When Was the Last Time You Did Something for the First Time?

 I usually write these blogs on Thursdays. That’s the flow. That’s the groove. But this past weekend was just… too rich. Too big. Too beautiful to write about before it even happened.

So, yes—I’m behind schedule.

And now I’m heading off to sweet, social, soulful Nova Scotia for the weekend, which means this will knock me off next week’s schedule too. But honestly? Worth it. Completely worth it. I have so much more to say now. Because something huge happened.

I DID A TRIATHLON

Not just any triathlon—the GRAVELMAN Canada Triathlon & Duathlon for Cancer. And yes, it rained. It poured. It dumped.

And it was glorious.

I’m a Triathlete Now (!!!)

Oh, it feels so good to say that out loud.

You may have heard snippets in earlier posts about the lead-up to this moment—training between pacemaker surgery, evening swims that tested my breath (and my bravery), slow re-entry into a body learning to trust itself again.

And now here I am: soggy, smiling, slightly bruised—and proudly wearing the title of Triathlete.

Honestly, I don’t usually keep race medals. I once had nearly 200 of them. I purged most of them. They start to feel like metallic clutter. But this one? Oh no, this one’s staying. It’s big, it’s heavy, and it means something rare: doing something brand new, for the very first time, at 56 years old.

The Morning of the Race

We arrived at Killarney Lake Park by 7:15 AM. It was still drizzling. I got my numbers inked on my arms and legs, and claimed my tiny corner of the transition zone—a chaotic yoga mat of sorts, scattered with wet shoes and damp dreams.

Then… the waiting. My start time wasn’t for another 3 hours.

It could’ve been boring. It could’ve been anxiety-ridden. But it wasn’t. It was community.

I had friends competing in every event—the Sprint, the Olympic, all the duathlons. We cheered, we hugged, we huddled under tents like wet squirrels. I chatted with a kind soul from PEI and a fabulous woman from the States. My nerves softened into curiosity. My heart stretched open.

The Swim

Eventually, it was time. I dipped into the lake for a quick warm-up. It felt… warm!. It was warmer than the air! I waded in, warmed up, and when the horn sounded, I began my 500m swim.

Did I freestyle the whole way like a slick dolphin? Nope.

I cycled through everything: front crawl, backstroke, breaststroke, “crocodile eyes” just above the surface. My pace wasn’t fast, but I stayed steady. Truth be told, I didn’t want to rush. The rain was falling like music on the lake—big, cinematic droplets bouncing in front of my goggles. It was stunning.

Despite any pre-event anxiety, despite a pacemaker tucked under my skin, I felt peace. No panic. Just presence.

I emerged from the water second-last in my heat and didn’t care one bit. I was grinning.

The Bike

Transition was hilariously slow. My towel was soaked. My socks stuck to my skin. My shoes were already drenched. I wriggled, wrestled, slipped, and finally clipped in—or rather didn’t clip in, because I ride flat pedals. (Bless.)

Then came the 10K ride through gravel, puddles, and named zones like “Tombstone Alley” and “Fear the Reaper.” I kid you not.

And it was… amazing.

My anxiety? Gone.

My face? Smiling the entire ride (except when I fell sideways into the mud, but even that was kind of hilarious). I felt like a warrior yogi on two wheels—flowing with the terrain, dancing with the chaos.

The Run + Finish Line Feels

Shoes already on, I rolled straight into the 2K trail run. It was short, sweet, and squishy underfoot. My body was humming, my heart wide open.

As I crossed the finish line—mud-splattered, soaked, euphoric—I saw two of my favourite humans cheering: my partner Roy (a former triathlon director with Triathlon NB and possibly Triathlon Canada, though he may correct me later 😄), and my dear friend Noortje. That hug from Noortje at the finish? Pure soul food. A moment of connection I’ll carry forever.

Aftermath & Yoga Magic

I went home, kicked off my squishy shoes, noticed a swollen toe (hello again, rock), and two solid bruises from my wipeout. But beyond that?

No pain. No fatigue. Just a perfectly delicious kind of tired—the kind that tucks you into bed by 9 PM with a smile still on your face.

This wasn’t just a physical feat. It was a spiritual one. It was yoga in motion. Abhyasa (steady effort), Ishvara pranidhana (surrender to something bigger), and satsang (being lifted by community)—all rolled into one beautiful, muddy day.

So I’ll Ask You This:

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

Really think about it. Something that made you nervous. Something that made you feel alive. Something slightly ridiculous and yet deeply right.

And if you haven’t done it yet—what’s stopping you?

Pick a “first.” Write it down. Make a plan. And hey, if you want to learn how I use yoga philosophy as a practical guide to help me reach my goals, I’ll soon be sharing a little guide I’m putting together.

Let’s keep each other inspired. Let’s do hard things, weird things, new things.

Namaste,
Kris 💛