One Thing Leads to Another

This year, I decided to become friends with Winter. People complain about how terrible it is but I think my new BFF is just misunderstood and can actually be as beautiful as summer. It just hurts a little sometimes.

So after my typical outdoor run, I headed back out on the river with my camera gear in tow ready to take some beauty portraits of Mother Nature in all its Winter glory. And glorious it was. I found interesting patterns in the ice and frosty sunshine beaming off the bellies of bridges seldom seen by those that are in Winter Denial. Tree-lined riverbanks resembled landscapes far away from the City Centre, and leaned up against the rustic doors of the local Rowing club, a collection of snowshoes was beginning to accumulate. I headed towards the club, a perfect photo opp.

I found myself in a conversation with the snowshoe delivery man who told me the snowshoes were for a Winter triathlon he was coordinating the next morning. Snowshoe-run, skate, and ski. How cool! (no pun intended). All of a sudden I found myself falsely confessing "I wish I knew about this event earlier!" (as if knowing about it previously would have made any sort of a difference). Taking my unintentional cue, he offered to sign me up for the race even though registration was closed. I obviously said no.

What did I know about Triathlons, besides that they just sounded long. Plus, I didn't have skis, I didn't have skates, nor had I actually skied before or skated in over 10 years. I thanked him for the offer and went on my way up the riverbank to my car.

Then, I suddenly began to think---why did I say no? Come on. I can run 8 miles in -40 degree Celsius weather when the rest of the world is scared to leave their house to get groceries in fear of the all-mighty wind chill. I'M TOUGH. I can figure out this skiing thing, and skating is "just like riding a bike" right? A quick phone call later, and I had secured a pair of borrowed skis. Before I could even figure out the rest, I found myself barreling back down the snowy riverbank, mildly naive and overzealous at the thought that I was about to score the greatest date with winter that I could imagine. And that was it. I was signed up for a Winter triathlon. Race date: less than 24 hours away.

After picking up the skis I borrowed, I still needed skates so I headed to the nearest used skate shop I knew of. Thirty dollars later and a car full of winter fun, I was feeling like a pretty good representative of the most loathed season in my neck of the woods. But I still had a minor problem. I didn't know if I could ski.

While out on my run earlier in the day I had noticed the nicely groomed ski trails on the river, so I trucked my gear back to the riverbank to give it a shot. What did I have to lose? (besides the race the next day). After a quick YouTube video I was feeling pretty confident (yes, the embarrassing search history of "how to cross country ski" is in full existence on my phone). With my skis on, poles in hand, I head out and started what I can only describe as "glide-y walking". I was skiing. Triathlon, I GOT THIS.

Before I knew it, the morning had arrived and I was back on the river holding a set of skis, a pair of skates, and a pair of snowshoes that resembled a plastic cast version of the sinew-y ones from grade school. Hello Winter, we meet again.

What a simple day I had planned when I ventured out on my photographic mission to prove Winters grace. Who knew that one thing would lead to another and before I'd know it, I'd be standing on the start line of a sub-zero triathlon.