“A Tri-Athlete I Am Not”

After covering last year’s Freedom Springs Triathlon at Blue Springs I set a goal to do the race in 2010. Participants swim ¼ of a mile, bike 10 miles and then run 3.1 miles. I had done the race at age 35 and then again at age 45. So I figured that setting a goal to do it again at age 50 would be a good motivator to get me exercising.

I showed up ready to roll this past Monday morning. When I arrived I was once again reminded of several factors which clearly demonstrate that I would not be considered the prototype tri-athlete.

The first clue was my waist line. You don’t see very many overweight tri-athletes. Most tri-athletes aren’t packing any “love handles”. According to my doctor, and his weight charts, my love affair with food has put me squarely in the overweight category.

The second clue was my bicycle. Most tri-athletes showed up with these aerodynamic bicycles that are designed strictly for speed. I showed up with my cruising bike that features my number one cycling priority these days, an extra wide padded seat.

The third clue was my outfit and color scheme. Most tri-athletes wear a type of wet suit designed for swimming, biking and running. They look a little like the old spandex outfits and these “body gloves” leave nothing to the imagination. And for some reason almost all the outfits are black. I am not sure if black outfits make you faster, but I kept looking to see if Johnny Cash had made an appearance.

I will confess that I did have on a pair of these new fangled running undershorts. The label said they’re a large, but I looked like I’ve been poured into them. So I wore a swim suit over them so that folks wouldn’t talk about the old fat guy in the back of the pack. My color scheme was all wrong too. My swim suit was light blue and my biking/running shirt was yellow. So instead of a tri-athlete, I looked like I was a UCLA Bruin fan.

The last and most telling clue was my performance. I finished dead last. My final time of just over one hour and 59 minutes was slow enough that several gentlemen in their 70’s smoked me. And wouldn’t you know it, there was Royce Reagan capturing me on film for all eternity, crossing the finishing line in last place.

But for that last ½ mile of the run I switched my MP3 player to Lynard Skynard’s “Call Me The Breeze” and kicked it into high gear. So while my athletic ego didn’t get any boost and I won’t be appearing on any Tri-Athlete magazines covers, I did finish. And I did so without having to stop or walk. Simply Put, I accomplished my goal and, for me, that was what it was all about.
From the Front Porch: Uncle Bob said the best way to always remember your wife’s birthday is to forget it once.