I started training for the swim and bike two weeks ago after being pretty lazy in those disciplines for most of the summer. And I woke up Friday morning with a cold, possibly the result of trying to "train" for a race in two weeks. During a 15-minute test run on Saturday morning, my heart rate was pretty high and I wasn't sure if I'd be able to exert myself at all the next day. But my ride down to Santa Cruz was picking me up at 11am, so I packed up my stuff. I took my camera, in case I ended up spectating. At least I'd get to spend some time at the beach.

I was surprised to be feeling slightly better on Sunday morning. I figured I'd be OK for the swim and bike; I guessed that the run would be more of a shuffle.

After the initial shock of the icy cold water on my face, the swim was uneventful. I was grateful for this because I have encountered jellyfish in these waters in the past. And photos from last year's race showed curious sea lions swimming very close to racers.

My first transition was interesting. In short, I was even klutzier than usual, I dropped my bike, and I couldn't see very well. A race official stopped to help me get sorted out and I told him, "Sorry, I'm not usually this discombobulated." He said, "Don't worry about it, you don't usually swim in 56-degree water, either." After 10 minutes on the bike I was warmed up and thinking straight again.

The bike ride -- [pause, stare at the ceiling, sigh, smile] -- the ride was gorgeous. Did I mention that I love living in California? We rode north on the rollers of Highway 1 into a slight headwind. The time flew by so fast that I hardly had a chance to take in the farmland, the gorgeous beaches, and the waves crashing against coastal cliffs. Rows of pumpkins dotted seaside farms and pelicans swooped overhead. It was simply divine. After 12.4 miles we turned around to experience the glory of a tailwind on a rolling course. I felt like I was one with my tri bike, and I flew back to town in the blink of an eye.

By the time I got back to transition, I was stoked to start the run. I took extra time to put on dry socks and my new red leopard-print skirt. At the first mile marker I peeked at my watch, which had been in my pocket the whole race. Did I really run that mile under 9 minutes? Then I tucked the watch back into my pocket and enjoyed the rest of the beautiful run. And I don't think the virus in my system held me back too much. I was passing people all over the place. I was also getting lots of comments on the skirt, which was my plan. Ah man, it was so much FUN! And I was running my butt off. I haven't done that in a long time.

Around mile 4 I passed my friend Alyssa, and I told her, "I'm glad I'm not wearing a heart-rate monitor, because I think I'm about to die." And near the end I was afraid I might run out of gas. I imagined myself collapsing at the finish line. I was running that hard.

I finished in 2:55 to the incredible cheers of a crowd of about 20 clubmates who had come to watch the race. My swim was 31:40, bike was 1:22:59 (18mph), run was 53:58 (8:42/mile), and transitions were ...slow.

To add to the fun, I got second place in the Athena division (a self-selected group of women who weigh more than 160 lbs and don't have a chance of competing against the 110-pounders). The first-place woman beat me by 23 minutes, so I didn't feel too bad for not catching her. I got a very cool handmade mug, a very plain analog Timex clock, and two unlimited-ride passes for the Boardwalk! sweeet.

Geez, I had zero expectations for this race except to have fun and remind myself why I do all these races. And I blew away those expectations because I had a blast and I feel like I did well given the circumstances. This probably sounds freakish, but it was all over so quickly! I've gotta do more of these races that finish while breakfast is still on.

Did I mention how much I love living in California?