I Finished! I'm Still Alive!

On Saturday, I did nothing. Just went to the information session at the Killarney Lake lodge and then vegged out with my daughter. On hindsight, I should have vegged out on Friday as well. But this was a lesson learned.

Yesterday was the day. I had the alarm set for 6 AM. I woke at 4 AM, my head filled with thoughts like: "What if I die?" and "What if I die?" and the old favorite, "What if I die?"

This thought was finally put to rest by the answer, "Then you'll be buried and your enemies will dance on your grave as you drink a cold Corona in heaven."

My legs were sore as hell, attesting to my lack of ears when friends warned me not to over train. I plan to spend the months ahead growing new, sensible ears, ones that inform my brain more intelligently.

I wasn't going to get into the mad mass of swimmers at the beginning of the race because of all the stories I'd heard about kicking and punching and shoving and people swimming right over you, but then I thought: That's part of it. If I want it to be real in the book, then I have to get kicked, punched, shoved and swum over."

I didn't get punched or kicked or swum over, but I did get shoved a few times, and I'm glad I got into the thick of it. I've been swimming at Killarney Lake for years. I've been doing a lot of distance swimming for the last few weeks. I know the lake like the back of my hand.

But when you have over 70 people splashing and swimming like crazy all around you, you're in a completely different world. The water was a huge roiling mass of bubbles and people. Legs appeared before me in the dark water and then disappeared. Bodies swooped in at each side and then shot out of view as they found a path through the mess. I can understand how people can easily panic during the beginning of the swim, and I'm glad that I practiced getting my head up high and pointed back to get air. As the faster swimmers pulled ahead and the slower swimmers fell behind, the swimming became less hectic and I settled into my usual swim mode. I wasn't wearing a wet suit and it was my first triathlon, so I knew that I wasn't going to win. I decided to just enjoy the swim.

(A short note on wet suits. If you don't wear one, you'll feel downright naked on the beach before heading into the water because everybody else will have one on.)

Maybe I was a little too relaxed. I didn't do any sight spotting on the last leg of the second lap and suddenly noticed that the water was disturbingly shallow. I lifted my head and realized that I was swimming right into the beach. It took me a minute or two to get back on track.

The walk from the lake to the transition area was 3 or 4 hundred feet. Later, my daughter informed me that this was supposed to be a run and that I wasn't supposed to slow down and talk to people on the way. Live and learn.

I had things all laid out and ready to go at the transition area but, eerie, I suddenly had two left-handed bicycling gloves ... and I have only one set of gloves. I spent a few minutes trying to solve this mystery before I just pulled the extra left-handed glove on my right hand and got out to the road.

Half-way through the bike course, I realized that the glove on my right hand was in fact a right-handed glove: but it was inside out. Go figure.

I had water and Gatorade on my bike, but I drank only about half the Gatorade and didn't even try to reach all the way back for the water. I had an energy bar and two gel packs taped to the bike (that beautiful wonderful Felt F90 from Savage's Bike Center ... thanks again, Matt). I didn't touch them. But they did make the bike look like it was being ridden by a seasoned pro. :)

Almost as soon as I got on the bike, my hamstrings began to bunch up into their charlie-horse configuration. This was from too much training and not enough rest before the event.

The bike run was grueling, forty kilometers covering three roads, each with their own brand of hell in the form of hills, but the worst was Brookside Drive, a steady uphill climb with steep inclines and long shallow inclines ending with a sharp demonic rise.

I made a few friends along the bike route and the more experienced triathletes yelled words of encouragement as they passed me. "Die, Biff, die!" and "Go home, old man. Drink beer!"

Just kidding.

They yelled things like, "You're doing great!" and "Keep it up." I was so impressed that I yelled the same kind of encouragement to the three people that I passed, one of whom passed me a little later.

I finished the bike run without my hamstrings going into full charlie-horse mode and half-walked, half-ran my bike through the transition area. Cassie yelled out, "I'm so proud of you, Dad!" and I suddenly felt energized enough to finish the transition in running mode.

I noticed that most of the bikes were back. In fact, it looked like they were all back. I wondered if those people I'd passed and yelled encouragement to might have been illusions.

I got into my running stuff and headed straight to the washroom. Did I mention that as soon as I got on my bike a couple hours earlier that I had to pee like crazy? I swear my eyes were turning yellow. It took a few minutes before my plumbing cooperated in the washroom, but it was one of the most relieving experiences in my life.

I'd thought my hamstrings were bad on the bike, but the run brought a whole new dimension of pain. Not only were my hamstrings (one of which was pulled so badly years ago that it put me out of Karate training for half a year) but now my calf muscles were vying for most excruciating centers of pain.

So I kept my pace leisurely and thought about all the beer I was going to drink after the race. As I completed each lap, there were two wonderful girls who handed me my choice of water or Gatorade. I mixed it up just for the hell of it, water this round, Gatorade the next. Unfortunately, they had no beer.

Just beyond them, my beautiful daughter stood by the path taking pictures and yelling out how proud she was of me. On the third time around, it struck me that things had reversed. I used to yell encouragement to her when she was in swimming competitions and tell her how proud I was of her. (Unlike me, she usually finished first.)

What seemed really strange about this is that it's exactly the kind of thing that happens in the novel. In The War Bug, Abner Hayes saves his wife and daughter (who's name just happens to be Cassie and who happens to look and act exactly like my daughter Cassie. What a strange coincidence). In the sequel, Cassie saves her father. Things are reversed in the novel and in real life.

The things you think about when you’re doing your first triathlon.

When I was down to the last stretch, running along the beach with the roof of the lodge (where the finish line was) visible across the lake, I stepped up the pace, hamstrings and calves be damned, because it occurred to me that I was actually going to finish this triathlon and I wasn’t anywhere close to dying. In fact, with the exception of my legs, arms, abdomen, torso, neck, and head … I felt great!

As I came into the finish line, there were still enough spectators left to cheer for me, including Cass, who seemed to be having a hard time deciding weather to take a picture or cheer. Somehow, she managed both.

And get this ... they gave me a medal. Just for finishing! And a wonderful New Balance t-shirt from Fox Subaru and the Tri-Athlete store. And I got to keep my swim cap. There were bagels and subs and Gatorade. And massages, but the line was too long so I just milled around with the crowd, my daughter and my friend Duane, who finished just ahead of me. Duane went back later for a massage later. Can't say I blame him; the women giving them were knockouts.

Later, when I arrived home, there were even emails waiting for me. One from 24/7 author Susan DiPlacido and one from Beth Ashton, who's also going to be in the novel as my daughter’s best friend. They both had the same message: "Die, Biff..."

Naw, they wished me all the best.

One thing I'll have to say about the Duncan Hadley Triathlon ... it's one of the best planned, officiated and engineered events I've ever attended. Everything was laid out sensibly, there was always somebody nearby who could answer questions, the track was laid out and patrolled efficiently, there was no shortage of food and fluids, the orientation session the day before was thorough, registration and sign-up were a breeze, I can't remember any event I've ever attended where the officials, the competitors and the spectators were all so friendly and happy.

Was that more than one thing?

My body felt like hell and it feels only slightly better today, but the triathlon was one of the most exhilarating experiences of my life. I smoked for 39 years before quitting five and a half years ago. A triathlon was always something I could never imagine myself doing, let alone finishing. But I did it.

And I'm gonna do it again next year!