Do you know what is worse than fear of failure? Actually failing. I signed up for a sprint triathlon. I was working hard, training, eating right. I could feel myself getting stronger. I felt ready. I worked myself up mentally for it. I told everyone I was doing it. It was scheduled in the evening, which is truly awful for a race. I am not a morning person, I probably exercise best in the afternoon; but to have to work all day, stress all day, and then finally race at 5:45, ugh. I was on pins and needles. It’s all I could talk about. The day was a blur of stress and rush. I was panicking about not getting done in time, panicking about forgetting something, panicking about crashing or getting hit by a car, panicking about being last. None of those happened.

From the beginning it’s been a mental game as much as a physical challenge. Everyone says this, but it’s hard to understand until you do it. Being comfortable with the uncomfortable. Feeling like you can’t go on, and then keep going. Feeling that feeling of dread, that foreshadowing of awfulness, and then pushing that aside to do it anyway. I read articles about mental toughness, about how this can be trained and learned. In my mind, the only goal was to finish. In my head, I kept saying, the last person across the finish line is a finisher. I am going to cross that damn line.

Finally, the last patient was seen. I drove the 30 minute drive to the race site, talking to a friend the whole way, discussing nutrition and hydration, warm ups and general encouragement. My head was in the game. I met my friends there, they showed me where and how to set up my gear. There were tons of super awesome looking athletes strutting around in their beautiful gear, with their beautiful bikes, their supple, smooth, tanned, muscle bound bodies gliding around the transition area like goddamn gazelles. I fumbled around, a lumpy warthog in comparison, but I’ve learned to squash this feeling after doing so many 5ks with the same or similar people. I’m not doing it for them, I’m doing it for me.

And then the moment arrives, switch to present tense: I crowd in with everyone, and the swim goes great. I freestyle the whole way, the kayaks cheer us on, the water is smooth, it feels so good! there are even 2 people after me so I’m not the last swimmer. I dry off and get on the bike and it’s going well, I make it up a particularly challenging hill, I roll up and down, past an adorable road called Darby Switch, past neighbors who have come out to see us! To cheer for us! We are the town event! A woman at the end of her driveway has a cowbell, because you can never have enough cowbell. I coast down a long downhill section. This is actually one of the scariest parts for me, bc I’m going at 20+ mph on a tiny bike with only a helmet, not a huge shoulder to work with, cars are speeding past, and I get so tense just trying not to hit a stray rock and go flying. I’m also working my brain up for the uphill climb. I can do this, I’ve done this before. Just keep going, just finish. I make the turn to start the incline, and I feel a lag. My back tire is making a weird sound, and suddenly it’s slower going. I unclip and look, and it is flat. I hesitate. I only have five more miles, maybe I can ride it on the rim! Maybe I can just walk it? Maybe I can fix it in some way…. no. My world crumples as the lag truck comes up behind me. No one explains this part: if you get a flat tire, you’re out of the race. Not that you failed in any way that was controllable, but this stupid round piece of rubber crushed your hopes and dreams and hours of training. It is so first world to be destroyed by not finishing a triathlon, but there it is. My adrenaline skyrockets with nowhere to go, and I get in the lag truck. I am devastated, trying not to cry in the back of a pick up. The drivers are nice, trying to make small talk, but I have no interest in talking. It’s all I can do to keep my sobs silent, as tears course in rivulets down my face. I’m praying that I can escape without actually seeing anyone, but that doesn’t seem likely. I now have to text everyone that I DNF. That’s an actual anagram. Just stamp failure on the time sheet. Everyone is texting encouragement, oh that sucks, it wasn’t meant to be, you’ll kill it next time… I love that I have a supportive tribe, but right now I can’t deal with any of it. My adrenaline is crashing hard, and on top of it I started my period today, so I am an emotional wreck. Riding in the back of the truck, drowning in disappointment and misery and loathing, I have an epiphany: worse than finishing last is not finishing at all. Worse than struggling up that damn hill at 4 mph, is riding in the loser truck. As soon as they see me get out of the truck, my friends swarm me, hugging me, knowing that sometimes physical contact is more necessary than social distancing, and I lose it. Ugly cry, body wracking sobs, tears and mucus pouring down my face in a torrent, you would have thought someone died the way I carried on. In front of my coach, in front of my pastor, full on emotional breakdown. Then Sean and the boys walk up. More witnesses to my defeat. Just pile it on, everyone come look at the crying fat girl who can’t even finish what she signed up for. Clearly she’s in over her head. I pack up my stuff and drive home, a long, cold, empty drive in my still-wet clothes. Crack open a beer, get in the shower, eat dinner and go to bed in defeat. Tomorrow is another day, a day to regroup, refocus, to sign up for next time, but today I am beaten.