Three days ago, on a cool August morning, I ran my first triathlon. And I finished. That I did is no small accomplishment because of who I was when I chose to do it, how little time I had to prepare and the sacrifices I made to accomplish it.
Three days ago, on a cool August morning, I ran my first triathlon. And I finished.
That I did is no small accomplishment because of who I was when I chose to do it, how little time I had to prepare and the sacrifices I made to accomplish it.
What follows is how I prepared for my first triathlon. A quick note – nothing you are about to read is sanctioned by any competent doctor or trainer. This was, rightly or wrongly, how I chose to accomplish it.
But I did it.
Two months ago
It's hard to identify when I decided I wanted to train for a triathlon, but according to the iPhone app I use, I went for my first run on June 26. I'd received a CCM road bike for Father's Day but hadn't used it much.
I weighed nearly 300 pounds. I am a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker. I have osteoarthritis in my left knee, which has required two surgeries in the last two years. My anterior cruciate ligament (ACL) is completely torn. The surgeon was emphatic that he wasn't going to fix it until I dropped weight and started being more active.
I ate as much cheese and meat as possible. I knew there was a stationary bike and a treadmill in the basement. Just taking my son to the park was more exercise than I could handle, more than my knee could handle. For his entire life, all he'd ever heard me say was “Daddy's knee is too sore to run.”
Owning a bike, however, got me thinking more about exercise. My physiotherapist had said it was the best exercise for my knee. And then I remembered she's also recommended swimming. And a tiny thought began to bubble in my mind. I'd thought of running triathlons in years past and pretended like I was training for them, but never followed through. I did buy a lovely lycra, skin-tight swimsuit, much to the horror of the other swimmers at Fountain Park Recreation Centre, but hadn't used it in years.
I realized that I was looking for a challenge. I wanted to do something tangible, not spend money to go to a gym and lift things. I knew something in my life needed to change. And I decided the one thing I would do was run at least the Try-A-Tri at the St. Albert Triathlon Aug. 12.
Eight weeks to go
The first problem was finding a training plan. The shortest beginner's plan was 11 weeks long. And I only had eight weeks to prepare. So I quickly made the decision that the plan would have to be chopped at some point. Also, to make up the difference, I would have to do everything doctors and trainers – even triathlon websites – tell you not to do: I would have to push myself as hard as possible. There would be no energy left in the tank. If I thought I could go further and longer, I would. And I would do it again the next day and the next.
I also had to change my eating habits drastically. Instead of eating out for lunch and gorging on peanut butter cups, I reached for salads, carrots, cottage cheese and chicken breasts. I stopped snacking at night. I made sure, besides my morning coffee with sugar, nothing I drank contained calories.
The first two weeks were gruelling. Swimming was easier than I had thought. Running, my weakest discipline, was the most difficult. The training program recommended mixing walking for so many minutes then running for so many. I ignored that and just ran, which neither my knee nor my blackened lungs enjoyed. Some days I felt light-headed. Others I felt I was going to vomit after a woeful 20-minute run. But I kept going.
Cycling got off to a frustrating start. On the second long ride of my training schedule, I blew my rear tire crossing the train tracks near the Sturgeon Valley Golf and Country Club. I had no choice but to walk another hour back home, in the rain. I learned how to repair a tire, which came in handy on my next ride – I discovered the front tire was flat. Before I even left. I patched it and tried to go for my ride, but the patch didn't hold. This time I was able to get a ride back into town.
The response
Experts tell you to take it easy when you start an exercise regimen so you don't hurt yourself, and become so discouraged with it that you give up. Sound advice, I agree.
But in my case, I found that the harder I pushed myself, the better my body responded. Four weeks after starting my training, I ran laps at Fowler Track (to spare my knee) for an hour without stopping. I rode my bike 40 kilometres, including the gruelling ascent up Sir Winston Churchill Avenue. My swimming workouts were double or even triple the length and duration of what my program had recommended. As my body quickly adapted, I decided to go for broke and instead of the Try-a-Tri, signed up for the sprint triathlon – a 750-metre swim, a 20-kilometre bike, five-kilometre run.
I started getting up an hour earlier than usual to train, then worked out again in the evening. And the benefits flowed. Within a week, I stopped sweating profusely at night. By race day, I had lost 37 pounds and five inches off my gut. And I could chase my son around the park without knee pain.
One last smoke
The temperature wasn't yet 10 C when I pulled on my new triathlon shorts, stuffed my bike and gear into the car and headed for Fountain Park pool. More tired than nervous, I spent a little extra time setting up my transition area. Then I snuck off behind a tree for one last cigarette before the race.
I was lucky to draw an early start time. I'd told friends and family I expected to take around two hours, 20 minutes to finish the race.
We were bunched into groups of four and assigned a lane. I was in the second heat with three others and wisely anointed myself the slowest of the group. I was the only athlete without a watch or heart-rate monitor. I was also the only athlete whose mother searched him out on the pool deck and gave him a good-luck kiss on the cheek.
I fidgeted. I hopped in place. And finally it was time. I was counted down and let loose. The water felt just fine as I plunged in and pushed off. Given that I had trained without a heart-rate monitor, I knew I just had to take it easy. But it took me a while to find a comfortable pace in the pool. Only once did I have to pull over and stop to let the faster swimmers past. I was just getting comfortable when a yellow flutterboard appeared in the water – two laps to go. I slowed, and as I finished vaulted out of the pool, nearly colliding with another athlete.
It was immediately apparent I had done the swimming too fast. My brain was starved for oxygen as I burst out the doors into the transition area. It was all I could do to remember where my bike was, but I took it slow, determined to get it right. The one advantage I had in the bike was that I lived right next to the route and had used it for all my training, so I knew where to gear up or down and where all the bumps were. But my CCM road bike was no match for the $4,000 triathlon bikes that zipped past.
The ride was shockingly cold, not just from the crisp temperatures but also my wet triathlon suit. Still I hit the turnaround point faster than usual (I'd strapped my iPhone to my arm) and headed back. As I approached Sir Winston Churchill Avenue's steep incline, I was forced to speed up and pass a slower athlete as I was infringing on her draft zone, which wasn't allowed. Passing her uphill was strenuous and my legs felt shot as I mostly coasted back to the pool, ditched my bike and helmet for a hat and headed out for the run.
Doing it!
I found my legs after about a kilometre of struggling and that's when it struck me – I was doing it! Even though everyone else seemed to pass me, I felt like my legs were eating up the pavement. I was running on sheer joy and satisfaction and managed to cross the finish line without once stopping or walking.
I knew I'd finished earlier than planned because a few of my friends had just shown up and, basing their arrivals on my predicted time, just about missed my finish. When the final results went up, I was satisfied. I was last in my age group, but not last overall. And I'd finished in 1:53:30, beating all of my predictions for all three disciplines.
It was an extraordinary feeling, especially after I'd eaten something. Maybe the way I went about training was mule-headed and dangerous. Maybe my bike wasn't as fast and my runners were too old, but for a man who had shied away from physical activity of any kind for so long, I felt like I'd actually won something just for doing it.
Now it's time to start training for my first Ironman.
