Tri or Tri Not, There is No Try

(Aside: I really want to get that as a bumpersticker or t-shirt, but I don't know that there are enough tri people who are also big enough Star Wars geeks to get it...)

I'm back from the Tri for the Cure in Denver in one piece and with my fourth finisher's medal. Wiley is happily snoozing on his bed. Looking out my patio doors as the last of the sun turns the sky deep red and purple, I can see massive thunderheads catching on the Divide and preparing to dump on the Mile High City.

All is right with the world.

I liked Tri for the Cure much better than the Denver Danskin for a number of reasons. First, they kept spectators and random dogwalkers/stroller-pushers out of the transition area! Huzzah!! There were a couple non-participant cyclists on the course, but I guess that's just the whole Colorado "I do what I want, when I want" attitude. In any event, they stayed out of my way so I won't complain too much.

I also liked the course layout much better. Yes, the bike was an out-and-back in kind of a Y shape, but with the exception of a bobsled-wide chute of a start, the route was pretty wide. The run was a U-shaped out-and-back as well, all uphill the first mile, then level, then all downhill the last mile, but again it was wide enough that everyone had room to do their thing.

My one quibble with the course was the clockwise direction of the swim (a triangular course). For the first third of the course, we were swimming directly into the rising sun (my wave went off at 7:04 a.m.) and I just couldn't see anything.

Here's a shot of the swim start about ten minutes before the race began:

And here's my mise en place (ha!) for my transition area... ("mise en place," (MEEZ en PLAHS) is the fancy French term cooks and chefs use for "getting your crap together." It's the whole be prepared, a place for everything and everything in its place, etc., which is why my bike shoes and super cool new bike socks -- they have tricycles on them! How appropriate for me, the world's slowest cyclist! -- are on the outside, because I'll use them first, and my running shoes are on the inside with the bibb I'll wear for the running portion):

Anyway, I was in the Survivor wave right behind the Elite athlete wave. Aside from starting headed right into the sun, I got kicked in the head twice right off the bat. The first time it was just the rush of people to start swimming after trying not to fall on a slippery concrete boat ramp that was covered with algae or snot or something gooey. The second time, the woman who kicked me knocked off my nose clip (yes, I wear a nose clip. Not for fashion, oh believe you me, but because I gotta. That's all there is to it.). I wasn't too upset because she was bald and bloaty-faced from chemo and really struggling, and it was extremely unintentional. I just thought hey, you're out here, doing this when I know how lousy you feel, so you just do what you're doing and I'll swim around.

Fortunately, knowing I would be up the creek without a paddle, so to speak, without my nose clip, I had a spare in the nifty back pocket of my tri suit, but it took me a few seconds to get it, put it on and get back into the groove.

Either because of the sun or the nose clip incident, I felt I never really got a good rhythm. The water was also kind of warm, which grosses me out. And, I'll be honest... I'd slept poorly the night before, in part because the History Channel had a fascinating series on Paleo-Indians and Mammalian Megafauna (and you know how I love my megafauna!). But also, I know this is lame, I was worried about my thumb.

It wasn't until I'd turned the lights off the night before that I thought about those people you hear about now and then who had to have all their limbs amputated because they caught the flesh-eating bacteria through a simple paper cut or something. And here I was about to go swimming in a rather murky reservoir with the tip of my thumb freshly severed. Hmmm...

I'd put an allegedly waterproof dressing on in the morning, and right before the swim I wrapped several layers of duct tape around it, but it was still on my mind.

In any case, I felt like I took forever in the swim. The whole way I felt sluggish and off-pace, so I was surprised to find out that I did it in 26 minutes. Not lightning-fast, but also not bad for someone who hasn't gotten in the water since, er, her last tri in June, and my best leg overall for this tri.

Ironically, since it is my nemesis, it was the bike leg that I enjoyed the most in this tri (must be my badass tricycle socks!!). It was mostly flat and wide enough that people didn't get surly, and much to my delight I passed five people, which for me is a major achievement. It was during the bike leg that I also had my scariest/proudest moment. There was one pretty big, long hill about two-thirds of the way through. At the very top, the road turned to the west and all of a sudden I saw the Rockies, bright in the morning sun, spread before me. It was a gorgeous view. So gorgeous that I didn't see the enormous pothole.

Cerdic, my long-suffering two-wheeled Saxon warhorse, plowed into it full-speed. I went one way, Cerdic went another, both my feet went off the pedals and all I could think was "I'm going to wipe out spectacularly and when my maimed thumb hits the pavement, the force is going to push the flesh-eating bacteria even deeper into the wound."

Somehow, I stayed on the bike, did sort of a midair Pete Townshend circa 1978 jump and got my feet back on the pedals.

Just as I was thinking "whew... I hope no one saw that," one of the speed demon women who actually train for these things and know what they're doing came flying past on my left and shouted "That was a nice recovery!"

Why, thank you. Yeah, I do this all the time. Me and my bike, we're like one. Yep.

I did the bike leg in 55 minutes, which, while in no danger of breaking any Olympic records, is my personal bike best. Must be the socks.

The run, or ralk, leg was a killer because of the heat. It was more than 100 degrees F by then, with no breeze I could detect and no shade for the entire 3.1 miles. We started up a gradual but relentless incline that nearly everyone was walking. Volunteers had hoses out but I felt like that just made me hotter. Even after the route levelled off, the heat sapped my energy.

That said, as I passed one woman jogging, she said "oh, how embarrassing to be passed by you."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I snapped, hot and cranky.

"You're walking," she said.

Yeah, I was walking, but I do walk faster than I can jog and it doesn't hurt. That said, I was in pain because I'd put the strap for the timing chip on too tight on my ankle, and my foot was swelling with the heat. The strap, the same plastic bands they use for hospitals, was cutting into my foot and making me bleed all over my tricycle sock. It was also, not surprisingly, annoying the hell out of me.

My thumb was also feeling icky and wet and hot, so I pulled the duct tape off and the dressing came with it. It actually felt good to let it get some air.

In the end, I did the 5k in 46 minutes, at exactly 15 mph. No, I won't be winning any marathons at that speed, but given the heat and my, er, less than impressive training regimen, I'll take it.

Here's an unflattering hot and sweaty photo of me beside Cerdic, with my medal, my soon-to-be-necrotic thumb and the Team Pastry Pirate roster I put on my bike, as promised. Thanks again to everyone who donated!

And finally, you know, I debated putting this photo up, because for most of my life the last thing in the world I'd want would be to appear in public in my bathing suit, especially, the gods forbid, doing something athleticky where people would look and point and whisper about how slow or ungainly or jiggly I was. Or, if they were my elementary school gym teacher Mr. Bianchi, they'd just shout it to the world.

In the end, I decided to post yet another photo of me in, yes, essentially my bathing suit. In public. Hot, sweaty and anything but speedy. Why? Because I finished my fourth triathlon this morning. Kiss my jiggly ass, Mr. Bianchi.