was too deep. Neoprene floats. I ended up upside down in less than two feet of water. I was embarrassed. I had come in still in front of one competitor in my age group. I watched her go by and effortlessly get out of her wetsuit. I looked at the crowd and announced, "I didn't practice this part!" As evidenced by the fact that I am writing this and I finished the race, I did finally get out of the wetsuit. I estimate it cost me about 6 minutes of time and an immeasurable amount of self-esteem.
I wanted to kiss the sand, but didn't have time. I ran, then walked up the beach hill to the transition area. I got to my bike and saw my husband, Paul. I wanted to hug him. Spectators aren't allowed in the transition area, though. There was a purple fence between us. I was trying to dry off, constantly reminding myself I couldn't touch the bike until I had my helmet on. I survived the swim. There was no way I was going to be disqualified on a technicality. That transition took too long. I was talking to Paul, trying to catch my breath, trying to make sure the shoes I would bike and run in weren't full of sand. Paul finally said, "Don't you need to go?"
I went.
Tomorrow, All Things are Possible with God Part 2: The Bike
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