I swam and ran in the Splash n Dash on Tuesday. It was a bear. For all the other participants, with their 4 percent body fat and skintight lycra outfits, it was probably just your average Tuesday workout. But it was the first multi-sport race for me since September and the first since I was knocked on my ass by Pneumonia at the beginning of the year.

Leading up to the race, besides the size of my man boobs, my anxiety centered around not coming in last. I had looked at previous times for the race and found that my expected splits (28 minutes for the swim and 24 minutes for the run) put me pretty gosh darned close to the bottom of the filed “I probably won’t come in last,” I told people, “but it’s a very real possiblity .”

The drive up MoPAC was slow going after leaving work 15 minutes early. I somehow managed to calm myself down while listening to the jazz mix my girlfriend made for me. “This is for fun,” I said outloud, inching up the freeway towards PURE Austin Quarry Lake, the site of the race. “No one cares what place you come in. Just do your best. Who cares what anybody thinks.”

It worked.

I got to the site, signed up, picked up my swim cap, and headed over to the set up area and swim start, which was down a little outcropping of land that lead to a small dock on the lake’s shore.

Surrounded by lycra and silicon covered heads with eyes staring out of goggles with lenses tinted every color of the rainbow, I was surprisingly calm. I was able to talk to Shelly a little bit before getting into the water. I looked around at my competitors and accepted the fact that 95 percent of them would be done with the race before me.

There was a painfully long introduction by the race organizers, who thanked every volunteer and warned beginner swimmers to get the heck out of the water, but in the nicest way possible. The horn went off and all was set in motion, arms flailing forcefully and legs kicking behind them, the men’s wave took off. I hung on to the dock as everybody set out on their swims. No need for them to run me over, I waited until there was no one behind me and started swimming in the warm water, choppy from the wake of my competitors.

Although I was pretty close to one guy approaching the first buoy, the rest of the field was well on its way to leaving me in the dust. By the second buoy I had already floated on my back to catch my breath and the leaders of the women’s swim wave, which started 3 minutes behind us, were passing me.

“I lead the women’s race until the 2^nd buoy,” I said to myself, envisioning how I would describe the race to friends when they asked.

And that’s how the swim went. Every now and again I would float on my back, catch my breath, and keep on trucking. More and more women passed me, but a few were right at my side, then their feet just ahead of me. I swam with them from that point in, trying not to think about how they were really 3 mintues in front of me, not next to me.

“Keep your head down.” I imagined the T3 coaches screaming in my ears the whole time. “Look up at the sky when you breathe.”

The swim felt strong. Not in the “I’m going to win” strong, but in the “I’m pulling some water here” strong, instead of the usual fake fishyness with which I did these things.

I looked at my watch as I stood up on the rocky sandy shore and was shocked to see I had done the swim in 19 minutes, 8 or so minutes faster than I’d anticipated.

“This might not be so bad afterall,” I thought to myself, walking up to where my towel and running shoes were and suddenly giddy knowing I would not come in last.

I said hello to Shelly, who was on the sidelines taking pictures of me toweling off. I tried to hide my man boobs as she laughed at me.

I set out for the run and my upper body felt like slabs of meat that had haphazardly been slapped together. The blood in my chest, arms and back was gushing from the swim and the first 1k lap sucked. I felt like I was carrying heavy weight up top. The 2^nd lap was a little better. The images of flying pink elephants seemed to have gotten better and the conversation I had with Jesus and former Mets first basement Keith Hernandez just before the water stop was not as long or invovled.

Finally, the third lap and I felt much better. I felt like I was actually sort of running, despite the rocky gravel trail. I figured out to run on the side of the trail where there was more traction on the packed earth where the gravel had been pushed aside.

I passed one or two people and was slowly but surely gaining on a guy ahead of me. It was wonderful knowing that anyone I was running with was either on my lap or a lap behind me, so it actualy felt like a race.

Unfortunately, not long after the dude in front of me stopped to catch his breath on the back stretch, I did the same. Then, about 50 meters before the last water stop, I got a really bad stitch in my side. It felt like someone had stuck a barbeque skewer into my sides and into my lung. I walk jogged the rest of the way.

I finished in 44 minutes, which was about 10 minutes faster than I expected. The run was 23:22 or so and I’m pretty happy with that, given where I am in my training.