Twas the night before my son's triathlon and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, just my worried little voice. I thought it was unnerving to prepare for my own triathlon but had no idea how unnerving it was going to be to prepare for my son's. The mere thought of being held responsible for forgetting some important item for his race was more burden than any mother should have to bear. I crawled into bed that night early praying that nothing was left behind and that I would still hold the title of 'very prepared mom'.
I had purposely not watched the weather report, knowing that a chance of extreme heat and thunderstorms were always a possiblility in the summer. It would be what it would be and we would make the best of it. But I was quick to offer the bright side of the rain that was already falling by 6am, knowing that light rain was a better option than extreme heat. Unfortunately, once I helped him set up in Transitions, the light rain turned to a terrential downpour. My son, Shane, was quiet but said he wasn't nervous. I, on the other hand, was very nervous. It was pouring and all I knew for sure that while he was prepared for the race, he had never trained in the rain, and neither had I. I had no experience that was going to help him in this rainy race, except to say, "avoid the white lines on the road while riding and be careful around the turns."
At 8am exactly, they began to herd all of the racers into the water. The rain would not let up and I began to feel sick as I watched my baby, now standing at 5'10", waiting for his wave to be called. I began to recount all the things about him that made his life so precious to me. I began listing them one at a time. My eyes welled with tears at the thought of putting one of my most precious life items in possible harm's way. What had I done?
His girlfriend and I waited on a deck above the lake, praying to see him in the mass of swimmers and were relieved when we spotted his white shirt heading for shore. He ran from the muddy lake, and headed for his bike just as a crack of thunder rumbled above us. It was then that the worry of him spilling out on his rented road bike took second to my fear of the lightening. Fortunately it was the only crack of thunder we heard and I checked my watch to keep an eye on how soon we would see him gearing up for the run. As we continued standing in the down pour under a tree offering nearly any shelter, I wondered if I really had to support him on his run. Did he want me to run with him? Or did I just want to run with him? I didn't have the answer to either question, but knew I was already soaked to the bone even with my two jackets and was not looking forward to stripping down and running at all. Training in the rain was definitely not my idea of fun.
About 30 minutes later we saw him round the corner on his bike and my mother instincts took over. Of course I was going to go out there with him! I pulled off my jackets, handed my cell and umbrella to his girlfriend and took off around the corner. My dad jumped onto the course just then too. The 'Home Team' was back!
Shane looked full of energy, even though it was the last leg of the race. He was talking and laughing like we were out for a jog, while I was clear that this was the 'get your legs back' part of the run and that at any moment, his pace was going to be too much for me. After a 1/4 of a mile, the race volunteers were leading us to some remote path that appeared to be in the woods. Did I mention I don't do trail running either?
Suddenly this race became about me as I tried to make sense of this path we were running on. At one time, I was sure it was a trail, but at this time, after 4 hours of heavy rain, it was nothing more than mud puddles. Mud puddles that I wouldn't even consider walking through, no less be forced to run through. How could that be safe? Luckily for me, I noticed quickly that I wasn't able to keep Shane's pace.
'Okay, I am now slowing you down, so you keep running and I will stay here and catch you on the way back!'
He seemed okay with that and I couldn't have been happier. Even standing in the rain at that point seemed enjoyable compared to running through the mud. I spent the next several minutes cheering everyone else on until he was back...without my dad.
Where's Poppy? I asked.
He's back there somewhere, Shane said, not rattled at all by any of his surroundings and still seemingly full of energy.
The support was now back to me and we headed through the muddy puddles as I prayed we would get to land quickly and safely. My prayers came true, though once we got on the pavement, Shane began to pick up his pace, as I barely held on.
You go baby! I don't want to hold you back! Run it to the finish...
And he took off, leaving me to find my dad and us sprinting in the best we could, way behind our teammate.
It was a great story to tell about the Home Team being there more in spirit than anything else, but mostly about how in that moment of him crossing the finish, a tradition had carried on. With my parents crossing many marathon finish lines, and my own running races as well as triathlons, it was now being passed down to a new generation.
You have the bug, don't you? I asked Shane noticing the pride he had in his eyes.
Yea, he said smiling. Definitely.
And I knew that meant he would be back for more. Just like the rest of us.
www.LesleyGeller.com
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Sprint Triathlon - "The Team"
The first triathlon of the season is really just a warm up for the Olympic Triathlon coming up. It is to confirm I am doing what I'm supposed to, practice transitions, learn how to pace, yet go full out and to make sure my head is truly in the game.
I knew all of this last weekend when it was time for my the supposed 'practice' triathlon, yet the butterflies still flew, and the panic set in. I looked at my log book and was clear that I was more than ready for this sprint event, yet still was feeling overwhelmed. That is, until the Home Team stepped in.
I broke down first to my significant other and admitted that I really could use the support of him driving me to the race in the morning, even though it was an unreasonable hour. I admitted that I was having a silent panic attack.
"Truth is, I'm actually really nervous and if I could take you up on your offer to drive me, I would be forever indebted."
The astounding part was not that he was ready and willing at 4:30am with a smile on his face, but that just knowing someone else was taking over, relieved so much of the stress. It was the first time on record that I didn't feel sick for a race. I was thinking perhaps my brain knew that I was well-prepared.
We arrive at the very crowded parking lot at 6am and I am only fixated on how easy everything was going. The parking, getting the bags, getting the numbers written on my body and even setting up in transitions. Every time I looked up, there he was with the camera photographing the moment. I just kept smiling and worried slightly that at some point I might need to 'get' nervous in order to perform. Yet as the morning progressed, with runs to the porta potty, warm up swims in the lake and a bit of clearing my head, mostly what I was excited about was the support from my Home Team. The typical Home Team consists of my immediate family, but on this particular day, the Home Team consisted of: my girlfriend, significant other, parents and my oldest son.
Besides all of them just being great fans of mine, they all had their own cheering investment as well. My parents are currently training for the NYC marathon. It will be my dad's 13th time and my mothers 10th. They are both in their 70's, but that has not deterred my dad from setting the bar high this year as he has been training to complete it in less than 4 hours. Whether he does it or not is beside the fact, we are all just impressed that a 73 year old continues to hit the track each week and put himself through speed work. Yes, I said SPEED WORK! So, not new to races, and happy to be on the side lines, they are perfect candidates for being cheerleaders. My girlfriend is hoping to compete in her first triathlon next year, so she wants to see how the whole thing works, and my significant other comes from a family of marathoners and triathletes, so he's a regular out there as well. Then there is my son, who got himself out of bed at 6am to cheer me on, to support me and to see how it all works, since he has his own triathlon to compete in soon also. I was thrilled by their presence, but the excitement and enthusiasm they had for my race was amazing and kept my fears at bay the whole time.
By the time I finally got in the water, the nerve bug had reappeared, but I clung to the last words of my "Team": Have fun! Those words stuck with me for the whole race. Fun. Right, this was supposed to be fun. I didn't have a specific time to complete the race in and no one to impress. My team was just impressed I dared the challenge in the first place.
When I got out of the water, my Home Team was right there with cameras in hand and all the right things to say. On to transitions to hop on my bike with the have fun mantra humming in my head. I'm working, but am anxious to get off my bike and have my home team join me on the run. As I pop off my bike, and pull off my shoes (to make running easier into transitions) I hear my team yelling again in the distance. I can't see them, but I hear them! It makes me keep running, even though my head is telling me to use the walk through transitions as a break. I quickly rack the bike and throw on my sneakers. Where is my team? I think to myself as I round the corner.
"Will meet you on the path!" I hear my son yell.
And that's where the fun begins. While my legs are having a whole discussion about being tired and saving something for the end, my head grips on to the support of my dad on one side of me and my son on the other.
"You look great mom!" My son cheers into my ear.
"Let's go girl!" yells my dad.
The last three miles was long as anticipated, but I didn't need to stop like I had the previous year. The energy of them beside me gave me this false sense auto-pilot. I envisioned that they were really doing the running, and I was just staying with them. It didn't seem that there was another option.
As we hit the last corner, there was the rest of my Team screaming again for me. Now I was on a mission, even though I knew for sure that my running crew was about to leave me alone in the chute. Or maybe not.
"Come on girl!" My dad yelled at me. "We are taking number 1177 down."
And by that, I knew he meant I had better pick it up and pass this girl and I also knew that my crew was not leaving me at all. In fact they crossed the finish with me...blocking me only slightly as the camera tried to capture my finish line crossing.
It was the best experience ever, but was so much more than another triathlon being under my belt. It was about my Team showing up for me and celebrating in my accomplishments, and my overcoming so many fears. It was in the aftermath of the race as I lied happily on my couch, that I felt so lucky to have a Team that was that committed to my success. Actually it was in that moment that I realized how lucky I was to have a Home Team at all!
www.LesleyGeller.com
I knew all of this last weekend when it was time for my the supposed 'practice' triathlon, yet the butterflies still flew, and the panic set in. I looked at my log book and was clear that I was more than ready for this sprint event, yet still was feeling overwhelmed. That is, until the Home Team stepped in.
I broke down first to my significant other and admitted that I really could use the support of him driving me to the race in the morning, even though it was an unreasonable hour. I admitted that I was having a silent panic attack.
"Truth is, I'm actually really nervous and if I could take you up on your offer to drive me, I would be forever indebted."
The astounding part was not that he was ready and willing at 4:30am with a smile on his face, but that just knowing someone else was taking over, relieved so much of the stress. It was the first time on record that I didn't feel sick for a race. I was thinking perhaps my brain knew that I was well-prepared.
We arrive at the very crowded parking lot at 6am and I am only fixated on how easy everything was going. The parking, getting the bags, getting the numbers written on my body and even setting up in transitions. Every time I looked up, there he was with the camera photographing the moment. I just kept smiling and worried slightly that at some point I might need to 'get' nervous in order to perform. Yet as the morning progressed, with runs to the porta potty, warm up swims in the lake and a bit of clearing my head, mostly what I was excited about was the support from my Home Team. The typical Home Team consists of my immediate family, but on this particular day, the Home Team consisted of: my girlfriend, significant other, parents and my oldest son.
Besides all of them just being great fans of mine, they all had their own cheering investment as well. My parents are currently training for the NYC marathon. It will be my dad's 13th time and my mothers 10th. They are both in their 70's, but that has not deterred my dad from setting the bar high this year as he has been training to complete it in less than 4 hours. Whether he does it or not is beside the fact, we are all just impressed that a 73 year old continues to hit the track each week and put himself through speed work. Yes, I said SPEED WORK! So, not new to races, and happy to be on the side lines, they are perfect candidates for being cheerleaders. My girlfriend is hoping to compete in her first triathlon next year, so she wants to see how the whole thing works, and my significant other comes from a family of marathoners and triathletes, so he's a regular out there as well. Then there is my son, who got himself out of bed at 6am to cheer me on, to support me and to see how it all works, since he has his own triathlon to compete in soon also. I was thrilled by their presence, but the excitement and enthusiasm they had for my race was amazing and kept my fears at bay the whole time.
By the time I finally got in the water, the nerve bug had reappeared, but I clung to the last words of my "Team": Have fun! Those words stuck with me for the whole race. Fun. Right, this was supposed to be fun. I didn't have a specific time to complete the race in and no one to impress. My team was just impressed I dared the challenge in the first place.
When I got out of the water, my Home Team was right there with cameras in hand and all the right things to say. On to transitions to hop on my bike with the have fun mantra humming in my head. I'm working, but am anxious to get off my bike and have my home team join me on the run. As I pop off my bike, and pull off my shoes (to make running easier into transitions) I hear my team yelling again in the distance. I can't see them, but I hear them! It makes me keep running, even though my head is telling me to use the walk through transitions as a break. I quickly rack the bike and throw on my sneakers. Where is my team? I think to myself as I round the corner.
"Will meet you on the path!" I hear my son yell.
And that's where the fun begins. While my legs are having a whole discussion about being tired and saving something for the end, my head grips on to the support of my dad on one side of me and my son on the other.
"You look great mom!" My son cheers into my ear.
"Let's go girl!" yells my dad.
The last three miles was long as anticipated, but I didn't need to stop like I had the previous year. The energy of them beside me gave me this false sense auto-pilot. I envisioned that they were really doing the running, and I was just staying with them. It didn't seem that there was another option.
As we hit the last corner, there was the rest of my Team screaming again for me. Now I was on a mission, even though I knew for sure that my running crew was about to leave me alone in the chute. Or maybe not.
"Come on girl!" My dad yelled at me. "We are taking number 1177 down."
And by that, I knew he meant I had better pick it up and pass this girl and I also knew that my crew was not leaving me at all. In fact they crossed the finish with me...blocking me only slightly as the camera tried to capture my finish line crossing.
It was the best experience ever, but was so much more than another triathlon being under my belt. It was about my Team showing up for me and celebrating in my accomplishments, and my overcoming so many fears. It was in the aftermath of the race as I lied happily on my couch, that I felt so lucky to have a Team that was that committed to my success. Actually it was in that moment that I realized how lucky I was to have a Home Team at all!
www.LesleyGeller.com
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