Back In the Saddle

Here’s this week’s reflection. I hope it resonates with you and ask that, if you enjoyed, please comment and share on your social media. Heartfelt thanks for all your support!

Keeping the light on for you,

Carol

“There’s no way in hell they’ll pick me,” I muttered while sipping some wine and chuckling. The email declared this particular day the deadline to sign up for a triathlon club I had applied to in the past. While not accepted then, the application’s “make us laugh” approach included questions about past events completed, personal philosophies as to why you would willingly subject yourself to multisport torture and, among other silly things, “What’s your favorite ice cream and why.” 

I took the “make us laugh” part VERY seriously. (Wine is a dangerous thing.) Convinced I hadn’t a snowball’s chance in hell of being accepted to this group of seemingly more serious athletes, and having ample liquid courage on board, I cut loose. My deepest triathlon secrets were divulged: my irrational fear of open-water swimming, my innate ability to find uneven terrain to stumble over, and my intense love of the camaraderie at the back of the pack where all the gloriously average Joes and Janes hang out sweating together toward the all-mighty finish line. My ice cream choice was, unsurprisingly, “Rocky Road,” as my fitness journey has been fraught with obstacles – most notably the overactive melon on my shoulders that mentally trips me up. When I finished the “application” and hit send, the entire convoluted idea exited my head as quickly as I shut my laptop.

Multisport is a funny thing. It energizes and exhausts. It emboldens and humbles. It’s not always pleasurable, but unapologetically sucks you in. So, when the congratulatory email for making the 2025 team arrived, I briefly doubled over laughing before sobering up to, “Oh crap – I’m back in the saddle.” But my curiosity had already gotten the better of me, and, as a dear friend’s “Why the hell not?” flooded my consciousness, I accepted without hesitation.

This wouldn’t be my first rodeo, having dabbled in triathlon from 2017 to 2019. During the pandemic I shut down with the rest of the world, losing what little athletic prowess I had developed. I say “little” because I grossly overdid it, stressing my aging body by trying to keep up with the cool kids who outpaced me by leaps and bounds. I wanted to be them, NOT simply the best version of me. It was foolish and, dare I mention, dangerous? My internist had given me the stink eye about this on more than one occasion while checking my blood pressure as I jogged on an inclined treadmill. So, this go-around would demand execution with far more caution.

While not old at 61, my body reminds me I’m not a young chick anymore and is forcing me to slow down. That’s excellent news for a few reasons. In addition to the cross training of swimming, cycling, and running/walking being great for aging bodies, there’s refreshingly less to aspire to now, other than simply finishing. In fact, my registration age group is now so small that a podium finish could actually happen in my lifetime, although that’s never been my goal. As a social creature and nurturing type, I have always GREATLY enjoyed the high-fiving party at the back of the pack when working toward and reaching that coveted finish line as a group project. The personal pride of simply going the distance is all the glory I desire, as evidenced by so many in this unique pocket of athletes. And yes, we are indeed athletes, having gone the same distance as the top tier, regardless of speed. 

I set to work having a stern chat with myself (and an email to my doctor). This journey needs to be different on many levels. Being true to my health and sense of humor will be paramount. With my internist’s blessing I’m forging ahead, with a few  obligatory changes including new running shoes (my old style  having been discontinued), and less intense training goals to help me cross a finish line without my doctor demanding at least a week’s recovery time, or worse, another stress test (although I’ve mastered those really well). 

It’s currently winter and I’m already spending time in the YMCA pool and in my basement “possibility pad” –an area formerly known as the “pain cave” because with new journeys come new mindsets. The pad is glamorously adjacent to the furnace and the detritus of life – memory bins, out of season stuff, you get the picture. It’s not bougie but it gets the job done. A bare bones space without distraction, although dormant Christmas décor can always be lit for swanky ambiance if I so desire.  

The biggest difference this go-around (aside from being physically kinder to myself) has to do with the pleasure principle. With my growing acceptance of the body I’ve been given, the fun factor has returned. My expectations and self-criticism are dialed back down to the basics. There’s a new game in town and in my head, and I couldn’t be more ready.

Turns out the triathlon club I joined has many folks like me who simply want to cross a finish line and have fun doing so. We support each other wherever we are in the journey with the biggest emphasis on connection. Multisport means many things to many people – perseverance, redemption, fitness, competition. But it can also be include joy. And to that end, I’ll be sporting my new screaming pink team gear as I hack my way to a finish line come this spring, laughing, celebrating my unique foibles, and hopefully avoiding my internist along the way, (although we have become besties).

I’ll keep you posted.