Damn, it feels good.

For those of you still reading my infrequent postings and half-interested in my glamourlishous life, I'm done. I completed the Tri For the Cure on Sunday in record* time. It was, in a word, amazingfantasticfunempoweringjoyful. I'm doing it again next year. The not-an-ax-murderer Heather drove out from Kansas to compete with me, although we only saw each other once on the run and at the end.

This weekend: action packed. This is the kind of action packed weekends that make others appear as casual romps in the woods. The appetizer was a visit from the lovely and talented Kate & Crew on Friday night. Her husband and mine played in a golf tourney bright and early Saturday, so Mr and Mrs H, along with Maggie, came over Friday night for a pajama jam. Heather arrived earlier that afternoon. Miss Maggie enjoyed tormenting our hounds in the backyard whilst the people enjoyed downing bottles and bottles of wine. Wine? Yes, we had a triathlon to compete in on Sunday. This is an important part of the story. Talk and laughter went deep into the night as we sat on the deck eating tacos con carne with mango salsa. The wee hours of the morning came far too early for the golfing duo.

Meanwhile, the women folk dragged our asses out of bed after the delicious wine now settled into a very, very bad idea. Take heed. If you are to compete in your first triathlon, maybe you shouldn't drink a bottle of wine (each) two nights before. My tummy was rumbling with hangover and nerves. I made fresh muffins to settle things. Baking always seems like a good idea when I'm nervous. I make the most delish pumpkin bread, you really should try it. Send me your addy and I'll show up at your door with it someday.

Us women folk headed off to the pre-race expo, got our gear, body marked and shopped for energy enhancing supplements that would ultimately taste nasty but helped during the bike portion. This was a cluster-f of people, lines, things to do/see/hear and in our slightly hungover state, overwhelming. We wandered, dazed, from place to place, then realized we were starving and needed the one thing you always need when too much wine sounded like a good idea: pizza.

After an all you can eat buffet of slightly greasy pizza, the Hamilton's departed, saving my wild beasts from further insult from the darling, energetic Miss Maggie. The rest of Saturday was spent napping, during which hubby had an insane conversation with my MIL (who was in town yet somehow we never had a chance to see), which went something like this:

him: hi, I got your message, I was playing the golf tournament I told you about 35 times.

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: you're not still mad at me are you?

him: Uh, no. As I've mentioned 35 times before, this is not a good weekend for us. We're really busy this weekend, I've got my tourney, wifes in a triathlon, we've got house guests, wifes parents are in town...

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: We are leaving on Monday. We want to get together with you two. You're not still mad at us over the dog thing are you?

him: Well, that has nothing to do with the fact that we are **repeat schpeal from above**, and no, we're not mad, we were just hurt by what you said. It hurt a lot more than we first thought.

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: Well, a lot of people don't want dogs in their houses, why are you still mad about this?

him: We are not mad about the dogs, we are hurt that you called my wife selfish, spoiled, rude, disrespectful, arrogant and spiteful over a comment she made about us being overweight because there's no shortage of food in Denver (**note: this comment was made while she was ranting about how no where in the world one could get food as easy and good as you can in Las Vegas, which she took to mean that I was selfish, spoiled, rude, disrespectful, arrogant and spiteful.)

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: (ignoring this entirely) Even Bob & Bev (step-bro, SIL, not their real names) have a sign at their condo that there's no dogs allowed.

him: It has nothing to do with the dogs. Nothing. Nothing at all.

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: A lot of people don't like dogs. Larry (FIL) was really upset over this.

him: It has nothing to do with the dogs. Nothing. Nothing at all.

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: So were not going to get to see you this week?

him: It's not going to work out, **repeat schpeal from above**.

crazy-but-unmedicated-mil: I really don't understand why you're still mad at us.

him: I have to go now. (opening bottle of whiskey)

Saturday night was a hoot and a half. We went to the local pub for dinner, but my tummy was in knots and I couldn't finish. I thought it was the hangover still, but my BFF who does marathons said she gets the stomach knots before her races, too. It lasted until right before I started swimming, then poof! Gone. We all went to bed early-ish, but I could not sleep. Do you ever have the fear that your alarm isn't going to go off? Yeah. All night. Every hour on the hour. Jolt awake! Look at the time. Go back to sleep. Wake up in a pool of sweat. Repeat. Finally I got up, woke Heather up and off we went.

It all went by in a whirl. Heather and I went our separate ways to find our wave racks. I set up my stuff as best I could, did some stretching, checked out the lay of the land and waited. Along the way I talked to other first-timers about our nervousness, the excitement of it all and encouraged each other for the race. When my wave was up, we walked bare foot down the boat ramp into the relatively warm water. It was a cold morning for August, threatening to rain at any time. We were huddled in our bathing suits, caps and goggles shivvering from fear and the weather.

Then the countdown. And we started. I was at the back of the wave and struggled to get through to swim. Finally I navigated to the outside edge and moved ahead of the slower swimmers. Next year I'll stand at the front to get a good start, which should shave at least three minutes off my 18 minute swim. A half mile didn't seem that long and I kept alternating between free and breast. If I had the room to do free, I'd have taken off, but I kept running up on the women in front of me.



Out of the water I ran, jelly legs and breathless. At first I could hear hubby shouting, and I scanned the crowd to find him, jumping up and down, waving his arms. I waved back and smiled. He was so excited for me.

I ran barefoot through the asphalt parking lot turned transition area. Spent far too much time getting ready for the bike. Found the bike entrance and took off. I finished the 20K bike in less than an hour, but I could have ridden it harder. Next time, I'll skip the hydro-pack and only have the bottle of Propel in the holder. The hydro-pack wasn't needed and I think it slowed me down. But the energy gel was a keeper. I think it was Power Gel by Power Bar. (at roughly 100 calories a pop, one packet of energy gel is the nutritional equivalent of mainlining half a bagel, according to the www.backpacker.com) It was far better tasting than the Cliff energy gel I had later before the run. I couldn't swallow it, it was so nasty. I kind of dilly-dallied on parts of the bike course. I know this course. I've done it before. What was I thinking? Next year, bitches.

During the ride and run, there were women just yelling out words of encouragement for each other. Volunteers and spectators were cheering for us, not knowing who we where. It kept me going, peddling, running.

The transition between bike and run went better, but I wasted time with the yucky gel and squirting my inhaler. I'll take it with me next year and squirt as I'm running. I started out running and there's a lovely picture of me at the start. My lungs could not keep up and I had to slow down. At the run start, I saw hubby and my BFF cheering for me. "Woo hoo, you're doing great, keep going!" "Where are my parents?" I yelled as I ran by. "They're not here yet," hubby yelled back. Odd, I thought, but kept running.



The run is a 5K out and back, up a hill and up part of "The Dam Road" at Cherry Creek State Park. So running out, as you can imagine, is uphill. I took turns running and walking, trying to catch my breath. People were cheering, encouraging us, shouting out our numbers. A guy on a pilon was shouting out "keep going ladies, you're almost done, you're doing great!" I ran next to Kate (not the same, another one), my tri angel as I like to call her, for most of the run. We kept making sure the other was still going, telling each other we could do it, it was almost over.

We ran and walked, at one point when I was walking, she was running ahead of me and turned around and said, "just checking to see if you're still there." I revved it up and ran next to her. We ran the last half mile or so neck and neck. The last 100 meters we ran together, around the bend, turning once more before the finish, right next to each other. We crossed the finish line at the same time. As soon as I crossed, I lost sight of her, then found her again. But then there was my mom, a breast cancer survivor, waving me down.

I went up to my mom and she hugged me, crying, I started crying, too. She thanked me for doing this. Thanked me for doing this! We cried and hugged and laughed. I asked where my dad was, she said he was parking the car. I laughed at this. They almost missed it! But my mom saw it. It was for her, and for me, that I did this.



I found Kate again and we got a picture together. She introduced me to her dad and her tri trainer. Hubby and my BFF found me and I introduced all of them. My dad showed up finally for a hug. I could tell he felt bad for missing it, but what could you do? The family and friends stood around talking and my mom proclaimed that she wanted to do it next year with me. She was inspired by all the women, of all different shapes and ages, crossing the finish line.



Heather was waiting at the massage tent, she had finished way before me. She actually kicked my ass in time. That bitch. Next year, you watch.

We all got medals for finishing, something that means a hell of a lot to me this morning. As my muscles ache and the chaffing in parts unmentionable heals, I am thrilled to have finished in two hours, eight minutes and 57 seconds. (*my record time, that is.)