This is what I have been thinking about fixated on obsessing over all week:
Sunday’s Sprint Triathlon.
First, when I began this training a few months ago, I worried about training. Could I create a workable schedule; could I get to the pool when needed; would my bike do okay for this first race; would I be able to bike ten and then run three right after; were there enough hours in a week to fit it all in?
Once I knew I could do the distances, I worried about the race day technicalities. What if I put my bike on the rack wrong; what if I forget something; what if I put sunscreen on and my number wipes off; what if I bump into someone and knock them over, rendering them unable to complete the tri; what if I draft; what if I draft too close, knocking someone over, rendering them unable to complete the tri; what if I have to go to the bathroom during the race, particularly on the bike; what if I can’t do the swim like I think I can and there I am, first sport, unable to finish; what if I get attacked by a shark (okay, this last one is a long shot since I’m in the river, but I’m sure, on some level, it could happen)
Then I worried about the elements: what if the tropical depression comes through and creates waves so high I panic; what if it is so hot I wind up with heat stroke; what if it thunders and lightnings; what if I get the strep my daughter had; what if I pull a hamstring/break a rib/sprain an ankle prior to race day
Last night, as I contemplated what might happen if I swam off course and wound up halfway up the river before realizing I was, in fact, off course, I realized this:
I am nervous enough to puke.






