Future Triathlete in the Making

Sunday: The Relief Society announces a 5K to take place this upcoming Saturday. I get home, talk it over with my stepmom Amy. We're in.

Thursday: We visualize our plan for getting to the park where the 5K will be held.  Since it's only 2.5 miles away we decide to be bold and ride our bikes. 

Friday before the race: I go for a jog and notice I can run farther than when I first started running a couple months ago.  I run 2 miles without stopping and think "Huh...maybe I'll try this again tomorrow and run a good portion of the 5K."  I had been envisioning walking the whole thing. 

7. a.m. on Saturday morning: Bright and early.  Amy and I gear up, eat some yogurt and push ourselves out the front door. We ride to the park and meet up with the 5K gang.  There are smiling early birds everywhere. Many are vigorously reciting the activity's motto, "Arise and go forth." An older one starts humming something motivational like Eye of the Tiger.  We're awake. We're pumped. We are in it to win it. The whistle blows and we take off.  Our plan is to run five minutes, walk five minutes. After a quarter of a mile we decide, "What the heck, let's see if we can't run the whole thing!"

It's rough. It's tough.  It's all out madness. We're near the front of the pack and runners are dropping off like flies.  An army of walkers is hot on our tails, drawing closer with each slowing footfall, enticing us to join them. We. must. push. on.  We reach the turning point and half the fight is fought.  But can we make it through the last half? Will we keep running?

Yes. Somehow, one step at a time, we make it to the end.  The finish line is 200 yards away.  Fans are lining up to shake our hands when we cross the line.  Up until this point Amy and I have been a team.  Fighting this thing together, pushing each other on, keeping one another just out of the walkers' grasps. But the sight of the beaming crowd  is too much for me.  I break the unspoken 5K-buddy-bond and putting in every last ounce of energy I have left, I sprint to the finish.  The crowd goes wild. Amy is left in the dust.  I throw my hands into the air with a wild passion.  Yes! Yes! I've made it! Minutes, maybe hours, later Amy makes it to the end.  We feel like champions.  The eyes of the tiger. 

 After the 5K: 9:00 a.m. and we've already biked two and half miles and run a 5K. We won't quit now.  Realizing our potentials, we set forth to be the audacious athletes we are meant to be.  We ride the 2.5 miles home. So far we've gone 5 miles on our bikes and run 3.1 miles. 

Egad! All that's left is the swim.  If we pull this off, we will be Saturday morning triathletes.  Do we have what it takes? You bet your life we do! Rounding up another recruit we hit the pool with my dad kicking and screaming all the way there. The thought of swimming next to two triathletes is making him sweat.  "Don't worry," we say. "Just because you slept through the first two events doesn't mean you're not a winner too. Better a monathlete than a nonathlete!"

40 minutes later: We swim with such fervor that we lose count.  The laps are just rolling by.  Our muscles are rippling. The pounding of our hearts is becoming too deafening for the other swimmers, so we do them a service and throw in the towel. Well we don't actually throw in our towels, then they'd be soaked.  We put on the towels and head home, heads held high.  Today we are victors. 

Day's end: We've biked. We've ran. We've biked some more. We've swum.  It's only a matter of moments now till someone comes to our door to put our faces on a Wheaties box.  This kind of athleticism can't be contained. After hours of grueling, intense physical activity such as ours, there's only one thing left to do... 



Even champions need to recover.