Honesty Really Is The Best Policy

Posted on 11 April 2010

A few years ago, during the dark winter months of Edmonton, I resolved to lose some weight so that I could feel better about myself and drop a couple dress sizes.

I hate running outside in the -30 degree weather, so I got a membership at the community league in our neighborhood and started swimming in the evenings.  It was a great workout and didn’t require me to wear all of the cold weather gear that I owned.

Then people started asking questions.  “What are you training for?”

My mouth opened and what came out shocked even me.  “Umm…a triathlon.”

Apparently I was ashamed about my desire to wear size 8 pants and completing a triathlon sounded so much better.  Before I knew what was happening, most of my friends and family heard that I was going to compete in a triathlon

I found myself cross training, weight lifting, and completing workouts that involved swimming, biking, AND running.  That’s the thing with words…once they are out there, you can’t get them back.  So I decided to go for it.  After all, how hard could it actually be?  Right?

The big day came in the middle of summer and was sunny and full of promise.  I was grouchy and full of fear.  I braided my hair, donned my Speedo swimsuit and biking/running outfit, and begrudgingly got in the car.

Upon arrival, I encountered hundreds of spandex clad people excitedly jumping around and stretching.  I went directly to the tent to pick up my race package and have a strange man use the biggest sharpie I have ever seen in my life to write my race number, 803, on my calves and arms.

After being branded, we were herded like cattle down to the waterfront where I got news that there were leeches in the lake.  My stomach was already queasy and the toast that I had for breakfast threatened to come up as an unexplainable fear gripped my heart.  I started to look for an escape route, but ducking under the pylons and running at top speed past my husband and best friend would probably be noticed, so I tried to breathe while I waited for the race to start.

When the starting gun finally went off, all of the women aged 24 – 29 ran towards the leech infested water like their lives depended on it.  After avoiding being trampled, I jogged cautiously towards the waterfront and dove into the very shallow lake.  The water broiled with body parts and after a near kick to the head and getting a bird’s eye view of a very large armpit, I decided to hold back.  I waited in the ankle deep, leech infested silt for the crazed athletic women to swim by before I started up again.

To my immediate dismay, I couldn’t see a darn thing in the water!  It was like sticking your head into a bowl of chocolate pudding.  Panic set in and I employed the doggie paddle while my mind feverishly worked out a solution.  I started to hear a high-pitched whine and then realized I was the one making the noise.  I was officially hyperventilating and even the doggie paddle was too much.  I didn’t want to be disqualified, so I employed a panic inspired back float.  While looking up into the sky, wondering what the world I was going to do, the heads of two men in a canoe came into my view.

Two Men in a Canoe:  “Miss, are you ok?  Would you like us to help you?”
DL: (awkwardly treading the waist deep water) YES!  But wait!  Does that mean I am disqualified?
Two Men in a Canoe:  Well, yes…but if you’re struggling, perhaps we should take you out.
DL: (tears starting to fill up the goggles) I have worked so hard to get here!!  I have to finish.  I have to keep going.  Can you just row next to me, just to make sure I don’t die?
Two Men in a Canoe: Well…umm, there are a lot more people in the race and we have to watch all of them.  Uhh…we can check on you later though…
DL:  (in a very wobbly voice) Ok….thank you?
Two Men in a Canoe: And by the way, you’re floating off course.  You’re going to want to go that way….

The longest swim of my life ensued.  Battling panic, hyperventilation, and being lapped by a group of men swimmers took every single ounce of energy that I had.  Jon and Nancy were forced to watch a floundering woman use a doggie paddle and back float method to complete a swim that took 6 times longer than it should have.

When I finally emerged victorious from the leech infested, waist deep lake I could barely walk.  There were three canoes with men paddling alongside of me, cheering me on.  It was the most cheerleaders I have ever had for one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I hobbled over to the transition area to get ready for the bike.  Most people pull on shorts and get biking.  I plopped to the ground, ate a granola bar, and drank a ton of water.  There was no active recovery happening at this point, just relief that I was still alive.

The very hilly bike ride was surprisingly uneventful.  I made good time and even passed some people.  It felt good to not need any supervision to complete this leg of the race.

I entered the run tired, but the finish line was visible.  I was actually going to live through this adventure!  Much to the surprise of my athletic husband, I took off with a fresh burst of energy.  He was so impressed by my sudden energy that he decided to run alongside of me and interview me on video.  His focus was on me and not the street signs that were on the road.  Suddenly he ran head first into one and went down.  Blood was coming from his temple and the medical team was called.

I just kept running.  I mean, what was I supposed to do?  I had already lost 40 minutes in the swim, I didn’t want to lose more time in the run.  I decided that Jon would understand.

He was fine and before I knew it, he was running alongside of me again.

Crossing the finish line was one of the most glorious feelings in the world.  I completed a huge feat and lived.  Sure, there was no one else crossing the finish line with me, but who cares?  I finished.

We enjoyed the rest of the hot summer day and watched the professional tri-athletes complete the course.  None of them used the doggie paddle / back float method to complete the swim.

That evening I used a strong soap to wash the ‘803’ off of my arms and calves.  Within about 30 seconds it became very obvious that I should have applied waterproof sunscreen that morning.  I was VERY burnt.  Did you know that sharpies are a great sunscreen? ‘803” was branded into both of my upper arms and calves.  Due to the way they wrote the numbers it actually looked more like ‘BOB’ than ‘803’.

The stiffness in my legs, especially my left leg was intense after the race.  The next morning I could barely walk without screaming in pain.  That wouldn’t have been enough to keep me from work, but I couldn’t even put my left heel on the ground and my calf was the size of a small basketball.

This didn’t seem like normal triathlon wear and tear, so off to the hospital I went.

I hobbled into the ER and waited.  Then I continued to wait 6 hours while random people with very random illnesses came in.  Some even came in with buckets of specimens to show the admitting clerk in an effort to gain quicker access to a doctor.  I just looked away and hoped they would go away.

There was concern that I had a blood clot, so I was sent for an ultrasound.  Have I mentioned that I am ticklish?  Screaming out in painful laughter while an ultrasound tech is shoving an ultrasound wand in your leg joint is apparently frowned upon.  I just couldn’t help it.  It was either laugh or cry, so I opted to laugh and laugh quite loudly.

Due to my big mouth I got crutches and a cast, a torn calf muscle, and a summer of strangers asking me, “Who’s Bob?”.

Honesty really is the best policy.  Next time someone asks me something, I am going to just tell the truth even if it’s as ridiculous as ‘Size 8 pants”.