I have no idea why I wanted to do a triathlon. A new challenge perhaps, or seeing pictures of friends on Facebook completing their first tri. Whatever it was, I got it into my head that this would be my biggest goal over summer. I scoured the internet and any resources I could find, trying to absorb as much as I could about this challenge I was going to undertake. I found a triathlon with a beginner's distance, to be held in February. It was already December. I had two months to train.

 

I had been running consistently for the last few months, so I had no worries about completing the run leg. I occasionally headed out on my bike and knew I could make the distance, although it wouldn't be fast. The problem was the swim leg. I hated swimming. I had only swum laps in a pool a handful of times since leaving school, and I recall taking breaks at each end. How was I going to swim 300 m continuously in open water?

 

I decided to start training in a local 25 m pool, feeling safer with lifeguards nearby in case I started drowning. After each lap I grabbed the wall, gasping for air. I was in the super slow lane but I was still passed by other swimmers. Even the people in the walking lane were faster than me. This was going to be tougher than I thought.

 

I visited the pool twice a week, not having the motivation to attend more often (despite obviously needing to). Slowly but surely things improved. I could swim several laps without stopping. I learned how to breathe on both sides, and only take a breath on every third stroke. My speed didn't seem to improve, but that didn't matter. I just needed to make the distance.

 

Only living five minutes from the beach gave me plenty of opportunities to practise open water swimming. Nervously I waded into the cold water and started to swim parallel to the beach, hoping that the few people on the sand weren't watching and laughing. It was much harder than I thought. I struggled to breathe, and had to revert back to taking in air every second stroke. I swam for what seemed like forever, but looking at my watch told me it was only one minute. I stopped numerous times, treading water until I had composed myself enough to carry on. Eventually I made it to the end of the beach, a distance of 600-700 m, but it had taken me an eternity. Despite this, I felt more confident that I would be able to complete the upcoming triathlon.

 

Over the weeks my skills improved, to the point where I could swim for several minutes at a time in the ocean without stopping. I became more familiar with currents and learned to ignore the jellyfish stings. It was clear that I would never be an Olympian, but that wasn't my goal. I wanted to finish a triathlon.

 

The bicycle I had been using for training was a flat bar touring bike. Not exactly the ideal model for racing. I started popping into bicycle stores and researching online, weighing up the pros and cons of splurging on a road bike. What if I only ever did one triathlon? Would it really make me that much faster? Would I have enough time to learn how to handle the inherent instability that came with the lighter frame and thinner tyres? Would I be able to ride with clipless pedals without falling over? All of these doubts had me putting off buying a new bike.

 

Four weeks before race day I caved and bought my first road bike. I dragged Danny around to several bike stores before finally settling on an entry-level bike, with drop bars and the scary clipless pedals. As soon as I got home I practised clipping in and unclipping my shoes from the pedals while holding myself up against the wall. It took all the courage I had to let go of that wall and venture outside.

 

The first ride on the road was terrifying. The bike wobbled dangerously as I concentrated on clipping my shoes in, but once I got going it was a breeze. I was flying along the streets, with much less effort than I was used to exerting. Stopping was another matter. I couldn't quite twist my ankles enough to get my shoe out of the pedals efficiently. Several times I had to continue pedaling, making sure I had enough momentum to stay upright until I could free my foot. In the end I rotated my heels hard and fast, which released me from its grip. This didn't help my confidence.

 

A few more practise rides around the roads and I slowly became familiar with the bike. I couldn't always get my feet out on the first go, so I had to make sure I started unclipping well before I needed to stop. I was certain I had made the right decision in buying the bike, but I wasn't convinced in my ability to handle it come race day.

 

Once the bike was purchased I went on a spending spree. Next up was a tri suit (ugly things but functionally fantastic), goggles that didn't fog up as soon as I put them on, a race belt to hold my bib, and flashy sunglasses with interchangeable lenses. It seemed silly, but buying all of this equipment gave me more courage to face the triathlon.

 

I had known for two months that I wanted the Cottesloe Triathlon to be my first tri, but I didn't fully commit to it until a week before the race. I continually tossed up the idea of whether I should go through with it or not. It would be easy to back out, no one would ever know. In the end I bit the bullet and clicked "register" on the website, telling myself that I would regret it if I never gave it a shot. Plus I had bought all the gear already, and I needed an excuse to use it.