Now that I’ve (mostly) stopped sobbing let me tell you the story of how I got my very first (and hopefully last) DNF. It wasn’t when I discovered I forgot socks. I simply took the ones off Lou’s feet. It wasn’t during the swim. When the waves knocked me over and pushed me off course and made their way into my mouth and into my wetsuit; I swam on. When my eyes burned and itched from the leaking goggles; I swam on. When the two groups who started five and ten minutes after me caught up and swam over me and smacked me in the head; I swam on. When I finally reached transition and saw only a handful of bikes still in the racks; I rode on. When I got a flat I changed it and rode on. When I took a spill I brushed myself off and ignored the blood and rode on. When I reached transition and saw that I had barely missed being swept by five minutes and was about the 12th from last place; I ran on. When the pain in my calf was joined by pain in both knees from my bike spill; I ran on. When I reached the first aid station, I came to my senses and realized I shouldn’t run on. I walked back to transition, crying and second guessing my decision the whole way. We are almost home now and I’m still wondering if I should have sucked it up and ran on. Probably not. My body has been telling me for some time now that it needs a rest. I guess its finally going to get its wish. Lou has been amazing through this, even encouraging me to sign up for a late season race to make up for this one. Its sweet of him, but the last thing I want right now is another DNF. One reason I’m crying is because I feel like I failed. I’m a finisher. I’ve always been a finisher, so to not be one today hurts. Its not who I know myself to be. One thing is true, though. DNF doesn’t only mean Did Not Finish. It also means Did Not Fail. I did not fail to set out to do something extraordinary. I did not fail to push my body to its limits. I did not fail to give this sport every thing I have. Finally, I will not let this first DNF keep me from staying in the game. For now, I’m going to wash the stench off and begin the process of healing both mind and body. Keep looking over your left shoulder for me, though. Just like the Terminator, “I’ll be back.”