For the last four summers, there has been a day that has challenged my physical and motivational limits. Sunday, June 20, was the fourth year that I have competed in the Cornhusker State Games Triathlon. Although, the total combined time of these events over the last four years is less than 8-hours, they are some very memorable hours. This year was no different. It was memorable. To honor this event, I thought I'd revisit each year's unique race.
2007 - In the beginning... What in the world was going through my mind that possessed me to have the crazy idea that I could complete in a triathlon? That moment when I had this crazy idea is still crystal clear in my mind. I was standing outside the lecture hall during my first year of medical school waiting for our free lunch to arrive. It was pizza. As my stomach growled, I overheard my marathon-runner-classmate say the word "triathlon." She said that there was one at the Nebraska State Games, and she also said that it "really wasn't that difficult." And that, my friends, is how it started. She has no clue what her harmless conversation started! I signed up. After word slowly got out, my dad, joined the training. I wasn't going to do it alone.
That first race was down-right scary! Without the faintest idea of what to expect, my stomach was in knots. Looking out over Holmes lake, the buoys were what seemed like miles off shore. How would I ever make it? Then, the gun went off, and into the slimy, green, water we went. After a few moments of panic when the better swimmers passed and dunked me on their way, my breathing settled in. "I'm doing it!" 20-some minutes later my feet hit the sand again, and I was a third of the way done. I hopped on my mountain bike and then faced my worst nightmare. If I would have known that my legs would have to pedal me up that hill three times, my days as a triathlete would have been done before they started. My legs and my lungs were on fire by the top. I swore that the next year, my bike training would be a little, no, a lot, more serious. With the hill behind me, I started the final leg - the 5-K run. Even though my legs were wobbling like jello in an earthquake, the encouragement of the other runners took me to the finish line. What an accomplishment! I was so proud. Exhausted, but proud.
2008 - The adrenaline from the first year was still pumping when the time came to register again. This year, not only had my dad decided to do it again, but my brother, Phil, and my husband, Jason, couldn't resist. It was a blast during the race to know that my family was out on the course with me. The triathlon had officially become "our thing." And, after a summer of teasing each other, I had officially won bragging rights at our house. My time was just under Jason's even though he will tell you that it doesn't count because he was "sick." Blah, blah, blah... I won!
2009 - I almost didn't compete this year, but I felt like my reason was legitimate. 18-weeks pregnant seemed like a good enough excuse. However, as easy as it would have been to sit on the side-line and watch, I really wanted to be able to tell my son that we had done it. So... I did it. My only goal was to finish. All I wanted was to cross that finish line. However, about a third of the way into the swim, I almost gave up. My head had been pushed under the water one too many times, and I couldn't catch my breath. As I swam over to a boat to get a break I questioned if it was really worth it. I must have decided that it was, because once the water was calm and the last aggressive swimmer passed, I let go and finished the race. Forever, Owen and I will have this race.
2010 - Last, but not least, this year. After the last year, I didn't think anything would be able to keep me from doing the race. Then came a very busy year. Not only were we now juggling schedules with Owen, I was also putting in a lot more hours at the hospital and clinic. Training was put off until May, when I had nothing except a little thing called graduation planned. I thought I would have all the time in the world to get ready. However, I let each day in May pass without tying my running shoes, or airing up my bike tires, or putting on my swim suit. I decided that this year wasn't going to happen. The race had also been moved up a month, so I added that to the list of reasons that I would let the registration deadline pass without adding my name to the list of participants. The next morning, when it sank in and there was no turning back, my disappointment clouded the sunny day. "Next year," I told myself, when honestly, I feared that this would be the slippery downhill slide of my dedication and drive. That fear, and learning that Dad had signed up, gave way to a renewed sense motivation. Two mornings later, I bargained with myself that if I could run a 5-K without stopping, I would give myself permission to call the State Games office to see if they would let me register late. I did, and they did. And my training, although starting a little late, went into full gear. Like last year, except for the pregnancy thing, my goal was just to finish.
The morning came. My nerves were pretty calm because my training had been good in the days leading up to the race; however, in the back of my mind I knew that my body was really not prepared as well as it should be. There were also storms in the forecast so we were going to be battling the weather and course conditions, too. Jason, Owen and I met Dad there. We set up our transition area, and then decided one of the tires on the bike I was borrowing from Phil needed a little air. Luck would have it that as we tried to perfect the pressure, it went as flat as a pancake. Without a spare, and our unsuccessful attempts to fix it ourselves, I thought this was it for sure. After all that had happened in the last few weeks, it was over before it started. Oddly enough, amidst the disappointment was a sense of relief. I couldn't fail if I didn't race. And if my tire was flat, it wouldn't be my fault that I didn't race. With not much time to spare before the race was scheduled to start, we went over to register because we didn't know what else to do. Jason had learned of our little predicament, found a bike repair trailer on site, and somehow, with Owen in tow, got my flat-tired-bike over to get fixed. For $6 and in no time flat (no pun intended), there was a new tube and the optimal pressure. Also, during that whole ordeal, the storms had rolled in, and our race was delayed. (I guess it's poor form to let hundreds of people into a lake in the middle of a lightening storm.) So we all crowded into the picnic shelter and watched the rain poor, the lightening crash, and the thunder roll.
About an hour later, they announced that there was a small "window of opportunity." We gathered in our waves and listened to the instructions as lightening continued to strike. Did they just not see it? Were they literally going to let us swim "at our own risk?" Finally, they realized it wasn't any more safe than it had been, and it didn't look like it would be any time soon. No triathlon today.
Instead, the course was changed into a duathlon: run, bike, run. A large number of dejected racers left, but a majority stayed and competed anyway. As much as I like the swim and as much as I don't like to run, that little wave of relief I had during my flat tire returned. I had another way out. Who would blame me for leaving now? Yet, a little voice inside me knew that anything less than crossing the finish line would be giving up. So I slipped on my wet running shoes and joined the pack.
An hour and 24 minutes later I crossed the finish line. Once again exhausted, but also, once again proud.
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