
High of 65, high of 65. I tried to keep focusing on good things while we biked from our hotel in Monterey to the triathlon start. It was only four miles, but at 5:45 AM on Saturday my thoughts were full of doom of gloom. Sharks. Lipstick and farm animals. Lehman.

Then I started to think about my cousin Julia and why I was out there in the first place. I signed on with Team in Training’s program earlier this year to celebrate her fantastic outlook–whether she was dancing in Rome or undergoing chemo, she wore a huge smile on her face. Julia wouldn’t be thinking the way I was while we were setting up to swim, bike and run. She’d be excited about the beauty of Monterey Bay and making comments about how good looking everybody was, even in their wetsuits.

So I decided I would too. My jokes about “Team in Dating” fell flat with the women getting ready around me, but I decided that I was going to have fun with this. Our group had raised an average of $37,000 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society for each mile of the 31-mile course, and a strong support network had gotten me here. I was grateful for the text messages, which ranged from thoughtful (“The Lord has blessed you with great health”) to enthusiastic (“Uz gonna kill it grrl!”).

We were split up by heat and my group with lavender swim caps had a 9:30 AM start. This photo was taken at 9:28, just after I realized that I’d left my bike pump behind and would have a tough time achieving a four hour time goal if I got a flat tire. The smile almost looks authentic. Maybe I should have moved to LA instead.

My swim felt slow but steady, and the transitions between legs went well. I’m still unsure about the necessity of putting your age in magic marker behind your left knee, maybe because it forces you to do mental math when “60″ and speedy passes you on their bike. I went through about 250 Hail Marys (all slightly different–second grade at St. Rose School was a long time ago) before turning to Jay-Z, which doesn’t sound as good with half the lyrics and no bass line.
My bike computer stopped working so I wasn’t sure how I was doing time wise, but the sun was coming out and I was starting to have fun on the coastal course. I may have switched my mind frame to joy to soon though–the run was painful. Numb foot for four and a half miles painful. But there were plenty of team cheerleaders and friends, plus the narcissism of passing one of the 18-year-old uberathletes we trained with. I was a bit bummed to calculate my 4 hour, 16 minute finish time, until I did the math again. Don’t carry an extra one! It had been 3 hours, 16 minutes. All selfish pride aside, I was ecstatic to see everyone from our team and several cancer survivors finish the Olympic distance. What a great, strong group.
White wine and lunch overlooking the water with good friends ensued, and I was happy to celebrate with Virgin Triathlete Crystal English. With luggage full of lycra and a newly (and confusingly) acquired bottle of Smirnoff, I left Monterey with an achey head and sore calves on Sunday, asking when the next tri is. Maybe a mentorship with Team in Training, which I can’t say enough good things about? Maybe Wildflower in the Spring? Maybe Kona? No…an Ironman story in the Sunday Times, my ultimate athletic payoff, scared me away from that one.