Tonight was a first. I arrived at 7:30 to find one bike still open. I looked at it hesitantly knowing the pain that awaited, the bruises on my bottom willing me to turn and walk away. Carefully, I straddled and gingerly lowered myself onto the seat, immediately bouncing back up like a sunBEAM–my sits bones still ever-tender. This happened a couple more times before I willed myself to stay put and breathe through the pain. I began to spin.

The first four miles were the longest. After six though, I knew I was more than halfway–at least for the ride. Tonight, after 11 miles on the bike, I had to immediately dive into the run. Two consecutive events in one training session. I didn’t know how my body would respond. I’d only ever done one event at a time.

After 11 miles, I could feel that I was already spent, but I climbed the stairs to the track. I thought, “I’ll just do what I can do and then be done.” I began to run … with cast-iron legs. The transition from bike to run is brutal, let me tell you. I had walkers passing me. But I was determined to run a little bit. So on I ran. And then I walked. And then I ran. This pattern repeating until I’d finished a mile and found myself balancing on the precipice of the top stair. Tired. Weighed down. Ready to just be proud of the mile and call it a day. But fighting the urge to keep going. This scrapper of an urge that came from no where.

The urge won.

I took it one lap at a time. Run. Walk. Run. Walk. Still, with legs that felt like anchors. But, after two songs on the iPod, I was rounding the bend to begin mile 3. At that point, I don’t know if it was a second wind (had there ever even been a first!) or if the metal realization that I’d just finished 2/3′s of the run caused a surge of empowering enthusiasm, but I was flying (mind you that’s a relative term). And the last mile was over in no time. (Beyonce with me on repeat the whole way. Bless her heart. I owe her big after this is all said and done.)

I had just completed an eleven mile bike ride and had run one and a half miles of a three mile run (having walked the other mile and a half). I crumbled onto the yoga mat, sweaty and shaky and spent, but filled with all the pride of the Little Engine.

Going into tonight, I honestly didn’t think I could do two full events yet. While peddling I wanted to quit multiple times. And the thought, “I can’t do this” passed through my mind like Andretti on a racetrack. But around mile 2 on the run, something snapped and I put the kabash on all negative thinking. I only allowed I CAN. I only pictured finishing. And it made all the difference.

As I reached for my toes stretched out in front of me, loosening the tension that builds after 2 hours of pounding, I found myself running my hands over the flushed skin on my legs. Caressing. Stroking. Massaging. Loving this body I’ve hated for so long. Proud of what it did for me tonight. And slowly the tears began to fall, like cherry blossoms in the wind.

I can do this.

It’s still too cold to train for the triathlon outside. So Frit and I have been relying on the local Rec Center for all our equipment/training needs. They have an indoor competition length pool, indoor track, and spin bikes.

Training has been going well. It’s so hard (SO HARD), but we can each see progress, little by little. Our endurance is up. Our strength is greater. Our bodies are responding. It’s honestly an amazing experience full of ups and downs, successes and struggles, blisters and callouses, spasms and cramps, facing fears head on, and overcoming beliefs about the limits of our abilities.

Tonight, the conversation between me and the bike went something like this:

Me: You listen here. I don’t care that your seat is the size of a staircase railing. I don’t care that it’s halfway up my bum causing such excruciating pain (still after weeks into this?) that I sometimes think it’s causing permanent damage. I don’t care, that this entire time, I’ve been thinking I’ve been doing my 11 miles in 28 minutes, when in reality you’ve been calculating my distance in kilometers, meaning I now have another 15 minutes to go. I don’t care that 5 minutes ago I was ready to throw in the towel when I realized my mistake and I’ve only been doing 7 miles this entire time. I don’t care that it almost made me cry. I don’t care that you made me doubt my ability to do this for a minute. Cuz you know what? It was only for a minute. And you’re not going to win. You know why? Cuz I’m a survivor. Yeah. That’s right. So you can take your insufferable pencil seat and stuff it. (no pun intended). I’m not getting off. I’m going to crank your resistance up so high you won’t know what hit you. And watch this, my cadence won’t even drop. Cuz remember? I’m a survivor.

Then I blasted Beyonce and Destiny’s other Children, closed my eyes, and sang each chorus (in a loud whisper so people wouldn’t think I was too crazy) at the bike. And when I was done, and had gone my full 11 miles, I got off, looked at the bike and said, “Yeah. Take that, fool.”

Word.