Half-trying a half-triathlon (a 3-part sob story)
Image of Vi-An feelings many emotions all at once
I never saw myself as a “sports person.” For most of my life I avoided anything that might bring failure, discomfort, or the possibility of public embarrassment. Even at the gym I would stop before I broke a sweat - that was my comfortable level of exertion. So when the idea of a triathlon floated my way, I brushed it off. I’d already dealt with enough life challenges; why add another hard thing?
Then a friend majorly nudged me, and we both registered. Suddenly I was staring at a schedule of swims, bike rides, and runs that felt wildly out of sync with the life I’d carefully curated to stay in my comfort zone. Little did I know that the real lesson wouldn’t be about finishing a race, but about what happens when you let yourself sit with discomfort and curiosity instead of avoidance.
The first leg: Swimming or sinking
The open‑water swim was the first leg — and the first debacle. The orientation speech for first-timers put it well: “If you have experience battling giant surf waves… you might be prepared for this swim.” As I was listening to Mariah Carey’s “Fantasy” blast from the speakers and waiting for my turn to run into the ocean, I thought I might actually be ready. The siren blared and my group ran into the ocean. It just so happened, that on this day the surf was rougher the past 25 years… As soon as I entered the water, I started drifting off course further and further away from the buoys I was supposed to swim around.
I didn’t finish the swim. A very strong lifeguard pulled me from the water and onto a speedboat. They told me I drifted too far and it was no longer safe to keep going. Just like that, the swim leg was over for me.
It would have been easy to label that moment a failure (and I did for a little while, when I wondered if I was actually entitled to be call myself a triathlete for a day - asking instead if I was actually a dishonourable duathlete instead). I decided to reframe the situation for myself. It was a blessing that those lifesaving teenagers saved me from the swell. Before the triathlon, I sent a quick message to my ancestors asking for their help to stay safe - and maybe the boat was their sign!! I’m learning that help (when it’s safe and generous) is not a weakness to avoid but a tether that steadies us when we begin to float too far from ourselves.
The second leg: Cycling into endless headwinds
The bike leg introduced a different kind of resistance. Strong, persistent headwinds turned every pedal stroke into a struggle. Even though I had the most experience on a bike, the wind made my speed feel absurdly slow compared with the effort I was putting in.
It reminded me of the feeling that many of my clients describe when they confront big systemic barriers - whether at work, in school, or even health systems. The wind is the invisible pressure of a system that wasn’t built with you in mind, and you end up grinding uphill while everyone else seems to glide along. What helped me was remembering that I had tools: the right gear, the right cadence, the right mindset. And in the outside world (outside of triathlons) there are always “gears” or tools we can shift and use: boundaries, coping strategies, social supports, to keep moving forward despite the headwinds we’re up against.
The third leg: Running towards, not away from things
By the time the run began, I was actually just relieved to have my two feet on solid ground. The only thought in my mind was “just put one foot in front of the other.” This section really demonstrated how this was partly a physical challenge, but it was equally a mental and emotional one. What helped me keep going and not overthink performance or metrics, was hearing the supportive screams from my friends / support squad in the audience. Just knowing that I’m not alone and people are cheering me on regardless of how I do, made me feel grateful enough.
That shift from performance‑driven grit to being-in-the-moment, is exactly the kind of self‑compassion that comes up a lot in therapy sessions. It’s not about abandoning goals; it’s about allowing yourself to move at a pace that honors both your strengths and your limits.
My training plan was never perfect. I missed sessions, cried during Week 0 of the training plan, and crossed the finish line with mixed emotions. Still, I finished (even if included redefining what it means to “finishing” even meant).
After the event, people asked how long it took me to recover. Physically - it took no time at all. Emotionally - I might be still be recovering. I’m starting to understand why people set challenges for themselves like a triathlon - it’s one of the most intensive personal development courses you can do if you’re open to it!
Would I do it again? No. But I would encourage anyone who’s thinking about it to go ahead!! (Also I would endorse a pool triathlon rather than one where you swim in the ocean).
I’ve spent much of my life trying to “do well” at things that were meant to be hard. While effort will always matter, I’m learning that gentleness requires just as much courage—especially when you’ve been taught to survive by pushing through.
These days I still swim, bike, and run - not for any audience or event, but for the simple pleasure of moving my body in connection with myself, with others, and with the parts of me I didn’t know were strong.
If any of these reflections resonate - if you’re wrestling with perfectionism, avoidance, or the feeling that you’re constantly battling invisible headwinds (or you’re interested in doing a half-triathlon) - let’s talk!