"One day you will wake up, and you’ll be fast and strong.”
On a week’s notice last September, I filled in on a relay team for the bike leg of a sprint triathlon. It was one of the scariest things I’d ever done, having never biked more than a few miles or so, let alone 17.5. The atmosphere was electric with adrenaline, people were getting into wetsuits, parking spaced-aged looking bikes, arranging transition areas, getting body numbers. I was in Wonderland. Scared stupid in Wonderland.
“Hey! You made it!” I heard Nancy, a tri veteran and my relay partner call from across the registration tent. She’d in fact have done the whole race herself had she not sprained her wrist a few weeks prior.
My heart was pounding as the reality of what would soon be the beginning of the race set in. She showed me where to put my bike (that I'd just bought!), went with me to get the body markings, explained the transition area to me, and with a laughing smile, told me to just calm the hell down. She walked me through step-by-step of what the race would entail, explained what all the buzzing bees around me were getting ready for, and what they were probably thinking while in the process. She was so cool and calm, herself having to go out in a few minutes for the swim leg of the race in the lake up the road, then run a couple blocks back to tag me for the bike leg. I walked her to the beach, and studied how she took inventory of everything along the way. “This road isn’t blacktopped, so I’m bringing these old shoes to throw on as soon as I get out of the water.” she noted.
Oh, wow… the water. I still don’t understand how I can love and fear something so passionately on such an equal plane. There was a cold breeze coming off the lake as we got to the beach, and Nancy strategically placed her shoes off to the side where they wouldn’t get trampled by the influx of swimmers finishing their first leg. Everyone was so sleek-looking in their wetsuits, some people were doing warm-up laps (which baffled me at the time – why would they waste their energy?). Nancy explained that some people needed to swim a quarter-mile or so to warm up for a performance half-mile. My mouth fell open. H-How far is this leg? A half-mile? Oh crap, I couldn’t even swim with my face in the water, let alone swim anything that even resembled a cohesive lap without someone thinking that I was having some kind of a seizure.
See, earlier that morning I’d told Nancy that next year I wanted to try this whole race on my own, but the reality of that swim distance knocked me down hard, and I regretted opening my mouth.
Me kicking myself was interrupted by the men’s wave cueing out, and I felt my breath catch. There were Ironman competitors mixed in with grandfathers and newbies. Steel bodies, greyhound bodies, and sure, newbie bodies, but out there in that wave it didn’t matter. They were all chasing the same thing.
The women’s wave cued and Nancy was off. I watched her for a minute and then hiked up the beach and back to the transition area. A million thoughts raced through my mind, but one repeatedly,“An entire half-mile, holy hell. I have a lot of work to do.”
By the time I got back to the transition area, the lead men were running in from the first leg. I got cleanly out of the way and just watched in amazement, they didn’t even look tired! Soon Nancy came running up the street in her raggedy shoes, and laughed as she yelled to me,“Hey! I forgot to tell you… the swim sucks!!!”
OH GOD! This was particularly ironic because she had no idea that my confidence was sitting before a tribunal in Hell over this thing. It was so unbelievable that I just had to laugh out loud as I cheered her on the last few yards. She tagged up and I ran to my bike. Everything else that followed was kind of a blur (I like to think because I was riding so fast, but alas…no, it was just the race nerves). I rode as fast as I could, cussed at the hills, and there were plenty, then an hour later came back to tag Nancy for the run. I parked my bike and looked over at the lake again. It was waiting for me, and I knew it. I was afraid, and it knew it. But it wasn’t about to budge.“I have a year.” I told myself.
About 45 minutes later Nancy came in from the five-mile run, the last leg of the race. We’d placed 7th, (towards the back of the mid-packers) overall, not too bad considering she had a sprained wrist and it was my first race experience. The rest of the day was about Gatorade, pizza, bananas, BBQ, awards, and my admiration of everything and everyone in post-race Wonderland.
I left that day having managed a farmer’s tan and a promise to myself. Loading my bike into my car, I looked back at the lake one last time and said aloud,“I’ll be back in a year.” It was then confirmed yet again that I exist in some sort of alternate reality. Just as I’d turned away from the lake to leave, a crisp wind hit my back and blew my hair into my face from behind. Apparently, the lake would be waiting for me.
Since then I’ve periodically bitched to Nancy about the galactic exercises in suffering that have been my swim workouts. For months I was constantly disappointed with my progress. I would wake up early, get in the cold water all set to do what I had to do, and I’d find myself disheartened half way through because how could I be so tired after only 200 yards? I’d run almost 20 miles straight before, how could just about an eighth of a mile be pummeling me like that? It was all just a plateau of pain and self-doubt.
But, Nancy was always positive. She told me,“One day you will wake up, and you’ll be fast and strong.” So, that’s what I clung to while waiting for this evasive, mystical day. I’d gotten my hopes up on the ocasional fluke morning that I seemed to have a good swim, was this the day? But, I was quickly slapped into place for my audacity come the following workout. I couldn’t sustain it; it was just one good swim.
But lately those “one good swims” have been consecutive. This morning I thought,"should I dare even entertain the idea that I’m getting close?" But I had to find out. I knew I had to try the half-mile distance without breaks.
0:23:19.
I was fast. I was strong.
I wasn’t tired, so I swam another 200 yards.
I’m six months ahead of schedule.
Lake, I’m coming.
“Hey! You made it!” I heard Nancy, a tri veteran and my relay partner call from across the registration tent. She’d in fact have done the whole race herself had she not sprained her wrist a few weeks prior.
My heart was pounding as the reality of what would soon be the beginning of the race set in. She showed me where to put my bike (that I'd just bought!), went with me to get the body markings, explained the transition area to me, and with a laughing smile, told me to just calm the hell down. She walked me through step-by-step of what the race would entail, explained what all the buzzing bees around me were getting ready for, and what they were probably thinking while in the process. She was so cool and calm, herself having to go out in a few minutes for the swim leg of the race in the lake up the road, then run a couple blocks back to tag me for the bike leg. I walked her to the beach, and studied how she took inventory of everything along the way. “This road isn’t blacktopped, so I’m bringing these old shoes to throw on as soon as I get out of the water.” she noted.
Oh, wow… the water. I still don’t understand how I can love and fear something so passionately on such an equal plane. There was a cold breeze coming off the lake as we got to the beach, and Nancy strategically placed her shoes off to the side where they wouldn’t get trampled by the influx of swimmers finishing their first leg. Everyone was so sleek-looking in their wetsuits, some people were doing warm-up laps (which baffled me at the time – why would they waste their energy?). Nancy explained that some people needed to swim a quarter-mile or so to warm up for a performance half-mile. My mouth fell open. H-How far is this leg? A half-mile? Oh crap, I couldn’t even swim with my face in the water, let alone swim anything that even resembled a cohesive lap without someone thinking that I was having some kind of a seizure.
See, earlier that morning I’d told Nancy that next year I wanted to try this whole race on my own, but the reality of that swim distance knocked me down hard, and I regretted opening my mouth.
Me kicking myself was interrupted by the men’s wave cueing out, and I felt my breath catch. There were Ironman competitors mixed in with grandfathers and newbies. Steel bodies, greyhound bodies, and sure, newbie bodies, but out there in that wave it didn’t matter. They were all chasing the same thing.
The women’s wave cued and Nancy was off. I watched her for a minute and then hiked up the beach and back to the transition area. A million thoughts raced through my mind, but one repeatedly,“An entire half-mile, holy hell. I have a lot of work to do.”
By the time I got back to the transition area, the lead men were running in from the first leg. I got cleanly out of the way and just watched in amazement, they didn’t even look tired! Soon Nancy came running up the street in her raggedy shoes, and laughed as she yelled to me,“Hey! I forgot to tell you… the swim sucks!!!”
OH GOD! This was particularly ironic because she had no idea that my confidence was sitting before a tribunal in Hell over this thing. It was so unbelievable that I just had to laugh out loud as I cheered her on the last few yards. She tagged up and I ran to my bike. Everything else that followed was kind of a blur (I like to think because I was riding so fast, but alas…no, it was just the race nerves). I rode as fast as I could, cussed at the hills, and there were plenty, then an hour later came back to tag Nancy for the run. I parked my bike and looked over at the lake again. It was waiting for me, and I knew it. I was afraid, and it knew it. But it wasn’t about to budge.“I have a year.” I told myself.
About 45 minutes later Nancy came in from the five-mile run, the last leg of the race. We’d placed 7th, (towards the back of the mid-packers) overall, not too bad considering she had a sprained wrist and it was my first race experience. The rest of the day was about Gatorade, pizza, bananas, BBQ, awards, and my admiration of everything and everyone in post-race Wonderland.
I left that day having managed a farmer’s tan and a promise to myself. Loading my bike into my car, I looked back at the lake one last time and said aloud,“I’ll be back in a year.” It was then confirmed yet again that I exist in some sort of alternate reality. Just as I’d turned away from the lake to leave, a crisp wind hit my back and blew my hair into my face from behind. Apparently, the lake would be waiting for me.
Since then I’ve periodically bitched to Nancy about the galactic exercises in suffering that have been my swim workouts. For months I was constantly disappointed with my progress. I would wake up early, get in the cold water all set to do what I had to do, and I’d find myself disheartened half way through because how could I be so tired after only 200 yards? I’d run almost 20 miles straight before, how could just about an eighth of a mile be pummeling me like that? It was all just a plateau of pain and self-doubt.
But, Nancy was always positive. She told me,“One day you will wake up, and you’ll be fast and strong.” So, that’s what I clung to while waiting for this evasive, mystical day. I’d gotten my hopes up on the ocasional fluke morning that I seemed to have a good swim, was this the day? But, I was quickly slapped into place for my audacity come the following workout. I couldn’t sustain it; it was just one good swim.
But lately those “one good swims” have been consecutive. This morning I thought,"should I dare even entertain the idea that I’m getting close?" But I had to find out. I knew I had to try the half-mile distance without breaks.
0:23:19.
I was fast. I was strong.
I wasn’t tired, so I swam another 200 yards.
I’m six months ahead of schedule.
Lake, I’m coming.
posted by Wil at 6:25 PM
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