The weather was perfect.  Music was blaring and excitement filled the air.  With nearly 700 athletes gearing up for the race, the energy was amazing.  David had driven us to Hawk Island State Park which is about 15 minutes from their place.  Israel stayed back to let the boys sleep more and would meet us at the start of the race.  Tennille and I got in line to pick up our race bags which included a purple swim cap, our bib, a technical tee, and our race number stickers for our bike helmet and bikes.  We got marked on both arms and they wrote our age on the back of our left calf.  The final stop was to get our time chip and then we were off to set up our transition area. 

I was anxious to get every thing set up so I’d have enough time to mentally prepare for the race.  But this was precisely when things got harry.  First of all, a lady had set up her things in my spot.  With the help of the nice guy next to me, we moved her bike and things since she didn’t show up for about 10 minutes.  When she came back, she was attitudinal even after I showed her that she was in my spot.  Anyway, I finally began setting up my things on my loud, flowery beach towel.  Then, I noticed I didn’t have my cold bottle of Gatorade.  I must have misplaced it somewhere between registering, getting marked, and putting on my bib.  Tennille went to try to find it for me after she had set up, but to no avail.  So now, during my transitions, I just had a warm, small plastic water bottle to hydrate.  That made me sad.  I was still putting all of my gear in place when I realized that we were missing the first-time beginners’ orientation.  We had planned on going to that.  David brought my bike over to me and I noticed that during the transport, my chain fell off.  I got it back on, but both my hands got covered in black grease.  We both had to use the bathroom but at that moment, we heard the call for all athletes to make their way to the start line.  We had no choice but to head over, with the hundreds of others, to the lake. 

With a few minutes to spare until the race would start, we decided to get used to the water.  I rubbed the grease off of my hands the best I could.  As we waded in, we no longer had to go to the bathroom.    (FYI, this is totally acceptable triathlete behavior!)  That was a relief, but then as I plunged in and swam a few strokes, I felt my time chip slip off my ankle.  I momentarily panicked and began to frantically drag my feet around trying to feel for it, but then I saw that it was floating next to me.  I strapped it on again, hoping it would be more secure.  I then proceeded to kick my leg like it was going out of style (underwater, of course, so no one could see) to ensure that it wouldn’t fall off again.  Out of all the worst-case scenarios that had crossed my mind, I never imagined that my time chip would fall off.  It would definitely be the worst, most pointless way to ruin a race.  I felt unprepared, nervous, and uneasy as we came out of the water and headed towards the start line. 

But then Tennille, in one swift comment, managed to dissipate all of that.  She pointed and exclaimed, “Look over there!”  I turned my head and behold, there was a skinny man wearing nothing but what resembled a too small pair of women’s black panties.  It was so bunched up that I’d safely say that half of his cheeks were hanging out.  For the first time that day, I felt more sorry for someone else than for me.  I instinctively looked around hoping his girlfriend, wife, parent, friend or acquaintance would run to his rescue to pull out his wedgie or better yet, bring the wetsuit that he accidentally forgot at home.  Neither of those things happened.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or pity him.  We busted out laughing, really hard. 

I saw Israel and the boys, and in that moment, I felt overcome with gratefulness for all of the time they had sacrificed to let me train and get to this point.  It helped me put things into perspective.  It was going to be a special race no matter what.  It was my first triathlon. 

Tennille and I merged with the other hundreds of purple swim caps.  The race began with the elite.  The different groups lined up and started in intervals with a few minutes separating them.  When it was time for our age category (women 24-29), Tennille and I went right up to the front of the pack.  Apparently, Chris had told me NOT to go towards the front because we’d be more likely to get kicked and hit.  Whoops.  We reasoned that we’d rather have people pass us up than us having to swim around people.  It made sense when we discussed it. 

3…2…1 and we were off! 

We ran from the grass, crossed the timing pad, and splashed into the murky, mossy water.  After a few giant steps, I dove in and tried to get into a swimming groove.  My bilateral breathing and sighting rhythm was interrupted with a few kicks to my face and body, but I kept going.  I felt like I was going in slow motion and was tempted to push harder.  But then Rick’s race day motto came to mind:  Don’t go chasing fat girls.  He had shared that with Israel a while back, but it was quickly becoming applicable to me.  All sorts of women who were much more out of shape than me (or so I thought) were passing me up!  But I knew that I just had to stick to my own pace if I wanted to finish strong.

I turned the first buoy and this is where I encountered the sidestroke lady.  She appeared right next to me and I saw this as an opportunity to actually pass someone up.  She was swimming the sidestroke facing me.  I continued swimming with bilateral breathing, hoping that every time I would breath on her side, I would see that I was gaining on her.  This never happened.  She stuck right by my side and just stared at me.  I became somewhat carried away by this bizarre phenomenon that I failed to properly sight.  And I think she was relying on me to stay on course.  We were making a wide arc to the second buoy.  By the time I saw what was happening, I tried to swim harder to pass her, but I couldn’t get away from her and her stare.  As a last-ditch effort, I thought about swimming under her to cut back on course.  I refrained, but I did manage to sneak in front of her and cut a close corner around the final buoy.  I finally reached the shallow water and ran up to the grass path marked out for us.  The cheering crowd gave me an adrenaline rush.  They were probably cheering for the thirty-something guys who began minutes after me but were finishing already, but either way, I felt like a super-star athlete.  It made me push harder.

My otherwise sensitive feet were numb to the mud, grass, concrete, and little pebbles as I raced over to my transition area.  I had a feeling I had taken much longer than what my swim goal was, so it was time to kick it up a notch to make up for lost time.  I crossed the timing pad marking the end of my swim portion and entered the transition area.  It was time to perform the dance that I had practiced and gone over in my mind again and again.  I wanted it to be flawless…except I would have to do it without my nice, cold Gatorade.  Boo.