(Right after finishing IM Augusta 70.3)
I felt like I had accomplished something impossible. Of course it wasn't but I felt like it was. I hate to admit it, but when I clicked submit on the Augusta entry in December of last year I felt like I was throwing away the $400 registration fee. I had no idea how I was going to bike 56 miles or run (or even walk) 13.1 miles. I'm not sure my hubbie was too optimistic either (actually he has admitted he was very skeptical).
But I started slow and worked HARD! When I started training I could not run a mile straight. I could only bike 15 miles. My ass hurt! My hips hurt. My lungs HURT! I continued to struggle through the training my coach handed me each month. In April I ran the Annual Crazylegs Classic in Madison. The 8K (5 mile) race starts at the State Capitol and ends at Camp Randall Studium. My only goal was to finish and not to walk. I managed to do just that. My pace was slow and I finished in 1 hour and 1 min. I was so disappointed that I hadn't broke an hour but so very pleased I finished without walking.
(Kiddos and me post Crazy Legs)
Next up was the first triathlon of the season. On May 17th in Kansas City I attempted my first Olympic distance triathlon (0.9 mile swim, 25 mile bike, 6.2 mile run) and failed miserably. The night before there had been horrible storms. The lake the next morning was cold and choppy. I took off and from the get-go I knew something was off. I couldn't find a rhythm and turned to the breast stroke. After a couple of hundred meters I could barely breathe. I was gasping for air despite not swimming very hard at all. I made through the first loop of the two loop swim course and as I ran (ok I was walking) past the women cheering for me I decided to continue on. I had previously made up my mind that I was pulling myself from the race, but seeing the ladies there screaming for me I wanted to continue.
I walked back into the water and as soon as the water got deep enough to force me to swim I knew I was done. It hurt to breathe. I swallowed my pride, turned around and quit. Yes, I handed my timing chip to the lady on the shore and proceeded to walk off the course with my head hung low. The dreaded DNF (did not finish) happened to me. I was disappointed, ashamed, and embarassed. I wasn't sure what had happened but I knew something wasn't right.
I continued to cheer on the other women (they were all doing the sprint disatnce) and realized I could not laugh or inhale deeply without pain. I didn't seek medical attention (right away) but I also knew something wasn't right. The drive home was brutal. The friend I drove with finsihed and it killed me that I had not. I am not a quitter, yet that was exactly what I had done. The pain in my chest was brutal but the feeling that I had failed was worse. Turns out I had aspirated water into my lungs and I was experiencing a mild form of dry drowning (Google it! It's so much fun). Swimming is normally my strength in triathlon. This experience screwed with me mentally more than anything. I now dreaded the pool and even worse the next open water swim. My next tri was a month away...
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