My Teeny Tiny Tri

There's nothing quite like the feeling of saying, "I did a triathlon" even when you preface it heavily by explaining that although it's technically a triathlon it's really the most junior version possible. Called a 20.20.20, it's sponsored by the student rec center and involves twenty minutes of swimming in the pool, twenty minutes on a stationary bike and twenty minutes of running on the indoor track. There's also nothing like the feeling of showing up for a triathlon and realizing that all of the other competitors are fit college students of the traditional age, and some of them actually are triathletes. That feeling? Not as good. I had, however, already paid my entry fee and I really wanted the t-shirt, which was a real "finishers" shirt and not available for simple purchase by a slightly over-weight graduate student mother unless she actually completed an hour of what suddenly seemed to be torturous physical activity.

Fortunately, my partner in crime (husband Aaron) had agreed to join me, so I wasn't the only senior citizen in the group. As is traditional in a tri, we hit the pool first. If I had any residual skepticism that the other competitors were in better shape that I, it was quickly wiped away when I got a look at the chiseled abs of my fellow swimmers. Aaron and I had both taken swimming lessons in order to actually achieve something better than a doggie paddle for this event, but with only a few weeks under our belts, we were far from graceful. I had to stop and pant heavily after each lap and had all kinds of problems keeping my rascally swim goggles from flooding my left eye with water. Our timer was a good sport, especially when I kept asking him if we were done yet (not so I could get in one last lap, but so I could stop the insanity).

Finally our twenty minutes were up and I headed into the locker room to change for the cycling portion. Instead of making rapid transitions, as in a real triathlon, we had ten minutes to change and get to the stationary bikes. Which was a good thing because I think it took me nine and a half minutes to get my damn sports bra on. I always thought getting a wet sports bra off was a pain in the ass. I will never complain about that again, because putting one on when your body is wet is a zillion times more difficult and the situation went from comical to ridiculous to practically suicidal before I finally had the girls properly contained.

Getting that damn bra on did nothing to reduce my heart rate, nor did the two flights of stairs to get to the bikes. I was the last one to arrive and had just enough time to adjust my seat but not enough time to figure out where I was supposed to put my water bottle, which I ended up staring longingly at for twenty minutes since I had failed to notice the clever holder on the bike and left it instead on the floor. Some rockin' '80's music took some of the pain of boredom from the "ride" but none of the pain of the bicycle seat from my sensitive parts. I thought I was doing pretty well on the miles in this portion of the event, little did I know the odometer was set for kilometers. Oh well. I was just happy, if somewhat bow-legged, to be finished.

Wonder Twin powers activate! Form of: Triathletes

The indoor track was on the same floor as the bikes and we didn't have to change for the running portion, so we just milled around waiting to start. Not in that bridled-energy way like an elite athlete--more like that let's-get-this-over-with way of a rueful amateur. Of course, running is my strength so I was actually pretty happy to get started on the track. I didn't account for the fact that this indoor track is less than a quarter of the size of an outdoor track, forcing near-90-degree turns on what is essentially a concrete surface. I am used to getting passed, but on such a small track, I was literally ticking off my distance by how many times a specific runner lapped me (twice for every time I went around).

The best part of this experience was being finished (or possibly walking around afterward with a Sharpied number on my hand, branding me as a triathlete). The worst part is that I finished less than a tenth of a mile behind the amateur winner. This isn't so bad in and of itself, it's bad because now I feel compelled to tri again...