Apparently my definition of a triathlon more closely resembles a comedy show than a serious athletic endeavor.
Case in point: Last Saturday's MTS Sprint.
Let me count the number of comedic elements that comprised this performance:
The ex-boyfriend: After announcing to my friends on the drive down to the race that I really hoped we wouldn't run into my ex at any point during our trip, I proceeded to run into him on the boat dock before the start of the swim. Apparently, his new girlfriend is a triathlete.
The swim: The water was 56 degrees. And when I put my face in, all I could see was brown. All around. Brown. Commence freakout. I backstroked pretty much the entire thing. (Except for maybe the part when I was doggy-paddling or sidestroking.) And I was moving so slowly that I was able to have a full conversation with a guy in a kayak.
Me: This sucks.
Him: Welcome to triathlons.
Me: I swim really well in a pool, I swear. I really don't suck this much.
Him: I believe you. Open water is tough.
Me: You know what else sucks? My ex is here. And he's a good swimmer, so this is really embarrassing. Also, he has a telephoto lens.
Him: Do you want me to slash his tires?
T1: I was so disoriented from the swim that I couldn't walk straight. And then my wetsuit (which, for the record, I really love and was extremely grateful for) got stuck around my ankles. And I almost fell over several times. And then I couldn't figure out where the bike exit was.
The bike: Within about five minutes of riding, I got shit on by a bird. On my bare arm.
(See? Not kidding. I did the bike and the run with bird shit on my arm.)
The bike, continued: What triathlete is talented enough to fall into the bushes at the turnaround while still being clipped in and can't get up? Oh wait -- me!
T2: I couldn't find my transition area. I stood there. And stood there.
Run: By the time I started the run, all of the decent and semi-decent triathletes in the sprint distance had finished the race or were finishing. I saw my friend on the sidelines (yes, like the rest of the world, he had already finished) and said: "Man, do I have stories for you." He then got back into the race and ran the entire run course again to get me through it. (Seriously: Grateful.) When I finished, I wanted to puke.
But hey, I finished.
And then I ate this hamburger.
