A couple months ago I participated in my first triathlon. A friend from work had signed up to do a full sprint distance triathlon herself, but decided to turn her entry into a relay. She was going to swim and her brother-in-law was going to do the cycling leg but they needed a runner so I agreed and we had a team.
First up - we needed to come up with a team name. I am the worst at that kind of thing - especially under pressure - so told her I was good with whatever name her and her brother-in-law picked. Her brother-in-law told her the same thing, so my friend registered us as "Team DB." Yup. That is right. Team DB. It turns out that DB is her mom's initials - who happens to be a cancer survivor (the triathlon was a cancer fund raiser). Unfortunately it also stands for quite a few other things....Douche Bag....Dumb Blondes (all three of us are blonde)...Dingle Balls...
I volunteered to pick up our race kit as it was at a place on my way home from work. I realized while standing in line that there was no way around this...I had to tell the two nice 65 year-old ladies sitting at the registration table that I was there to pick up the race kits for Team DB.
When I got to the front I sheepishly muttered our name and then really quickly - and loudly - explained that it was my friends mother's initials and she just won her battle with colon cancer. I totally felt like a douche bag - but I thought what the hell, it isn't like we are making t-shirts or anything so it isn't like we will have to explain the name again. I grabbed our shit and high-tailed it out of there.
Race day arrived and I was pretty nervous. I actually hadn’t been that worried beforehand, but about a week before the race my friend shared a couple little gems. She used to be a competitive swimmer in university and her brother-in-law is in fantastic shape and is REALLY competitive. GREAT! No pressure. You can join our team but you better be able to run fast enough to make your sneakers smoke. Just kidding. But no seriously, not really, You better pull some four minute kilometres out off your ass.
As I pulled up to my friends house, I saw her brother-in-law loading his super duper, made of air and titanium wrapped in carbon, three ounce bike into her truck. He looked like he spends roughly five or six hours a day in the gym. I am pretty sure he could crack shit between his quads. I just about shit and started having stress sweats. I was clearly going to be the dead weight on this team and would probably blow the whole thing on my five kilometre run. My friend admitted she hadn’t done as much training as she wanted to and was nervous as well. That almost made me feel better - until the cyclist busted out the Lycra and aerodynamic helmet.
The swim was up first and they did a staggered start with the men starting five minutes ahead of the women. My friend hit the water and started swimming like there was a small outboard motor attached to her ass. I swear to god she actually had a wake. She was on fire - catching up to the men and leaving the women in her dust. She got tired and started to breaststroke – and she was STILL passing some of the men! She was breaststroking the shit out of that race! The stress sweats escalated to nervous burping and shaking hands.
As she came running out of the water, her brother-in-law was poised, focused and tense like a fucking cheetah about to take down a limping baby antelope. As soon as she tagged him off - he grabbed his bike and started sprinting for the bike start line. The guy was moving so quick he actually looked kind of blurry. Like the Road Runner. No shit.
The bike portion was two 20 kilometre loops, which passed right by the transition area. On his first loop he had gained so much time he getting close to the front of the pack and by his second he was pretty close to, if not actually leading the whole thing. FUCK! Now I had to run my chubby ass around the hilly five km route with the super elite looking triathletes
The brother-in-law came flying back into the transition area screaming at me to go, so I took off in what I hoped was a decent looking run. I was actually feeling like I had a pretty good stride – but those other fuckers were passing me like I was running the other direction. The brother-in-law was yelling at me so loud that I could still hear him when I was getting close to the kilometre mark, and let’s just say he wasn’t commenting on my super fast speed and long stride.
When I came across the finish – I was sure the timing board was screwed up. I ran the five kilometres in 26 minutes. Not a world record or even remotely impressive when compared to the other folks running it – but definitely my personal best.
The cyclist and I were both ready to head out when my friend said that she was pretty sure we won the relay and we should wait. Looking around at the zero body fat crowd, the cyclist and I were pretty sure we didn't - but they had free beer and Greek food so we grabbed a couple beer and some food and sat down to wait for the announcements.
When the results came in, the organizers took to the stage and started reading the results. We were standing at the back of the crowd, and I knew we won when the guy announced the relay category and then there was a HUGE pause before he read the winner. He started really loud "AND THE WINNER OF THE RELAY CATEGORY IS........(huge delay)...team db...(muttered and sheepish) whatever that stands for...."
Everyone in the crowd kind of went quiet and was doing that sucking air through their teeth thing. We didn’t know whether to go up front to get our prize or run for the car. So the brother-in-law shouts, "It is totally okay – it is her mom’s initials and she survived cancer!" so then everyone started to clap and there was an audible sigh of relief across the crowd. It turns out that my friend was right - we actually won the relay category. Trust me – no one was more shocked than us.
Then it got all weird and quiet again when we showed up at the front to get our prize. All these super toned and tight athletes were like "What the fuck? You guys won? Clearly something in the timing process is broken because you all did NOT beat my team!"
That night - Team DB reunited at my friends for a post-race BBQ with our families in tow and my friend introduced me to gin and tonics. Things went pretty quickly downhill from there. We got totally shit-faced. I mean the kind of drunk that rarely happens past the age of 23. The kind of drunk where the night before comes back to you in flashes that usually make you cringe.
I have vague memories of laughing at her super cute one and a half year-old son after he did a face plant in the sandbox because some of the sand stuck to some snot under his nose making him look like a teeny tiny Hitler (so not appropriate), the brother in-law getting into it with Molly and instead of me being like what the fuck are you doing fighting with a four year old – I started to goad Molly on, and lastly, having totally inappropriate conversations with my friend on her deck within earshot of kids and neighbors with little to no volume control.
My swansong was wiping out in gravel on the road in front of her house (again, in front of a bunch of neighbors) as we were trying to leave. It was one of those wipe outs where you instantly know you just fucked yourself up pretty good, but at that point your ego is more hurt than your body, so you just jump up and move on with a big smile and a "I am totally good! I am fine - all good!" I hopped in the car and with a final wave, we peeled out.
Anders looked at my mangled leg and I remember him yelling at me to stop bleeding all over the new car and to hang my leg out the window or something. Since we had only had the car for like two days at that point we hadn’t accumulated the normal stockpile of McDonald’s napkins and packets of wet wipes, so all I could find were some grocery receipts and to-do lists from the bottom of my purse to stick on my gashed up knee.
It is now about two months later - and my knee is still a total mess. I am pretty sure there is still gravel in it and the scars are those ugly purple bumpy ones. Anders likes to point out that from the knees down the kids and I are like triplets.
My friend and I just signed up for another triathlon in September. This time we are each doing the whole relay ourselves. I have what would best be described as a "cruiser bike" – the kind that has a huge seat with springs, a bell and a basket (preferably with a small dog and baguette in it). We are TOTALLY going to rock the shit out of that race!
