How I Became a Triathlete...Technically

The kind of race you never forget, no matter how hard you try

The Start of the Race

The horn sounded, elbows flew, and we scrambled en masse toward open waters. After months of anticipation, a small amount of training, and much enthusiasm, the long-awaited morning had arrived. This Moses Lake Half Marathon was my epic debut into the world of ultimate athleticism, and not only was I ready for the challenge, but a voice had long whispered in my head that being a triathlete was WHO I AM, and today would be the day to climb into my true and best self.

During my training, which included a great deal of thinking and not nearly enough exercise, I learned that this was more of a ‘baby’ triathlon. Participants would swim ¼ of a mile in a calm, serene lake, bike 11 miles out into the Coulee countryside, and run 3.7 miles. Perfecto!

The Swim: A Tangle of Body Parts

Plunging into temperate waters was the first shock of the day, and plunge I did. Into a sea of elbows, legs, toes, and feet that were now sprawled all over my gasping, intertwined body. Within seconds, I saw an open lane and swam with all my might.

Crawl stroke, right arm, left arm, don’t forget to kick, became my mantra of choice, and I repeated it readily as I began inching away from the shoreline. I knew my friend was cheering me on every step of the way, and that was enough to get me halfway around the horseshoe-shaped course.

The superior athletes forged ahead in a few short strokes, and the wranglers, drifters, and paddlers took up the rear. Since I could never master the art of speed and swimming simultaneously, I aimed to hold my own and excel beyond measure in the other two athletic events.

And swam, I did, until I began to tire, and the finish line seemed more like a journey of 10,000 lakes. Upon reaching shore, I regained my footing and stumbled out of the water, shedding water and pride with every step.

Where’s MY Bike?

As I gained the upward climb toward my exuberant and cheering friend, I gazed upon the remaining bicycles piled in a heap at the top of the hill. And there it was, my blue, two-wheeled savior—waiting patiently on that field of trampled grass. As I bent over to grasp the handlebars, a fog settled in. I realized my thundering blue chariot of yore was a tangle of parts that vaguely resembled my bicycle.

Muffled voices came through like blinking lights as every neuron in my brain tried to decode what my eyes were viewing. "Oh…NO!" I groaned with incredulous dismay. The truth was revealed. My bike tire looked as though a herd of elephants had played a morning game of "Stampede," and I was a loser out.

My friend broke through with, "How are you doing, hon?" and continued with, "You won't believe what I saw during the swimming competition. Someone was doing the backfloat!" I looked into those baby blue eyes and shouted, "THAT WAS ME!" At that moment, I seriously considered dropping my bicycle at the local cycle repair shop and heading for a giant scoop of peanut butter ice cream. Instead, I quickly let him know that other than one wayward foot that landed upon my cheekbone, I was good to go.

I assessed the situation, dried the dripping water from my skin, and mounted that wayward, trampled bicycle of despair. Even though I tried to steer a straight and steady path with every ounce of my being, the bowed frame would not comply.

Within 100 yards, I knew this would be the longest ride of my life, and an unsteady cadence took hold: PEDAL ~ WEAVE ~ ADJUST ~ REPEAT x 10,000.

And even though I had long visualized flying past other cyclers like a gazelle out for a morning run, I rapidly slid into survival mode. Finishing the race became the day's goal as I watched bicycle after bicycle soar past, offering no solace or comfort.

A thunderbolt of despair lodged deep during those harrowing and seemingly endless 11 miles of road. What if I don’t finish? What if everyone has already gone home when I cross the finish line? And on and on.

Meandering alongside wheat fields, I realized—there is never enough time on the wayward trail of life for self-doubt and pity. Sometimes, you truly ARE alone. That’s when you learn to dig deep, pedal through the discomfort, and, sometimes—are afforded the luxury—of soaring to new and unexpected heights.

The Final Leg: Running to Victory

Finally, I transitioned from biking to running and gladly ditched that sorry piece of metal unaptly named Blue Thunder.

I ran like an ant to honey, and my confidence returned in slow, gentle drifts of urgency. RUN, LIS, RUN! And I did.

I meandered along the 3.7 miles of concrete pathways, dreaming of the elusive finish line with every step of my worn and weathered Saucony sneakers.

And just when my legs began to cramp, and I had slowed to a steady and uncompetitive crawl, those beautiful blazing banners of celebration appeared in all their glory.

I quickened my pace from a slog to a crawl and tried to appear strong and fit as I soared across the last 100 yards of this grueling and miserable event. And at last! I was across the finish line, earning congratulations and accolades for doing so. My friend was waiting with pure joy and pride oozing from every pore of his being.

The Ultimate Prize

At that very moment, I vowed never to do another half, whole, medium, or small triathlon, and just savoring that thought gave me renewed confidence to gather up the grand and real prize of this event: the long-sleeve T-shirt. I wandered over to where they were being handed out and could have cried.

This shirt had the word "Triathlon" printed THREE times in bold, colorful print, stating, "YOU ARE A TRIATHLETE! FOREVER AND EVER, HALLELUJAH!"

I treasured the wearing of that iconic shirt for over two decades and finally laid it to rest when its tattered threads could no longer embrace my aging frame.

Lessons Learned

As I look back upon that crisp fall morning, the lessons learned live large in my mind:

• When a loved one sees you at your absolute worst and believes in your ability to overcome and achieve greatness, you've found a keeper. Hold on tight.

• No matter how large the challenge, bring your best self to the task, and when all signs point to moving on, permit yourself to do so.

• Do not base your worth on how you stack up against other humans. Instead, ask yourself: Did you get the T-shirt? And did you wear it with pride?

This story is true to fact. Though I sometimes try to forget certain events from that September morning, they remain firmly lodged in my athletic memory vault of lessons learned.

If you enjoyed this post, I’d be honored if you’d consider buying me a cup of coffee. Your support means the world to me. I wish you a beautiful day filled with peace and beautiful moments.

PS - This post is public so feel free to restack and share. Thank you! 💖