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A month ago I wrote about deciding to train and sign up for my first triathlon, which was gonna be in September. I’ve been at it since the middle of June. But a friend of mine ended up being the race director for another triathlon two days ago — July 19 — and convinced me a week ago that I should participate in his. It was flat, and easy compared to the hilly, challenging September one. “You need to get this one under your belt,” he said.

“I’ve barely started training for it,” I said. “The first time I ran any distance longer than a mile was three weeks ago.”

He told me to shut up and stop being a baby.

So, only four weeks into my training, I let him convince me to compete in a sprint triathlon. 350-yard swim. 12.7-mile bike. 5K run.

I finished, without having to walk or crawl or break into tears. My time was 1:18, which I guess is respectable and which put me squarely in the middle of the pack. Jim probably would have beaten me, though. And speaking of Jim, I have to apologize: I forgot to take a half-naked picture of me in my tiny little tri-shorts. The world can now breathe a sigh of relief.

I did end up with these pics, though. Here I am rounding the curve toward the finish.

Finish line.

And posing with my two biggest fans…in front of a pile of dirt. (Construction in the area.)

I got passed along the way by guys in their 50s. There was a 13-year-old in line behind me for the staggered swim start. Seriously, anybody can do this.