We did the relay another year, with K & J switching roles. It worked out fine that year. No horror show and we all made out pretty well.
Next up, individual efforts. Well, maybe the sprint. Yeah, I can handle a sprint. What’s the worst thing that can happen?
Nothing much, the first year.
K beat me out of the water. Groan. There’s a year full of abuse just got banked away.
Todd beat me through transition. Double groan.
The bike went ok, no real surprises that year. The big hill seemed extraordinarily long going up, and surprisingly short going down, before turning around at the furthest part and heading back. That’s when I realized the hill was probably an illusion, because it was longer going up this side and shorter yet again going back down. I think the first twenty five miles of my thirteen mile bike ride was all up hills.
A lot of people confused me, usually as they were passing, with comments like “Hey, Old School!” Maybe I should have taken the carry rack off the back. My Brockton Enterprise paperboy bag has been gone for a while now; I don’t think I needed all that extra weight. It was very cool being able to see and hear the spectators on the bike course. We don’t get too much of that ¾ of a mile into the swim. They were there, consistently, but sporadically. I liked seeing them, and zooming by.
The run, as I may have mentioned before, was hell. I got to the end of the starting chute for the run, and needed three points of contact to surmount the monster hill to the road, the entire 6 feet of elevation and a fifteen degree angle, but once on the road, smoooooth sailing.
I think I got about a quarter mile before I slowed to a walk. I had to conserve energy to go storming past the family at mile marker one. My Grandmother moved faster after her third stroke.
When I saw Dad & Mama up the hill, I picked up the pace, smiled, gave at least a couple of the kids high fives, and cripped my way up the hill a little farther. The first water station is right next to their house, and I grabbed two or three waters, and kept going. Long gentle hill, all the way to that far point, past the New Hampshire Reggae guys playing bongos – I love them – and back down the hill. I was passing some, being passed by many more, just focusing on the end. There are a lot more spectators here, all with a kind word, usually bullshit. The biggest lies are “Looking strong! Looking Good! Only a mile left! All downhill from here!”
I live in this neighborhood. I know better. And I damned well know how strong I looked.
I’m a Clydesdale, dammit.
I passed the family again, barely grunting at them this time, down the last mile. The real one.
My mind was pretty much gone by now, and the turnoff was in sight. Flat land from here on. I picked it up again, and could really hear the festival now; the muffled blare of the announcer, and more and more people clapping, and cheering. I was at the point where I wanted to just drop, but the crowed carried me, emotionally.
I turned onto the grass, and into the chute, to the finish line. It was packed with spectators, all applauding, yelling, and shaking their cowbells. It was great. I don’t care what kind of coma you’re in, this was worth it all. I was finally almost done. I kicked in my greatest sprint manageable, and got through to the end.
Gulping air, I see K & T right there, the rest of the family not too far away, and smiled. I did it. Yay me. Grabbed some water, toweled sweat off my head and chest, and just stood there. Forgot to even check my time, it was (cough cough).47. Good enough for a first time. Hell, at least I didn’t break anything.
This time.
Next up, individual efforts. Well, maybe the sprint. Yeah, I can handle a sprint. What’s the worst thing that can happen?
Nothing much, the first year.
K beat me out of the water. Groan. There’s a year full of abuse just got banked away.
Todd beat me through transition. Double groan.
The bike went ok, no real surprises that year. The big hill seemed extraordinarily long going up, and surprisingly short going down, before turning around at the furthest part and heading back. That’s when I realized the hill was probably an illusion, because it was longer going up this side and shorter yet again going back down. I think the first twenty five miles of my thirteen mile bike ride was all up hills.
A lot of people confused me, usually as they were passing, with comments like “Hey, Old School!” Maybe I should have taken the carry rack off the back. My Brockton Enterprise paperboy bag has been gone for a while now; I don’t think I needed all that extra weight. It was very cool being able to see and hear the spectators on the bike course. We don’t get too much of that ¾ of a mile into the swim. They were there, consistently, but sporadically. I liked seeing them, and zooming by.
The run, as I may have mentioned before, was hell. I got to the end of the starting chute for the run, and needed three points of contact to surmount the monster hill to the road, the entire 6 feet of elevation and a fifteen degree angle, but once on the road, smoooooth sailing.
I think I got about a quarter mile before I slowed to a walk. I had to conserve energy to go storming past the family at mile marker one. My Grandmother moved faster after her third stroke.
When I saw Dad & Mama up the hill, I picked up the pace, smiled, gave at least a couple of the kids high fives, and cripped my way up the hill a little farther. The first water station is right next to their house, and I grabbed two or three waters, and kept going. Long gentle hill, all the way to that far point, past the New Hampshire Reggae guys playing bongos – I love them – and back down the hill. I was passing some, being passed by many more, just focusing on the end. There are a lot more spectators here, all with a kind word, usually bullshit. The biggest lies are “Looking strong! Looking Good! Only a mile left! All downhill from here!”
I live in this neighborhood. I know better. And I damned well know how strong I looked.
I’m a Clydesdale, dammit.I passed the family again, barely grunting at them this time, down the last mile. The real one.
My mind was pretty much gone by now, and the turnoff was in sight. Flat land from here on. I picked it up again, and could really hear the festival now; the muffled blare of the announcer, and more and more people clapping, and cheering. I was at the point where I wanted to just drop, but the crowed carried me, emotionally.
I turned onto the grass, and into the chute, to the finish line. It was packed with spectators, all applauding, yelling, and shaking their cowbells. It was great. I don’t care what kind of coma you’re in, this was worth it all. I was finally almost done. I kicked in my greatest sprint manageable, and got through to the end.
Gulping air, I see K & T right there, the rest of the family not too far away, and smiled. I did it. Yay me. Grabbed some water, toweled sweat off my head and chest, and just stood there. Forgot to even check my time, it was (cough cough).47. Good enough for a first time. Hell, at least I didn’t break anything.
This time.
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