In May 2012, I was reading through a copy of one of my favorite magazines, Women’s Running. At that time, I had my leg propped up on my desk drawer, my slacks rolled up and ice on my shin. Yes, I was battling through another shin splint. I stumbled across an article and training plan to do your first sprint triathlon in eight weeks. Needless to say, I was sucked into the article and came home that day and told my husband I had a great idea….. I was going to do a triathlon. I’d love to tell you his response or his facial expression, but I honestly didn’t pay attention long enough to see his response…  I was already off writing a list of stuff I needed and found a calendar to start mapping out my training plan.

In August of 2012, I did my first triathlon. This month marks two years of my love for the sport. Over the past two years, I have learned a few things…

1. Race Day… To wear a sports bra under a tri top or not?

Before my first race, this question had me stumped for months. When I decided to do my first triathlon, I knew no one who enjoyed the sport and therefore no one to direct this question to. So, I decided to look up race photos of the race I was doing from the year before and check out all the pictures of the ladies who had raced. After searching photos of mid distance finishers and back of the pack finishers, I noticed lots of ladies raced with a sports bra under their tri top. I decided to do my first triathlon with my favorite running bra under my tri top and have raced every race this way. I like compression with NO bounce.

2. Race Day… Swim will not go as planned.

I grew up in Southern California in a surfing family. I have swam in shore break in Hawaii and this stupid confidence carried over into my first lake swim in my first triathlon. No matter how many laps you swim in a pool, and no matter how many years you jumped and played in the waves, none of that prepared me for a grimy, warm water, lake swim. During my first race, I panicked after the first buoy, panicked more as I saw the other swimmers getting further away, and panicked even more when the people were cheering from the dock at the end of the swim. Clearly they were yelling at me to hurry up because they had seen an alligator and were not just merely clapping and cheering. It took five more races before I learned to swim calmly and to stop worrying that I would be last out of the water. Being last means I still made it out of the water. Being last doesn’t mean I can’t be happy. Continue reading →