Strangest thing I saw today: pickles in the transition area. That’s got to be one iron-stomached triathlete.

On Saturday, I picked up my number for the Harvest Moon Aquabike–a 1.2 mile swim, followed by a 56 mile bike–and found that I had a pink swim cap, which meant they thought I was adding on the 13.1 mile run, even though I had only paid for 2/3’rd of the 70.3 triathlon. On the drive home, I seriously debated running. I’d been planning for this race to be the race for me this year, and to be honest, doing 66.6% of it didn’t sit well with me. I’m another mother runner, after all, and I thought the pink cap was the universe telling me to suck it up and go.

When I got home, I looked at the run course and, even though I bailed on the half IM training about 6 weeks ago and my left leg is flaring up again, I really thought about going. I tweeted about it and was slammed from fellow mother runners with what I knew was the right answer: no.

Then the universe, pissed at me for thinking I should do something I tell you guys not to do–run when you’re injured–sent me another sign. Loud and freakin’ holy-cow-it-hurts-so-much clear. Gotcha, U.

Yep, that would be my big toe. After I dropped a big box of books on it last night. Because the night before a race, you should always clean out your kids’ bookshelves, right?

My foot throbbed all night, and I worried about it being in my bike shoes for 3 hours. And I had plenty of time to dwell on it because last night our smoke alarm did that annoying, my-battery-is-dying beep, and our dog was plenty worked up about it. She panted for at least an hour after we pulled it off the ceiling. Still, at about 5:30, I headed to the 2/3 triathlon. I set up Lyle and my transition, then went and sat in my car because it was a balmy 50 degrees out.

Headed back to slither into my wetsuit, and was so excited to run into pink-capped pal Karrie, who is also doing Ironman Coeur d’Alene, next year.

I made her pose for a pic because there’s nothing more flattering that a wetsuit. (And yes, I totally need a haircut.)

I donned my blue cap to officially join the 66%’ers. I liked our small, coed group of all ages: I think there were about 60 of us. Plenty of room to swim and not too much bodily contact. I’m not a great buoy sighter to begin with, and I haven’t swum since late July, so I’m pretty sure I added on about .2 miles to the swim. Also, I hydrated adequately with the lake water. But I survived and what really had me fired up–and worried–was the bike course.

Hells. I mean hills.

I’d ridden the course twice, and decided my goal would be to come in under 3 hours. And by under 3 hours, I really wanted 2:45 or so. But the previous times I rode, there wasn’t a relentless headwind from mile 30-38, which, as you can see, was a steady climb. The wind was soul-sucking; I was working so hard, and going about 13 mph. Ugh. The good thing was that the 66%’ers started last, so I passed a bunch of people (who were, understandably, saving some energy for the run). I felt bad whizzing by them; I think they should’ve put an “AB” on our calves, so our fellow racers would know we were in for 66%, not 100%.

I definitely did not negative split, squeaked in on the bike just under 3 hours, and had nothing left to give. I felt nauseous and my lower back was numb.  I could not have cranked out (read: limped + walked) another 13.1 miles. Neither my head or body would’ve been able to go more than 1 mile. (Karrie did: she’s my hero.)

At some point as I battled on the bike, I realized I had to stop caring about not going the full distance. A coach once told me that nobody cares about your times but you, which stuck with me. (Then he added, they do care if you’re fun to hang out with before and after a race, if you support and encourage them. I totally agree.) Nobody but me cares if I don’t run, and I realized I was just wasting my energy and spinning my brain worrying about something I knew I shouldn’t do. Endurance sports are inherently self-centered, and that’s the beauty of them: you set your own bar for success, and then you go about doing your best to clear it as you feed on the energy of others.

While the majority of the racers were still running, they gave awards for the Aquabike. I was first in my whopping age group of six fellow 66%’ers. After a summer that was harder, hotter, and longer than I could handle, that is a bar I am proud to have cleared–and couldn’t have done it without you all supporting and encouraging me.

Thank you 100% from the botom of my heart.

This was my race of the summer after all.