On July 11, 2010 I participated in my first triathlon. I was on a team with two other girls, and my portion was the swimming. I started the race with a half-mile swim; Judy Ramos followed with biking 12 miles, and Kimmy Shin finished by running 3.1 miles. We finished in one hour and forty-five minutes.
David also participated in an Olympic distance triathlon at the same time, completing the biking portion of 24 miles. Israel Ramos, Judy’s husband, swam one mile, and John Yoon finished with a 6.2 mile run.
Although I first had the idea of doing a triathlon last December (my plan is to complete a full triathlon on my own next year), I’ve secretly been terrified of swimming in open water. This fear had its birth seven years ago when I witnessed a terrifying triathlon put on by Union College. It really wasn’t a complete failure; the biking and running courses were fine as far as I can remember. I volunteered at the water table and enjoyed the experience. But I have never rid myself of the images of the swim. No doubt my memory of it has been exaggerated over the years, but this is what is captured in my mind:
The course was simple; starting on the shore, the swimmers would run into the water and swim out 1/8 mile along a buoy line, then turn back for another 1/8 miles stretch to shore. But the water was choppy with high, white-capped waves. At the sound of the horn, the swimmers ran full speed ahead, lunging into the water. With the terrible waves and amidst the extra churning from kicks and strokes, handfuls of people started panicking and calling for help. Lifeguards ran out and help from kayakers lining the course was needed in seconds. I remember watching one particular teammate of a faculty team. We had swum alongside each other in the college pool many times. He made it about halfway down the first stretch when I noticed him struggling. He was gasping for air. He finally made it to the outside of the crowd of swimmers and raised his hand for help. A lifeguard threw him a flotation device and then slowly pulled him onto shore. He was gasping. He was ashamed. His teammates could not hide their frustration as the race was over for them now, too. And they weren’t the only ones.
Images of this poor man and the terrible, frothy water kept floating through my mind as I imagined myself doing a 1/2-mile swim. What had I gotten myself into now? Thoughts of bailing on my teammates surfaced. But I was the one that talked them into it! I tried to bury my fear under thoughts of this being a good opportunity to conquer them. This is good for me. This is good for me.
The night before the race my stomach churned. What was the weather going to be like? Was there wind in the forecast? What was the course like? Will they cancel the swim portion if the water is choppy? What if I can’t finish? What if I get kicked in the head? What if some water beast grabs me and pulls me under? Okay, I know I got a little carried away, but my fear was becoming more and more irrational.
Sunday morning arrived and we awoke at 4:45am. We got to the registration table by 6:45, the race was about to begin at 7:30. I had no time to sit around and worry now. I got suited up with an Xterra wetsuit and we oriented ourselves to the transition areas. The swimmers were given color coordinated swim caps depending on their age and gender, and I soon realized that I was the only green capped woman not yet in the water and waiting by the start line, located a number of yards out from the shoreline in the water. Suddenly, I heard the announcer behind me “sprint distance females, 30 seconds!” That was me!
With no time to psych myself up, or out, I scrambled into the water and rushed to the start line, just as the horn sounded. Oh no! But wait, my time chip was strapped around my left ankle, and I felt it becoming loose in the water. I was the last green cap in line so I knew I had a second or two before crossing the start line. Worried the time chip would slip off while I swam, I attempted a standing split trying to get my ankle high enough out of the water for me to tighten it. I must have been a sight. After a couple attempts of balancing on one leg in the open water, I finally got it tightened. The last green caps were crossing the line, and I plunged forward behind them.
I didn’t make it very far, maybe a few strokes, before I realized I couldn’t get enough air. I was frazzled. I was anxious. I was exerting needless, extra energy in my frantic state. Luckily for me, the water was only about four feet deep, so I just stopped and stood up! Thankfully that was allowed. Alright Tennille. I got to get a hold of myself. As I walked forward and peered out at the distant buoy that marked the halfway point, I had a conversation with myself that went something like this:
I don’t think I can do this!
But I have to, I can’t let my teammates down. I can’t honestly turn around and give up!
Maybe I could just walk the whole way. After all, the lady swimming next to me is hardly going any faster than I am walking!
Oh please, I’m not going to walk the whole way! Seriously!
Okay, well, I just have to get back under and start swimming whether I want to or not.
I dive forward.
Okay, pretend I’m alone. This isn’t really a race. This is fun, right? I’m doing this for fun. I’m relaxed. Stroke, glide, kick, stroke, glide, breathe. Okay, I’m doing alright. I can handle this. Stroke, glide, kick, breathe, sight for the buoy. Oh my, I haven’t made any progress. Just ignore how far away it is. This is fun, I’m doing this for fun. Keep going. Okay, I think I passed someone, that’s good. Stroke, glide, kick, okay, I can do this.
And so it went. I finally reached half-way and turned around to come back. Stroking, gliding, kicking, breathing and sighting, I finally made it to the last buoy and turned towards shore. Ahh, the sweet shoreline. I jumped out from the water, running to Judy who was waiting for me with her bike. David was there also, waiting for his teammate who had to do what I did twice! David exclaimed that I had made it in personal record time. What? That’s impossible. Sure enough, despite my delayed start and frazzled state of mind early on, I had finished it four minutes faster than my record for swimming that distance in the structure and calmness of a pool. A half-mile in 22 minutes.
Well, I was really just thankful it was over. Now I could calm down and cheer for Judy, Kimmy and the guys.
But, I learned some valuable lessons that day. Some might compare it to the Christian journey: by focusing on the finish line, you find the strength and endurance to push you through present drama. Or you might conclude that the lesson is to learn to find joy and peace in the present circumstance, and before you know it, you’ve reached the end having lived a good life. But for me, the lesson most profound was that I can’t let fears keep me from the life goals in front of me. By conquering one fear at a time, God will bring me closer and closer to reaching my potential. And by God’s grace, I’ve conquered a fear. And it feels good.
Next?
Conquering the fear of death by way of the Chicago Marathon, October 10, 2010.
What did I get myself into now?
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