My First Triathlon

I forget when I first came across this graphic, but it’s always made a lot of sense to me. For a long time, I was afraid of getting outside of my comfort zone because I was afraid of failure. But failure happens anyway, and doing things that scare me sometimes turn out really well.

So this year, I made a goal to complete an Olympic-distance triathlon (1.5 km swim, 40 km bike, 10 km run). Even though I’m a strong swimmer, swimming in open water terrifies me. Cycling is sometimes fun and sometimes scary. But I can run! Not to mention the logistics and gear and training for three sports instead of just one. On the way to this goal, I signed up for a super-sprint triathlon at Cedars of Lebanon state park, which was a 200 yd (pool!) swim, 10 mile bike, and 2 mile run. I figured it would help me get my feet wet, literally.

True to form, May weather in Tennessee is notoriously unpredictable. In this case, a cold front moved through so race morning was in the high 40s. The water temperature was 71 degrees, not too bad, but I was more concerned with getting onto the bike wet. And waiting for the start was a little chilly. Fortunately, my friend Kelly kept me company and helped me set up my transition area as well as lending me a race belt.

Despite the individual start, I quickly started passing people in the swim. For someone used to the order of a competitive swim meet, this was entirely different. The whole swim portion went by very quickly, and I was out of the water and into the first transition.

I threw on my jacket, helmet, sunglasses, and bike shoes. I must’ve looked a little out of it because a bike rack mate asked me if I was okay, though really it was a thrilled look. This was fun! It took me a few miles to feel comfortable on the bike. I’d forgotten that the jacket I grabbed was tight in the shoulders, so I felt constricted at first. Since the course was two five-mile loops, I got to hear my parents cheering for me as I came around both times. I definitely was passed more than I passed, but I tried to keep calm and do my own race. I ended up biking faster than I anticipated anyway!

Into the second transition, I stripped off the jacket and ditched the helmet and sunglasses but had to sit to put on my shoes (quick laces next time!) before I headed out on the run. I quickly realized I couldn’t feel my feet because they were so cold. I also felt like I was running through molasses even though I passed some people who had blown by me towards the end of the bike. The out-and-back run course meant I got to see Kelly heading towards the finish and cheer for another friend I’d made at the start. The run finished up a long steep hill with people non-ironically cheering at the top that we were almost there. (Side note: It is not funny to tell a marathoner at the 10 mile mark that they’re almost there.) Ran through the finish line and received a medal, which I felt weird about. Final time: 1:04:17. Since my goal was to come under 1:15, I was happy about that.

Triathlete! The more I analyzed the race, the more I came to the conclusion that everything went about as well as I could’ve hoped, even despite the colder-than-usual weather. I felt strong and capable from the swim to the run and finished 8th out of 29 in my age group, higher than I usually finish in run-only events. Next up is a slightly longer sprint before my scheduled Olympic in August!

April in Paris

The last time I traveled to France, I was 16 and with a large group of Methodists. Needless to say, this trip had a slightly different focus. Of course, we saw churches and museums, but we also had leisurely gourmet lunches and drank a lot of wine and walked a lot.

Our first full day, we opted for a super-touristy bike tour. Unexpectedly, we were the only Americans; everyone else was Australian! This was a great way to see all of the highlights and absorb some of the geography. It was fun, but not something I would need to do again. I didn’t find our tour guide to be very knowledgeable despite having grown up in Paris, or at least there were several discrepancies between what she told us and what I had read online and in books.

The next day I scheduled a walking food tour with Flavors of Paris. Lisa, our guide, led us through Saint Germain-des-Pres and we stopped in boulangeries, chocolateries, a store that specialized in olive oils and goods from Provence, and a few other places. She also told us about the history of the neighborhood, showed us the oldest restaurant in Paris, and the cafes where Hemingway and crew would hang out. We had a wonderful time with Lisa, capped off by a stroll through the Marche Saint Germain-des-Pres and a cheese plate with some wine.

We then took advantage of the evening hours at Musee d’Orsay (hint: Most of the museums have evening hours a couple nights a week if you want to avoid the peak crowds). Since our dinner reservations weren’t until 9:45, this gave us plenty of time to enjoy the art and digest from the food tour before heading to Verjus for dinner.

Roast asparagus from Poitou, house trofie pasta, pesto, pea vines, pine nuts, egg yolk, and brioche at Verjus

The next day we visited Notre Dame, and all of the tourists made me stabby. As someone with an interest in church architecture and history, it was maddening to not be able to enjoy it slowly and reverently.

As it was raining off and on, we were happy to head to our lunch reservations at La Tour d’Argent, an institution with beautiful views from the dining room. The service made upscale places in Nashville look like McDonald’s, and it wasn’t a surprise to see photos of John F. Kennedy, Richard Nixon, and Bill Clinton eating at La Tour d’Argent. The food, the view, the wine…everything was exquisite.

Amuse bouche and Kir royales.

Coffee service with mignardises.

View of the Seine and Notre Dame from our table.

Even gray and rainy days in Paris are marvelous since all I wanted was to sit in a café, drink wine, and write depressing poetry. I kept singing Debussy’s setting of Verlaine, “Il pleut dans mon coeur comme il pleut sur la ville.” Since we hadn’t had enough of the tourist throngs, we navigated ourselves to Sacre Coeur in Montmartre.

The church is marvelous, totally different from Notre Dame and yet just as beautiful if not more so. And, of course, the views from in front of the church are fabulous with the city laid out in front of us.

Again, we took advantage of the evening hours at the Louvre. It’s huge and overwhelming, but I was happy to see some of the things I didn’t get to see at 16, particularly the Sphinx and the Code of Hammurabi. I had a Bible nerd moment in the Ancient Near East hall before we moved on to the Grand Hall. While Joe paid reverence to the Mona Lisa, I took in the enormous painting of the Wedding at Cana across the room.

Our last day in Paris was unscheduled, so we slept in, went for a run along the Canal St. Martin, and went back to Saint Germain-des-Pres to do some shopping. The caviste from our food tour had recommended some jazz clubs, so we had an early dinner at Pierre Sang for the 7 pm seating. I would highly recommend this experience. It’s a steal of a deal, chef’s choice, and the staff makes you guess the flavors.

After our dinner we traveled to Sunside/Sunset for the 9 pm jazz concert. It’s one of the original jazz clubs in Paris, and I was reminded how many African-American musicians spent time in Paris due to limited opportunities in America. While we saw a French quintet, the act downstairs was a jazz musician from New York.

It was a fitting closure to our time in Paris before hopping a train to Burgundy.

Arc de Triomphe from the Champs-Elysees

The top of the Musee d’Orsay from the Tuileries

Locks on the Pont des Arts

France Trip Food & Wine

Planche Mixte at a wine bar near the Place de la Republique that we stumbled upon looking for our first food in Paris. When our lovely, charming waiter brought this out, our eyes nearly jumped out of our heads. Then he came back with a different basket of bread and told us to eat one of the cheeses with butter and that bread.

It might have tasted good because we were starving and in Paris and eating charcuterie at a café, or it might’ve just been delicious anyway.

After a 30 km bike through the vineyards, we earned a bottle of wine in Beaune while we watched people go by.

Burgundian specialties: oeuf en meurette and escargots.

Enjoying a bottle at our bed & breakfast on the vineyards in Nantoux.

A simple café crème at a nearby café.

Cidre from Brittany at Breizh Café, to be consumed out of bowls.

Buckwheat crepe with onion confit, gruyere, tripe sausage, and an egg at Breizh Café.

Macarons at Laduree.

Bonbons at Une Dimanche a Paris

Choux waiting to be filled to order.

All different kinds of goat cheese.

Bleu cheeses.

Our cheese board and wine following our food tour with Flavors of Paris.

Beautiful pastries.

What I’m Drinking

In preparation for our trip to France, I’m attempting to educate myself about French wine. Most casual wine consumers are intimidated by French wine – the unfamiliar language, the difficult pronunciation, and the AOC (appellation d’origine consolee) system can be confusing. Prices tend to be higher as well, and who wants to drop $40-50 on a wine that’s just okay?

Here’s a secret someone taught me: when in doubt, go with a wine imported by Kermit Lynch. I have yet to be disappointed by a Kermit Lynch import. Also, 2009 was a great year for most European wines, so this was a double whammy – a 2009 Bordeaux from the sub-appellation of Lussac St-Emilion, located on the right bank of the Garonne and Dardogne rivers, imported by Kermit Lynch. This particular wine is 95% Merlot grapes and 5% Cabernet Franc. For around $35, you could drink it now (like we did with a lengthy decanting period) or cellar it for a while. I got some hints of balsamic vinegar and blackberry.

Normally Rieslings are wines that I’ll only drink when there’s nothing else available. It seems like most mass-produced Rieslings are cloyingly sweet with no acidity or structure. German Rieslings from the Mosel region have changed my mind. Now I find myself craving Riesling! It doesn’t hurt that we’ve had some nice patio weather lately, and at 8-9% alcohol, these wines don’t leave you feeling loopy.

My favorite so far is this 2012 Dr. Loosen Blue Slate Riesling Kabinett. It exhibts flavors of white peach, some floral characteristics, and a minerality that I’d never tasted before in a Riesling. It’s great as a porch-sipper or with spicy food, and I paid about $23 at our local wine store.

For around $10, you can pick up this Leonard Kreusch Riestling Kabinett, also from the Mosel Riesling. It wasn’t as multi-dimensional or complex as the Dr. Loosen wine, but it still satisfied.

On the beer front, Founders Brewing Company, out of Grand Rapids, Michigan, recently came to Middle Tennessee! I’ve been picking up Founders beers out of state for some time now, rationing their All Day IPA (a session IPA) and Dirty Old Bastard (a Scotch ale) until I could make another trip through Kentucky. No longer! And in celebration of their distribution here, there were several events last week that included a tapping of a keg of their Kentucky Breakfast Stout, an imperial stout brewed with coffee and chocolate and aged in bourbon barrels. Lately it seems like bourbon barreling has jumped the shark, but KBS gets it right. Smooth, rich, but without tasting overly boozy, even at 11.2%, it’s no wonder that Beer Advocate rates it a 100.

It’s pretty limited, so if you see it where you are, get it while you can!

Fear of Falling

“Take Away The Stone” by John August Swanson

“…Jesus cried with a loud voice, ‘Lazarus, come out!’ The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’” – John 11:43-44

“We are constantly being called to come out of the tomb. It is the voice of one who loves us that calls us forth and this is what can give us the strength and courage to come forth and live again.” – John August Swanson

I have a love/hate relationship with my bike. I love the wind whipping around me, the feeling of freedom, and the pure joy of being self-propelled. I love the rush of adrenaline that comes from careening down a hill, legs still burning from the climb to the top. Cycling makes me feel alive. But it also scares me. The all-too-common headlines featuring cyclists hit by cars and injured or killed, my own lack of strength and balance, and my fear of falling or crashing temper those things I love about biking.

A few weeks ago, a friend contacted me to see if I wanted to ride with her on a startlingly nice Friday afternoon. My bike hadn’t seen the outdoors since September, and I hesitated. This would also be my first time out with clipless pedals, my feet locked onto the pedals. Clipless pedals have the benefit of increased power transfer, but I had also been warned that I would fall in the process of learning how to clip in and clip out. I didn’t want to fall off my bike. I didn’t want to get hurt. I was terrified and contemplated refusing the invitation. I gave serious thought to refusing to feel alive with a friend on a beautiful sunny day because I was afraid of falling.

It would be a shame for fear to trump life and joy, so I strapped on my shoes, took my bike off the trainer, and went outside for a few laps around my condominium complex to try it out. The first lap went swimmingly; I easily clipped in, did a lap, and then clipped one foot out as I stopped back at my front door. Then I did it again. As I rounded the corner, the UPS truck was in front of the door. I got distracted, and as I pulled under the carpark and slowed to a stop, I suddenly realized I’d forgotten to clip out. Right in front of the UPS deliveryman, I went down on my left side.

The shock and slight humiliation were worse than the actual impact. The deliveryman asked if I was okay, and I told him I was fine, while chuckling to myself. Then I floundered around for a bit until I was able to unclip and stand myself and my bike up. So that was what it felt like to fall – not pleasant but not that bad either. I would fall one more time that day, this time on my left side, while trying to stop at a busy intersection. Again, I laughed at myself while trying to reassure on-lookers that I was okay, that it looked worse than it really was.

Fear of falling, or really fear of the idea of falling, nearly kept me from experiencing the joy and camaraderie of cycling with a friend on a beautiful early spring day. How much more do my everyday fears keep me from really living, keep me from taking risks, keep me locked in the tomb when Jesus is calling, “Come out and live”? The fear of failure, of making a mistake and being found imperfect, of criticism, of losing someone’s respect, these are the cloths that keep me bound and entombed even though Jesus has already rolled away the stone.

Like falling off my bike, the fear of something is often worse than the thing itself. It’s no accident that the Bible is repeatedly telling us, “Do not be afraid.” Do not be afraid. God is calling us to live abundantly.