The race starts with a swim in Cayuga Lake at seven-thirty in the morning. This is a relatively late race start, and I despise rising at four a.m. to force down a bagel, and I'm a seasoned triathlete, so I take my time. I stop at Wegman's for coffee. I try and eat a bagel, but I can get about half down before I feel nauseous. Okay, maybe I am a little nervous. I show up at the race with about ten minutes to get my bike set up in the transition area before everyone is kicked out of the transition area to attend the pre-race meeting. And I forget my sunglasses in the car and have five minutes to run back there after the pre-race meeting, drop them off then make it to the swim start. This is not how you want to start a race. In a panic.

At the swim start, there's the usual jitters. Luckily, I'm starting with all women. I've done one race where I've started with men, and it's not fun to find a clear path among a throng of splashing, six foot plus men, all determined to beat down anyone who gets ahead of them. After a few conversations with women I'm convinced think I'm hitting on them because I'm alone (one of the few women it seems who are not in the Ithaca Triathlon Club and who have traveled more than ten miles for this race) and nervously chatting and following them around. I find out buoys are to be kept on your right the whole time. The last buoy looks far away. Very very far away. Shit.

Countdown then start. I try and relax. The fastest swimmer is the one who's relaxed, confident. The water is fresh, not salt, warm and lovely once you get out past the seaweed tangles. I feel every one of the 60 or so women I started with pass me. I try not to worry and think about my breathing, my heartrate, why I can't breathe every third stroke like I do in the pool and why my heart is racing. I also try to think about swimming a straight line, not my usual zig-zag pattern. More women pass me. I find a clean line, which means I'm probably at the back of the pack. I try not to care and keep going. I'm hugging the buoy line, which means I'm swimming efficiently in terms of direction. And then I start swimming into the buoy line, getting tangled every ten strokes or so. Idiot, idiot. And then I swim into a buoy, giant inflatable orange and yellow balls. Idiot. I think this swim is not going well, and it's lasting forever. When I spot the end buoy, it's still looks miles away. I have a ten second loss of confidence mini panic attack when I consider waving for an angel, and then I keep going. I remind myself that I may not be a fast swimmer, but I'm a good swimmer. Swimming is nothing for me. All I have to do is keep stroking and I'll make it.

On the other side of the rope, a group of swimmers on their way back pass. I think they're the group of women I'm in, which means I'm way, way behind. I've a ways to go to the halfway point. I let that thought go and think about my stroke, my breathing. Another buoy later and I realize it was the heat in front of me that I saw. I'm pretty sure I'm way back, because there's nobody swimming around me, but that's no matter at this point. I finally round the halfway buoy and head for home. This swim feels like the longest I've done in my life.

I trudge out of the water. All nervous energy has been spent on the swim. I'm not tired. I'm serene, which sounds nice but not the way you want to be when you're in a race. I trot into the transition area and try to rush it. But I don't want to. I want to enjoy. I come out of the transition area trying to figure out where I am in the race. How many bikes are still in the transition? Are there any other women riding with me? It's a small race. It's hard to tell.

I head my bike uphill, not too hard. Ten percent harder uphill according to my trainer. I love the bike. I have exact instructions on how to ride this. There's no thinking involved. Just keep the meter between 155-165 and drink one bottle every half hour. A few people fly past me on the hill and I just crank it nice and easy. Sure enough, when I'm on the rolling hills part, I take off. I pass people, and not just the kids on mountain bikes. I feel strong. I'm not out of breath. I feel elated, actually. The scenery is golden and green, wineries and cornfields and glimpses of Cayuga Lake. I could ride for hours and I'm flying.

Right before the halfway point, I see a few fierce women down in their tri-bars heading back on the opposite side of the road. This is good news for me. I'm not far behind them, and they're all-muscle women. Except on the way back, there's wind, and I don't fight to keep my speed. I think about the six miles I still need to run. I take it back a notch.

I finish the bike strong, though. Later I find out that I averaged 17.5 miles per hour for the ride (great for me) and came in 28th out of 64 women in the race.

I hit the run without a care in the world. The run is something I feel I have no control over. All I want to do is keep running, even if it's a jog over a walking pace, and so I just let my body do what it's going to do, which is a letting go, and it's nice.

The run is lovely, a three mile loop mostly in the shade that goes slightly uphill on a gravel path to a waterfall and back. Except you have to do the loop twice if you're in the long race, meaning you have to run past the finish line when your legs are cramping and do it again. I take my coaches advice and stop at every water station. It's a lovely day, but it's still in the 80's by now.

I somehow make it to the waterfall for the second time, and now it's almost all downhill to the finish. At this point it hits me. I'm going to finish this thing running. I get a little giddy. Up until now, lots of runners have been passing me and each one has said encouraging thing as they've passed, like, "doing great," or "almost done." I translate these phrases into, "you look so bad I better say something to help you keep going." Now I'm passing people, and I try it out, though it sounds false the first time or so, knowing that I'm aching almost as badly and hardly passing with force. But it feels good to give back.

And then before I know it, the finish line is 50 meters away. I'm in the chute and it's a straight line. And I have energy left! My friend Robyn has told me, when you get to the end, no matter what, sprint it. And this time, I can. I pump my arms, I give it everything I've got and I'm running as fast as I can. I hear the announcer tracking my progress over the loudspeaker. "Number 72, coming in for a fast finish, moving his arms. George Conwell." Wait, him? George? Is he talking about me? I listen again, and sure enough, he's got the wrong guy, but he's unmistakably talking about me. Have I beefed up so much that now I look like a man? Hell. I quit. All this to be mistaken for a man?

I get over the finish line. I've just completed my second Olympic distance race, and compared to last year, I feel great. Ecstatic. Adrenalin kicks in. Last year, I felt woozy, could hardly stand. This year, I want to call everyone I know, jog to the see the results, find George, the other number 72. I shove down a fig newton, but the stomach is a block of concrete still. Can't eat. I stash some food for later, keep walking around, soaking in the amazement of how good I feel.

I start the drive home as quickly as possible. I've still got over five hours before I'm home and probably not much time left with this adrenalin rush. I am thrilled with the race. Everything about it, the organization, the scenery, the other competitors is hands down the best race I've ever done.

I'm elated until I see the results. I was right about the swim. Totally flubbed it and swam at my warmup pace. Slower. And compared to the other competitors, the other women, I'm at the bottom. And then I feel a bit bummed. How do I get competitive in these things? I'm not even close. To top it off, I get the pictures back. Apparently, my tri-suit is not as flattering as I thought in the store and my gut is hanging out in every picture. Time to give up?

RESULTS
Total Time: 3:05:04
Overall finish: 159th (out of 200, yuck)
Women finish: 48th (out of 64, ick)
Age group finish: 6th (of of 11, poo)

Swim: 33:28 — 135th; 41st; 7th (2:14 pace, what?!)
Trans 1: 1:39 — 50th; 21st; 4th
Bike: 1:25:07 — 128th; 28th; 4th (17.5mph avg)
Trans 2: 1:50 — 149th; 50th; 7th
Run: 1:03:00 — 172nd; 53rd; 8th (10:10 pace)