Wildflower Training Weekend

Ever feel like a bull in a china shop? The odd man out? The one that doesn't belong? Yeah? Well, welcome to Wildflower Training Weekend where I spent the weekend surrounded by uberathletes. These people have muscles on their muscles. They have "things" on their bikes: aerobars, and drink holders, and funny tires. They have funny little clip on shoes, and matching tri outfits. Don't get me wrong they were nice people. But this weekend the world was divided between the triathletes and me.

Okay, wait. How did I get to the land of the uberathlete? Yeah, I know. Last you heard I was done with triathlon. Over it. Finished.

Yeah, well, I tried to quit. Had some really nice excuses lined up about my leg, and not wanting to have to walk the race, or worse yet quit in the middle of it. AND too I had the added bonus of not having asked for the time off. So I thought I was covered. Then I had a conversation that went a little something like this:

"I'm not going to do the Wildflower tri."
"Yes you are."
"No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are."
"No, I'm not"
"Well, that's stupid."

As far as inspirational speeches it certainly wasn't the St. Crispus Day rally. In fact it didn't inspire me as much as it irritated me.

"I'm not going to do the triathlon. My leg is hurting and I can't run."
"Then walk it."
"I don't want to walk it. People will laugh at me."
"So?"

So??? What does he mean so? The fear of being laughed at had kept many people at home were they belonged instead of doing things like making speeches, and performing bad karoke. It was a very powerful force.

"I'm not going to do the race." And that's it. End of discussion.
"Yes, you are."

Impossible. Stubborn. Irritating. But I needed to hear it. Honestly, I was relieved to hear it. Finally, here was the permission that I wanted to give to myself, but I couldn't. Everyone around me was telling me it was okay to wait, that I didn' t have to do the race if I didn't want to. They were saying it was okay to quit. But I knew it wasn't okay to quit. And I did have to do it because I promised myself I would. Maybe it wasn't reasonable to expect to compete and finish an Olympic Distance Triathlon when the most I could run was 2 miles without pain, and the longest I had ever biked was 18 miles, and I had never swam in open water in my life. But I didn't want reasonable. I wanted to hear from someone that I could do this, as stupid as it was.

So there I was Wildflower Training Weekend on my bike waiting to head out on the bike course. On the plus side, my bike looked like it belonged. Me on the other hand, I was out of my element. My only hope was to keep my mouth shut and try to look cool as the talk turned to other races they had done; UVAS, Pacific Grove, Alcatraz. Alcatraz?! As in the friggin' prison? Geez o' pete, these people do triathlons from Alcatraz prison?!? Who are these people?? And what planet do they come from?! Yeah, it was definitley best to keep my mouth shut.

After some more talk about how they wrassle alligators, and leap buildings in a single bound we were finally ready to ride. My group was doing the "short" course. 26 miles. I was hoping I wouldn't make too much of a fool of myself out on the course. I hoped that I wouldn't keel over, red faced and fall off my bike, gasping for breath in front of them, still clipped into my bike. I shouldn't have worried. When our ride leader told us to head out, I heard the sound of 50 bicyclists clipping in, then with a whirr, they were gone. So much for actually riding with a group.

26 miles is a long ride. 26 miles of hills is an even longer ride. 26 miles of hills when you don't know how to shift gears on your bike is just plain hell.
"click, grind. Not that gear"
"click, grind. Nope, not that one either."
"click, pop, grind...oops, definitley not that one."
"click, click, click...where was that gear? click, click...ahhh, there we go. Oh, damn. Another hill."
"click, grind..." and so on for 26 miles. Actually 27 miles because I missed the turnaround.

Off the bike, everything hurt. I hobbled around making a feeble attempt to stretch, acting like this was normal ( oh yeah-I usually ride 26 miles, no prob ) when the talk turned to the swim tomorrow.

The swim? Oh hell.