I did it. I not only survived another triathlon, but I also improved on last year’s finish — which was the goal I mentioned a month or two ago, although one I had kind of ignored of late because I didn’t think it would be done.

Granted, I only shaved about three minutes off my time, though I’m not even sure it’s an apples-to-apples comparison to last year with the swim taking place in a different pool and the run course being routed differently this year. I suppose what I’m prouder of is the fact that my attitude was better the whole way through. Unlike the last two tris, I never, ever, not once paused to collect myself or catch my breath. I never paused at the end of a swim lane to search for strength to keep swimming. I didn’t linger in the transition area before taking off on the next leg of the race. I didn’t coast down hills on my bike and did not let the HILL OF DEATH deter me. I pushed myself to run up hills that no one would have faulted me for walking. I also wasn’t crying when I crossed the finish line this time.

Even though all of that was worth only three minutes of improvement, I felt this confidence that I’ve needed for my physical pursuits — the confidence that I CAN push myself and not only survive, but improve.

The Modern Love Machine’s gift to me was to be standing on a corner late in the 5k run — not too far from where I fell last year — and he ran with me during the final 200 yds or so up one last hill, willing me to run as fast as I could and give it all that was left in me. And then he bought me lunch from a damn fine restaurant in Knoxville (perhaps the best one we’ve got). It may not have been a diamond ring, but it’s a good example of why I love him so gosh darn much. We’ve been engaged exactly one year now and have exactly two months to go until the wedding, and it cannot get here soon enough.

Anyway, I lounged the rest of yesterday, slept for about 12 hours and am now 100 kinds of sore and just wanting my Monday workday to be OVER. I am officially in the painfully slow part season of my job, which means the next two months may be the most obnoxiously slow months of my life.