I’m not an athlete, let alone three athletes. At some point less than a year ago I started running, encouraged by friends and other runners, and found that one can progress from wheezing and sweating a half-block to wheezing and sweating a half-mile, and on from there. I can’t remember who suggested I attempt a triathlon, but it happened to come at the time somewhere between senility and mid-life crisis where it seemed like a good idea.
And now it appears you’ve taken your first important step towards entering a real triathlon: you’ve clicked on this article. I don’t know what brought you here—perhaps too much armchair meditation has inspired you to take up a ridiculous sport, maybe it was a triple dog dare, or simply that you feel good things come in threes.
The Basics
Wait—what’s a triathlon again?
A triathlon is a race involving three sports, most typically swimming, biking, and running, in that order.
How far do I have to go?
Assuming your goal is the finish line, the distances vary. A first Tri can be a 400 meter swim (about ¼ mile), a 10k bike ride (about 6 miles), and a 5k run (12 times a 400 meter swim, but on land). “Sprint” distances are usually double the swimming and running portion. Note: “Sprint” does not mean you need to go as fast as you can. I don’t even know why they named it Sprint, other than to scare would-be triathletes.
Beyond that there are Olympic and Pro distances, and of course the formidable Ironman. If you are interested in any of those you are not reading this article but are out training.
Who even does triathlons?
You’d be surprised how many people you may already know who have competed in a triathlon. They probably told you a year ago but you completely forgot as it sounded like they were speaking in Triathlese.
There are also “elite” athletes, who are like regular athletes only with “elite” placed in front of their name. I think they get paid to rile the crowd or something. Actually, these are professionals who compete for money or prizes. Yes, their job is to run, swim and ride bikes really well.
At my first—and as of this writing, only—triathlon, the Capitol of Texas 2012, I was inspired by watching the “paratriathletes,” amazing and tenacious competitors with physical disabilities. Nothing is more humbling than watching someone with no legs kicking ass to the finish line. Kicking! With no legs. I was blown away by the champion blind runner fly by in record time, barely holding on to her assistant (come to think of it, that makes two champions). Need more inspiration? Call Oprah.
Preparation
But I’m terrible at [choose one or more] swimming/biking/running!
There’s an app for that. Well, there might be, but what you really need is called “training.” Here are some recommendations to get your body working for you and not fighting you every stroke, peddle and step of the way.
Swimming: Check out Total Immersion, developed by Terry Laughlin, or learn the Pose method. Apparently you can use your natural buoyancy and core to ease you along. Before reading this, I thought swimming was a brutal race against time, water and oxygen, where I used every ounce of strength to propel me forward.
Running: Read Master the Art of Running by Malcolm Balk and Andrew Shields. If you’re interested in where the mind figures in all of this physical activity mumbo jumbo, read Running With The Mind Of Meditation by Sakyong Mipham. You can also check out Born To Run, the book by Christopher McDougall, or the album by Springsteen. Oddly enough, either is remarkably effective.
Biking: You haven’t forgotten how to ride a bike, have you? Make sure it works and that you bring a functioning helmet. Yes, it’s required.
And here’s my big insider’s tip on how to train: TRAIN KIND
Say what? I thought I’d have to kick ass to the point of exhaustion every morning before the break of dawn.
You can do that, and it’s an effective way to “finish before you start,” which sounds really fast, but whatever. I have found that the old adage of “slow and steady wins the race” does not come the slightest bit close to winning the race, but you will pass the finish line with a smile on your face, and your legs will get you out of bed the following day.
Okay, here are a few more tips: find a partner you like to train with, don’t run/swim/bike past your limit, alternate days of training and, most importantly, take it easy on your non-training days. You’ll find you have much more energy and much less fear come race day.
Yadda, yadda, yadda, I just want to know what do I wear?
First, accept that you can’t do this in skinny jeans and your cute avocado-green Nehru jacket. Second, be reassured that there are many bicycle and sports shops that offer a wide array of modestly unfashionable sportswear, which will enable you to run past your supporters with a little less shame than if you were dressed as Carmen Miranda. Maybe that’s why these uniforms are touted as being “fast and light” versus “fruity and alarming.”
Where do I change?
You may be under the impression that, since this is a professional, corporate-sponsored event you just spent good money to enter, it would include some sort of fancy covered dressing room. Think again! In fact, in a triathlon the only real changing you need to do is to put on bike or running shoes. Unless you get all tingly being an exhibitionist in front of a bunch of soaking wet athletes hopping on their bikes, plan ahead and leave all your civilian clothing at home.
Alternatively, you can purchase “tri-shorts,” which are like bike shorts without the full padded “diaper” in the back—you’re an adult now. You can bike, run, swim—hell, even eat a sandwich in them. A “tri-top” is the shorts’ dapper complement.
The Race
What if I freak out before it even starts?
Nerves. Everyone’s got ‘em. You can combat them by preparing and then subsequently wearing yourself out worrying if you prepared enough. You will never know until you’re in the race. By then you will have no ability to gauge how nervous you are because you will be moving constantly, trying not to get kicked in the face in open water, fly through your handlebars, or twist an ankle. The possibilities are infinite. Don’t think about them. Seriously.
To keep me focused on the task at hand, I alternately asked myself, “how sexy/close to death am I?” Discovering both answers to be “not very,” I was able to pull through. Also, I could plainly see that no matter where I was in the race, geographically or emotionally, somebody was already toweling off at the winners circle with a medal slung around their neck, while somebody else was sitting on the side of the road, massaging their hamstrings.
Other potential goals: not passing out, throwing up or crying like a baby. Let your spirit be your guide.
The Transition Area
This is where you do the actual “changing,” that being from one sport to the next. I was under the impression that there might be several places to start and end the different races and do the aforementioned dressing. There is only one area, where your bike is parked. The bikes are delivered the day before, by the way, and safely guarded by an army of enraged pit bulls, or so I imagined.
Big Hint: Find this transition area. In fact, find out where you start the whole damn race. I arrived early enough (Big Hint #2) to languidly make my way to some station or another where I was directed to another station or other where I was corrected and sent back again. By the end of my panicked search I had already completed the 5k run before the race even started. I was told it didn’t count.
What if I have to “go” during the race?
I had a friend tell me the best way to relieve oneself during a triathlon is to JUST DO IT™, facilities be damned.
Wha?
According to my pal, you can mask your liquid improprieties with the sweat you will undoubtedly be drenched in. For my tastes I once again refer to “training kind” and finding a port-a-potty. I had my target mapped out a day ahead of the race (Hint #3!). How competitive do you want to be, anyway? Jeez.
That reminds me… hydrate! Duh, right? Your best time to liquefy is during the bike portion (unless you have gills) but you’ll need your own bottle. I highly recommend bringing something non-alcoholic. Drink more than you think you’ll need—even if it leaves you to re-consider where and when to pee.
What if I have to… you know… (quiet voice) poop?
Poop, my friend, poop well and poop often. That is, BEFORE the race begins. This advice was given to me by more than one athlete who has done this kind of thing before. Competed in a triathlon, I mean. Of course they had pooped before too so… wait, where was I?
Short answer: start out relatively empty but not malnourished. A marathon runner I know specifically said to avoid eating eggs at all costs ahead of a race as they may invoke an “ass explosion.” And now you too have that image in your head forever.
The Finish Line
Smile! You’re on not-so-candid camera. There will be event photographers everywhere so look your wet, sweaty, panicked and distressed best. I can’t wait to post a shot of my proud finish, once I justify spending twenty-five bucks for two 5x7 prints. Ah, business. But really, smile.
If all goes well, you’ve trained hard—excuse me, trained kind—kept up your spirits and got through the race. You may have a feeling of exhausted elation, or is that elated exhaustion?
I had to be reminded that the race was over and it was okay to stop running. That doesn’t mean that you may not feel the burn the next day, or several days after. And by “the burn” I mean the desire to do it all over again! Believe what they say, this sport is addictive. See you out there in tri, two, one…go!
Image from Dave Haygarth via Flickr.