It's about 9:45 a.m. on Saturday, October 16. I've managed to survive a violent 3.86 kilometre swim with more than 1,600 of my closest friends, make it through transition, and now I'm 30 kms into a 180 km bike ride. The winds are blowing at about 40 km/h, the mercury is already at 90 degrees Fahrenheit and I'm going 18 km/hr downhill while pedalling at full effort. That's when I started to cry and laugh at the same time.

Welcome to the infamous and revered Ironman world championships in Kona-Kailua, Hawaii.

Only 48 days earlier, I had completed my first Ironman in Penticton, B.C., and while I was shuffling to the tattoo parlour the day after, I questioned the sanity of anyone who would voluntarily sign up for that kind of pain a second time. In my situation, it became a matter of keeping up with the old folks.

Having a grandpa, mom and uncle competing in Ironman triathlons has its benefits and disadvantages. It forces me to keep competing in this ridiculous event, but it lends itself to some unforgettable memories.

My first Ironman triathlon experience was like no one else's. I high-fived my uncle on the run as we went in opposite directions, hugged my mom as she headed out to the infamous run turnaround point, and yelled words of encouragement to my grandpa as he shuffled past mile eight in the marathon and I struggled through mile eighteen.

I crossed the Ironman Canada finish line, my uncle placed the invaluable finishers' medal around my neck while wearing his. An hour later, I hung the same medal around my mom's neck and not long after that, the three of us joined my grandpa as he finished his eleventh Ironman race. Arms raised, faces smiling, we ran into the triathlon history books as three generations completed the same Ironman.

The family participation in the sport can be blamed on one person - my mother, Cheryl Lowery. She started the family triathlon addiction about 16 years ago when she did her first Olympic distance race. In 2003, she turned 40 and completed her first Ironman.

My grandpa, Paul Poffenroth (or Poppa to me), was next. At 55, he learned to swim (which was quite a feat after getting in the pool with a flutter board and going backwards), completed his first triathlon and hasn't looked back since. He finished his first Ironman in 1996, swore he would never do another one, and at 67, Hawaii 2004 was his twelfth Ironman.

My uncle, Matt Poffenroth, was dragged in next. Ironman Canada 2004 was his third Ironman, and he's already signed up for Ironman Brazil in May 2005.

I think I was doomed to join this insane sport from the very beginning. Having been a competitive swimmer for eight years, it seemed like a natural progression to buy a bike, tie on some running shoes and sign up for a triathlon. At 21, this was my third season racing.

I love triathlon and I love having a family who not only competes in, but also supports the sport. In addition to my mom, uncle and grandpa, my dad, aunt and step-grandmother have all completed triathlons.

The smarter ones in the family are our much-needed and appreciated support crew, cheering squad and tireless volunteers.

Having said that, being part of a triathlete family has its idiosyncrasies. Conversation at family dinners tends to steer in the direction of what training everyone did that day, what training they are going to do tomorrow, how many gooes they ate during their last race, how to prevent stomach cramps when running and an assortment of other triathlon topics.

Holidays involve daily runs or swims. When we were in Mexico for Christmas, we took bets on how long it would take my grandpa to try out the old windtrainer bike outside his apartment. It only took three days before we looked up from the pool and he was pedalling away.

Ironman Hawaii was no different when it comes to creating great family memories. When I finally made it to the turnaround point on the bike in Hawi, my mom wasn't far behind. Not surprisingly, she caught and passed me, and we ended up in the bike to run transition together.

The Lowery Family at the Ironman finish. Running, walking and shuffling 42.2 kms together with glow sticks around our wrists and bugs scurrying under our feet in the pitch black lava fields of Hawaii is an experience I will never forget. Even better than that was running across the finish line, holding hands, arms in the air as we completed Ironman Hawaii.

A couple hours later, mom and I watched as Poppa finished his fourth Ironman in seven months.

I still question the sanity of people who sign up for this event more than once, but with a family trip being planned around an Ironman race in 2005, I think I will once again be standing at the start line next to the old folks.

Story by Jen Lowery. Pictures by Dave Lowery.