Earlier, as a way of providing some background, I said that in high school I was younger than almost all of my peers by at least a year. It may not seem that way, but it was a big difference then.
One of the things I don't really understand is how those guys saw me as being a threat to them. I guess I was a bit cheeky and arrogant, and they tried to strangle that out of me. One of their pet phrases to me was, "You're ugly".
Before the race, a military guy who works for a radio show held a dictaphone under my mouth and asked me a few questions. One of them was: "So why do you do triathlon." I gave him the short answer. Why did I leave my apartment, totally unfit, to face blazing hot conditions and the inevitable comparisons to a previous, better performance?
"Because it's exciting."
The long answer, why I do this sport, is because it allows me to pull on the clothes of the superhero. To climb into the skin of the ghost, and go to timecarved understandings that have done hundreds, thousands of spinal journeys...and taken to me to a real self...the stronger, faster ghost. That place where you flow, where you go into a zone that is the perfect you, the best you, under all the shit.
For me, triathlon, and cycling, is about pursuing a dream, a beautiful picture, or series of pictures, a real life Oscar Clip, a poetry of actions and real life art. It's where you come out of the water ahead of everyone, or make a turn on the bike and realise how strong you are. It's where all your efforts surprise you into being your best. It's the antithesis of a life that sometimes feels lazy, and ugly, and boring, and unchallenging. I don't do this sport because some geeks at school said I was ugly. I'm not ashamed of me...if I'm ashamed of anything it's them.
Triathlon is how I pursue my dreams of beauty. It's where I play with aerodynamics, and carbon toys, and a heart rate monitor.
And we do it together...all of us...and see how close we can get to our shining ghost selves.
The run on the 24th was very long, and it started with exhaustion. The question was, how far could I go with an already exhausted body. It was something like the Apollo 13 having to find it's way back to Earth with only enough power to run a lightbulb.
At 5km I went under a tent and felt my arms. They were already burning in the sun. I pulled out a tube of factor 44, and smeared the stuff on. My arms were wet and stiff and sore from the unfamiliar position on the tri-bars.
I did think about turning back around. Surely more hours of the same was going to lead to some kind of medical failure. Sunstroke.
I ran out of the tent with a bottle, took a swig and handed it to one of our club athletes on his way back.
Then I literally identified a lamp pole, road, or bottle, and ran to it. I'd reach it and walk for a while and repeat this over and over and over. By the time I reached 10.5km I was too tired to even walk.
But having reached half way, the walk had one thing in mind - to finish. That's the feeling I like in a race. Where the chips are down, and you've just go to push against the odds.
I waited under one or two trees, to cool down. Sometimes, my body got so screwed up I didn't want water thrown over me. It just seemed to much of a shock. I chewed on bananas, drank some watermelon juice, stuffed a big block of ice into my shirt and felt it burn and melt away over 7-8km. I kept putting a hand behind my back to hold the ice, because it cooled my hands and just offered some relief. It was a long struggle...I won't waste time here giving a blow by blow, but it was a long time walking and moving forward slowly under the sun. A few times I looked up to the sun to see if any clouds were building up.
Then, at 2km, a guy pulled up alongside me and said, "Hurry up."
A few had said "Cheer up" and now I wondered what the point of it was.
"Why? Why must I hurry?" I asked.
"Cut off in 20 minutes."
That surprised me. "C'mon" he said, and so I ran with him, thinking I'd let him pull away. We both stopped on a line in the road, and then I suggested we run again. He did, but the third time, urged me to run ahead. I was quite surprised, despite overwhelming weakness and incredibly deeply imbedded fatigue, I quickened my pace a little and kept going.
I got in under the finishing banner in 7:46 - about 14 minutes to spare.
Funnily enough, I felt a soft satisfaction finishing this race that meant more to me than some other races. I was given my medal and finishers shirt, and then taken to a table for more watermelon juice. I lay down and half conscious, spoke to two other Americans. Not long after that I went to pack my stuff away and fetch my bike. It was then that I started to feel dizzy, and had to fight to stay conscious.
Those movements in the heat were just too much for an already severely overheated body.
I crawled under a big silver aeroplane while Jason went to fetch me some water and I sucked some gel out of its foil.
Lying under the shade of aeroplane was my moment, in that long hard day, where I got my piece of beauty. Fighting for consciousness inside the quivering waves of heat.
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