24 weeks: in it to win it (and the one time I was an actual tri-fat-hlete)

Back in 2008, I decided to sign up for a triathlon. I really don’t know why, or what made me think I could go from couch-hero to tri-zero in just a few weeks, other than I was bored one day and thought it might be a good way to lose weight (I actually gained around 7lbs by the end of it all – and it wasn’t muscle). Once I announced this idea to the general public, it was met with the usual disbelief and some fairly loud guffaws, so I set out to prove the cynics wrong. Plus, there was a $100 bet on the line, and there’s really not much I wouldn’t do for $100.

Knowing the high probability of failure were I to go it alone, I signed up with an all-women’s training group. With some new shoes, a wetsuit (that never saw the light of day ever again), and a fancy $75(!!!) team tank top, I set out to conquer a sprint distance tri at the end of 6 weeks. The distances for a sprint are: ½ mile swim, 12-mile bike ride, and 5k (3.1 miles) --- to be completed in the same day. Preferably in the shortest amount of time possible. I’m talking one activity right after the other as fast as you can. Seriously, who comes up with this shit?

Anyway, the only thing I didn’t buy right away was a bike, because I already had one: my trusty, sturdy, heavy as a German WW2 tank mountain bike.  It didn’t even faze me that everyone else in my group had a skinny little road bike. After hearing horror stories of flat tires that would require some kind of quick fix-a-tube maneuver that I was sure I’d never be able to pull off during a race, I decided “Eh – a bike’s a bike.”  This thinking was NOT CORRECT.

Well, the training camp was helpful because it taught me how to physically approach each portion of the race in an efficient manner. It made me realize what my strengths and weaknesses were (and by God, there were so many more weaknesses than strengths). Before we started, I figured that swimming would be the most difficult part of it all. Never once did I think the 12-mile ride would be a big deal due to my gargantuan leg muscles. Oh, and the 5k?  It wasn’t even a blip on my radar because I could walk at that point if I needed to. Yeah, no. WRONG AGAIN. It was the bike portion that I 

struggled with the most, the 2^nd part of the triathlon.

During our many practice sessions, we’d ride around Back Bay, which was about a 10-mile journey.  It was a group of around 20 women, with the oldest being 65 years of age. Guess who always, always, always took up the rear position. It wasn’t the 65-year old.

See, the thing is – no matter how strong my legs are – the combined weight of my body and a 500lb mountain bike is NOT an efficient way to complete this portion of a triathlon. I finally broke down and decided to buy a road bike when during one of our rides, someone behind me kept ringing their little bicycle bell in a fast and furious manner. The metallic, high-pitched ching-ching made me want to throw myself and my bike into the bay, but I politely let the person pass. Sonofabitch! It was 102-year old man on a 10-speed who looked at me in pity as he pedaled on by in his dapper newsboy cap.

I struggled the whole time. Like, a lot.

Finally, after 6 long weeks, the day of the race was upon us. I was ready! Well…until I hit the water and immediately paused to ask myself “What in the fuck am I doing here?” Looking for the quickest way to exit without drawing any sort of attention to myself, I started to panic. Suddenly, in all my flailing about, I realized I had dog paddled to my first flag. By this point, I was far from any inconspicuous way out, so I decided to follow Dory’s advice and just keep swimming.

Overcoming an intense desire to drown a woman who kept telling me I was kicking her in the face, I decided to press on.  I knew the bike was next and that there were many ways to exit at that point if I got too tired. After successfully completing the swim and getting to the transition station, I peeled my tight as hell wetsuit off, threw my $75 tank top on, and took off on my new road bike.

Now, this was a much bigger improvement over the mountain bike, but I still wasn’t very fast. Lance Armstrong, that one-balled lying wonder, need never have worried about this girl. Again, I questioned myself, wondering if I could ride to Sea World since it was only just down the street (except I was still wet and had no money). I constantly worried about getting a flat tire, thinking that if it happened, I would leave that shit on the side of the road and just hitchhike to Tijuana for some tacos. And then!!! It was over. I finished the course even through all that mental garbage.

Finally, I had made it to the 5k! I hit an emotional high at that point and figured a second wind was just about to hit, so I started to run. NOPE! Couldn’t do it! Not one bit! So I walked, like a baby horse just learning how for the first time, and I eventually made it to the finish line.

All in all, I finished DEAD LAST in my age group, but I did it…and I never want to do it again.

Because split into 3 trimesters (if you’re lucky, and let’s assume this time I’m lucky) – pregnancy is the longest, most freaking exhausting triathlon EVER. The first trimester – those first 12-13 weeks are like that swim. You just keep going because there’s not really anything else you can do except hope and pray that you make it through those uncertain waters.

The 2^nd trimester – the one I’m currently in, is so very, very hard – just like my biking experience, but a million times worse. Dr. Google seems to have taken up a permanent position on my handlebars, and has done nothing but fill my mind with uncertainty. There are so many stories – so many terrible things that can happen.  There is also so much good, but once you’ve been burned it’s really hard to see past that. I’m finally starting to understand that suffering is a choice though, and that I really just need to shut my fucking computer and phone down when overthinking starts to get out of hand. 

I just keep going.

I am now in my 24^th week - viability. This is the week we lost Ligaya four years ago. Getting here has felt like an infinite amount of Back Bay loops on my old mountain bike with a 5-ton bag of rocks on my back. We’re still not out of the 2^nd trimester, so around and around and around I go until I get to 28 weeks. 24 weeks was my first goal and we’ve made it! This should feel like a victory, and in some ways it does, but it tastes just as bitter as it does sweet. Still – I am so thankful to be here.

28 is the next target, where we enter final stage of this race. I’m hoping that if I can just get through the next 4 weeks, I will start to feel more confident. I’ll be able to see the finish line and find my second wind. I’ll be able to breathe easier. She'll be able to breathe. We’re so close. So close. We just have to get there.

Around and around and around I go. 

I did it! And there is absolutely no amount of money that would make me want to do this again