I just finished my first Iron distance triathlon. I tend to get emotional when I think about race day, so I’m going to keep this as structured as possible.
Pre-Race:
I was a mess. I had a good face on, of course, but I really wanted to finish. It was nine months of training weekends, physical therapy, and a life transformation, all for one event. Most of my family couldn’t make it for financial reasons. My dad couldn’t come because his brain cancer had reared its head the week prior, barring him from flying. The girlfriend I had at the beginning of training had recently been lost. I told a supportive ex that I couldn’t have her come cheer.
There was a lot going on in my head, but loudest of all was this:
I feel sorry for whoever tries to take me off the course.
