I kept telling myself ‘I’m a really good swimmer’. I’ve read ‘Total Immersion’ and practiced bilateral breathing, pressing my buoy, etc. As I stand on the shore for the Trail of Tears Triathlon and my first open water swim, I tell myself ‘move to the front of the pack for the start’. I’m already antsy. I’m worried my goggles will fog up. All I’m wearing is my Zoot Tri shorts; others have on full-length wet suits. Should I put my goggles under the swim cap or over? Damn some of these people are buff…I try to hold my stomach in and look like a triathlete. I have to pee. I wade into the water and act like I’m getting acclimated and relieve myself. The race director is explaining the course. I think I have to pee again. I’m paranoid about my bathroom timing. My stomach feels a bit queasy. I think I may have overdone the caffeine. Too many Sonic Strawberry Gels and I shouldn’t have had that Peanut Toffee Buzz bar. I spit in my goggles again and rub it around and rinse it. I never bought that solution to keep goggles from fogging, but I learned from Scuba diving that spit works. I see others swim out some and back to warm up, so I swim some to warm up or give the appearance I’m not a rookie. We’re about to start explains the director. I hear the gun shot and start my fish-like swim. I’m in my rhythm and seem to be doing fine. Wham! I get kicked in the head. I lose my rhythm and try to slow my breathing. My arm hits someone and I apologize. I get kicked again. What the hell am I doing? My fish-like swimming has now turned to semi-thrashing and near panic. I calm myself and notice I’m not getting hit anymore. I look up and notice I’m almost at the shoreline and way off course. At this point I hadn’t heard about sight breathing! I head toward the first buoy again, asking for more abuse from fellow swimmers. I get back in the pack and start getting hit and hitting others. Any rhythm I had is lost. I actually consider wussing out…the jet ski guys aren’t too far away. It would be so easy to swim up to them and end this madness. I can’t wuss out though…triathletes don’t wuss out….what would my friend that I talked into doing triathlons say? I decide to swim on my back for a little while instead. A little while turns into a long while. As I finally approach the end of the swim, I see the crowd. I know I’m in the last 3rd of the swimmers, but I turn back to my stomach, try to look fish-like again for the crowd. I barely have the energy to get out of the water, but people are watching, so I suck in my gut, try to act cool, and try to jog to T1.

At T1 I take my time and try to recover some. I put on my bike jersey and my damn number comes unpinned. I pin it back on. I sit on my towel and dry my feet, put my socks on and my bike shoes. I have trouble clipping my helmet chinstrap. Do I put my glasses on before my gloves or after? I forget. I manage to get ready to go. I walk my old ten speed Panasonic (yes, Panasonic) bike with the cool aerobars I added out of T1. I jump on the bike and can’t clip in to one of my pedals. There’s a huge hill coming up, I pedal for a while unclipped. I finally get clipped in and I’m off on the bike.

I rule at the bike, so I pass tons of people. A lot of them usually pass me back on the run, but I like the feeling of passing people on the bike. I feel like I’m getting my revenge on them for kicking my butt in the swim! I pass an old dude on a nice bike with one of those solid rims in the back that makes a weird sound. Awhile later, I hear that sound again and there’s the old dude, passing me. This can’t be right. I’m only 32 and this dude has to be 50 something. He starts getting smaller and smaller in front of me. I dig deep and tell myself to quit being a wuss and I’ll regret it if I don’t try as hard as possible. I speed up and find the old dude and pass him as fast as I can - my attempt at mind games. I’m exhausted now from battling with this old dude. He probably isn’t even aware of me, but to me we’re at war. Here comes that sound again…the old dude is back. I try to speed up, but I’m too tired now. He passes me and I can’t do anything about it but feel like a wuss.

I enter T2. I try to do a graceful dismount for the spectators, but I have a little trouble unclipping and come close to biffing it right in the transition area. I regain my composure. I must focus on the run. That’s my task at hand. I put my bike on the T bar thing, remove my helmet and gloves and slide on my running shoes. I’m tired. I grab the remaining Gatorade from my bike and down a bunch. That Clif Shot I did on the bike didn’t help me with the old dude, but hopefully it’ll kick in soon and I can catch him on the run. I start my very uncoordinated run out of T2.

My legs won’t move right. An older woman, not even breathing heavy, slowly passes me and mentions what a beautiful day it is. I never even thought about the weather. I try to focus on how lovely the day is and forget how crappy I feel. One of my empty gel packs falls out of my jersey pocket. As I run and get further away from it I contemplate what to do…do I go back and pick it up? Do I just leave it? Did anyone see me drop it? I decide to leave it. I’ve seen lots of empty gel packets on tri courses so I figure it’s proper etiquette to not pick them up. As I run (really a jog) I look for my friend on the bike. There he is. I look at my watch – I’m 8 minutes ahead of him. As he gets closer I try to look fresh and like I’m the man. We have a buck a minute bet going; he owes my $8 so far if I can keep the lead. I yell at him ‘8 minutes behind, dude’. I look for the old dude, but never see him. My stomach really starts hurting now. Some dude starts running next to me and starts chatting. I can barely breathe. How can he expect me to hold a conversation? He says he has to go to the bathroom and is trying to figure out where a strategic place to go is. I point to the woods and say ‘go in there’. We continue to run with each other. He mentions his 50 or 60 year old dad is doing this triathlon – his first one. ‘That’s awesome’, I say. For some reason, this guy running next to me motivates me and I keep up my pace, despite my aching stomach. It’s strange, but I feel like he knew I was struggling and just wanted to offer some support. I can see the water stop ahead, but now my stomach is really, really hurting…it’s cramping up. I slow down…the guy next to me says ‘come on, keep it up’. I say with labored breath ‘my stomach is cramping’. He says ‘mine too’. Not like mine dude. He tells me to stay with him until the water stop. I do and then walk and drink water and I try to drag out the water stop. I see my new running friend run towards the bathroom, run out, and take off again. I’m now alone, drinking water, and trying to start running again. I think of the buck a minute bet – I could use some cash. I start to run again. As I approach the finish I notice people running the opposite direction. I realize they’re already finished and are cooling down or just crazy. I try to run strong across the finish. I hit my lap timer on my watch and wonder how far back my friend is. I go to the cooler and get a Gatorade. There’s a bunch of dudes hanging around a keg drinking beer…almost like a college party. I drink the Gatorade, then decide to go for the beer. Man, cold beer never tasted better. I become aware of how crappy I look and wonder if I have snot on my shirt or if I stink. I decide I don’t care and have another beer. I scan the finish line for my friend….he’s still not done. I decide to walk back on the course and find him to cheer him on. I still don’t see him. I cheer everyone else I see on. I really don’t know what to say, but I say stuff like ‘Almost there’ and ‘Good job’ and ‘Looking good’. I walk back towards the finish and finally I see my friend, half running, half walking, with bloody nipples. I yell at him ‘Dude, hurry up, you’re almost there, quit walking, don’t be a wuss, there’s hot girls up there watching you, finish strong’. None of this seems to motivate him. He looks beat. So I say ‘Dude, I’m up $20’. This makes him speed up, but only temporarily. I congratulate him. At least I kicked his butt. I’ll get the old dude next year.