Well, because if this story, my friends thought I should start a blog. Here is the story that started it all:
(By the way, this is was my first serious triathlon.)
My Tri Experience, a play-by-play account told by me, Weenie.
We woke up bright and early at 4 AM. The tri was about 20 miles south of BJ's house and we wanted to make sure to have enough time to get there and set up our gear. And, Houston has horrible traffic. So, we get there and the parking lot is full. We park at a local grocery store and ride our bikes to the start/set up area. We feel good, full of energy and ready to tackle the day. All of our bowels have been emptied, and we hydrated in the car on the way. (Of course, I had to make a pit stop along the way in a parking lot- nothing new!) Everything is going as planned. We set up our equipment. I copy the girl next to me in hopes that she has done it right. I don't want to appear to be a newbie in front of the hard core chicks.
We get our chips and band- no line. Husband attaches the chip to the strap and to my ankle. Since I'm so small the strap is attached but hanging on by an inch or 2 of weak Velcro. Husband heads to the start. He's in the first group. I have to pee again. BJ and I head to the port-o-pots. We wait in line. I go. As I'm pulling up my tri-suit and pulling up the zipper, the zipper busts! That's right, the zipper busts!!! I call for BJ who was in the port-o-pot next to me, no answer. I call for her again, still no answer. I walk out of the port-o-pot attempting to keep my boobs under wraps, but they have other plans! (Keep in mind I have nothing on under my tri-suit. NOTHING!) I hear a girl say, "Her suit has busted, that sucks!" I want to cry! I see BJ. HELP ME BJ! With calm, soothing words, BJ says "We can fix this- everything is okay." I am about to cry. My Mo-Jo is gone. BJ attempts several times to fix the zipper and finally she gets it up. It is uneven, but up. Now, I'm shaking. I still want to cry, but the look in BJ's calm eyes averted the tears. All I can think about is my suit busting open on the swim or on the bike or on the run. BJ reassures me that everything is okay. "You'll be fine" she says, and I believe her. She says it in a way that only a best friend can. We walk back to the start in hopes of catching Husband's start. I'm still freaking out! I can't get the busted zipper out of my head.
Husband starts. He's in the back of the 35-40 year old pack. He does great! Five minutes later the next group starts, and so on. Husband swims strong for 3 whole minutes and then freaks out. He can't get a good rhythm and is struggling like a dying fish. He looks to his right and behold- a man standing. Is it Jesus? No, it's just another struggling swimmer who has found a shallow spot near the edge of the lake. Husband stops and joins him. Husband takes a break for about a minute or so. He too has lost his Mo-Jo! He starts swimming again and the next age group is starting to pass him. Meanwhile, I'm at the start hoping to see him. Minutes pass and still no Husband. Now, I'm really scared. I'm scared for Husband-- scared about the zipper. Fifteen minutes pass, and no Husband. A few people are coming out of the water because they have lost their chips and bands. They have to get new chips. But, I am consumed with fear for my poor, helpless husband who has obviously drowned in the lake. Only a few yellow caps (Husband's age group) remain in the water. WHERE IS MY HUSBAND??? I'm shaking with fear! Finally, I see him coming out of the water. All is right with the world again, except for the zipper.
Now it's my turn to get into the water. I'm okay. I have a shirt in my bag and will get it after the swim just in case my zipper decides to bust again. I feel better knowing I have a shirt. I get into the water. The gun goes off. I start swimming strong. The girls in front of me are slow. I start swimming on top of a few and I'm doing great. My zipper is holding, and I'm mowing over the slow swimmers. Then all of a sudden, I feel my ankle strap come loose. I stop mid-stroke to fix it. I can't touch bottom. The girls I just swam over are coming at me, and I'm about to loose my timing chip and strap. I can't tread water and fix the strap. I swim out of the way and attempt to fix it as best I can. I think about swimming over to the life guards in canoes and asking for help, but I'm afraid I'll be DQed. I try to fix it for what seems like hours. I fix it as best I can. If I don't kick, maybe it won't come off, I tell myself. So, I pull myself through the lake- no kicking. I'm okay, but not good. First the zipper, now the damn timing chip. I'm done. I want to stop and cry, but I can't. I have to keep going. I finish the swim. It was awful. My time was awful.
I get on land and fix the damn strap on my ankle. I race to my stuff in transition and hunt through my bag for a shirt I had not planned on wearing. It is in the very bottom of my gigantic bag under all kinds of useless crap. I put it on, but my helmet is already on. DAMN IT!
I get on the bike. I'm getting passed like a little girl on training wheels. THIS SUCKS! Even the fat girls are passing me on the bike. Will this ever end, I ask myself? Then I see BJ ahead of me by a few minutes. I am hopeful again. She's safe; I'm safe; Husband is alive. Everything is okay again. I get off the bike drenched in sweat. The shirt is hot and my boobs are still contained. I take the shirt off and head for the run.
I start running and one lady passes me. I tell myself, 'You are a marathoner; you can do this; beat her!' 'You can beat all the fat girls that beat you on the bike,' I tell myself. And, I do. I start passing the fat chicks. It is almost over. I can hear the roar of the crowd as people come in. Thanks God! I turn the corner and kick it into gear. I finish strong! I'm alive-not injured. YEAH! All is right with the world. I sucked, but I didn't drown or crash on the bike. I'm happy to be done.
Ten minutes later, I want a redo. I ask Husband when and where is our next race. :-)
Then, it is time for us to go back to BJ's and get ready for my friend's wedding at noon.
*I wrote this account after the triathlon and e-mailed it out to my friends that weren't there. They liked it and encouraged me to start a blog about my running and triathlon experiences. So, here we are. But, this blog won't be about running and training, it will be about my antics and those associated with living in a foreign country-- and the silliness associated with having a 3 year old son. Enjoy!
(By the way, this is was my first serious triathlon.)
My Tri Experience, a play-by-play account told by me, Weenie.
We woke up bright and early at 4 AM. The tri was about 20 miles south of BJ's house and we wanted to make sure to have enough time to get there and set up our gear. And, Houston has horrible traffic. So, we get there and the parking lot is full. We park at a local grocery store and ride our bikes to the start/set up area. We feel good, full of energy and ready to tackle the day. All of our bowels have been emptied, and we hydrated in the car on the way. (Of course, I had to make a pit stop along the way in a parking lot- nothing new!) Everything is going as planned. We set up our equipment. I copy the girl next to me in hopes that she has done it right. I don't want to appear to be a newbie in front of the hard core chicks.
We get our chips and band- no line. Husband attaches the chip to the strap and to my ankle. Since I'm so small the strap is attached but hanging on by an inch or 2 of weak Velcro. Husband heads to the start. He's in the first group. I have to pee again. BJ and I head to the port-o-pots. We wait in line. I go. As I'm pulling up my tri-suit and pulling up the zipper, the zipper busts! That's right, the zipper busts!!! I call for BJ who was in the port-o-pot next to me, no answer. I call for her again, still no answer. I walk out of the port-o-pot attempting to keep my boobs under wraps, but they have other plans! (Keep in mind I have nothing on under my tri-suit. NOTHING!) I hear a girl say, "Her suit has busted, that sucks!" I want to cry! I see BJ. HELP ME BJ! With calm, soothing words, BJ says "We can fix this- everything is okay." I am about to cry. My Mo-Jo is gone. BJ attempts several times to fix the zipper and finally she gets it up. It is uneven, but up. Now, I'm shaking. I still want to cry, but the look in BJ's calm eyes averted the tears. All I can think about is my suit busting open on the swim or on the bike or on the run. BJ reassures me that everything is okay. "You'll be fine" she says, and I believe her. She says it in a way that only a best friend can. We walk back to the start in hopes of catching Husband's start. I'm still freaking out! I can't get the busted zipper out of my head.
Husband starts. He's in the back of the 35-40 year old pack. He does great! Five minutes later the next group starts, and so on. Husband swims strong for 3 whole minutes and then freaks out. He can't get a good rhythm and is struggling like a dying fish. He looks to his right and behold- a man standing. Is it Jesus? No, it's just another struggling swimmer who has found a shallow spot near the edge of the lake. Husband stops and joins him. Husband takes a break for about a minute or so. He too has lost his Mo-Jo! He starts swimming again and the next age group is starting to pass him. Meanwhile, I'm at the start hoping to see him. Minutes pass and still no Husband. Now, I'm really scared. I'm scared for Husband-- scared about the zipper. Fifteen minutes pass, and no Husband. A few people are coming out of the water because they have lost their chips and bands. They have to get new chips. But, I am consumed with fear for my poor, helpless husband who has obviously drowned in the lake. Only a few yellow caps (Husband's age group) remain in the water. WHERE IS MY HUSBAND??? I'm shaking with fear! Finally, I see him coming out of the water. All is right with the world again, except for the zipper.
Now it's my turn to get into the water. I'm okay. I have a shirt in my bag and will get it after the swim just in case my zipper decides to bust again. I feel better knowing I have a shirt. I get into the water. The gun goes off. I start swimming strong. The girls in front of me are slow. I start swimming on top of a few and I'm doing great. My zipper is holding, and I'm mowing over the slow swimmers. Then all of a sudden, I feel my ankle strap come loose. I stop mid-stroke to fix it. I can't touch bottom. The girls I just swam over are coming at me, and I'm about to loose my timing chip and strap. I can't tread water and fix the strap. I swim out of the way and attempt to fix it as best I can. I think about swimming over to the life guards in canoes and asking for help, but I'm afraid I'll be DQed. I try to fix it for what seems like hours. I fix it as best I can. If I don't kick, maybe it won't come off, I tell myself. So, I pull myself through the lake- no kicking. I'm okay, but not good. First the zipper, now the damn timing chip. I'm done. I want to stop and cry, but I can't. I have to keep going. I finish the swim. It was awful. My time was awful.
I get on land and fix the damn strap on my ankle. I race to my stuff in transition and hunt through my bag for a shirt I had not planned on wearing. It is in the very bottom of my gigantic bag under all kinds of useless crap. I put it on, but my helmet is already on. DAMN IT!
I get on the bike. I'm getting passed like a little girl on training wheels. THIS SUCKS! Even the fat girls are passing me on the bike. Will this ever end, I ask myself? Then I see BJ ahead of me by a few minutes. I am hopeful again. She's safe; I'm safe; Husband is alive. Everything is okay again. I get off the bike drenched in sweat. The shirt is hot and my boobs are still contained. I take the shirt off and head for the run.
I start running and one lady passes me. I tell myself, 'You are a marathoner; you can do this; beat her!' 'You can beat all the fat girls that beat you on the bike,' I tell myself. And, I do. I start passing the fat chicks. It is almost over. I can hear the roar of the crowd as people come in. Thanks God! I turn the corner and kick it into gear. I finish strong! I'm alive-not injured. YEAH! All is right with the world. I sucked, but I didn't drown or crash on the bike. I'm happy to be done.
Ten minutes later, I want a redo. I ask Husband when and where is our next race. :-)
Then, it is time for us to go back to BJ's and get ready for my friend's wedding at noon.
*I wrote this account after the triathlon and e-mailed it out to my friends that weren't there. They liked it and encouraged me to start a blog about my running and triathlon experiences. So, here we are. But, this blog won't be about running and training, it will be about my antics and those associated with living in a foreign country-- and the silliness associated with having a 3 year old son. Enjoy!
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