The Monday Morning Triathlete
by Michell Haase, Chicago Tri Club Member

I saw the face of God in Galena, Illinois—well, not really the face of God, but I was pretty sure I was being lifted up to heaven as I lay dazed and disoriented in the cool, clear waters of Galena’s Apple Canyon Lake. . . .

It all started a few months ago, when I joined the Chicago Tri Club. I met a really great group of people, and they were talking about this awesome race in Galena. Not knowing any better, I signed up the very day registration opened. But when I told others in the Tri Club that I had signed up (and, by the way, had only done Rivers Edge before), I got only puzzled looks and concerned expressions of “Good Luck.” How was I supposed to know that Galena is one of the most challenging, hilliest, and coldest triathlons in the Midwest? Duh!

So I decided that since I signed up for it, I would train for it. I participated in clinics and perfected my swim technique. Oh, how beautiful it was. I was totally immersed in that pool, knocking out 1500 yards in a session (that’s a lot for me, since I just learned how to swim last year!). I was confident, and I knew I could handle the measly 660 yards that Galena presented.

I practiced running hills on the treadmill all winter, and even went out to Galena in April to practice the ride. I was ready!

So, yesterday, I got to the start of the swim, sporting my brand-new wetsuit. The water didn’t seem that cold at 62 degrees. The starting horn sounded, and in I ran! Yes, I CAN do this! But as I started to swim, I couldn’t see in front of me and was getting hit left and right. I lifted my head and then realized that I couldn’t get my face to go back in the water. All my hard work being totally immersed just went out the window! Ok, so I could swim 660 yards with my head out of the water, legs dragging way behind, right? I wasn’t about to give up yet! Could you just imagine the laugh all my Tri Club buddies would have if I was pulled out of the water? Not me! So, I decided to swim from one buoy to the next . However, they kept moving farther and farther away, or so it seemed. I just kept flailing my arms, trying to do something similar to what I had practiced all winter. Well, I made it to the buoy, and flipped on my back. Get your heart rate down, relax, and start again, I said to myself. So on to the next buoy. This went on for four of those buoys, one by one. The next wave was already on me, but I was not going to give up. Not yet…

Well, that’s when it happened: I rolled onto my back, exhausted, and looked up at the sky. I could see a light—yes, I was going to die here, my face splashed by the tireless efforts of the next wave of athletes, my wetsuit strangling me. I could feel myself just float, looking up into that light. Is that God I see? Is it my time? What a way to go . . .

I was roused from my daze when I heard someone from a boat yell, “Are you ok?” Startled, I yelled back, “I’m not getting pulled out!” So I flipped back over and started to swim. What I didn’t realize was that I got turned around and was now swimming the wrong direction! Thank goodness someone yelled to me. Of course, that caused a panic attack as I thrashed around trying to figure out where I was. At last I saw the final buoy, and just went for it! I staggered out of that water—I had the shakes, and I couldn’t run like everyone else did ahead of me. So I took my time, walked to my bike, got myself together, and kept going.

Well, it’s a good thing I did! I had the pleasure of passing a 71-year-old man, and some older women on mountain bikes. Yes, I was en fuego! Ok, maybe not, but I wasn’t giving up! In the meantime, my back started to spasm, and I kept thinking, “Why am I doing this?”

Well, during mile 2 of the run, it was apparent why I was doing it. My heart rate was down; my familiar stride had returned. The beautiful Galena countryside was all around me, and other runners were cheering me on. And I was cheering them on, as we all ran toward that finish line. We were all out there testing ourselves, pushing our bodies, and finding camaraderie in the quiet of the run. That’s why we do it!

As I sprinted to the finish, it was obvious I had won no awards or set any personal records. However, I gave it everything I had yesterday: I am a triathlete.