Crossing the finish line, I gasped for breath. Wanting to collapse, but refusing; I had finished. First Continental Cup. Second Olympic distance triathlon. Fifth overall triathlon. Fourth place finish. I’ll take it for now…

The Pacific water was a refreshing cold as the tide pulled the slightly cobalt blue water back and forth on the cobblestone-like beach. I couldn’t wait to get into the water as a smile streaked across my face standing on the start line. There was the go…

Ah, the water. What a uniquely comfortable place swimming has become for me. A metamorphosis I didn’t anticipate, but joyfully welcome. As I built my way into the 1500 meters, I felt myself smiling through the water as I extended my lead.  I couldn’t have asked for a better swim during this race.

The bike portion of the race however, could have had some helpful things added to it, like my electrolyte water bottle. In a rash decision turning out of the first loop of an 8 loop bike course, I dropped my water bottle.

“Hmm, that’s not good,”  I thought. With seven laps to go of the 40k bike and only 3/4 of a bottle of water to last me, I ignored my unintelligent decision and focused on improving my bike drafting skills so then Alicia Kaye and I could get as big of a lead on the rest of the field as I could offer.

The Peruvian sun picked a prime day to beat down on the black tar as I set out on the 10k run. In a lackluster zone, I noticed that I was not really sweating. I stared with a dizzying focus ahead of me and made the executive decision to dial back the run.

“I did not come all this way for a DNF. I am going to finish this. I am second right now. Maybe the other girls feel like this too and I will hold second.”

Pass number 1; lap number 2; 2 laps remaining.

“Only 2 laps to go. Hold yourself together.” Existing in third place, I had been grabbing water from the volunteers at every turn I could knowing it would help with the heat if nothing else because my body was refusing to drink it in anymore. It didn’t want water, it wanted some electrolytes. I knew I was shuffling along, but on to lap three.

Pass number 2; lap number 3; 1 lap to go.

“Only 1 more lap to go. One more lap. No more passes. Hold your place.”  I pushed it. With 1 more lap, I knew I had conserved enough to push it. I did not want to be passed again and I could see the next girl coming on strong.

“Go, go! Setenta ocho! Setenta ocho! USA!”  I listened to the local Peruvian spectators cheering my race number as I stared, woozy, at the broken tar road ahead of me.

“Even la policía are cheering,” I thought. “Well let’s go then. They are cheering mi número for something.”  I started to chime in quietly in my head at first, but quickly escalating to a silent yell, “Push Lindsay. Push! You know she is coming. This will be over quicker if you go quicker. Come on setenta ocho.”  I could feel everything and nothing both at the same time as my shuffle turned into more of a desperate shuffle.The finish line corner finally came. “Yes, I’ve got it. I’ve got 4th place…”

Cross.

Three seconds later, the fifth place racer crossed. “Yes I did get it!”