Anyway, I put it in my wedding vows that we would complete a triathlon together.
And then? I found the perfect one! A PIRATE TRIATHLON! What could be more fun?! ACCENTS! SWORDS! PARROTS!
Everyone told us (well, everyone who had done a triathlon) that they would be addicting. That we’d love them SO MUCH that we would shell out the 1,000+ bucks on a bike to make us go faster. That we would have a “triathlon season” in which we’d sign up for MULTIPLE TRIATHLONS with a couple of months because we just wouldn’t be able to get enough.
PUH-LEASE.
So while this might be some people’s experience (Allegra, I’m looking at you!) – it was not ours.
First of all, training for a triathlon TAKES OVER YOUR LIFE.
You will have to map out a schedule about 4 months before the day that you compete. 5-6 months if you are really new (like we were). And then IT WILL CONSUME EVERY DAY until you race (practically). You will have to think about your diet, you will train in each component, and then you will attempt to put them all together.
Unless you are already an avid swimmer, runner, and biker – you will basically not have a life for 3-4 months. One day, you will find that you put your cell phone and keys away in the fridge with the rest of the groceries. You will then schedule a rest day, because clearly you are losing your mind.
And then, it’s race day.
You will drink energy gel that tastes like complete crap (and for me, does nothing to help).
And then you will start. Thankfully most people do not have my experience, because almost immediately after getting into the water I got elbowed by a fellow triathlete. In the eye. To the point where I was convinced my eye was bleeding (it was not). I had the closest thing I’ve ever had to a panic attack. The blessed woman in the canoe helped me do some breathing, and I was able to keep going. But in many ways, my race was finished in this moment because I couldn’t get back my mental pace. I couldn’t get back in the game. But, this is unusual. And doesn’t happen to everyone! Just special ol’ me. What does happen to most people (in Maine, anyway) is that you have to wear a less than flattering wetsuit. I’m tellin’ ya, getting in and out of this thing should have been it’s OWN race.
After a refreshing swim, you will transition to your bike. You will bike and bike and bike until you want to drive yourself off the side of the road and wait for the emergency vehicles to find you.
And then you will get medals. You will momentarily feel bad ass, and you will enjoy all of the people cheering you on. Especially when they recognize what a feat this was. You will post a triumphant facebook status about your supreme awesomeness. People we fawn over you. Even if you were in last place (we were). Who cares?! We finished a FREAKIN’ triathlon.
And although we aren’t addicted (and won’t be doing another one, after all I Quit Running), the street cred IS pretty awesome.
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