running

Nine months ago, I decided I would like to train and compete in a triathlon. And in a couple weeks, I will stand trembling at the start of my first triathlon: ready to swim 1500 metres, cycle forty kilometres, and end with a ten kilometre run to the finish line. If you've been following my journey so far, you'll know that I am a) an amateur b) the mother of four young children and c) have never attempted anything like this in my entire life. So maybe you're wondering: Why a triathlon?

Yesterday, I wasn't Carrie — I was number 1463. It was inked on my arm in black. Yesterday, I competed in my first ever triathlon. Put it all together: 1500 metre swim, 40 km bike ride, and 10 km run. Let's just say there were a lot of buff bodies at the race site.

Achieving a goal involves a strange mixture of elation and questioning. For nine months, I trained toward completing a triathlon. On Sunday, the day of reckoning arrived, and the race proceeded almost as I'd imagined it in my dreams: I didn't drown in the lake; I didn't have to change a flat tire by the side of the road; and my legs (and mind) held up during the run.

If nothing else, preparing for a triathlon has given me an appreciation for cross-training. Over the years, I've been a dabbler: a hatha yoga class here, an evening jog there. But I've never kept up anything for very long, or with any consistency, let alone alternated between more than one activity.

As a teen I let my friend Hayley take a pair of scissors to my scalp in order to use the haircut money my mom gave me to buy a ticket to see Canadian rockers Triumph in concert. It was an awesome show, bad haircut be damned.