Week O' Dumbness, In Which Team Spiridon Glurgled, Rode, and Ran to Glory. And Beer.

Last week was a brief moment of activity in an otherwise eventless running summer for many of us, a sure sign of the sweating and heavy breathing that will soon be upon us again.

First up, Christina raced the Small Texan Triathlon in Boerne last Sunday. It was "international distance", which I think means that no one could agree on what the actual distances were. OK, actually, it means a half-mile swim, a 45k (30 mile) bike, and a 10K run. Yeah, I know, it sounds horrible to me, too.

Though it was a small triathlon with about 300 participants, it was a great crowd - I have to say, a bit more collectively supportive and friendly than at some other tri's I've seen... I was also impressed by how many pretty serious (and talented) athletes were out there - for a small field, there was an unusual number of extremely nice bikes (including a woman with what appeared to be the Cervelo that Team CSC rode to team, white, and yellow jerseys in the Tour de France, which was ending that same Sunday), $3,000 wheelsets, and teardrop aero helmets.

We drove down there early (the first stupid thing about triathlons is this... earliness), and it was beautiful morning - about 73 degrees at the start, with the water temperature about the same.

Christina burned through the swim, starting at the back of her wave, but finishing before most of it, in 15:34. A fast transition, then she was off on the bike ride.

We had rode the course July 4th weekend, and it was a tough one. Long, steep hills, with little downhill payoff. The surface is a very rough, cheap chipseal for almost the entire distance, which we found to be just a bit over 28 miles. The long stretches were also conducive to strong winds, and sure enough, as the morning heated up, the wind began to blow. Still, Christina had a good ride, averaging 15.5 mph.

Meanwhile, I was going a little nuts. I sat. And waited. And watched people get on their pretty bikes and go tearing off into the day. I was jealous. I started thinking things. Stupid things. I had an iPhone. More on this later.

Christina came roaring in on the bike, finishing in 1:48, and went out again for the 10K run. By this time, though, it was burning hot. I was not jealous at this point.

It got tough out there. We hadn't checked out the run course, and when we had talked to a triathlete about it on July 4, we discounted the hill he reported at the turnaround, thinking, "Pfft. San Antonian. What do they know of hills?" She may also have been a little short on nutrition.

Still, she finished it out strong, in 1:07:09, and the day's effort was enough to place her at 3rd in her age group, and 19th female overall.

Afterwards, there were pancakes and omelettes at IHOP, a brief discussion of how dumb an idea it would be for me to register for the Jack's Generic Tri a week later, given the fact that I can't swim, and then the iPhone reappeared, and before the pancakes were gone, I was registered.

Last Thursday, Jenn jetted off to San Francisco for her first half marathon. After a year riddled with injuries, she'd trained well for the past several months, and gotten up to an 11 mile run in the past few weeks. She was ready, and yesterday, she finished in 2:37, challenging herself to run all the uphills, even if she had to occasionally walk a little elsewhere. We'll post her full report (and pictures?) when she returns from LA and Disneyland. No, really, she declared she was going to Disneyland. She might have been severely dehydrated at the time, though.

Meanwhile, in someplace that was definitely not San Francisco...

Christina was the spectator and holder of sandals this time, and I was the person in the spandex, finally able to ride my bike in competition. First, however, I had to swim, which is not something I do. At all. I spent four mornings last week at Barton Springs, trying to pick up my aborted attempts from earlier in the summer, which was itself an attempt to pick up where I'd left off last spring.

I had everything ready, forgetting only my gloves, which I hate wearing, anyway. But, as they say, man makes plans, and God laughs. Twenty minutes before race time, I was in a porta-potty, suffering in probably equal parts the consequences of Friday night, something I ate Saturday, and the anxiety that one should probably expect when they are about to sink to the bottom of a man-made lake for no good reason.

From my week o' swimming, I knew the best I could hope for in covering 500 meters was about 24 minutes. I knew that everyone else, and I do mean everyone, would finish in 14 minutes or less. My goal was to get through it, and not stand up, and not sob uncontrollably with fear.

I positively radiated confidence and fearlessness, which no doubt lent hope to my fellow competitors...

The mass start was breathtaking - a mass of determined and fit competitors between the ages of 35 and 39, carving their way expertly through the water...

And, then there was me, and, perhaps not coincidentally, reported sightings of some sort of gelatinous prehistoric monster in the lake that morning...

For one brief, glorious moment in time that I can't recall or believe at all, I did apparently move as if I were swimming...

I am proud to report that, well... I did not sob uncontrollably with fear. Oh, and I did get through it, though I am still not clear how, what with all the standing near the shore and the gasping for air and the sobbing uncontrollably with fear. But finally, I emerged victorious, placing 800th out of 806 swimmers, one of whom was a wheelchair participant. More importantly, I was able, finally, to ride my shiny bicycle with all the other kids...

Of course, Christina got lots of pictures of me drowning, but none of me being competent on the bicycle. Hmph. Fortunately, another spectator sent me the following picture of me on one of the more moderate climbs:

Suffice it to say, the bike was fun, and I got to catch and dust several of the waves of those jerks that can, you know, swim and what-not. Driven by anger at a sporting event that includes water, and a desire to ride as quickly as possible away from the water, I was able to regain a little dignity, placing 260th out of 800+ on the bike.

By the time I got to the three-mile run, of course, I just wanted the damned thing to be over, and I wanted my free beer that came with the $70 entry fee. I ran considerably slower than I had hoped, but ran all the way through. The only endurance event left was the beer line, but, buoyed by the days meagre successes, I persevered, for myself, and for everything that Team Spiridon stands, and occasionally sits, for...