I have been exposed to triathlons from an early age. My dad was a big fan of them, and when I was about 12 I helped volunteer at the world famous Mooloolaba Triathlon. I stood proudly in my oversized volunteers shirt, and pointed the competitors towards the transition. After it was all over, I wandered around the transition in awe of all the chaos. Water bottles everywhere, scattered numbers, and the odd person here and there returning to pick up their gear. At the after party, an older girl (probably early 20's) asked me “when are you going to do one?” I said I didn't know, and she said “make sure you do, you have the build for it”.
Many years later in my mid 20's, I mentioned to a friend that I was interested. She agreed, and as chance would have it she knew someone that competed in triathlons that was also a personal trainer. We started training, and then it all fizzled out.
This year I decided it was the year. I had met Mario, who also competed in triathlons, and my fitness level was at an all time high. It was time to push. I contacted my friend again, she said she was keen, and before we had a chance to change our minds we paid for the entry fee.
I started going for longer bike rides, and swimming more frequently. I did more boot camp classes. I didn't run enough, which I would pay for later, but I was training. I was scared. I knew I could make the distances, but I didn't know how fast. I wanted to do well. Really well.
When the day arrived, I had managed to sleep relatively well the night before. We had been down and checked in early the day prior, leaving our bikes in the transition area. I had set up my shoes with the cool new spring laces, and also laid out my clothes in preparation.
I was as ready as I was ever going to be.