America, May 10, 2005
Get ready NYC Olympic Triathlon, here I come!
Up the hill I pedal. Slowly turning the gears, my lowest, as the seemingly vertical road keeps stretching out in front of me. Up and up I go, around the curve, and still up, till finally, with thighs burning and sweat pouring, I crest the hill. |
Now it's easy to pedal and I shift up quickly into my highest gear. Spinning, twisting, turning, I am now flying at maximum speed through the turns of Rock Creek Parkway's Ross Drive, screaming with delight as I pass trees and time in a blur.
Soon enough, I am crawling back up another hill, this time Military Road, which is more marital than martial today. With a wedding party limo cruising along, I take the speed of a downhill and blast past the newlyweds, whipping onto Connecticut Avenue and up another hill before lights change and traffic starts.
Once it does, I laugh as a van tries to pass me. He might have me on the uphill, but once I get my next gravity assist, I slingshot pass him and once through a red light or two, will see him no more. See, I am in high triathlon training, and once I get going, there is no passing me in DC traffic. On Dad's Trek racing bicycle, my inheritance if you will, I am just too damn fast.
And I need to be for I have a eight short weeks before the Ford New York City Triathlon on July 10th in Manhattan. Yes, I'm gonna be tasting my sweat for two more months in preparation for the 1500 meter swim, 40 kilometer bike ride, and 10 kilometer run I hope to do in less than three hours of pain and perspiration. Or at least one minute faster than my triathlon twin, Cousin George, who I barely beat last July in a sprint triathlon.
See George has a much better swim than my dying chicken paddle, and beat me out of the water easily last year. It was only my domination on the bike that saved me from a year's worth of smack talk. This year, the swim is 3x as long, which means George will have a much greater lead when I finally drag my waterlogged butt from the Hudson River.
If I can catch him on the bike, I'm not too worried about beating him as I'm already off to a good start with my run, zipping through the 22nd Annual Sallie Mae 10K in a record 45:02, a full one minute faster than the year before. Still, George isn't one to be beaten easily. He's a fighter, that's for sure, and I expect him to be either just ahead or right on my ass the whole race.
Hmm... I'm thinking we should put something more than family pride on this, George. How 'bout the looser picks up the tab at the post race re-hydration? I'm thinking I could run up one hell of a margarita tab at a New York bar, which would be a great treat to send you home with.
So you up for it, or do you have a better idea?