Director's Dare
Wind in the Willows
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Training for a triathlon is a seemingly never ending series of absolute highs and rock-bottom lows. I'm not talking about the regular ups and downs of living on this great rock hurtling through space, I mean real extremes. One minute you're at the bow of the largest ship ever built with your arms thrown wide, the salty breeze blowing through your perfect hair and a beautiful woman at your side while you scream "I'm king of the world," at the top of your lungs. Then suddenly, the next thing you know, you're turning blue, hanging onto a floating plank in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with an icicle hanging off the tip of your nose and frost forming in your eyelashes.
Yesterday I woke up and decided that I was going to ride my bike at least 25 miles even if it killed me. When my alarm went off at 5:32 A.M., my first inclination was to hit the snooze button, which I did. But when the alarm sounded again at 5:42 A.M. and I groggily sat up in bed, I felt impressed that the wind was blowing outside. I really wanted to go back to bed, but I decided to stick it out. Today was my day after all.
I threw on some sweat pants, my long sleeve T-Shirt from the ROTC 5K, my helmet and sneaked outside so I wouldn't wake everyone. My first impression was correct. The wind was blowing. I hate the wind.
I jumped on my bike and headed north. My plan was to ride up Minersville Highway until Mile Marker 12, which I figured was about 15 miles from my house. Some quick math told me that if I rode 15 miles one way, turned around and came back, I'd have ridden… well at least 25 miles.
All the way out there I paid close attention to the terrain. The last thing I wanted that early in the morning was to get caught going up hill both ways. My brother has graciously allowed me to borrow his bike, which is a fair site better'n mine, and I was really zipping along. I made careful note of the fact that most of my journey was down hill, meaning I would have to climb my way back. I was okay with that. I really seemed to making good time.
By the time I reached that blessed location known as Mile Marker 12 I was feeling pretty good. Then I looked at my watch: 26:47. Hey, now that's a pretty respectable time. Not record breaking, but on track for finishing this Triathlon before the sun goes down on June 19 th .
I felt great. My hopes soared. I was Rocky Balboa in Rocky IV standing atop that Russian mountaintop with my arms raised, bellowing out my defiance to the challenger. I was Simba roaring in triumph atop Pride Rock as the rain starts to fall and the Savannah is born anew. It was awesome. I could do this thing.
"Now all I have to do is turn around," I thought, "and..."
BAM!
That's when it hit me: the wind. I was taken aback by its ferocity. What had been my helpful comrade only seconds before had now become my most bitter enemy. I mean this wind was BLOWING.
Well, there was nothing to do now but press forward. I ducked my head and started pedaling. After straining for what felt like a long, long time, I looked to my right and noticed to my shock and dismay that the trees were passing me . At his rate, I'd be in Milford in no time. Milford, by the way is only about 45 miles in the WRONG DIRECTION.
By the time I got home an hour and a half later, there was no need to shave; my face and head had been sandblasted to a gleaming shine. Needless to say, the previous exultation was lost to the moment.
See what I mean about highs and lows?
Let me know if you've ever felt the same.
Labels: triathlon
