Getting back up to Maine from NYC with all my gear and my bike was a bit of a challenge, especially since I hadn't really made any plans to do so until the day before I had to leave. After some e-mails from my mother complaining about my lack of "basic courtesy" and some frantic phone calls to my brother from 42nd Street, I made it to Portland at a reasonable hour on Friday night. I stayed with some great friends, carb-loaded on Shipyard Export Ale, and tried to go to bed early.

I don't know if you all know this, but triathlons are kind of hard. The first heat started at 9:30 am, and at 9:00am, my cheerleaders had still not arrived. Without them, especially my brother Drew, I was scouting out places someone in a rubber suit could hide for a few hours. Finally I saw Drew, and although his pep talk did not assuage all my fears, it did make me feel considerably better. He, our friend, Tito, and my parents were at all my transitions, cheering and wishing me well. And, as any triathlete will tell you, this support is invaluable.

Triathlon swimmers start in heats, and I was in the last one. I was also the slowest swimmer, so pretty soon I was swimming with just a kayaker behind me. Casco Bay was only 50 degrees, and the wind was kicking up salt water right into my mouth and eyes (note to self: get new goggles before the next open water swim). Long story short: the Harbor Master closed off the course before I could finish. I made it about half way before getting a boat ride back to shore.

But, no time to dwell: I've got to get on my bike! I pulled off my wetsuit (so much easier than pulling it on), velcroed into my bike shoes, and helmeted up. With a Gu in each pocket of my spandex shorts, I clipped into my bike pedals and started my ride.

The Lobsterman Triathlon is the most scenic race in the country, according to Triathlete magazine. Although I'm biased, I am inclined to agree. The ride was up and down rolling hills, surrounded by farms, inlets, and fields of the wild flowers and tall grasses of late summer. The asphalt itself was a bit torn up from winters past, however, which made some of the riding a bit treacherous. At one point I was sure I was going to fly over the handlebars and break a tooth. Fortunately, it ended up to be just a bumpy ride.

When I got back to my station to change into my running shoes, I checked my phone. More fans had texted their well wishes! Just what I needed as I headed into the last leg of the race. I was starting as most everyone else finished, but it's "my own race." So I shuffled along the running course, even trying to pick up the pace at times. The run is my favorite part of the race...so much less can go wrong. I did fall and skin my knee at the very end, but I just got back up and kept running. At that point, there was nothing else to do.

Drew and Tito met me just before the gates, and my parents were along the route as well. Of course, the closer you are to the finish line, the farther away it seems. But, "baby steps get you there, too," as the announcer said when I finished my first triathlon a few years ago. It remains true. I was among the last to cross, and some might say that it was an incomplete race because of the swim, but it was still a good effort.

And as my Uncle Bobby pointed out, "It's better to be the worst of the best than the best of the worst."

Today I plan to do all three. But sometimes time gets the better of me, and it just doesn't work out. It's my last full day in Portland and I have people to see, beers to drink. It's tough to be in training during the last days of summer. Then again, the air is perfect, the heron follows me on all my runs, and the sea grasses are just green, just amber, just golden enough...

3. Agility training is happening, but must be AMPED UP! That's right people, I must be more EXTREME! Or something. Something tells me the key to getting faster is, gulp, SPRINTS! More on that later (like, after I've actually done some).

*This NYSun article came up first when I did a google search for the book's title. So, I went with it.

During last year's New York City triathlon, I had to hang on to the kayak for a while before I could keep going. The woman in the kayak said they could take me to shore and I could finish the race without doing the swim. But, I decided I could do it, and just did the breast stroke and let the current push me to the finish. The summer before, while swimming in Africa's deepest lake, Lake Tanganyika, my brother and I were trying to swim from one beach to another when I got so spooked by the waves that I had to doggy paddle back to a rock. As I mentioned, open water not a good place to have a panic attack.

Yesterday I biked out to Plum Island in Newburyport, MA (where my parents live), and romped in the waves for a while. I even swam a bit...not too far from the shore, mind you, but for about ten minutes. I'll be back in Maine next week, ready to bike back out to Kettle Cove and practice my open water swimming. This year I know what all my weaknesses are, and I'm determined to imrove in those areas.

It rained today in New York (better than 95-degree heat, in my opinion), but I hope the racers had a good time anyway!

But, I  arrived in parentville today (that's Newburyport, MA, to most of you). I went for a five or so mile run this evening and it was totally good and strong. No cramping, no profuse sweating, no big deal. I was going to run less, but then I thought: "Well, I might as well keep going." And so I did.

As you know, I'm not fast. I am the opposite of fast. But, I wanted to live up to the lane. So, I tried really hard to swim fast. And, you know, I was totally swimming faster. I swam the whole mile, too, without stopping (much).

So, I can swim the mile and run the six and bike at least 16...and I still have two months to go!

I also ran yesterday in my...ugh...spandex. I hate those frickin' shorts; they look terrible on me. Also, the monofiliment in the waistband bites my skin. But, they were the only clean shorts I had, so it was wear 'em or stay home. That's dedication, people. DEDICATION.