Triathlon

Well I completed my very first triathlon! On Friday after work, Tyrel and I set off to Falmouth in Cape Cod to stay at our super classy motel. Seriously, classy. And such wonderful service (for those not used to my humor, read: a little ghetto and worst employees ever). Once we checked in, we went grocery shopping for breakfast foods and Cliff bars, then we had Indian food for dinner. I don't think Tyrel was thrilled with dinner, but I thought mine was great! So my evening was off to a great start, until I realized the hotel doesn't even have a bathtub and the shower door didn't close so the floor got soaking wet. But hey, it was all going to be worth it on Saturday morning.

Saturday morning dawned beautiful and warm. I say dawned, but truth be told we were up several hours before the dawn. 4:30am to be exact. We got up, got dressed, had our parfaits for breakfast (seriously yummy) and started loading up the car. Check out was at 11 in the hotel and we didn't think we would be back before then, so we put everything in the car and planned on biking over to the tri start. As I am bringing my bike down the small stairwell (along with my bike pump, my bag, a purse, car keys, and probably a banana) I drop my bike while trying to open the door. It lands with the crankshaft impaling my foot. I am in a serious amount of pain, and am pinned in the stairwell - unable to move and unable to get the bike off me. I yell to Tyrel who comes running and hoists the bicycle off my foot. As the blood starts flowing freely anywhere and everywhere (I left a nice trail from the motel to the car) I start to feel faint. I grab the only thing I can find to stop the blood (maxi-pad anyone?) and go back in the hotel to clean off my foot and lay down for a minute. I am in serious pain, and have lost a small amount of blood. I feel queazy. The bathroom is covered in blood, I feel a little bad about that. After a few minutes, I regain my composure put on a sock, strap on my cycling shoes (compression on the wound!) and we head out for the starting line!
There we are, on the beach at our first triathlon. We get out goody bags and numbers and set up our transition stations. I am number 31, so I have basically the best spot ever. It also helped that we got there 2 hours early. I gimp along and we inspect the starts and finishes. I get 31 sharpied on my arms and 24 (my age) put on my leg. I put on my yellow swim cap (age division color) and we go to the starting line. My division starts 3 minutes before Tyrel and I am off! I get kicked in the arm a few times, and my leg is grabbed a bit, but I am doing well! Swimming, swimming. I pass the first buoy before I even realize it, round the second buoy and then - wait a minute - where did the third buoy go? I lift my head out of the water to look, and I hear a concerned woman yell, "Where's the buoy?" In place of the large orange buoy there is not a small yellow one. No matter, swim around, conquer the fourth and before I know it I am out of the water running to my bike.
When I get to my transition area, it is mostly deserted. The benefit of being in the first wave I guess. There are maybe 10 people total in the transition area of over 900 bikes. I gingerly put my sock over my foot, strap on the shoes and run to the bike start! Off I am on the bike route, which is almost completely empty. I see maybe 10 people during the whole ride. It's so weird having the course to yourself. I thought it was going to be super packed. It isn't until I am cycling back on the final mile that I see the bajillion people in my age group already on the run and all the older groups heading out on the bikes.
Up until this point I am doing well. I did well on my swim (didn't finish last!!) and only got passed maybe 5 times on the bike, but I passed a few myself. I transition into my new Five  Fingers as they are playing "Pumped up Kicks" and start out of my run. I am still soaking wet from the swim, but I persevere. It is at this point that things become disheartening. I run, and I run and I run. And it feels like I am on a treadmill. I am going nowhere. Everyone is passing me. The turn around feels like it's 12 miles away. I can't even see it out there in the distance. Older people start to pass me. What the? Is that guy 40? He started like 40 minutes after me... Most dejected point of the whole race? A man pushing a stroller casually jogs past me. Show off. As I start my run, I see Tyrel start coming in on his bike. After I make my turn around I see him on the run. The last 1/2 mile or so (or really the last 5 miles because it felt like I ran a marathon) I start sprinting (which is code for running and not my usual meandering jog). The last few paces are in the sand, and then SLIP AND SLIDE AT THE FINISH LINE!! 1:33!! Once I pass the finish line they ask me for my timing anklet. I am so bewildered and I have so much Velcro on my feet I almost hand the poor woman my shoe. About 5 minutes later, Tyrel comes sliding to the finish line! By this time I am recovered and have my wits about me - so I cheer him on and we high five. He seems to take his timer off without much effort. Jerk. We get bananas, bagels, gatorade, and nutter butters while waiting for the results. Mine never get posted so I finally am like let's blow this popsicle stand! I wear flip flops on the ride back to the car because my foot hurts to high heavens and I can't even imagine putting a shoe back on it. We get back to the hotel by 10:30 and have enough time to shower and change before check out. We load the bikes on the car and TRIumphantly drive back to Boston. Feeling awesome. Also feeling terrible because I am pretty sure I broke my foot and then did a triathlon on it. Seriously. Ow.
It was somewhere around 6am when we realized neither of us brought a camera, and neither of us took a single picture, or had our phones with us. So that is the story of my very first triathlon. Next up in the Lobsterman (where I am still the only person in my category/division!).
Bring it on Lobsterman. Bring it.