That's why they call it a Try-athalon

This story does not have a glorious ending but it does have an ending.  For the past couple months I've been training for a sprint distance triathlon.  Truthfully, it's not that hard.  I'm a pretty decent swimmer, and a slow but experienced runner. The only thing left was the bike and it was only 11 miles.  Since the bike course was so short and so flat I trained for it by doing a spin class twice a week.  My only road experience was last week when I practiced the course with my friends.  It was cake.

The night before I checked and double checked my gear.  I had my helmet, my suit, my clif bars, and my tires were full, I was good to go.  I loaded my bike into my friends van so we would be all ready once 5:30 rolled around.  Super prepared.  Sadly, upon arrival at the course my front tire was flat, really flat.  My two friends who were with me helped pump it up as we debated the best course of action.  My friend had a patch, but we only had a half-hour or so before the race started and I'd never patched a tire before.  I weighed my options.  I could try and repair the tire beforehand but risk missing the start, or I could pump up my damaged tire and hope that it was a slow leak.  I opted for option #2.  Right before the swim I pumped up my tire.  The swim went well and I finished quickly.  As I ran to transition to the bike portion my heart sunk when I felt my squishy tire.  I probably should have just stopped there, but I couldn't not try.  So I pumped it up one last glorious time and hopped on.  I made it about 3 miles before I was riding on rim.  

I'm a fortunate girl in that whenever I've found myself in a tough spot, there is usually a kind hearted person near by to help me out.  This time my saving grace came in the form of a HAM radio enthusiast/race volunteer.  He did his best to look at my tire and offer suggestions.  But without the aide of a pump they weren't very realistic.  When I finally conceded that I would not be able to finish the bike portion of the race he gracious offered me a lift back to the transition stage.  Once the final cyclist had ridden by and he was cleared to leave his post we loaded my bike in the back of his truck and talked about the intricacies and benefits of the HAM radio as he drove me, my flat tire, and my defeat back to where I started.  It was a nice diversion and I appreciate his kindness immensely. (And I now have a new goal to get HAM certified).  I walked my bike back to the racks and debated what to do.  Many of the participants were just starting the run.  I could sit and wait for my friends, or get in a small run.  Sure, it may be "cheating", and I definitely don't count as a finishing participant but I couldn't just sit and wait.  So I ran.  It was a good solid run that filled my lungs and my spirit.  I fumed about my situation for the first mile, negotiated the second, and came to a sort of peace by the third.  As I crossed the finish line (probably a big no-no, but whatever, I paid my $80 bucks!) they handed me a medal which I promptly pushed away and found my friends.  They were sad to hear of my troubles, but I tried to glory in their success and learn from my experience.

Phil, who is currently in a space/WWII/Teddy Roosevelt phase, likened my race to the Apollo 13 mission.  He called it, "A Successful Failure".  Sure I didn't reach the result I wanted and prepared for, but I learned a lot.  This is only the beginning of my triathlon career and now I know preparedness needs to be more than just physically being ready.  I need to have a back-up plan (tire!) and the know-how to solve problems as they arise.   So, although it wasn't the glorious ending to my race that I hoped for it was purposeful, and I'm grateful for it.