Ode to Triathlon
I have a crazy, passionate love for the sport of triathlon.
I love it when the alarm goes off at five
And the sun has yet to rise
And your heart skips a beat when you think
The gun goes off
In less than two hours.
I love my new wetsuit, goggles and bright orange cap
I put on my head
And joking said,
”look, I’m a buoy”,
while registering for my first race this season.
I love my bike,
My blue Rudy’s,
My pink sleeveless jersey that’s carried money and bananas and cell phones and jackets and packets of gu and pop tarts and an assortment of plastic bottles and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and black arm warmers
a precious special note from my daughter to be opened only at the run turn around at Ironman.
I love the Monday morning emails:
How was your race?
Did you ride?
How’s your shoulder, your back, your IT pain?
You placed? How great!
We riding Wed? Hills.
Trail run on Thursday.
Ride long on Saturday.
Ocean swim Sunday, breakfast burritos, volleyball and surfing if there are waves.
I especially love that very private feeling when mile nine is faster than mile eight and mile thirteen is faster yet.
That quite smiling moment just after a race
When you reflect on what happened
And what might have been
And you make plans for the future
And you pat yourself on the back
For you’ve finished another,
reached another goal.
To travel to places near and far
To race in a small French village and be rock stars
To ride every weekend with the boys
To meet the best friends a girl could ever have
To be part of the family
The family that is Triathlon.