Tri anything, do anything: Tri for a Cure triumphs

How strange it feels to talk about the tri in the past tense.

All day Monday I felt flurries of nervousness, my brain collapsing into panic over the impending race, until I reminded myself that it had already happened. That I, along with over a thousand other women, had tackled the Tri for a Cure on Sunday and come out on top.

On the whole, it's a salt-water blur. But there are a few poignant moments that I think with stay with me. Like standing at the water's edge amid the fort rubble at Spring Point surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of wetsuited women, looking like an over-sized ant hill, I bet, to passing planes. Multicolored swim caps dotted the crowd like ice cream sprinkles. It was hard to recognize a misplaced friend in the crowd, with everyone in identical ocean-ready uniforms. But there was comfort in that too. By appearances alone, it was clear that we were all embarking on the same three-legged journey.

When Race Director Julie Marchese motioned behind us to the spectators, I turned around to see a small army of supporters - friends, husbands, sisters, kids - standing five-deep along the top of the fort, some spilling down the embankment with signs that said, "Go Mom Go" or "We Love You Beth!"

Tim Greenway photo/Portland Press Herald

The athletes known by a second title - Survivors - were asked to come forward. Pink swim caps filtered through the crowd, finding each other down by the water while a clamor of applause rose from the athletes and spectators. There were whistles. There were hollers. There were hands wiping tears from cheeks. I was struck by how many survivors there were - and I couldn't decide if that realization made me happy or sad. Happy, because they were survivors, in the truest sense of the word. Or sad, because so many women had to go through battle in the first place. They shouldn't have had to.

But it brought home why we were there. And how - despite our fears of ocean swims or our quad cramps along Route 77 - this tri is conquerable feat, in comparison to the wars others have fought and are still fighting.

I remember standing ankle-deep in ocean water and wondering what the hell I was thinking.

I remember rounding the first buoy during the swim and yelling "Hallelujah" or something to that effect. I remember being pulled like a magnet into one of the paddleboarders. I remember hitting a rhythm and thinking my stroke felt smooth, although slow, and that I might keep up the swimming once the tri was over. I remember seeing the ocean floor beneath me as I neared the beach and wanting to dip my head low enough to kiss it.

I remember running up the hill towards the transition area, carrying my wetsuit and towel and a pair of flip-flops, and wondering why I was running when I really wanted to walk and catch my breath. But there were so many people cheering on all sides and I was swept along by the applause of strangers and the running of women in front of and behind me.

I remember dropping my water bottle five miles into the bike. And I remember yelling a profanity. And maybe a few more going up the hills.

I remember a woman in a white shirt with words on the back - the words were names, preceded by phrases like "In memory of" and "In honor of" and they made me bike faster.

I remember hitting flat terrain on Fort Road near the end of the bike leg and feeling like I was sailing, like if someone saw me just then it might actually look like I knew what I was doing.

I remember swapping my helmet for my Life is Good hat and realizing that my stomach was revolting against all the Gatorade.

I remember slowing to a walk just after mile 1 and a woman in black slapped my behind as she ran past, laughed and said, "Come on!" or something to that effect. And I started running again.

I remember someone with a megaphone yelling, "Free beer at the top of the hill" at the base of Preble Street.

I remember "Woo Hoo" spray painted in pink on the road one mile from the finish line.

And I remember hearing my sheJAMs cohorts and friends, Christina and Megan, calling from just behind me a quarter mile from the finish line, when I felt long out of gas. I remember Megan starting to sprint. Then Christina. And I remember thinking "I'll be damned if I let them pass me." And I began to sprint too, right up the hill to the finish, right next to Christina and Megan.

I remember thinking I might get sick. And then I remembered I was finished and I wanted to hug everyone.

I also remember wanting to finish the race in under two hours. My final time (and Christina and Megan's): 1:59:55.

Goal accomplished.

The sheJAMs clan

Congratulations to all the women who participated, to all the volunteers who held signs, directed traffic or handed out water and to all the friends, family and neighbors who cheered even for the people you didn't know. And a heartfelt nod to all the survivors who competed - your triumph yesterday is yet another testament to your strength, and it's the inspiration that urges us all to keep swimming, keep riding, keep running. Keep going.

A little spit and some petroleum jelly: Tips for a first-time tri

I've read plenty of "Best Tips" for first-time triathletes lately. I haven't found any of them to be all that groundbreaking. (Tip #1: Invest in good shoes, Tip #7 Don't over train). Yadda yadda.

Those lists are great for a bird's-eye view four or five months before showtime. But nothing on them will keep your goggles from fogging up on race day.

So I've gathered some of my tri learnings from the last several weeks in the hopes that, one day, it might help another novice triathlete figure out how to best exploit the multiple uses of baby powder, cooking spray and petroleum jelly.

1. Lick your goggles. If your goggles have a tendency to fog up, give them a little spit. Your saliva will help keep them crisp and clear, which will make it easier to see all those scary ocean monsters underwater!

2. Cooking spray yourself. I've mentioned this one before, but I heard some women use cooking spray on their necks, wrists and ankles before pulling on their wetsuit. It helps decrease chaffing and makes the suit easier to remove - and no worries about sticking to the pan.

3. Vaseline your face. There's a joke about lubrication here somewhere, but frankly I'm too nervous to be dirty. A tip I gleaned last night during a swim lesson: if you find ocean water is a little too cold and harsh on your sensitive face, apply some Vaseline to it pre-swim. No need to get goopy, a swipe across your cheeks and forehead should do it.

4. Sober up. After the swim, you're going to step out of the ocean like a drunk person. I don't really have any tips here, I just thought you should know. Unlike a staggeringly drunk person, though, you'll find your balance again in a few seconds.

5. Powder your feet. I haven't tried this myself, but I hear stepping into a container of baby powder after the swim helps dry your feet quickly and remove all that pesky sand. Some folks even forgo socks and slip their dogs right into their running shoes. But I think shoes without socks is like eating apples without peanut butter. Sure, you can do it. But what's the point?

6. Gargle some water - it'll help knock out that salty-water taste. Some chapstick will help keep your lips from drying out too. Nothing like a 15-mile bike ride where all you can think about is how your lips keep sticking to your teeth.

7. Don't shave your legs. Salt water stings the hell out of freshly shaven legs. Let the hair grow, if only for the day.

8. Kill the hill. This is just a personal preference, but I find making up rhymes about murder helps keep me motivated during the bike. My favorite: "Kill. The. Hill." I chant it all the way up an incline. It works. It also scares competitors who think you must have a screw loose and they'd prefer to hang back and lose a few seconds than ride along side a lunatic who's probably going to start shanking people at the finish line.

9. Skip the whole grain. If you have - ahem - digestion issues during a run (you know, that gotta go feeling) running trainer Coreen suggests eating the stuff you normally avoid: white breads and pasta. Those less-than-great-for-you foods can help keep things feeling right when eaten in the 24 hours leading up to the race.

10. It's not about the time. Look, finish times are grand when you're an elite athlete whose legs make up 3/4 of your total height. But for most of us, it isn't about the time. It's about personal accomplishment. It's about finishing something you didn't think you would or could finish. It's about kicking a little tri on a sunny Sunday in Maine. Besides, the only person who really pays attention to your finish time is you, which means you can essentially make it up when retelling your tri story to friends and coworkers.

Hell, I even bought a first-place ribbon from iParty to make the lie more convincing. They're such suckers at my office.

Best of luck to all of Sunday's participants. You'll all kill it. And it's been a pleasure training with you women of sheJAMs. I look forward to drinking with you after the race.

A cure for what ails you: Swim Clinic at the TFAC course

In six days, I'll no longer be training for a sprint triathlon. I'll be recovering from one.

Even now, the training is coming to a tapered end, with the running, swimming and biking winding down before Sunday's race.

The key this week is to take it easy.

That's easier said than done, considering anxiety has already begun to creep in, a slight hint of nausea letting me know that, yes, I'm nervous already.

All in all, though, I feel pretty damn good about it. Even better, I'm riding on the laurels of one stellar swim this weekend.

This Saturday I took part in a Tri for a Cure swim clinic, where first-timers could ask questions about the course and the transition, get some swimming tips and swim the course as a group.

I've had the luxury of swimming the tri course several times now - not that that makes it less daunting, but I guess it does. A good number of the 75 women gathered near Spring Point Beach that morning weren't sounding to enthusiastic about the idea. I at least knew I'd finish it - and with luck my pal Liz and I would be stationed in a booth at Q Street Diner within the half hour (eating bacon!)

So the throng of wet-suited ladies worked our way to the water, two women counting us as we passed single file (to ensure the same number came out of the water as went in it).

And contrary to the musing of some thick-skinned swimmers, the Atlantic is in no way "like bath water." It's cold. As is I-just-woke-up-in-a-bathtub-filled-with-ice-and-my-liver's-missing cold.

But everyone got bold eventually, crouching into the water up to our necks, making sure to pull at the neck of our wetsuits to let the water in - as painful as it was.

Once adequately water-logged, we all got out again to practice a real start. But before we did so, we were asked to repeat - loudly and in unison - one very important sentence:

I. AM. A. TERRIFIC. SWIMMER.

And then we were off.

This time I didn't hang towards the back - I started swimming with the pack. I kicked a coupe of people. I got kicked a couple of times. I said, "sorry!" when I kicked someone and I heard "sorry!" when I got kicked. It was all very civil. I actually liked swimming in that splashing school of human fish, rather than bringing up the rear like I usually do.

But mostly I focused on the rhythmic reach and pull of my stroke, letting my legs tag along behind and making sure to keep tabs on where I was headed.

I rounded buoy one, then closed in on number two. My breathing must be getting better because I only had to pause once to burp (on a side note, the air-swallowing issue does make me wonderfully recognizable on the water...just listen).

And as I reached one arm, then the other, then the other, I had the sudden realization that I felt good. Not just "I'm going to survive" good, but "hey, look at me go!" good.

And before I even had time to start complaining, my hands were touching the sandy bottom of Spring Point Beach.

Best swim ever. No doubt about it.

As swimmers continued to filter in, the rest stood at the water's edge offering support, applause and woo-hoos.

And 25 minutes later, all the swimmers were out of the water.

Some went on to bike or run. Some - ahem - went straight to the diner for a skillet-based reward.

And all of us (I'm making an educated assumption here) are prepared to kill that swim next Sunday.

I. AM. A. TERRIFIC. SWIMMER. Or something.