I’ve been toying with the thought of entering a Half-Ironman in October — an accomplishment that’s looking increasingly unlikely due to my customary paucity of training. But last week my dear neighbor Carol flagged me down on our cul-de-sac and asked brightly, “Are you going to do the RCP Tiburon Mile? I just entered!”
I’d actually been toying with the notion for years. I grew up in Tiburon, and actually did my (only) two triathlons on Angel Island in 2004 and 2005, so it was immensely appealing. Without think
ing much, I said, “Yeah, that sounds great. We can carpool!”
Inspired, I went for a 400 meter swim later that afteroon, and swam with the efficacy and grace of a camel. It’s unlikely I’ll keep up with Carol anyway — she played varsity water polo at Stanford, for God’s sake — but now I’m worried that I’ll wind up halfway to Antioch or have to latch onto some sag kayak.
My editor at Competitor, Bob Babbit, who is actually more like my Mafia uncle than anything, was despairingly enthused when I brought it up to him. “Drowning, shark attacks — I love that stuff! Get me 1800 words!”
My last option out was the prospect of not getting a media entry, as I’ve become violently allergic to entry fees. No luck: the event manager was the skilled and welcoming Christine Wilson, and she didn’t hesitate to sign me up.
So on Sept. 13th, I’ll be bobbing around the Bay in my wetsuit, with my surfboard nowhere in sight. I’ll try to report back on the results, but I’m definitely not expecting a belt buckle, much less a prize check.
All That's Fit 
So, how’d it go? I’m so jealous of the endurance events on the west coast. Now, granted, Atlanta (and the south in general) has some pretty cool races, but I think I might need to make a trip to the west coast (with my bike, of course) to check things out.