I always forget to mention one of my favorite parts of triathlon - the finish line. I know what you're thinking: "no shit Katie it's the moment you get to stop moving for the first time in over an hour, get a medal, a shirt, a water bottle, some food...."
Okay, okay, ooobviously 99% of the field's favorite place is the finish line.
But not only do I love it because that means, well, I'm finished, but I love it for the people I meet there. The people who ran the same race I did and endured all the hills and the long stretches and the transitions. The sprinting, the sweating, the climbing, the coasting, the heat, the cold, etc, etc.
Without a doubt, when I cross the finish line, every time Chris is in some deep conversation with a new friend he met on the course. It takes him an average of two hours to get from the finish line back to the transition area because he stops every person who passed him and congratulates them. They talk strategy, equipment, shoes, bumps, hills, races, splits, upcoming races, schools...he meets their parents, their best friend, their wife, their teammates, and their dog. And not only does he talk to them for what seems like foooreverrrr, when I'm still trying to get my heart rate back to human levels, but they facebook each other later and wish each other good luck at upcoming races. And then he recognizes people at every race from prior races. He makes me feel like a recluse as I sit in the corner in a trance, trying not develop pirate eye or stare at one person for too long, eat every carb in site, and curse every person who walks by with a $3,000+ TT bike. I suppose he has a lot to teach me about sportsmanship, because honestly, after the race all I want to do is go into a dark room by myself and sleep the rest of the day. But I'm getting better! Maybe one day I'll make more friends at a race than Chris, but it's doubtful. He's a pretty social guy.
Before the race, no one really talks to each other. Everyone is in their own little preparatory 7 am pre-race zone. It's usually freezing, windy, and, with my luck, raining. Everyone is miserable and bumping into each other and wondering, "why the hell do I do this." So no one speaks. We're all mute in a sad attempt to conserve energy and body heat.
It's DURING the race you make your friends.
It's in transition when you're fingers are too numb to unzip your wetsuit or unclip your helmet...you're panicking, jumping around like a banshee, and then you hear, "help! Help! I'm stuck in my wet suit!" and you remember it's not JUST you suffering. You look over at the girl next to you and she's leaping around like she has ants in her pants, struggling to unzip herself. It's the only time when grabbing a complete stranger's clothes, and ripping them off is not only socially acceptable, but appreciated.
It's on the vertical climbs that don't end when you look over at the guy whose heart rate is easily 200, and he looks at you as your muscles start to freeze up and you both mutter, "f*** my life" under your breath. Then you laugh, cuss some more, and make it over the hill together.
It's the guy at mile 2 of the race who barely articulated, "goo yobb" under his wheezing breath. You assume he means "good job" but you're so tired and out of breath you can't say much more, so you mutter back "oo too." You might not see him again because he pulls ahead, but for a second, someone in the race recognized you were giving it your all.
You might not stay with him for the whole race, you might not see him again, but you shared a moment that made the hill, for one second, not so bad.
Or such as Lobsterman, when I met Julie on the hilly 10k - I would have never kept up that pace had it not been for her making me laugh the whole time. Or on my half marathon, when Ally and I met this friendly father the last 2 miles who kept us sprinting to the very end - then came up to me after the race and gave me a big hug and a congratulations.
Or it's the person who, without a doubt, sprints past me just before the finish line. It happens every damn race. I get within 50m of the finish, and someone, usually a 35+ age grouper with a limp, or extra fat, or terrible running form FLIES past me. Nothing makes me madder than that. But after the finish line, it's over. And this person and I find each other, laugh and say, "good sprint there at the end, you really had me going" and usually even hug. It's like everyone is so exhausted that they forget that complete strangers don't hug.
But that's what a race will do to you.
love love love,
me
Okay, okay, ooobviously 99% of the field's favorite place is the finish line.
But not only do I love it because that means, well, I'm finished, but I love it for the people I meet there. The people who ran the same race I did and endured all the hills and the long stretches and the transitions. The sprinting, the sweating, the climbing, the coasting, the heat, the cold, etc, etc.
Without a doubt, when I cross the finish line, every time Chris is in some deep conversation with a new friend he met on the course. It takes him an average of two hours to get from the finish line back to the transition area because he stops every person who passed him and congratulates them. They talk strategy, equipment, shoes, bumps, hills, races, splits, upcoming races, schools...he meets their parents, their best friend, their wife, their teammates, and their dog. And not only does he talk to them for what seems like foooreverrrr, when I'm still trying to get my heart rate back to human levels, but they facebook each other later and wish each other good luck at upcoming races. And then he recognizes people at every race from prior races. He makes me feel like a recluse as I sit in the corner in a trance, trying not develop pirate eye or stare at one person for too long, eat every carb in site, and curse every person who walks by with a $3,000+ TT bike. I suppose he has a lot to teach me about sportsmanship, because honestly, after the race all I want to do is go into a dark room by myself and sleep the rest of the day. But I'm getting better! Maybe one day I'll make more friends at a race than Chris, but it's doubtful. He's a pretty social guy.
Before the race, no one really talks to each other. Everyone is in their own little preparatory 7 am pre-race zone. It's usually freezing, windy, and, with my luck, raining. Everyone is miserable and bumping into each other and wondering, "why the hell do I do this." So no one speaks. We're all mute in a sad attempt to conserve energy and body heat.
It's DURING the race you make your friends.
It's in transition when you're fingers are too numb to unzip your wetsuit or unclip your helmet...you're panicking, jumping around like a banshee, and then you hear, "help! Help! I'm stuck in my wet suit!" and you remember it's not JUST you suffering. You look over at the girl next to you and she's leaping around like she has ants in her pants, struggling to unzip herself. It's the only time when grabbing a complete stranger's clothes, and ripping them off is not only socially acceptable, but appreciated.
It's on the vertical climbs that don't end when you look over at the guy whose heart rate is easily 200, and he looks at you as your muscles start to freeze up and you both mutter, "f*** my life" under your breath. Then you laugh, cuss some more, and make it over the hill together.
It's the guy at mile 2 of the race who barely articulated, "goo yobb" under his wheezing breath. You assume he means "good job" but you're so tired and out of breath you can't say much more, so you mutter back "oo too." You might not see him again because he pulls ahead, but for a second, someone in the race recognized you were giving it your all.
You might not stay with him for the whole race, you might not see him again, but you shared a moment that made the hill, for one second, not so bad.
Or such as Lobsterman, when I met Julie on the hilly 10k - I would have never kept up that pace had it not been for her making me laugh the whole time. Or on my half marathon, when Ally and I met this friendly father the last 2 miles who kept us sprinting to the very end - then came up to me after the race and gave me a big hug and a congratulations.
Or it's the person who, without a doubt, sprints past me just before the finish line. It happens every damn race. I get within 50m of the finish, and someone, usually a 35+ age grouper with a limp, or extra fat, or terrible running form FLIES past me. Nothing makes me madder than that. But after the finish line, it's over. And this person and I find each other, laugh and say, "good sprint there at the end, you really had me going" and usually even hug. It's like everyone is so exhausted that they forget that complete strangers don't hug.
But that's what a race will do to you.
love love love,
me
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