The bike: Sometimes I went up.
Sometimes I went down.
Sometimes while going down I yelled "God, I love my bike!"
The run: I breathed. A LOT.
I sweat. A LOT.
I passed a 28 year old who could pull off the shorty shorts and jog bra look (never underestimate the propulsive powers of 40 years of jiggle)
But, my father called me last night to find out where Part 3 was. I didn't even know he knew how to find my blog. So dad, this installment is for you. And if it blows, it's all your fault (she blogged lovingly).
I went into the bike course completely blind. I had no idea what to expect. The down side of that is that I didn't know how many hills to save my legs for. Didn't know if the next one would be steeper or longer. So I biked fairly conservatively. On the positive side, this sort of took the pressure off and I enjoyed myself mightily. There is nothing like biking on low-traffic country roads. For brief stretches, between passing and being passed, there was quiet and sun and amber waves of grain and the sound of my breathing and Bruiser's wheels, going as fast down a freshly paved, curving slope of road as we wanted. Freedom.
One of the best parts of the ride for me though, was getting passed. By the second half of the bike the competitive athletes were all catching me. I love to watch sports as much as I love to play, and there was something cool about hearing the approaching whirr of Zipp wheels, and being that close to cyclists who can just power on up a hill, never changing cadence. I would watch. Then I would try. Inevitably my legs would slow down to pleasure-cruise speed half way up a hill while my lungs made ready to explode out of my chest, but it was all good practice. Two women, all kitted up and sporting aero helmets passed me in the last 5 miles. Both of them spared breath to give me a few encouraging and congratulatory words as they powered by. It's an egocentric sport. There is a lot of self control, self coaching, self discipline - a lot of SELF. We will ourselves to be like machines because the body CAN do amazing things. But we are better than machines when we show our humanity, and it was nice to meet a few ambassadors who remembered that, and who seemed to insist that being competitive and classy are not mutually exclusive.
I will admit that the run (at least when I was finished with it) was pretty satisfying. The run is the great equalizer of triathlon. EVERYONE is panting heavy. NOBODY looks comfortable. The start of this run was an upward climb out of the parking lot. I plugged away at it. And then I just kept going. I didn't feel awful, I felt....confused. After the thrill of the bike and the adrenaline built up from surviving two races and leaving T2 without forgetting to remove my bike helmet (can I get a fist bump?!), I felt like a mustang who had been kidnapped and forced into a life of dressage. My brain was all "Go, pony! Go!" And my body WANTED to respond. It was still on the bike ride wanting to hit bike speeds. But my quads pulled everything up into a tight, slow, prancy gait. The only good thing about it is that we all looked the same. We looked like a troupe of ailing majorettes in want of a marching band.
My first thought after stopping was, "Please, do NOT puke on this nice man as he removes the timing chip from your ankle."
My second thought was, "I am definitely doing this again!"
THE END
(P.S. I still love my sneakers)
No comments:
Post a Comment