Kugler triathlons: The Callaway Sprint Triathlon

6/21/09 Pine Mountain, GA. After months of preparation, race day is here! I got my packet and my nerve, however shaky. I talk to people while setting up and look around getting any tips just from watching others. I forgot a towel to wipe the sand and dry my feet - darn, first mistake. I set my bike so the front tire faces me where I'll be grabbing the bike from the rack, I count the number of rack supports back my bike is from the swim exit, 6, and hang my bag from the rack to mark my spot for returning from the bike. I set my shoes out and helmet and gloves where they'll be easy to grab. I already pumped my tires, but the person next to me is being asked to lend their pump to others who've forgotten theirs. The two women next to me in the rack are mother and daughter and are discussing wearing or not wearing the bike shorts during the swim, the other daughter is there for support and not racing.

When I've convinced myself I'm ready at the transition area, I head out to take a quick look at the finish line. It's a giant, inflatable arch with a rubber mat under it. Nothing glamorous, except for the significance of it. As I stand there, another lady comes to talk to me. She tells me she's done this a few times before, and I ask her about positioning yourself in the water. She says the people will tend to stay towards the shallower end, since there's so many beginners, but she doesn't like it there. The swimmers ahead of you will have torn up the seaweed and muck, making it a nasty swim. She goes on to tell me of her accomplishments in marathon and surviving hurricane Katrina, and the connection between the two events.

We walk towards the start area for the mandatory pre-race announcements. They warn us of the turn that we'll need to slow down for, they tell us about the aid station only being available on the run, and tell us the order of the wave starts. They ask how many people are first timers, and over 75% (guessing) are first timers. They ask the veterans to play nicely and not grab the first timers' feet during the swim. Gee, thanks.

Swim time, last-minute "good-luck" wishes being said, and the horn goes off. I know that if I am not the most resolved swimmer, and if I get into a patch of people or run into someone, I will possibly stop to look around, so I let others get a start on me. I do end up running into people, and I do take advantage of the shallow water to take a rest. I also spot my family along the shoreline looking for me, but they didn't spot me until the swim exit. I'd read that the best method for nearing the shore in a swim is to swim until you can't swim anymore since you can't walk faster than you can swim, so I stay in when others are walking out of the water. As I exit, I am out of breath and thankful that my arms are not needed in the bike, except to hold onto the bars and shift, or in the run.

In transition, I "borrowed" my neighbors towel to dry my feet to get my bike shoes on. They'd already been through transition, as evidenced by their bikes being gone. Thanks, neighbor! I set out on the bike, clipping into my pedals while nervous about my time so far or the possibility of running into others because I'm paying attention to my feet slows me down, but soon enough, I feel like I'm flying. I couldn't tell you how many times I shouted "on your left" while passing. Or how many times I exchanged that announcement with one of the other bikers, who later encouraged me to keep going because I'd slowed to take some water. I didn't see her after that.

After what only ended up being about an 8.5-mile bike, not 10, it was time to dismount and head to transition again. This time to the run, shoes switched, helmet and gloves off, running brace on, grabbed a banana and a douse of water onto my head, and I'm off. I carry the banana with me, taking a bite here and there. I later tossed half of it on the side of the path since I don't need the energy and am tired of holding it. The run is the least fun of the events, not cool enough from the water on the swim nor the presence of the wind on the bike portion. This is where the participants', rather, athletes' only sounds are of their shoes hitting pavement over and over again. I start singing in my head; it's a song I've changed the lyrics to fit the triathlon experience. The song is one of James' kids' songs, but I don't remember now what it was. I hear from the volunteers that the finish is very near, plus I hear the music playing from the pavilion where all of the finishers are hanging out, so I start to stick to only running, no more walk breaks until I finish. (Yeah, I did the walk/run thing, I'm not an elite athlete by any stretch).

Crossing the finish line feels great, and I tell my husband how much I loved the bike part over the other 2, and how much I need to go use the facilities. I think I've had to pee since the bike started. Afterward, we grab our post-race snacks and clear out my stuff from transition.

One triathlon down, and convinced I need to work more on my swim for any next attempts.