Yesterday I swam the river again. And then rode the beginning portion of the bike route. (Which means I have now ridden the entire Vineman route in bits and pieces.) And then ran about two miles.
And then ate a ridiculous amount of food. And then almost fell asleep in a movie theater.
And then somehow ended up at Hooters for wings.
Clearly, the unbelievable can happen.
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My strategy: Don't try to save the world on the bike because no matter how hard you push up Chalk Hill and Canyon, the world will probably still end.
And you need your legs so you can keep running when all hell breaks loose.
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Perhaps more complicated than the race itself: Trying to explain to your mom -- who has never ridden a bike in her life -- that two bikes, two tri bags and four adults will not fit into the economy-sized car she plans to rent for race weekend.
Mom: We can just take the bikes then.
Me: They still won't fit.
Mom: I'll ask your dad.
Me: They still won't fit.
Mom: Your dad will know.
Me: ...
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I could compare myself to everyone who raced this weekend: My co-worker whose Olympic time was literally half of mine. My two friends from my training group who did the same swim I did but faster.
Or I could listen to my Pilates teacher.
"Nadine, my teacher when I was just starting out as a young dancer, said to me, 'Don't spend all of your time looking at the people around you, or you'll miss the journey.'"
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Here's to 70.3 miles of journey -- and the six months of training it is taking to get there.
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