Mother and daughter 'celebrate life' in triathlon

It might have all started back in 1977, when my daughter Heather and I ran a half-mile 'fun run.' She was 2 1/2, her tiny legs protruding out of a pair of UCLA jogging shorts and I held her hand as we jogged along, slow and steady. We were the last to finish and everyone cheered.

The years sped by as if on fast forward to the summer of 2000, 23 years later. I'd read about the Celebration of Life women's triathlon coming up in September to raise money to support breast cancer awareness.

I thought about my sister, Sharon, disabled from brain tumors, and all the other women who'd faced cancer, who didn't have the option to choose whether or not to run a triathlon.

If they could go through the terror they must have felt at times, maybe I could sweat and strain a bit for a good cause. Feeling brave, I called Heather, now living in another city, and asked her what she thought about doing the triathlon with me. Her enthusiasm was the deciding factor. "Come on mom. We'll do it together!" We had about six weeks to train and agreed to check in with each other for support.

I loved to swim, but hadn't owned a bike in years and though I walked every day, I hated to run. Heather was young and strong, but the triathlon would be a stretch for both of us.

I borrowed a bike and started showing up for the organized training rides and swims. My first 11-mile bike ride was a humbling experience. My legs were like jelly; I had to walk up the hills.

On top of that, my borrowed bike suited my petite friend, but I am tall. Everyone passed me by and soon I was alone with the pine trees, not sure where to go. Connie, from the Tour of Nevada City bike shop, came back to help me and commented: "You know, that bike is really too small for you."

Another participant, tall like me, saw me laboring along and offered to loan me a larger bike. I was touched by such generosity from someone I had never met.

My biggest fear was to crash the bike and bleed like when I was 10 years old. Those pedal things that grab onto your foot and won't let go also had me very intimidated. I made it to the halfway point of the ride, but when I tried to stop and rest, I

couldn't get my foot out of the pedal and crashed. Ouch!

Women gathered around and tried to help me. After the first shock, I started to laugh. My biggest fear had been falling off the bike. I'd at least gotten that over with.

That evening, as I coasted back to my car, I was struck by the beauty of the lake as it shimmered through the tall pines. Women called out goodbyes. My body was aching and banged up, but my spirits soared.

As the weeks went by, I fell into a rhythm of training every other day. Heather and I checked in on the phone. "Wow, I'm so tired! I'm eating like a football player! How are you doing?" Sharing our ups and downs kept me inspired. I'd sink into bed early, exhausted.

I loved the swims: the beauty of the water droplets sparkling against the sky as my arms broke the surface of the lake, the dark green pines along the shoreline that measured my progress through the water. My legs felt stronger and I breathed deeper. I had made friends and we encouraged each other.

As I trained, there were two voices that played like radio stations in my head. One was encouraging: "You go girl!"

The other voice wasn't: "Are you out of your mind? These women have rock hard bodies, are serious athletes. What could you possibly have been thinking to take this on?" I listened to them both as I pedaled or swam and just kept showing up for the training times. But I still hadn't run. It was so hot, maybe tomorrow... .

When I went to the orientation for first-time triathletes, they asked the question: "When was the last time you did something for the first time?" Well, for me, it was coming up soon.

With only two weeks to go, I began jogging. The September air felt like fall and I noticed a few gold leaves on the cottonwood trees. A squirrel scampered across the road. I actually enjoyed myself! Should have started weeks before, though.

The day of the race arrived. We got my sister there so she had a good seat to watch. Kind men were everywhere, directing traffic, signing us in, giving up their Sunday to show their support.

They put numbers on our arms and legs with black felt pens. We each had a little spot for our bike, running shoes, food, water and all our paraphernalia for "transition." The

only other transition I could remember was during childbirth and that had been really tough. But, like childbirth, it was too late now to change my mind. Heather and I smiled at each other nervously. My sister Sharon cheered us on.

The swim was a blur of arms and legs and bright bathing caps, but Heather and I swam and finished together. Dripping wet, we ran to our bikes, threw on our shoes, helmets, shorts and started up the hill. I told Heather not to wait for me; I'd see her at the end of the race.

I was one of the last bike riders, so it was very quiet out there at the end. But I finally cruised down the hill, dropped my bike and began the run. I never had actually jogged the whole three miles, so this would be the real test.

I had to walk, then run, then walk. My shins ached as I plodded along. People passed out water, some young boys sprayed me with a garden hose, (wonderful), onlookers cheered.

I was on the last hill when I saw Heather jogging toward me. "Come on mom, you can do it, you're almost there." She ran next to me, keeping up a constant patter of encouraging words. I couldn't talk back but felt grateful.

We turned the corner and saw everyone lined up, cheering. I saw my sister, Sharon, smiling and waving. Heather grabbed my hand and we crossed the finish line together.

What a moment. We laughed and hugged. I couldn't believe it. All those weeks of training, all that sweat, some definite fear and all the times I had to keep saying, yes.

My sister told me how Heather had finished the race and, without stopping, turned right back around and headed up the hill to find me. That tiny girl in the UCLA jogging shorts had grown up and this time, she held my hand as we crossed the finish line.

I could never have known back in 1977 where life was going to take us. But in that moment, with my sister, Heather and that crowd of courageous women, I felt proud and very, very grateful.

Diane Covington is a local freelance writer living near Nevada City.

The Barbara Schmidt Millar "Celebration of Life" Women1s Triathlon

Date: Sept. 28, 2003

Location: Cascade Shores at Scotts Flat Lake

Distances: half-mile swim, 11-mile bike, 2.9-mile run

Categories: Triathlete, Team, and Walk/Run

Time: Triathlon, 9 a.m., walk/run, 9:30 a.m.

Preregistration required. Contact event director, Cathy Anderson-Meyers, 273-6876 or cathyam@cwnet.com

FREE PRE-EVENT

CLINICS

Swim: NU Pool, Saturday, Aug. 16, 10 a.m. to noon

Bike: South Yuba Club, Saturday, Aug. 23, 11:30 a.m.-1:30 p.m., (bring bike and gear)

First-Timer's Clinic: Club Sierra, Wednesday, Aug. 27, 7 p.m.; Saturday, Sept. 27, 1:30 p.m.