I am proud. It was never an event I doubted I could or would do -- but the difference between that sentiment and the actual accomplishment of the goal is sometimes vast. After about four months of training, the event seemed to happen all at once starting with check-in last night. I've been finishing my master's degree during this time, so I really haven't given much thought to the triathlon itself beyond my training (which is just as much a sanity keeper as anything else -- I've had people say they don't know how I can get my workouts in five days+ a week with my schedule. I say I couldn't have the schedule I have without working out five days+ a week).
At the check-in, things got very "real" when they wrote my race number on my arms and hand as well as my age on the back of my left calf. It made me feel a bit like a cut of beef heading to the butcher. The woman shotgunning beers (Pabst Blue Ribbon no less -- well, you never shotgun the good stuff) in the semi-official looking tent right next to me didn't give me the greatest confidence in the event, but I was far too deep to pull out now.
I dropped my son off at Nonno and Nonna's (thank you so much!) at 5:45 a, then hit the road. The drive to the race (or any early morning event like this) is always exciting for me. I contemplate how far I've come and what today will be like. I usually engage in the last of my illusions de grandeur, too. In this case, I'd told myself I was going to be the surprise athlete from nowhere who, in his first triathlon finished in the top three (I'm a realist illusionist) and was now a "triathlete to watch". I've got the headlines down, baby.
Parking and getting set up was far from glamorous -- much more in the neighborhood of clusterf__k. I parked once, started getting my gear out, then a little old gimpy man cranked by barking "you're all gonna get towed! Move your ve-HIC-les!" Dude had authority. I moved.
I really was operating on blind faith and a flyer I received the night before with a lot of 8-point font text on two sides of a paper. I put my bike in corral (a narrow runway where all we wild stud horse-triathletes park our gear), laid out my gear in what I hoped would be a reasonable manner for my transitions the moments between events which everything I read seemed to agree would be horribly chaotic, then got on my wetsuit. The only nerves I really had at this point were about whether or not I was late for my start time. I left in what I thought was plenty of time. I didn't allow for the old crank, lack of signage and my general "make it up as I go" approach.
I got down to the water just in time to hear my group (40 and over - when did this become my group?) being announced. Good deal. The water was beautiful -- felt like low 60's. The air temp was mid 70's. It was 7:10 in the morning. I was stoked.
Another first time racer in the 30-39 group and I shared a few words of excitement about our first event, then they were off. Our path to the first buoy was lit by the morning sunlight on the water -- how perfect is that? Our group was up soon after. I did my typical clap-clap, here-we-go rah-rah bit, (which really isn't a bit at all but just who I am) and we got the horn blast. Dive face first! Go! Go!
OH...CRAP.
I had heard the open-water swim thing with a crowd was different. I played it off. I love the water -- I do. The pool, if anything, is kind of boring to me. I love the ocean most of all. Lakes are good, rivers better (they have more flow, dig it?). But this...this mass of humanity kicking, punching and crawling with their bug-eyed goggles and surreal-smooth capped heads was too much. I was a part of this? These bug-people were crawling on me and it was freaking me out. I put my face in the water but all I could see were bubble contrails from bug-people all around. My arms wouldn't stroke the way I had trained them these past few months. My wetsuit was too tight. My breath was going out fine but it wasn't coming in at all. My mind raced: Did I really train as much as I thought I did? Is the water colder than I'm allowing myself to believe? Am I getting hypothermia...in a wetsuit...in the late spring...in Vegas? I didn't train with a wetsuit -- that's what it is.
Whatever it was, the rope around my chest tightened. I literally couldn't breathe. No use putting my face back in the water lest I want to drown. I was panicking. I have never had a panic attack up until this moment and I've done some hairy things -- jumping off heights, racing over 50 mph on a bicycle, bodyboarding waves with faces in the double digits. But never before had I felt this freezing panic. I rolled to my backside, reminded myself the wetsuit would help me float, then let the competition swim by. This was extremely difficult as the de grandeur illusion competition part of me went with them. Let them - my survival instincts scolded. And I did. I relaxed for a solid two-to-three minutes (I'm guessing), then felt the rope loosen. I started to swim with the few clydesdales in the back (that's literally what they call the "big boys" of our division). After about 50 yards, I found my stroke. The silt settled. It was awesome.
The rest of the swim was fantastic. The transition to the bike area went off without a hitch. I took to my bike like a fish to water -- which was good because I took to the water like an aardvark. I caught up to and passed several of my competitors (reading their calves for confirmation) and the illusions are reborn. Back for the run -- another smooth transition. I know I could run harder, but I'm quite peaceful at this point. I'm just really happy to have this opportunity. I put it in cruise control -- I'm not getting dusted by anybody and I'm still passing a few (including the clydesdales -- don't want those guys beating me no matter what).
I finish strong and very happy. The time and finish place was not what I deluded myself to/expected: one hour and 42 minutes and 16th out 26 in my division (beat those flippin' clydesdales, though -- yea boy). I understand I'll get more details on that later. Meh. My bottom line is I did it. And you know what else? I'm very thankful for the humbling experience of that panic attack. I'm a pretty confident guy, particularly when it comes to physical matters. This taught me a lot about myself and, overall, I'm very pleased with how I responded to the fear. I didn't quit.
I completed the goal. I can keep dreaming, too. There will be other races -- that much I know for sure.
