The Sprint Triathlon - "The Team"

The first triathlon of the season is really just a warm up for the Olympic Triathlon coming up. It is to confirm I am doing what I'm supposed to, practice transitions, learn how to pace, yet go full out and to make sure my head is truly in the game.

I knew all of this last weekend when it was time for my the supposed 'practice' triathlon, yet the butterflies still flew, and the panic set in. I looked at my log book and was clear that I was more than ready for this sprint event, yet still was feeling overwhelmed. That is, until the Home Team stepped in.

I broke down first to my significant other and admitted that I really could use the support of him driving me to the race in the morning, even though it was an unreasonable hour. I admitted that I was having a silent panic attack.

"Truth is, I'm actually really nervous and if I could take you up on your offer to drive me, I would be forever indebted."

The astounding part was not that he was ready and willing at 4:30am with a smile on his face, but that just knowing someone else was taking over, relieved so much of the stress. It was the first time on record that I didn't feel sick for a race. I was thinking perhaps my brain knew that I was well-prepared.

We arrive at the very crowded parking lot at 6am and I am only fixated on how easy everything was going. The parking, getting the bags, getting the numbers written on my body and even setting up in transitions. Every time I looked up, there he was with the camera photographing the moment. I just kept smiling and worried slightly that at some point I might need to 'get' nervous in order to perform. Yet as the morning progressed, with runs to the porta potty, warm up swims in the lake and a bit of clearing my head, mostly what I was excited about was the support from my Home Team. The typical Home Team consists of my immediate family, but on this particular day, the Home Team consisted of: my girlfriend, significant other, parents and my oldest son.

Besides all of them just being great fans of mine, they all had their own cheering investment as well. My parents are currently training for the NYC marathon. It will be my dad's 13th time and my mothers 10th. They are both in their 70's, but that has not deterred my dad from setting the bar high this year as he has been training to complete it in less than 4 hours. Whether he does it or not is beside the fact, we are all just impressed that a 73 year old continues to hit the track each week and put himself through speed work. Yes, I said SPEED WORK! So, not new to races, and happy to be on the side lines, they are perfect candidates for being cheerleaders. My girlfriend is hoping to compete in her first triathlon next year, so she wants to see how the whole thing works, and my significant other comes from a family of marathoners and triathletes, so he's a regular out there as well. Then there is my son, who got himself out of bed at 6am to cheer me on, to support me and to see how it all works, since he has his own triathlon to compete in soon also. I was thrilled by their presence, but the excitement and enthusiasm they had for my race was amazing and kept my fears at bay the whole time.

By the time I finally got in the water, the nerve bug had reappeared, but I clung to the last words of my "Team": Have fun! Those words stuck with me for the whole race. Fun. Right, this was supposed to be fun. I didn't have a specific time to complete the race in and no one to impress. My team was just impressed I dared the challenge in the first place.

When I got out of the water, my Home Team was right there with cameras in hand and all the right things to say. On to transitions to hop on my bike with the have fun mantra humming in my head. I'm working, but am anxious to get off my bike and have my home team join me on the run. As I pop off my bike, and pull off my shoes (to make running easier into transitions) I hear my team yelling again in the distance. I can't see them, but I hear them! It makes me keep running, even though my head is telling me to use the walk through transitions as a break. I quickly rack the bike and throw on my sneakers. Where is my team? I think to myself as I round the corner.

"Will meet you on the path!" I hear my son yell.

And that's where the fun begins. While my legs are having a whole discussion about being tired and saving something for the end, my head grips on to the support of my dad on one side of me and my son on the other.

"You look great mom!" My son cheers into my ear.
"Let's go girl!" yells my dad.

The last three miles was long as anticipated, but I didn't need to stop like I had the previous year. The energy of them beside me gave me this false sense auto-pilot. I envisioned that they were really doing the running, and I was just staying with them. It didn't seem that there was another option.

As we hit the last corner, there was the rest of my Team screaming again for me. Now I was on a mission, even though I knew for sure that my running crew was about to leave me alone in the chute. Or maybe not.

"Come on girl!" My dad yelled at me. "We are taking number 1177 down."

And by that, I knew he meant I had better pick it up and pass this girl and I also knew that my crew was not leaving me at all. In fact they crossed the finish with me...blocking me only slightly as the camera tried to capture my finish line crossing.

It was the best experience ever, but was so much more than another triathlon being under my belt. It was about my Team showing up for me and celebrating in my accomplishments, and my overcoming so many fears. It was in the aftermath of the race as I lied happily on my couch, that I felt so lucky to have a Team that was that committed to my success. Actually it was in that moment that I realized how lucky I was to have a Home Team at all!

www.LesleyGeller.com