Dear credit card, dear
downpayment dream-of-living-in-a-place-with-affordable-real-estate fund, dear closet full of old real-girl clothes that aren’t getting replaced anytime soon:
I’m sorry for all of these:
Triathlon training program? Check.
Ice Breaker Sprint Tri? Check.
Wildflower Olympic Tri? Check.
(Race #3 is a 5K that starts halfway down my regular running route this Sunday, but since it costs a whopping $5, I’m not paying Active for the privilege of automating my registration.)
I’ve been mentally committed to this schedule for a while, but for some reason — or some combination of reasons — I held off on registering. There was the intimidation thing and then the leg thing, the who-knows-what-I’ll-be-doing-in-April thing, the do-I-still-want-to-run-another-half-marathon thing … basically a lot of excuses to keep me from actually saying, “Yes! I am, in fact, going to do this crazy triathlon thing.”
But then last night, I went to the first meeting of the training group. Everyone was new to something. Nobody is going to be the worst at everything. And when my tri club friend greeted me by saying “why aren’t you on the registered list yet?” … that was the last little push I needed.
So I handed over my credit card. My weekends between now and May. My control over my training schedule. My reservations about adding two new sports to my life. A hefty amount of my pride (well, I guess I still technically have my pride, since nobody’s seen me sob hysterically at the idea of climbing up a hill on a bike yet, but that time will come). And I registered.
I don’t really have a good idea of what’s going to happen next. Well, that’s only sort of true. I know that I’m going to show up to our first practice in 10 days with all my favorite gear so the coaches can tell me what else to buy and what I don’t need to worry about. I’ll probably still spend too much money on crap I don’t need. I’m going to ride up a hill on my bike, with other people, and I’ll probably hate it and curse myself the whole way, but I’m going to do it. And then I’ll drive to Marin and put on a swimsuit and see if someone can figure out what the hell my left hand does while I’m swimming.
I’ll get a training schedule that, if it’s anything like the one we saw last night, will make me want to vomit, but that I also 100% know I can do if I trust myself.
And beyond that, it’s a mystery. Maybe I’ll make friends for life from this little group; maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll be ready to clip in on the bike in three weeks; maybe I’ll ride on my plastic pedals forever. Maybe I’ll fall in love with triathlons; maybe I’ll never do another one after May. Maybe I’ll find out I’m secretly talented at open water swimming or riding on hills; maybe it’ll turn out that “middle-of-the-pack runner” is the kindest athletic description one could apply to me.
I do know I need a bike rack for Max, stat. The rest, I’ll take one Training Peaks day at a time.