Well, I've done it. I've finished my first triathlon, setting a PR in the process (one that, thankfully, should be pretty easy to beat with a little more work)

I headed down to San Jose on Saturday to pick up my race packet and to get my bike checked. As some of you may know, I have a really dog bike. I was starting to get paranoid on the drive down, 'What if my bike doesn't pass? What will I do?'. I needn't have worried. The tech just spun my wheels, made sure the brakes worked, and gave a good shove to my aerobars (yes, Profile) to make sure they wouldn't slip (they didn't; thanks again Brian). I wandered around the expo a little bit, generally soaking up the tri-ambience and pretending I belonged. 'Well, tomorrow we'll see', I thought.

Now, I should say at the outset that I don't really swim that well. In fact, I don't really swim at all; I've only learned how to successfully float due to the TI book that I bought. I've done a few workouts at the local Y, but waiting in line at the end of each lap isn't exactly conducive to simulating a 1K race in open water. The longest swim workout I'd done before the tri was 500 yds.

Can you say 'denial'?

'Hey,', I told myself, 'I may not have this breathing thing down yet, but if I get winded I'll just roll over on my back and float to catch my breath . . . now that I know how to float.' It's a good thing, too, 'cuz . . . well, let's not get ahead of myself.

I was hoping to finish in about 3:30. I figured it'd take me about 40-50 min for the 1k swim, I'd average 15mph on the bike, for a 1:40 split, and then run 10 minute miles on the run. Not fast relative to some denizens of this NG, but for my first time out, I figured I'd set my goals low. I packed all my stuff last night, checked and rechecked and re-rechecked and
re-re-rechecked to make sure that I had everything, loaded the car, ate a pasta dinner and then turned in for bed around 9pm. I'd have to get up and out of the house by 5am in order to get to SJ in time for the race. But it wasn't working. I tossed and turned, but couldn't get to sleep, I was too amped. Eventually I drifted off, only to dream of meeting up with an old
friend at the triathlon, and then suddenly sit up in bed, panicked that I'd overslept and missed it.

It was 2am.

Okay, so I calmed myself back down and went back to sleep, only to awaken what seemed moments later to an extremely annoying radio personality. Note to self: change radio station if you're gonna use that radio as an alarm. I got myself up and moving, into the car, and headed down to San Jose. I got there with no problems, parked my car in the assigned lot, and then loaded myself up to head over to the race site. Note to self: Buy a big
duffle bag for this . . . you got lucky with juggling your wetsuit and backpack while riding the bike over there. I pick out a spot in transition that looks like I won't be in anybody's way, and lay out my stuff. Lesseee, now they said put the shirt in the helmet, the helmet on the shoes, untie the shoes so I can get in them . . . . etcetera.

After a few minutes of fussing, I was satisfied that my transition area would do, and I went
looking for familiar faces. Well, one familiar face, actually, and that one only familiar from pictures on the web. But, Tricia was nowhere to be found, at least that I could see. Oh well. I still had quite awhile before my wave start, so I puttered around the expo, came back and stood by my bike, went down and checked out the swim start, came back and stood by my bike, checked my watch, no, still too early to get suited up, went over to the expo again,
. . . you get the picture.

After a half-hour of this, it was at last time for me to get into my wetsuit and head for the swim start. As I finished putting on my suit and headed over to the start, I saw a
familiar tall figure. 'Sasha! How's it goin?'. Sasha is a former coworker, and was the first reel live triathlete I'd ever met. We ran The Relay together last October, covering 197 mi (as part of a 12 person team) in 24 hours. Sasha ran some of the hardest legs, including a 1400' ascent thru the Santa Cruz mtns. Then, he went and did the Sentinel Triathlon the next day.

I hate him.

Anyway, Sasha and I caught up a little bit, and he gave me some pointers for my first time out, then we headed to the swim start. As we went by, I stopped to check out a map of the course, and got my first nasty surprise of the day. The swim would be 1.5K, not 1K as originally advertised.

Have I mentioned that I really don't swim?

Remarkably, I wasn't too fazed by the change. After all, my only goal was to finish. So, I adjusted my target time to 4hours to accomodate the longer swim. Good move.

Eventually all of the hubbub has been gone thru, the national anthem has been butche-. . . I mean sung, and the pros are off. Then the 29 and under wave is off, and it's time to line up, 'cuz my wave is next. The countdown finishes, the announcer shouts 'GO!!', and we're off. I've seeded myself really conservatively, as in the very back, so I'm not surprised that the pack is way ahead of me quickly. Not unexpected, I tell myself, as I keep even strokes, breathing every third hand entry. Stroke, stroke, breathe right, stroke, stroke, breathe left, stroke, stroke . . . hey, this isn't too bad! I just might . . . .uh oh. I'm winded. Better roll
over and take a breather. How far have I come. oh. about 200yds. *sigh* it's gonna be a long swim. Just get through it, roll back over and stroke, stroke,OHMIGODI'MGONNABESICK ! head for the shoreline, suppressing the heaves, until I can stand up in the shallows and let it come. I retch and dry heave for a few minutes, but nothing comes up. Hmm. That's weird.

While I'm in the throes of this unpleasantness, a little voice in my head says 'you have no business here - you can't swim. Just call it a day now.' As I'm mulling this over, my stomach seems to be over it's little episode and is sending me cautious 'ok' signals. I ignore the voice and press on, slowly. I wind up spending most of the time on my back, kicking gently and sculling with my hands. My wave is long gone by now, and other waves are churning
their way by. I don't feel too bad; there's one other guy with my color swim cap also making his slow way around the perimeter of the lake. I decide that I'm gonna beat him in.
My navigation skills in this position definitely leave something to be desired, and I wind up milling all over the lake. I roll over at one point to check my bearings and find myself headed back towards the start. Sheesh! Some triathlete you are. Shut up and keep moving. The other green cap is still behind me, but making a play. Around the first buoy and about 100yds further and . . . .here it comes again. Swim madly for the shore and try to
stand up on the mossy rocks in the shallows as my stomach has another tantrum. A ranger is there on the shore, asking me if I'm ok. 'I will be', I tell him. That turns into my motto for the swim; 'I will be ok'.

My stomach calms and I work my way ever so slowly around the course, stopping twice more to dry-heave, once at the double buoy in the center of the lake, and once at the beginning of the short beach run just before the final straightaway. By the time I cross the beach and re-enter the water, I seem to be the last one in the water; my friend in the green cap has either called it a day or is waaaaay back there. I ask the lifeguard, and she says that there's one more person behind me. Okay, so at least I won't be the last one out of the water, just the second to last. I finally scull/sidestroke/dogpaddle my way in to the swim finish and a huge smile breaks out on my face as I feel my toes touch the sandy bottom. I've done it. The swim was the monster to be conquered and I've done 150% of what I planned. I've cockily predicted that if I made it out of the water, then I'd finish, so now I'm honor bound to see it through.

I splash up onto the beach and strip the top part of my wetsuit down and run for transition. All along the way, spectators are clapping and cheering me on, and I feel a little sheepish at how good it feels, as if they know how big a deal that swim was to me. Okay, I'm into transition, where's my bike? Oh right, over there. As I jog towards my bike, the frontrunners are already finishing their bike and heading out on the run. Oh well, there go my dreams of shocking the triathlon world with an amazing bike split and placing in my AG.

I've managed to not make any serious errors in setting up my transition area and
quickly shuck off my wetsuit with the one-legged triathlete dance, then pull on my bike jersey, on with the shoes, on with the helmet, buckle it (made sure not to forget that rule!) and wheel my bike out. Damn!! I've left it in the wrong gear. I downshift as I fumble my right foot on the pedal, then finally *click* I'm in. I start working on the left one, but it just doesn't wanna go. I'm trying to split my attention between navigating out of the transition area and looking down to clip in, when I see my cleat hanging off of the bottom of my left shoe, by one screw. @!#%!@% You shoulda checked your gear, dumbass!! Shut up, just make the best of it. I'm out onto the course.

It's flat, thank god, and fast. I'd hoped for a 15mph avg, but my speedometer is holding steady at 19.5, and I'm just turning with 1.5 legs. I'm worried about pedaling up the hill with my bum cleat, but that'll come when it does. The bike is pretty uneventful; I down a pack of Gu every 30 min, and I'm slowly reeling in and passing BOPers and MTB class triathletes. I'm feeling pretty good about it, when that little voice says 'yeah, but
they're all in front of you 'cuz you can't swim'. Shut up and let me have a moment here, willya? Sheesh. The voice finally goes away for the day.

25miles later, I wheel back into transition. Other triathletes are headed for their bikes . . . with burritos in hand. DOH! They're already finished and getting all the food! Hurry up, take off the helmet put on the cap take off the shoes put on the shoes grab the race belt buckle it on and GO! Hey, this doesn't feel like those bricks . . . I actually feel normal! Tired, but not that weird, out of balance thing that I was worried about. Cool!! Except . . . it's not cool. It's hot. Reeal hot. I feel a twinge of foreboding as the first mile marker comes and goes and there's no aid station. Jeez, they gotta have water out here somewhere, right?

Right. About .5mi later, I see the welcome table. A voice in my head (a different one) takes its cue from TriBaby's IMC97 race report and says 'walk the aid stations. Start now, while you feel good'. Well, heck. Once you have that thought, you *gotta* do it. I mean, who wants to blow up later and listen to that little voice say 'I toldja so' all the way home. So, I stop and walk thru the aid station, downing a quick cup of icy water, then pick up the shuffle again on the other side. I make my way around a little reservoir to the 2mi marker and the second aid station. Stop, walk thru, slam a cuppa water go. About halfway thru the third mile I realize something. It's really hot. And I'm really tired. And my HR is 173, which is
almost the highest I've had it since I got the HRM. So I take the excuse to stop and walk. Bad move. It takes me nearly a half mile to get moving again. I gradually trudge my way around the course, longing for the finish, but not really suffering too badly, except for the heat. Around mile 4, I come upon another guy who has the same age as me marked on his leg, 32. He doesn't seem to be doing too good, so I stop and offer him a Gu. He takes it, and we start talking. I feel much better now that I have some company, and I'm
feeling a bit like a boy scout doing his good deed for the day.

After he's downed the Gu, I ask him if he's ready to take this in and off we trudge. I
stick with and chivvy him on until about a half mile from the finish. I've already prodded him along more than I think he wants, and he seems baked, so I decide that he can make it on his own from here, and dammit I'm gonna pull out all the stops now. I pick it up and give it all I've got down the last little stretch, passing the 6mi sign and thinking oh god, how far can .2mi be? and then it's there and I enter the chute and the arch is there and I think ohmigod I did it! and my eyes start to tear up but then no no we can't have that we're a big strong triathlete now so I squash it and leap over the finish line (well maybe it was more of a hop) and stomp on the rug registering my time and I've done it!! I am a triathlete!!

And henceforth, you may call me . . . TriathRon.