Because I can't do an Ironman 70.3 triathlon without having a little bit of experience under my belt, I recently signed up to do a shorter-distance sprint triathlon.

I chose the Monster Triathlon in Keller, which has a 300-meter indoor swim, 12-mile bike and about a 3-mile run. Two days later, my body is still sore and I still have permanent marker remnants on my upper arms and legs. It's a great feeling.

But I wasn't feeling as great the morning of the race. I was probably the most nervous of all 700 participants. 

After getting up at 5 a.m. and downing a bowl of cereal and a few swigs of Gatorade, I drove down a dark, deserted Highway 114 to the Keller Natatorium.

Bundled up in sweats, I hauled my equipment (bike, helmet, bike shoes, running shoes, two changes of clothes, two water bottles, sunglasses, a towel, race number, granola bar, swim cap and goggles) to the transition area and got everything set up.

Then, before I knew it, I was stripped down to my one-piece swimsuit getting marked up with Sharpies and waiting in a long line in a cold, dark parking lot to receive an ankle brace that would track my movement.

Sounds a little like prison, doesn't it?

Well it felt a little like prison. Soon we were herded into the swim complex and asked to line up by number. The lower the number, the faster your swim time. I was No. 588.

Swimmers were let loose into the lanes every five seconds, one by one. As the line got shorter and my launch time crept closer, I got more nervous. 

With just a few people between me and the start, I looked back at the people behind me in line. I noticed their numbers: 573, 553, 560 ...  Somehow, we had gotten out of order, and the people riding my tail had faster swim times than me. I realized I was about to get run over in the water by a pack of anxious, competitive, full-grown adult swimmers. Too late to do anything about it, I gave the race coordinator my number, waited for his signal, took a deep breath and shot into the water, staying as far to the right of the lane as possible, hoping they would all pass on the left.

They did pass on the left. And the right. And everywhere in between. With each pass, I inadvertently swallowed a mouthful of water. It was a chaotic six pool lengths, and I ran out of breath and more than I thought I would. But, I made it through — just in time to run outside into the brisk 60-degree weather barefoot and dripping wet. (Why, exactly, do people do this, again?)

After the stress of the swim, the bike seemed a lot less daunting. That is, until the course took a sharp right turn, against the wind and uphill. No rest for the weary, I suppose.

Mercifully, the run course was amidst trees and remained mostly flat. Jogging through the beautiful fall foliage along pastures of longhorn cattle was when the hard work from the first part of the morning finally started to pay off. It was a great run. 

I finished the course in 1 hour and 40 minutes. To put that in perspective, my instructor, Kathleen Gallagher finished in 1 hour and 12 minutes. First place went to a participant with a time of 56 minutes. My place: 445th overall, 27th of 31 females in my age group.

If I learned one thing from this experience it's that doing these three activities back to back could probably qualify as a fourth, entirely different sport in itself. Biking after a swim is particularly challenging because your body is exhausted and wet, so it feels heavier than usual. And running after biking is a very strange feeling: After growing accustomed to going 15 miles per hour on the bike, your body tends to want to move forward faster than you can move it by foot. When I started the run, I thought for a moment I was going to fall face-forward into the ground. 

Of course, it was all worth it in the end — if anything just for the donuts at the finish and the experience on my resume. April, here I come.