Why Triathlons?

In 2006, I signed up for a half-marathon. I trained for months and ran the race, even though my knee wasn't happy after all the training. My plan was to run the half that fall to prepare for signing up for a full marathon the next year. The marathon was supposed to be a way to celebrate turning 30. That was the plan.

But…

After running that half-marathon, I lay down in the grass, my hips and knees hurting, and thought to myself, “There’s no way I could run twice that distance. People who run marathons are crazy. Maybe a triathlon is a better idea. Yeah… that makes more sense, three sports for the year I turn 30.”

In 2007, I signed up for a sprint-distance triathlon, and I loved it! Not only was it much more fun than the half marathon, but the training also matched my “variety is the spice of life” attitude. When training for the race, I would go to the gym before work in the morning to swim, take a spin class, or sometimes do both. I ran on alternating mornings or during lunch breaks. The different workouts kept things interesting.  

When I declared I was going to do a triathlon, I only had a mountain bike, so my coworker went with me to the local bike shop. We both bought road bikes that day. I mapped out a loop from my house that matched the race distance and started riding it a couple of times a week. I also went on longer rides with friends on the weekends.

During my first race, the swim was chaotic. I probably swam farther than I was supposed to because I wasn’t good at sighting, and I was trying to stay on the edge so I wouldn’t get kicked or grabbed as often.

When I got on the bike, it was my moment to shine. Some people had triathlon-specific bikes, but since the race attracts many newcomers to the sport, there were plenty of others on road bikes and even some mountain bikes. I passed a bunch of people, which gave me confidence. Getting off the bike and transitioning to running always takes my legs a minute to adjust to the different motion, but I ran my heart out. I’ve never been a particularly fast runner, but my pace was fairly average for the crowd I was racing against, so I felt proud as I crossed the finish line and high-fived my friends who showed up to cheer me on. I was hooked.

I signed up for a race the following year in Steamboat Springs. It was slightly longer than most sprint races, but I liked that the field of participants was much smaller (only 600 compared to 3,000 in my first race). I enjoyed experiencing Steamboat, even though the altitude made everything more challenging. In June 2009, I raced again and finished in the middle of the pack overall, but in the top quarter of my division.

After surviving a heart attack a month later, I was determined to get better so I could return to the triathlon scene. I signed up for another race in August 2010 (13 months after my heart attack). The American Heart Association sent a crew to film footage for a video about my survival story for the Go Red for Women Luncheon that fall. Although it was a different race than my first, it was the same course. I finished better than I had in 2007. I could confidently say I was back! A little heart attack wasn’t going to slow me down.

Some races I signed up for didn’t happen—like the one I drove to, where I sat in the car for 10 minutes, watching the rain outside, and decided I wasn’t up for racing in the cold, wet weather, or the off-road triathlon that was canceled because the bike course was washed out by flooding.

I also spent a lot of time on my road bike. For several years, I participated in Bike MS—a two-day, 150-mile ride in Colorado benefiting The National Multiple Sclerosis Society. Then I switched to the Courage Classic to benefit the Children’s Hospital because my employer at the time put together a team. The first couple of times I rode the Courage Classic, it was a three-day event, but it eventually changed to two days. The days are tough, and the 80-mile first day over three mountain passes eventually got to me. I stopped participating, but not until after I met my future husband at that event in 2014. We rode in the event together for a few more years, but we gave it up a while back.

I’ve always enjoyed sprint-distance races the most because I can manage with a reasonable amount of training that doesn’t feel like it takes over my life. I’ve completed some longer races, including an Olympic-distance race in 2014 and two aqua bike races where you swim, then bike, but don’t run (one was an Olympic distance and one a half-ironman distance). At both of those events, I was so relieved that I didn’t have to run when I got off my bike. By 2019, I had already undergone two knee surgeries and knew I was heading toward a partial knee replacement, so I took a couple of years off from triathlons.

I’ve never cared much about competing with others. I raced for fun and to see if I could beat my previous time. I didn’t worry too much about my transition times. I have to laugh when I look back at my times over the years. A couple of my transitions took over seven minutes! What was I even doing? 

Since I moved to Evergreen, where many roads lack shoulders, I don’t ride my road bike much anymore. I bought another mountain bike and spend more time on trails than on the road. 

After completing eleven triathlons, my partial knee replacement in March 2024, followed by shoulder problems beginning in July of that year, kept me from signing up for a triathlon. Instead, I participated in some fun events, like a SUP-athlon (stand-up paddleboard, bike, and trail run), a local 5K trail run, and a Halloween-themed 5K run with my dogs. I didn't race at all last season because we were focused on hiking to prep for our big outing between Aspen and Crested Butte. 

This past weekend, we raced in the Stagecoach Gravel Triathlon. After not doing much training this summer and both of us using borrowed bikes, we headed out a day early to ride along the Rio Grande Trail and get acquainted with the bikes. We rode about 24 miles, enjoying the section along the river, and another area where goats were at work on weed control.

After a quick stop for lunch, we headed to Steamboat Springs to pick up our packets and have a snack. We arrived at our campsite at Stagecoach State Park in the afternoon. Once the tent was up, we headed out on the water to paddle for a bit.

We signed up for the division that would paddleboard in place of the swim, and as we stepped through the mud into the murky water to climb onto our boards, we couldn't have been happier with that decision. On race day, it was also nice to be the first ones starting, especially after arriving over two hours before the event start to get a parking spot close to the reservoir since we had to cart both our paddleboards and bikes to the transition area.

We paddled from our knees because it allowed us to move faster. John was the first one out of the water, and with a handful of people between us, I wasn't far behind. He was still at our bikes when I entered the transition area, so we wished each other luck and went about our business. 

We had driven part of the bike course the night before, so we knew the race director was underselling it when he mentioned a bit of climbing in the race details. It was pretty much all climbing for the entire eight miles to the turnaround point. One long slog in particular had me with my head down, muttering about the never-ending climb. However, I did enjoy the scenery. Colorado is beautiful, and I had never been in this particular area before. We were fortunate that a wildfire a couple of weeks earlier was put out before it reached the race course. The rolling hills were green, aspen trees were abundant, and tiny chipmunks were active along the road (wondering why all these two-wheeled vehicles were interrupting their daily business). 

The elite group started after our SUP group, so I wasn't surprised to be passed by many racers during the bike section. Another woman who I was next to for a bit on the ride said, "We can do hard things." I replied, "You've got that right! We sure can." I climbed as best I could and took the curves carefully on the descent, since there were areas of loose gravel and the last thing I wanted was to crash. I was also trying to conserve energy for the upcoming run. I arrived back at the transition area, swapped out my helmet for a hat, had a bit of "gu," and clicked on my number belt.   

As soon as I started running, I knew it wasn't going to be easy. My legs were mostly okay once they adjusted to the different motion of running versus biking, but by then the sun was high in the sky, and it was at least 85 degrees out. The entire trail along the reservoir was exposed, so there were no breaks from the blazing sun. I walked even the slightest uphill and ran whenever there was a flat or downhill section. I was leapfrogging with another woman and a couple of guys. After getting some Gatorade at the aid station, I felt fine for a bit, but then the mile kept dragging on. I was thrilled when I finally reached the turnaround point. That next mile was slow, and I walked a good portion of it. I stopped to drink some water at the aid station and kept telling myself, "It's just one more mile; you've got this. Imagine you're out there on one of those boats." I walked a bit more, then focused on running the last third of a mile so I could cross the finish line running.

When I arrived, John told me he had taken first place in our group – not surprising, since he is competitive. I was just happy not to be last. It turns out I was ahead of 10 other people in our group of 28. For me, racing has never been about winning but about pushing myself out of my comfort zone. Having a race on the calendar encourages me to keep moving and training. Even though the ride had a lot of climbing and the run was hot, the next day I was on the Without Limits website looking at which race we might want to sign up for next. Since we primarily mountain bike rather than road bike, I think my next challenge will be the Lory Off-Road race next June. 

Watch the video I posted on Instagram about our weekend adventure.