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My First Triathlon



I suppose it’s official and there’s no turning back now.

They’re expecting me in Harrison mid-August to compete in My First Triathlon. And now I’m having second thoughts about the whole ordeal.

What seemed like a good idea two weeks ago is now starting to seem like something that’s going to ruin the leisurely summer I had planned for myself.

My excitement about this new endeavour has waned, to say the least, and now the prospect of this race is hanging over me like a black cloud.

Here’s a sample of the conversation I had last night with my boyfriend, who has been charged with keeping me motivated and inspired for the next two months.

Boyfriend: Did you run today?

Me: No.

Boyfriend: Did you swim today?

Me: No.

Boyfriend: Did you bike today?

Me (finally clueing in): Yes.

Boyfriend: You did?

Me: No (looking very ashamed of myself.)

He then took off on a bit of a motivational speech and I effectively tuned him out and sauntered away into my bedroom.

I was feeling guilty enough at that point. I didn’t need someone else telling me I had to get back on track, keep up the good work, blah, blah, blah. (I may have just lost my motivational trainer with that last sentence.)

Some Whistlerites, who train on a daily basis, may think I’m overreacting a little about the race. But a 400 metre swim, followed by a 20 kilometre bike ride and then a five km race is more than a little daunting for me.

Sometimes it can be a little disheartening having friends training for the Ironman. They make it seem so easy.

I’m worried about a five km run and they’re racing a marathon after a 180 km bike ride, not to mention their lengthy swim.

But here’s the thing. Whereas they’re seasoned pros with this whole exercise training thing, I’ve never done anything like this before.

Like most projects I embark upon, I began with gusto two weeks ago just before I signed up for the race.

I was swimming at Meadow Park, jumping on my bike, going for runs (well run/walks).

And I felt great.

At one point I was sure I’d be setting records at the race, although fortunately I kept that thought to myself.

Maybe, just maybe, I got a little ahead of myself. And now I’ve crashed. I’ve stopped dead in my tracks. The thought of putting on my running shoes again just fills me with dread.