Jump Into The Water: The Desert's Edge Triathlon

I can think of no better song than Jump Into The Water, by Emmet Swimming, from my hometown(ish) Fairfax, Virginia, to accompany the culmination of my crash course in triathlons-the inaugural Desert's Edge Olympic and Sprint Triathlons. Besides the literal interpretation, the music builds to a frenzied climax the way my pre-race energy did, then dives right into a raucous explosion of hard driving rock. It's not a pretty sounding song but it's got a lot of underlying energy. 

 A triathlon was never in my plans for 2012. On the ever changing road of life, a bunch of factors came into play that changed my plans. At the year-ending Winter Sun 10K last year, there was this woman, Angela, who came over to me at the post-race awards. She'd spotted the rowdy and enthusiastic group of us from Grand Junction, and we chatted for a few minutes. She was a new runner and interested in joining in on our fledgling weekly speed workout group, with the disclaimer that "I'm new and slow!," that anxiety that a lot of us have felt as new runners that we're not "ready" to go out with the "real" runners yet. I promised that we were a fun, all paces, all-comers kind of group and that we'd love to have her there if she wanted to come. 

 A week or so later, Angela showed up, and quickly became one of the most regular attendees, making steady progress in speed and endurance through winter and spring. When it came time for the Imogene Pass Run to open, it was obvious that she wanted to sign up but had that hesitation again. Several of us talked it up and encouraged her to enter, and I did my best enabling job to make sure she joined in on our midnight run-and-registration party. At several point in training and just prior to the race, I am pretty sure I was on her naughty list. Her race went off swimmingly, though, getting over the mountain in a terrific time, and not doing any permanent bodily harm in the process. 

 Now, Angela was a swimmer in high school. Not just any swimmer-a bona fide, badass swimmer. She qualified for something called "Zones," which is where all the best regional young swimmers go to compete. Her initial foray into running was actually to return to swimming and do a triathlon, and a few months ago, she did complete her first.

 I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point she declared that "since you made me do Imogene, you owe me a few triathlons." It was out there, and I decided hey, that's fair and reasonable. And, as it turns out, there are a LOT of people in our group of friends and in the extended community who do triathlons, from sprint and Olympic distances right up to Ironman races. I always swore I'd NEVER do one of these things-there was too much gear and equipment, and I just wasn't going to tackle learning all the little tiny things on my own. 

 And, that's where said friends and community come into play.

 I think the first thing I said about this possible triathlon was "great...but small problem. I don't have a bike. Or a wetsuit. Or any of the other thingies you need. And I haven't been on a road bike since 1983." Excuses Club-meet your president. But the friends intervened. 

 First, I was just in the pool with Angela, our friend Cheryl, and a few others on a weekly basis at the Colorado Mesa University pool. It's a great facility, and soon I went from not being able to swim more than a lap without getting winded to being able to go back and forth slowly a few times, and eventually could swim 1000-1500 meters in practice with some intervals thrown in. I didn't have anything for open water swimming, and that's when my friend Randee stepped in and offered me her wetsuit, and some great tips on how to get in and out of it, and some shoes for clipping in on a road bike. Oh, did I say road bike? 

I didn't have one of those either. And me, gear, and trying to use it? That terrified me. At least, on a swim, it's mostly just me. The bike was a whole 'nuther ballgame. Enter Marty, and his collection of bikes, gear, and good, solid experience and ability to break down how to use the stuff. He loaned me an older workhorse bike that rode smoothly and had good components, got everything adjusted to my height, and then we went to work and making me a cyclist. 

 I couldn't even clip in at first, and was terrified to just ride around quiet downtown streets. Soon, though, I got more comfortable on the bike, and no question of mine was ever deemed stupid. The bike was a little glitchy with shifting gears sometimes, though, and I surprisingly, I was most nervous about this, and not the swim, in the week leading up to the Desert's Edge triathlon. I'd done two open water swims-one time on the course with Angela, Cheryl, and other ladies, and another one at Snook's Bottom, a cold, murky, stinky lake with Angela and our friend Tom Ela, a regular in all things outdoors in our town. The bike ride was worrying me more than anything else. And then, there was that run. I had a lot of people tell me "you'll be fine, and you'll pass us on the run anyway." 

Well, I've never run competitively with a swim and bike ride prior, so I was in no way convinced that I would be passing anyone. For better or worse, though, I worked as hard as I could and tried to absorb as much as I could about all things triathlon. Sitting with a tablefull of triathlete/runners at a recent wedding, it was oddly reassuring to hear that people get kicked, pulled, grabbed, et cetera, in the swim, and that if I was really worried about it, it wasn't a bad idea to hang back and let everyone in my wave get going, then get in behind them. And that the bike, and clipping in, would just get easier with practice. 

 After a week of being super nervy, and more worried about a race than I ever had been, race weekend came. The bike had been particularly tempermental on a Saturday "easy" ride with Angela, and this did not help my nerves at all. I picked up my packet, and later that evening, came out to her place in Fruita, which is very close to Highline Lake. I didn't even know what to do with half the numbers and stickers in my packet, but she showed me how one went on my bike, one could go somewhere on my helmet, and one would be for the run, which I attached to a number belt that Randee loaned me. I had a towel layout cheat sheet for all my necessary items in transition (the area where you rack your bike, lay out your needed race gear, and switch from one sport to the next), and I seemed to be mostly set. 

 The unknown was just getting to me, though. I went to bed, slept a few hours, and then was wide awake at 3am. I never was able to make it back to sleep. We left early so that we could set up in a decent spot, and then hang without rushing. We got our stuff set up pretty easily, and soon a number of local friends were arriving. We're normally quite warm here on the Western Slope in October, but a cold front had moved in. Though the water was still warm, a "no swim" option had been made available for those who did not want to get wet. I was incredulous; it seemed like a joke at first. It was never even a tempting option, as nervous as I was. I was here to finish a triathlon...not bail on one portion. Soon, things were close to being underway. 

I hung out with one of my former day care families-Steph, Dave, and their daughters-watching the Olympic waves start. Soon, we were on deck. Dave left with his wave, and then Steph and I were in the water for the last wave-the "old, slow, and female" sprint wave. I did a few strokes out and back, and the water wasn't terrible. Soon, it was time. The starter counted us down, and off we went. Holy crap. Never in a million years did I think I'd be in a lake in October in a wetsuit, on purpose. 

 As the swim began, I remembered my plan to ease in to each sport, and not let adrenaline eat me alive. I just focused on a smooth stroke, breathing, and occasionally "sighting" the huge green buoy that marked the sprint course. The first time I practiced in open water, I did have a moment of near-freakout, being unable to see in the green/black waters, and realizing, shit, this is open water. I'd calmed myself that day by turning over to the backstroke, slowing down, and breathing, and just knowing that option was available made it so that I didn't have to go to it. 

 Moving toward the first buoy, I was lightly kicked, touched, and pulled a few times. It really wasn't bad, though, and people seemed to be making slight adjustments and shifts. Nobody kicked me in the face, or anything else really bad. The square shape of the swim course made it easy for me to get into a rhythm, and just periodically look up to sight that buoy. Rounding the first corner, I realized that I was NOT doing this for 100% fun and no competitiveness. I could see other swimmers when I took a breath, and tried to pull through more with my arms, and increase my stroke cadence. The water felt good and the sun was out. I started thinking ahead to the bike a bit but reminded myself to just focus on what I was doing now. After swimming the length of the square course, we came to a buoy where we'd swim left and back to shore. I'd managed to keep a nice, straight line, and I was glad we'd spent time weekly swimming laps at CMU. There was a muscle memory from that which kept me from swimming wildly off-course.

 Heading back to the shoreline, I knew we were supposed to look for the blue arch, but I couldn't see ANYTHING. The sun was rising and pretty much blinding us, so I was just following other swimmers in to shore. Finally, through my goggles, I could see swimmers starting to stand up ahead of me, and anticipated doing that myself. My badass triathlete/swimmer friend Cheryl C. had told me to kick those legs some before leaving the water to wake them up, and I did that. Coming out of the water, I also followed Randee's advice to begin zipping out of the wetsuit, and by the time I reached my towel and bike, I had it peeled halfway off. Now, here came my greatest challenge-getting out of a really wet wetsuit with cold hands and fingers. Sitting on the ground, I started peeling out. I got one leg off pretty easily, but then managed to double up the wetsuit on my left foot, all jammed up because that's where my timing chip was strapped. My cold fingers couldn't move it over that thing. Oh, man, I felt like an idiot. What was I going to do now? 

 Before I could get too panicky, I decided to try different approaches to getting it off.I managed to get the whole wetsuit to about the ankle, and then just decided I'd give it a short, strong pull with all I could to peel it off inside out. I gave it a good yank, and off it came! Phew. Now, my original plan was to put on tights for the ride. I put a lightweight tech shirt on my upper body and realized I didn't want to waste any more time. I threw on a lightweight cap, my running gloves, and shoes, leaving the tights behind. Unracking the bike, I trotted it up and out of transition, mounted, and started riding. I hoped that hadn't been a stupid move to abandon my tights plan. 

 Once I clipped in (and I did it relatively quickly-yay!), I started pedaling, remembering what I'd been told about keeping a high cadence, and anticipating when I would need to shift gears. Then, I tried to do my first shift into a harder gear. Crap. It was sticking JUST like it had the day before. Rather than panicking, I tried using one finger to hold the part of the gear used when shifting to an easier gear, and using another to force the inner lever to make it shift. It worked!!! Oh, man. I was so relieved now, and glad that I'd figured out how to deal with this bike's sometimes temperamental nature. I gathered some speed and headed toward the first big hill. The one I'd fallen on just a week or so prior. 

 Remembering that word "anticipation," I shifted into one of the easiest gears as I hit the bottom of the downhill and started to climb uphill. Keeping the cadence high was something that felt fairly natural, in part due to my running. I realized, though, as I neared the top of the hill, that I might not be in a low enough gear. I was NOT going to fall today, though, and made myself power through the last little bit, reaching the crest in the hill without a fall. Ecstatic to be over this first hurdle, I settled into a rhythm and headed off down the road. I was pushing whenever I could, but was definitely not attacking. There was a delicate balance between wanting to race hard, and just lacking the experience on this bike, and on a bike in general, that kept me from doing this leg all-out. I tried to balance this by really hammering the flatter sections where I didn't fear crashing by going too fast on a downhill, or falling/struggling with gear shifting on an uphill. Soon, we were back to the last big hill on the course. 

 Before we even turned toward it, I had that A word...ANTICIPATION....in my mind. I reached the bottom of the hill, shifted to an easy gear, and started climbing. People were all over the place, shifting back and forth on their bikes, or struggling in gears too hard for this hill. I kept my cadence high in this easy gear, and passed nearly everyone this time. It felt good, and despite the weird grip I needed to use to switch into a harder gear, I was able to get it done and ride out the bike course, pulling into the dismount area, where I saw my friend Shannon who had worked water safety on the swim. 

 Now, it was time for MY thing-the run. I got the bike racked quickly this time, pulled off the shoes and put on my running shoes. For a split second I thought about pulling my tech shirt off but decided to waste no more time in transition after my way-too-long first transition. Once the helmet was off, I headed out of transition, waking up the legs for the one part of this thing where I had any sort of experience.

 As I exited transition, I was aware that my body had never, ever felt this weird at the start of a run. My legs had this disconnected, woobly feeling-they were moving, and moving decently, but I had no control over them. I was pretty sure I was going to pitch forward onto my face any time. And they were TIRED. Wow. I wasn't wearing a watch and had no idea what my pace was, but I was sure it wasn't fast. Still, I was passing people from the get-go, so I trusted that this was good. Going back to that "settle in to it" mindset, I tried to bring some control to my run with some high cadence/short stride action. This was a gently rolling gravel trail, but even the little baby downhills felt like they might take me out in the first mile. Stuff I'd normally just run down sent me into windmilling arms in order to stay upright. Still, though-I WAS passing people! I was thrilled. I was in my element and so I just went as aggressively all-out as I could pull out of myself. 

Here and there, I'd be passed by members of the USAF, CSU, and other men's tri relay teams. Besides those guys, I passed every other runner I encountered. Coming into the last stretch for home, I was really tired but put on my best race face for a strong finish. There was a short, downhill stretch of road near the end of mile three, then a jump back onto the gravel trail and a short, steep climb up to the dam, a flat stretch leading up to the finish. A woman with a shirt from a Denver-area tri group said "Oh my GOD," and I knew right then that I needed to beat her. As we reached the flat, I moved up to her, then on past. She said "good job" or something like that but I didn't have energy to respond. 

 Right then I saw Dave, who provided some good cheer and "it's just down that way and up the hill!" encouragement. Heading down, I could hear someone creeping up and passing-it was that tri-team lady. Oh, hell no. I'd gone from this being a "fun, learning experience" to being ready to knock myself out to make sure I crossed the finish line in front of that lady. I kicked hard and got ALMOST back up to her, but didn't quite catch her. Still, it made for an excellent RACE (not "fun experience just to do it") finish, and I crossed feeling like I'd given all I had with the tools I had today. Nearly immediately after finishing, the timing booth staffer nearby asked if I wanted my time card. SWEET! Yes, let's have a look at that baby. I'd just raced purely on feel, and had no idea what any of my times looked like. 

It broke down like this: 

 Total time: 1:37:53 

Swim time: 17:05, 58th overall in swim, 

Bike Time: 50:59, 89th overall in bike

, Run Time: 24:22, 26th overall (and 5th in gender).

 T1 (Transition 1): 4:03. T2: 1:26.

 Overall Place: 52 out of 142.

 Overall Female: 17th out of 87.

 Age group: 4th out of 6 (yep, way small. And all women in this age group were in the top third of overall rankings)

 In an interesting twist, when I checked results earlier today, I noticed that there was a "Matt" in the age group results. As it turned out, my age group was VERY small, with most competitors originally registered opting out, or taking the "duathlon" option due to the cold temperatures. When I looked up my results just now for the blog post, I see that "Matt" has been removed from the results, and that I in fact finished third, and not fourth in my tiny age group! It may be a podium by default in a small age group, but it's kind of exciting, twenty-four hours removed from the event. The awards at this race were pretty sweet...plaques with colorful lizards on them. 

I'm kind of indecisive on what to do regarding that situation-I'd really like one of those pretty plaques since it appears I did finish third, and not fourth as I thought at first. Still, I'm happy enough knowing I took the challenge seriously in the short time I was actively training, and gave everything I had as far as my knowledge, resources and experience yesterday. And I was thrilled to be in the top quarter when matched up against all women.

 So, am I going to do this again? Right after, I was thinking no way, that was way too hard. I honestly don't know which was harder-the last five miles at the Desert RATS 50-miler, or the 5K at the end of the Desert's Edge Sprint Triathlon. But there's something about the thought that went into this, the planning and strategizing, wanting to tighten up and fix mistakes and weak areas, and become more aggressive on my strengths, that is very, very enticing. And, as Angela has said, I owe her at least several triathlons for Imogene, which was, after all, 17.1 miles and about four-ish hours on average. So, for no other reason, I WILL be a woman of my word and plan on the Highline Hustle, or some other area sprint triathlon next spring. 

 In all, it was also a fabulous experience that reminds me what great people we have in our local athletic community, and how supportive the triathlon people I know from other parts of the country are as well. When I said "I can't do a tri, I don't have the "stuff," and don't know how to use or do the "stuff" anyway," I was amazed at how eagerly and freely the support, training advice, gear, motivation, kicks in the butt, and reassuring words were offered. I've tried to do that as a runner, because I remember being new and scared, and not knowing a thing. And I don't think there is any way I would have followed through or had such a great first time triathlon experience without a lot of people who played a part in giving me the confidence and tools to do this. So, that's awesome. And why I love this kind of thing more than anything. Given the enthusiasm people had for getting me started, I know I'm on to kind of a special thing. My first love is still running, but I do see more triathlons in the future. Growth only occurs outside the box, and this weekend it was way outside the box, down the road, and in the water on a chilly October day.

I Want To Ride My Bicycle: More Tri (Cramming) Training

I don't believe in Peter Pan, Frankenstein or Superman, but all I want to do is bicycle.

So, I still haven't chickened out on this sprint triathlon (yet). And now I'm five days away from the darn thing, so it's looking like I will see this ̶s̶t̶u̶p̶i̶d̶, ̶f̶o̶o̶l̶h̶a̶r̶d̶y̶ exciting adventure through very soon. Following another good session in the pool, I made a point to get on that bike that I hadn't really spent much time on just yet. With two pairs of borrowed shoes made specially for clipping in on a road bike, I freaked out just a little bit when I tried clipping in with one pair, and just could not make the left shoe clip into the pedal. After a good ten minutes of trying unsuccessfully with the first pair (a womens shoe that did fit my foot, more or less), I finally decided to go back to the mens shoes I'd used on my test ride, which are too wide and a little too long. Lo and behold, these clipped in easily the first time I tried. Relieved, I decided I'd just go with these, and plan on some pretty hefty socks for tri day. I took that bike for a spin around the neighborhood, and while I didn't feel awesome, it was something.

Oh, and that running thing! No, I definitely haven't given up that first love, and this weekend brought one of the best races of the year around these parts, the Anna Banana 5K. After two speed work sessions (one of which I arrived at very late, didn't warm up enough, and had to bail from early due to a screaming hammy), some swimming, a bike ride, and a couple of regular runs, I was, in hindsight, not very well rested for the race. I'd hoped to run sub-21 at this race, given that my last 5K, the Monument Downhill, was a PR 20:08 race. The second I started, though, I could tell the legs just weren't fresh and springy. 

Thank goodness for speed work, though. The 22:03 I ran was nowhere near what I'd hoped to do, but it did help carry me through when I felt really tired, even passing a few runners in the last mile. I was well down the overall female ranks at 8th woman, but on the upside, I got to exit the 30-39 age group at this race this year with a win. My friends Laetitia and Angela, who regularly run Wednesday night speed group, came in second and third,

 and other friends from the group dominated the age group and overall ranks. We were all pretty pleased with our ceramic bananas, the commemorative medals handmade by the Fruita Monument High School art department for the event. 

After the citizen race, we took in the high school races, which are a real treat if you've never seen a high school cross country meet. The course is very spectator friendly, and we walked around to various points on the course, catching runners coming and going before they came blazing into the finish.

Angela (remember, my friend who said I owed her a few triathlons for talking her into Imogene Pass) and I had already been tentatively planning on a REAL ride on my bike, out on the tri course, later that afternoon. Angela's been my tri-training superhero friend, coaching through all the finer points of swimming (both for good form and endurance, and being prepared for open water), and I was anxious to get in the ride. Hanging out and talking with friends while watching the high school races, there were others who thought it was a great day for a ride too, and I was more than excited to have more people telling my noob ass what to do with that bike. I was getting more comfortable with the open water swim, but the whole gears, shifting, clipping and all that? Still not super comfortable. So, a few hours later, we regrouped out on the country roads in Fruita, Colorado.

When we got started, I wasn't really sure how this would play out, and this was another case of having to fight out of my comfort zone and be okay with being the noob with very limited experience on a bicycle. It was a gorgeous afternoon, though, so I just tried telling myself that I'd be missing out if I didn't take this chance to ride with some truly very patient and instructive friends who weren't expecting to race like Lance Armstrong on a truckload of steroids today. My friends could all clip in without looking down or thinking about it, but I had to clip in on one side, get rolling, and then look down to see what I was doing. All right...I was in! Woot! Mission accomplished.

Oh, wait. Not really. We hit the first big downhill, and I got through that, but then the hill climb started. And the whole gear-shifty-thingy is just not natural to me. What happened next, and despite my rock star of a helper/coach/friend Marty saying it was his fault for not noticing I was in the totally wrong gear for a climb-let's be clear, *I* did not have myself in the right gear. It was way too high of a gear, and when I took his suggestion to stand up to get up the hill, I couldn't push through and fell over sideways, thumping onto the ground on what I later figured out was my butt, since I didn't scrape myself up anywhere else. 

In that instant, I was pissed off, frustrated, angry and ready to just turn around, go back to the car, and say screw this crap. After a superpause on the ground for a few seconds, I started picking myself back up, and Marty said "Sorry,I didn't tell you what to do there, let's go back down and try it again." He rode down and I took my time collecting myself, and rode back down the hill. I'm not a quitter. I wasn't going to let myself bow out after one fall. The mental re-set button had been hit, and I was ready to take another swing at the hill, taking in suggestions on what to do, and more aware that I needed to anticipate changes in terrain.

This time, I understood where I was supposed to be, gear wise, and had those wheels spinning loosely and easily. Well, not easily. This hill was still kind of a bitch but now that I had it in the right gear, I could pedal and keep those wheels moving. When I finally got to the top of the hill, my friends Angela, Laetitia and Josh were clapping for me for making it up. I almost felt like a schmuck for a second but I know they didn't mind and that it was motivational and not "Hey! You FINALLY made it up the hill, you dope." Continuing along the course, I tended to be the last one in the group but I wasn't terribly far off, so this chilled me out some. I asked at one point if I'd be the last one in on the bike, and they all told me, emphatically, that NO, I wouldn't. As the ride went on, I was able to chat (a little bit, anyway) with my friends without fear of falling off. When the final big downhill and uphill came, I was kind of able to get into the thrill of going down really fast on a bike. Well, not really fast by REAL triathlete standards. Fast for me, though. It felt pretty excellent to have the sunshine on my face and wind in my hair (that which was sticking out from my bike helmet...we're safety first, people). Making it back to the car, I even decided to go back and practice that last hill one more time for good measure. I didn't die on the bike, despite my best early attempt.

With just a few days left, I am going to spend a little more time swimming and getting on the bike, but I am planning on one or two good days of total rest prior to next Sunday's tri. It's still pretty scary to know I've got three different sports in one event, and the following video posted by a friend, Jeff, who is an Ironman? I'm not sure if I should laugh or run for my life.



 Okay, it's pretty funny, and at a recent wedding of a runner/triathlete friend, it actually chilled me out to hear a couple of Ironmen in attendance confirming that yes, people will kick the crap out of you, pull on you, swim over you/under you in the swim, but it'll all be good. I like to be able to anticipate stuff, even if it's getting punched in the face or yanked underwater. 

With other stuff coming up on the running horizon, like the Rim Rock Marathon in November (#4 for me!), I also had to get in a long run this weekend, and did so with my friend Cheryl, who will be running the race as her first marathon. Now, the shoe goes on the other foot here. This race is old hat for me, and I am not in that place of worrying that I can finish it, nor do I have any doubts that Cheryl will have trouble finishing. In fact, I fully expect her to rock it. This is her first, though, so she's got that anxious energy at work. It's just pretty cool to have this extended group of friends who support and talk one another through stuff, give pointers, or a friendly kick in the butt when it's needed. She wasn't feeling great near the end of the run in the heat, but she made it through and logged that time on the feet. It was the end of a challenging weekend of racing and training, and yeah, there was some contact with pavement, but I'd say it was a successful one on the whole.

I'll fully admit that there's this big chicken in me who totally wants to bail on the tri. There's a huge fear of the unknown at work, and that I am NOT master of this domain. All growth happens outside the comfort zone, though. Plus, I know I'll be kicking myself if I skip it/waste my money, and SO glad I did it afterward, no matter how slow my time. So, for now, I'm trusting that I've got a good basic fitness level and working knowledge of how to go from point A by the water to point B at the tri finish. And it's that process of getting out of the comfort zone-learning by experience and sometimes failure-that will allow me to get it done.

Maybe It Is Time I Learn How To Swim, I'll Be A Dolphin, I'll Be A Dolphin

There's a broken beam inside of the big big bridge

I guess that whole thing is caving in

Maybe it is time I learn how to swim

I'll be a dolphin, I'll be a dolphin

I've been waiting awhile to use the above song, a long time favorite of mine by Poe. It's never really been appropriate, until now. And, in revealing little-known-details about myself, I have a small dolphin tattoo (I know, how cliche) on the back of my left hip that most people aren't aware I have unless I wear low cut jeans (hardly ever) or a bikini (oh, wait. NEVER after babies.) I got it in college and I don't think it held specific meaning for me then, other than I liked how it looked. The interesting thing is that it's come to have a lot of meaning for me as an adult, and isn't just something silly I did at age 20. The whole idea of not being afraid to dive into new, potentially scary situations, keeping the head above water, and that sometimes your only two choices are sink, or keep swimming mister....that's given that little blue guy a lot of character in recent years, and is symbolic of those risks and chances I've taken. The song ties right in with acknowledging and recognizing that fear, but having that trust that if you keep swimming, you will make forward progress and won't sink like a stone.

2012 has been a year for trying new and different things as an athlete. Part of that has been getting out of my comfort zone, which I've come to realize I'd been sitting in for quite some time. I've been documenting all my experiences at 100 mile races this summer, and recently added one more crewing gig to the mix at the Run Rabbit Run 100 in Steamboat Springs for a friend who was running with the hares. It kind of felt like old hat this time, with no major glitches in getting our runner in and out at each crew point, and I was starting to see some regular, familiar faces participating as well. 

At the end of the weekend, I wound up contacting Karl Meltzer, winner of the race, at the suggestion of a friend who had received some coaching from him prior to one of his 100 mile races. It felt a little weird to declare that "Hi Karl, you don't know me, but I might like your help next year for the Leadville Trail 100." It was liberating, though, to just put it out there that it's on my agenda next year. It was a step forward, despite my fears and misgivings.

Another new thing I've been doing is swimming and cycling. A couple of my friends nicknamed me "The Enabler"-as in, that chick who talks them in to doing races and events they might not otherwise. I don't know if that's true, so much as just trying to encourage friends to pursue races and goals they are fully capable of completing, and seem to have an interest in doing. 

Now, if you'd told me a few months ago that I might be doing a triathlon next month, I'd probably say that you were nuts. I've always had a fear of trying a sport with multiple apparel and gear changes, and, well, stuff I don't really know how to use, locate, or anything like that. Wetsuits? Stuff myself into this rubbery thing and maybe or maybe not drown? A bike, with gears to shift, and shoes to clip in? No freaking way. I'd said once that MAYBE....if I had friends telling me what to do every step of the way...I MIGHT consider a triathlon.

Fast forward to the weeks after the Imogene Pass Run. Some of my friends were already training for the Desert Edge Triathlon. My friend Angela, who is a rock star swimmer, had been working with us on Tuesdays at the Colorado Mesa University pool. Now, having running endurance does NOT transfer over to swimming at all-at least not in a direct manner for me. But, Angela said I'd get that over time, and that my stroke was generally pretty decent. I was also informed that since I got her to do Imogene, well, I WAS going to do a triathlon. Fair enough. We were first looking ahead to the Highline Hustle, but that's such a long way off. My competitive side didn't want to do a triathlon unless I could really compete and feel like I had mastery of each discipline. Somewhere along the way, I got okay with the idea of doing Desert Edge-just for fun. And to prove to myself that I was better than my fears. 

I know. FUN? A foreign concept, right? Plus, I'd heard numerous stories about friends-many who are strong athletes in various sports-freaking out on the swim. Any time I'd read about an occasional death in a triathlon, it was always in the swim. And then there were the stories of run-of-the-mill kicking, punching, craziness as tons of athletes enter the water. So, I was a little wary about my ability to complete a 750 meter open water swim. But, in my quest to grow and get out of my comfort zone, I decided I'd throw my best submission ever into the Bad Ideas Club, and go ahead with Desert Edge thanks to lots of encouragement and willingness to help and train on short time by friends with the experience, and the stuff available to loan to complete it. And, I realized, it wasn't a good thing to let my fear paralyze me, and be an excuse to not do this. 

When I dive into that ocean
God I hope I don't sink like a stone -- no
I'm gonna move like a dolphin

After several weeks of swimming in the CMU pool, I took my first trip out to Highline Lake to swim in a  wetsuit one of my friends was kind enough to loan me, along with her tri suit and little number belt thingy.  I didn't really know the best way to get into it, didn't know how I'd feel in the water, and just knew that people freaked out on this more than any other portion of the triathlon. Resisting the urge to just go back to the safety of my car, I went out into the water. It was, blissfully, not as cold as expected. Man, though, my friends weren't kidding that you couldn't see anything. The current, while not tremendously strong, was still way more than anything you'd experience in a swimming pool. So, despite my fears I got out there and started swimming. 

Sometimes I think I'm breaking down
And other times I think that I'm fine
But something got into my engine
It slowed me down
Now I gotta turn this whole thing around

At first, it was okay. Then, I had that moment. I realized I was in open water, and that I couldn't really see much in that murky stuff. I knew I had a LONG way to go to get to the buoy I was supposed to swim to in this workout-and it happened. I started to freak out. As quickly as I started to freak out, though, I remembered the advice of several people to get over on my back-backstroke it out. Get control of my breathing. So I did, and in the process, managed to settle myself down quickly. After a minute or two, I told myself "it's just swimming. It's just swimming. You have a wetsuit. You won't drown. Just relax and swim." And on I went, slowly but steadily for the most part, out around a buoy in the middle of the lake, back to shore, and then back out again for another half-loop. And it didn't suck! Yay! It actually helped to relax and work out lingering soreness from recent runs-an added perk.

Later that morning, I met up with the friend who was loaning me one of his bikes. Now, me and equipment-this is a whole new ballgame. This bike, though, was probably perfect for me right now. An older, high-quality, smooth-riding, workhorse bicycle. And, getting tips from an Ironman (a finisher of a 2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, and 26.2 run) who knows what he's talking about is very reassuring. We rode around the neighborhood for awhile, doing loops, going up and down a big hill, and just getting me comfortable to being on the bike. Once or twice, we stopped to make adjustments to the bike to get it where it felt as comfortable as possible for me, and I just practiced with the gears, and basic technique. Clipping in, I must say, is my greatest concern now. I was having a lot of trouble, even with the help of having the bike held upright for me, with something that is easy for more experienced riders. Again, though, it was reassuring to hear, and I am trusting that it is true, that this will become easier with practice.

Yesterday, I had kind of an exciting moment in my second open water swim. I made it all the way around Snooks Bottom, a lake near some of the trails we run near Fruita, Colorado. While I did go to backstroke several times, I made it without stopping, and without freaking out. The water was colder here, and murkier in spots. From the first to the second swim, though, I already felt a little better and more confident. And, I'd covered almost twice the distance I'd need to in the tri-probably about 1300-1400 meters. It felt really good. And just getting on my back and floating in the lake after the swim-it was a moment of indescribable peace I'd never have experienced if I'd let that fear of sinking trump jumping in and swimming. 

Is this an ideal way to go-essentially "cramming" for an event? Well, of course not. That said, I might very well be still sitting on my couch, overweight and not pursuing my goals, if I hadn't signed up on a whim for The Other Half five years ago when I was moved to try something that seemed so hard and out of reach. This is exactly the same. I'm feeling the urge to do this, and that if I don't do it, I might never do it. Waiting until the exactly perfect time often means that the exactly perfect time never comes. I might be missing out on an incredible experience, way out of my comfort zone, that'll make me a stronger athlete and person in the end. So, here I come...here I come....I'll be a dolphin.