ka-PLOW! Championships call for CANONS, not guns.
The frenzy-- so many bodies!-- the cold--
**GAAAASP!!!**
THE COLD. #GASP!gasp#GASP!gasp#GASP!gasp#GASP
Okay, it's okay-- just calm down. You're excited. Just breast stroke and get your breath back. Put your face back in the water..
#GASP!!!!!!! gasp#GASP!gasp#GASP!#GASP!!
My breath isn't coming back! What is this? Altitude? The cold water?
I try my face in the water again--##GAAAAASP!!!## Is my suit tightening up? What is this feeling?
The field charges away. I am the lonely duckling-- gasping, back stroking, wondering what is happening, digressing, surviving, focusing, breathing. Volunteer kayakers take a special interest in me and paddle alongside. One suggests I swim more horizontally.
Panic suppressed, I approach the shore for the first time just as the pro field laps me. Their greek bodies are born from wetsuits. For the first time, I am able to put my face in the water without gasping and I swim the second lap as I wished my first had gone.
Then, thankfully, the swim is done. I wobble up the boat ramp to the transition area.
Bike rack lane one, two.. my bike should be riiiight.. riiight.. WHEREISMYBIKE?!
DAMN IT, whereismybike?!!
Oh, where is my bike? Please--
Oh. Yes. I am in the wrong section. My bike is over there-- all alone. Clearly-- there is my bike.
Dry feet, pull on socks, shoes, spray sunscreen, food in mouth, drink water, helmet/glasses, stuff food in pockets, Camelbak, gloves, get out of there!
Oh, thank goodness I'm on my bike. I know how to ride a bike. I can breathe on my bike. I pedal, pedal, pedal, pedal. I pass, get passed, pass, get passed. There is climbing and single track, double track, polite competitors-- "can I pass whenever it's safe?"
Rocky, dry, double track climbing. The forest closes in-- single track climbing, white barked trees, red leaves sprinkle the ground like a contrived painting of fall, but it's not contrived-- it's REAL and it's ridiculous. Climb, climb, climb. Thousands of feet we climb.
Oh my goodness! A downhill! SWOOP, SWOOP, SWOOP. I love mountain biking. I am glee, I am zone, I am mountain bike.
Oh my goodness, we're climbing again.
Climb, climb, climb, climb, climb.
I can hear the music from the transition zone! I am close!
No, I am going away.
The sounds disappear.
And I am climbing.
Climbing, climbing, pushing-- I am pushing my mountain bike.
I am exhausted and I am CRASHING my mountain bike. For no good reason, I crash me and my mountain bike. Twice.
I am stiffly, cautiously, drunkenly steering through switchbacks and I am surviving my mountain bike.
Please, please, please, let this leg be over.
More climbing.
And then, TRANSITION ZONE!
OHMYGOODNESS! TRANSITION ZONE! I AM SO EXCITED! ADRENALINE!!!! TRANSITION ZOOOONE!!!!
Whip on my shoes, Oops! shoulda drank more water, I prance out of there and--
more climbing.
I march.
I alternate: jog, shuffle, march. Jog, shuffle, march. Oo-- pretty butterfly. Jog, shuffle, march. It is GORGEOUS up here. Jog, shuffle, march. "Trail running is fun, even when you're slow," I think. Jog, shuffle, march. #FALL!!# Jog, shuffle--
And eventually--
I finish. In four and a half hours.
Beat, but alive.
I feel alive.
