“An athlete?” I suggest as I walk into the T1 area to check my gear for the transition between the swim and bike legs of the race.
“Yes, you are that too. But, I still don’t understand why you would put yourself throughoneTitaniumPerson race let alone ten in a row!”
“It’s the next thing.” I shrug.
“Okay, well, I guess you still have time to think about it. The race isn’t until March next year.”
“Yep, and I actually need to go run a measly half TP race today.” I mutter.
“Okay, well good luck.”
“Thanks.” I reply and end the call. My headphones mute the world for a moment before I hit play on my pre-race playlist.
I remember my first half-marathon. The nerves. The excitement. The adrenaline which fueled a portion of my effort.
Then when the half-marathon distance became easy, I tried a full.
I finished my first full marathon in the top ten, and I started training for triathlons. And when those distances were no longer a challenge I leveled up again to TitaniumPerson races.
The problem with having addictive tendencies is eventually the rush wears off. What used to give me the high isn’t enough anymore. I need more. Crave more.
So, what’s more than being an elite TP athlete?
Being a Deca TP racer and running ten full length TitaniumPerson races in as many days.
I have to keep pushing myself forward. If I stop striving, I’ll slip.
And I refuse to go back.
My watch beeps, alerting me to my race starting in an hour.
Time to do all the final checks and get ready to start. I’m already in the T1 swim to bike transition area checking on my bike and equipment box. Elite athletes, the top contenders in the race, get racked up first and I have the best position available. Last slot in the first row.
The least amount of time I spend trying to run my bike to the start line the better.
It’s the opposite at the second transition when I can leave my bike with a volunteer as soon as I cross the dismount line. The T2 transition is when you drop your bike as fast as you can and switch into your running shoes. My gear is set up at the start of the T2 area so I can get my shoes on quickly and then dodge the other contenders coming in and jog out to start the marathon.
Being the reigning world champion affords me the first pick of position.
Today’s half TP is essentially a training day for me. Real-time practice. Especially the transitions. They’re the fourth discipline of triathlons and an art form.
I’ll still push myself with the Deca ahead of me next year. But, with that as my new target, I'm not trying to prove myself with a small race win today.
I snap my cinnamon gum and survey my station. My sunglasses are attached to the handlebar with a rubberband, my bike computer is on and paused, and a caffeine chew is taped to the cross bar.
I finish my prep by balancing my helmet on the saddle to avoid having to bend over during this switch when a blonde in a tri suit comes crashing into the staging area behind me.
The elite women have already come through T1 so she must be in the final heat of general, age group, athletes starting in a few minutes.
Damn, she’s cutting it close.
Even from here I can feel the chaos coming off her. Maybe it’s the wisps of hair that have come loose from the braid of gold down her back. The wild swinging of her swim goggles from the crook of her elbow. Or the puffs of breath she exhales erratically as she struggles to rack the bike.
"Excuse me, do you need a hand?" I hear myself ask as I pull out an earbud and the playlist pauses halfway throughThe Greatestby Sia with Kendrick Lamar.
As a loner who sticks to himself, especially when I’m in my pre-race ritual, I couldn't tell you why I asked her but she gives off "help me" vibes.
"Me?" She stands and turns towards me quickly. I watch her body shift and the athletic curves of her toned muscles dance in the tri suit that hides nothing. She reaches up to brush thestrands of pure sunshine out of her face as she continues to pivot but the quick movement throws her off balance and she bumps a hip into her bike.
