Before we really get into the run, I need to visit something that happened during the bike. It was a moment that made my heart stop, made me sick to my stomach. I considered the bike turnaround the halfway point of the race. I made the turnaround and was elated. Less than 5 minutes later, my stomach was in my throat.
I was riding along, reciting "All things are possible with God who strengthens me," feeling the warm sun and the cool breeze off Lake Michigan. My gaze shifted from boats on the lake to the road ahead where I saw a biker down, and three vehicles on the side of the road. From a distance, the biker looked like our friend Tim -- same build, hair color, the whole nine yards. One of the cars on the side of the road was a silver Subaru -- same make and model Tim and his wife Ruth drive. You know what I was thinking.
I quickly realized the car didn't have the bumper sticker that makes their car easy for me to identify. In one moment, I felt a sense of relief only surpassed by guilt. I felt good it wasn't my friend. Did that mean I was glad it was someone else? Emergency personnel were already there. I am not a doctor. What could I do? I said a prayer of healing for the man, and kept pedaling. It was several minutes before my heart rate was normal for the activity I was in the midst of.
This event was in my mind for the remainder of the bike portion and all of the run. We take so many things for granted -- our health, that we really can do anything. The bottom line is, if it's not God's plan don't try to make it yours. This doesn't necessarily explain the mid-course injury that biker suffered. It does explain why some things we really want never come to fruition.
With these thoughts in my mind and my goal in sight, I finished the bike, transitioned, and started to run. I ran about a dozen steps. Seriously. Let me preface the rest by telling you I do not like to run. I have what are probably the two slowest 5k runs in history attributed to my name -- one Flint Crim and one Detroit Turkey Trot. I can swim, bike and lift weights with normal exertion and fatigue. Running hurts every fiber in my body. I have a terrible gait. I walk with a heavy heel; when I run, earthquake monitoring equipment sends off alerts. I also am a bit bustier than most runners which adds to the discomfort. Even preparing for the Ludington Lighthouse Spring Triathlon, I never planned on running the entire 5k portion. I figured I would run/walk. My friend Ruth was planning to walk it, and she walks fast. I was going to use her to pace myself. An injury prevented her from competing, so I walked alone.
I am distracted by flower gardens. This stretch of Lakeshore Drive had mop-head hydrangeas the likes of which I had never seen. There were even pink ones! You have to change the acidity of soil to get pink. There were spectators. I talked to every single one of them as I went by. I thanked them for being out there cheering us on. I talked to every runner and biker I saw. Any athlete knows, if you can have these conversations you are not exerting yourself enough. I knew this. I didn't care. I was relishing the experience.
My inability to run the first part of the course was compounded by the fact that even though my rear-end was happy to get off the bike, my legs were missing it and still trying to move in a circular motion. I could not find my stride. I knew all along I should have done those training "bricks" where you practice going from one discipline to another. Now I knew why. My muscles needed to be trained to quickly transition from the bike motion to the run motion. I walked almost a mile and a half before my legs felt normal.
The mile and a half point was the turnaround. I jogged to the turnaround and literally danced around that beautiful sign it. I let out a whoop! I did my dance. I started walking again. My enthusiasm was not lost on those around me. If I motivated one person to keep going, to go faster, to do something they had never done, I will gladly act the fool again. At that point, I did not just believe I could finish. I knew it. A mile and a half to go. I could crawl that far if it meant finishing.
For the remainder, I decided I had to run some. The course nicely alternated between sun and shade, so I decided to run in the shade and walk in the sun. That brought me back to the finish line. As I approached the chute, I saw my husband Paul, who had been at every transition so far, and my sister Cathy, who had finished ahead of me. I was walking. I told Cathy I would resume running when I reached the chute. Next time, I'll look ahead a bit farther. That chute was much longer than I thought!
As I hit the first timing panel, I looked up and saw the clock. It read 2:56. I finished in less than three hours! I was dead last, but I beat my goal! I stopped running and started to cry. Then a worker said, "Don't stop now." I wasn't done yet. There were two more timing panels before the finish line. I panicked. Every bit of adrenaline I had was devoured to get me the rest of the way at the 2:58 mark on that clock. I was still happy, and still crying. I had finished. I had met my goal. Better news was right around the corner, though.
The bright red, digital clock at the finish line was timing from the official 8 AM start, which was the men's Olympic distance wave. I looked at Paul. "What time did our wave start?" It was around 8:20 AM. My estimated time was closer to 2:38 or so. When official results were posted, my time was 2:34. Still last, but 26 minutes faster than my goal. Even after a battle with the wetsuit that cost me about 6 minutes, and terrible transition times, I was 26 minutes ahead of my goal.
I have already been asked by several people if I will do this again.
I will.
All things are possible with God who strengthens me.
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