Triathlons bring out all kinds. All shapes and sizes, and all ages. They write your age on your right calf before the race, I’m not exactly sure why, but I believe it is to teach you humility as a 60+ year old goes flying by you halfway through the race.
Anyhow, I do love the Nike tag inside my hat that says, “If you have a body, you are an athlete.” The oldest person to complete our triathlon was 79 years old. Can you believe that? I hope I am still walking at 79…much less swimming-biking-running!
Emma and I had a little discussion when we were going to pick up my race number on Friday.
E: “Mama? How old do you have to be to run a triathlon race?”
M: “I don’t know, Peanut. I’d guess 14 or so.
(I hear nothing from the backseat and then whispered…)
E: “Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen.”
E: “Oh! Well that means in 8 years I can run a race with you. Because it is almost like I am six already, right?”
M: “Yes (smiling) I would LOVE to run a race with you. I’ll be 44 then.”
E: “Oh. When I’m 30, how old will you be?”
E: “Can you run when you are 61?”
M: “Um, I hope so…I guess we’ll have to see.”
E: “When I’m 60, how old will you be?”
M: “I’ll be 91.”
E: “OH! Gosh. When I’m 91?”
M: “I’ll be…uh, 122.”
E: “Um, Mama…you probably won’t be here when you are 122.”
You are probably right kid, I’ll be pretty lucky to make it to 91, I think!
We happened to find the youngest athlete on Saturday, he started next to me…
And as for that lesson in humility…he finished only 10 minutes behind me.
I better step up my training. I’ve got four years until Em is out here beating me.