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Triathlon

“I was standing 

at the edge of the pond.

Nothing living, what we call living,

was in sight.

And yet, the voice entered me, 

my body-life, 

with so much happiness.

And there was nothing there

but the water, the sky, the grass.”— Mary Oliver

Manny competed in his first triathlon this past Saturday morning.  He swam 400 meters. He biked 10k and he ran 3k.  Since May, he’s been part of a little triathlon club that we heard about from one of Benicio’s soccer teammates.  Since that time, he has practiced twice a week— laps in a crowded prep-school pool, runs on the track, and weekend bike rides along the Schuylkill.  The club is a motley mix of quirky, lanky kiddos.  I imagine that they are non-conventional learners, agile minds, lots of speaking out of turn, but generally game and sweet.  Just like Manny.

My favorite part of the practices, I’ve only seen it once, is the transition.  In a triathlon, so much happens in the transition-area.  It is the bike-parking-lot.  Also your toweling-off spot.  And also the place where you gulp water and slurp a protein gel. Coaches and parents are not allowed in this area.  And because you are in transition, your legs are rubbery from the swim, or your eyes burn from sweat.  So in practice, the coach has timed them from their pool lane to their towel. Or from their towel to the track.  Manny lays his shirt facedown on the towel, socks and shoes set like silverware.  It’s amazing.  

When I saw on the race website: Parents who volunteer will get special access to the race-trail, I signed up myself and the other three kiddos. I signed us up to do the water station on the running course.  I had pictured the insane Cross Country races at the Plateau where hundreds of parents and coaches mob the edge of the forest as the racers take the hill.  It turned out that their were only 100 racers total and a very laid back Saturday morning in a sleepy suburban park in Reading. 

Because of our volunteering responsibility, we could not see the swimming portion, which was a good thing.  Geoff said it was painful.  Manny is the youngest in his age group and not a super strong swimmer.  Geoff described the other boys on the starting blocks.  He said there were boys with leg hair and Speedos.  I imagine them windmilling their arms and shaking out their excessive leg muscles.  And then our Manny, a lone reed, in modest running shorts staring into space.  What was painful was that they started in heats of four and they had these wide lanes.  It was eight laps and Geoff was nervous that at the end of the lap, Manny would just peter-out and quit.  He says it was a tearful delight to see him come to the wall, push up against it— and then just glide off of it and dutifully go again.  He says that strangers were cheering for him for the sight of it. All of them trying to will this kid to kick and paddle, oy.

Then there was the biking.  Nowhere did I see that the bike-course included a bridge over a hi-way, a pedestrian bridge, with a metal cage-cover.  I was by no means the volunteer-coordinator but when a dad with a camera asked me where he could help out, I did not hesitate to lead him over to the bridge and tell him to encourage the kiddos to stay to the right and just encourage them as they went over it.  The racers were so spread out, it was suspenseful to see them take off into the hills on their bike and then wait and wait, eyes fixed on the empty path.  Then when Manny emerged, his flushed face, his legs pedaling, his brace-brilliant smile, oh the joy of it! 

The running was Benicio and the girls’ favorite part.  When Manny approached the water station, the girls squealed and ran toward him.  Benicio got the bug spray out and sprayed Manny’s ankles, elbows and gave him a little shoulder massage.  Of course, I took photos through my tears, crying into the billions of water cups laid out on the table.  Benicio ran with him to the end of the path.  After the path, there was a downhill to the finish.  Whatever the boys had discussed must have been funny because I am told that he crossed the finish line laughing.  It was just over an hour for him.  Manny finished in 6th place overall.  

A footnote to myself that when I am anxious over competitions, to volunteer for the water station.  When the Speedo-guys are trudging the path and I hand them water, something softens in me.  I don’t see them as opponents.  I see them as parched creatures on a hard road.  This was helpful.  Too, when the younger triathletes came along, I was able to encourage them and cheer them on.  

What an elemental reminder of the sweetness of one little day.  We used to rejoice over one seizure-free night, then one seizure-free school day.  The shakiness of not wanting to jinx things but wanting to have faith to go forward.  Triathlon is one step in that forward movement, Manny finding strong interests, being confident, being a trusted friend of his body. There he was moving through water, over wheels, on foot.  Simply glorious.

2014 and the things I end up giving them

I am coaching my third season of Girls soccer.  I am learning a lot of things and am working under a seasoned and terrific coach but I am in a stupor about something he said about my girl.  The worst part is that I can't really do anything about it.  He said that she was on par with ten year olds, her soccer skills were excellent but then he said, "but she takes losing very personally and gets very emotional about her competitiveness and I worry for her."

Tomorrow morning she is going to suit up with the 10 year olds for a travel game for Futsal.  Futsal is indoor soccer with a heavier ball-- lots of control on the ball, which stays on the ground the whole time.    Geoff and I are trying to frame it well-- you are a tool in a toolbox.  If he needs a speedy, small, scorer, he's going to call on you.  If not, he won't.  So, the team just needs you to be ready!  Clara's response: "But I'm not a tool, I'm a girl with feelings!"

I do take her point.  On one hand, I'm like, "Isn't it ok for her to feel things and learn to work through them?"  Why is there a special emotional criteria for girl athletes if they are expressive?  When boys are sad when they get scored on, they are viewed as serious and fierce.  I don't want her to feel in over her head as well as emotionally-guarded.

But on the other hand, it is a team sport.  Taking loss personally isn't a good habit for the longevity of her love of soccer. My Dad would say, "Shake it off.  Shake it off."

Oh things are getting so meta.  I'm coaching my girl, using advice from my Dad, but I don't really know what the right answer is.

I think it's going to have to be one of those days that play itself out, in its peculiar and unique way, full like all of our days, of serendipity and good lessons and tears mixed in equal measure.