I come from a long line of obese Germans. My sisters and I have been fighting our genes for decades. In my late forties, I found myself weighing more than I ever had and seemed to be following in the footsteps of my ancestors. And then I saw a brochure at the Parker Recreation Center for a beginner triathlon course. It seemed ridiculous and possible at the same time. I signed up.
I vaguely knew what triathlon was. After all, I’d listened to the announcers on Wild World of Sports back in the day cover the Ironman race in Kona, HI. They’d speak in awed tones about how athletes were swimming 2.4 miles, riding 112 miles, and running 26.2 miles ALL IN ONE DAY. As a kid, I said to myself, “I’ll do that someday”. But I also said I’d be a gymnast, a great piano player, a figure skater…I am none of those things.
So on the first day, eleven other women and one man took to the pool. I’ve been a swimmer, but not since my early teens. And then it was grit and determination that got me across the pool, not great form. And in my late 40s, grit and determination weren’t enough. It gassed me. It gassed a lot of us. The second day, we met on Spin bicycles. This allowed our coach to talk to us while we exercised. It allowed us to talk to each other. I will admit that I mimed turning the knob to make it more difficult when he said to make it more difficult. It was hard enough. And the third day, we met on an indoor track at the Parker Field House. Now this indoor track is 1/11 of a mile per lap. I ran one lap. One. And I was out of breath and struggling.
Some of our group were swimmers. Some were runners. Some were athletes. Most were not. Most of us learned these things together. We bonded over our struggle. We bonded over our laughter of our own ineptitude. We cried. We supported each other. By the time our graduation race came, three months later, we could all do a sprint distance swim, bike and run; but we’d be tested when we put everything together in a race. I can remember how nervous I was that first morning. We were in a special start wave for first-timers. I remember when the horn sounded, indicating our time to start swimming, that I went out fast. I needed to rest on a kayak. I needed to take it town a notch. I made it past the turn. I was on my way back and filled with panic. My wetsuit was choking me. The water was cold. I hung out on a kayak again. Someone else came up to the kayak and said they were done. I thought that seemed like a good idea, too. A boat came and picked us up and took us to shore. I had maybe 100 yards left to swim. I gave up.
Fortunately, the race director allowed us the experience of doing the race so we were allowed to bike and run. I remember sitting on the ground after finishing the bike, eating grapes. My coach on the other side of the fence said to get moving onto the run(in the kindest way possible). I eventually went out to “run” and finished the 5K. I was disappointed in myself. In my failure. I’d worked so hard for this and I didn’t really do it. I cried most of the way home from Boulder.
Fortunately, one of my new friends from the triathlon group had persuaded me to sign up for a second triathlon before I’d done the first, or this might have been the end of my story. A few weekends later, at an all-women’s race, she and I went into the water and we were relaxed and chatting before the horn. I swam. I biked. I ran. I did a triathlon! We decided that triathlon could be fun! We had fun! I did a few more triathlons that summer, ending with an Olympic distance one. And then the following year was persuaded by the same friend to do a half Ironman. And finally a few years later, in 2021, I did an Ironman at the age of 50.
This person who could barely swim a length of a pool or run 1/11 of a mile did an Ironman. But more important than doing an Ironman by far, is that I still maintain close relationships with the women I started this adventure with eight years ago. Our bond forged through shared laughter and tears endures. We can all say to one another, “Hey girl, I’ve been there too!”
