C.: Well, it’s Sunday, so I’m all set to read chapter four of my coblogger, d.c. scot’s book: BEYOND THE THIRTEENTH MILE: THE IRON MAN CHRONICLES. It’s a book about a man training for and competing in the ultimate one-day test of endurance, determination, physical fitness and strategizing: an Ironman distance triathlon. This chapter is called “Swimming in the Ocean.” I hope that’s not what it’s really about because I hate swimming! Before I start reading, though, d.c. would like to say a word to our readers.
d.: Yesterday, some may have gotten the impression that I was making light of the situation in Isreal. However, I had been working all day in an environment where current news isn’t available. I wasn’t aware of the seriousness of the situation until today. I apologize if I offended anyone. I was merely trying to make a point.
C.: Thank you, d.c. Now, on with my reading.
CHAPTER FOUR: SWIMMING IN THE OCEAN
1200: Bike leg; Sugar Mountain; first loop:
I really need to distract myself. This is a brutal bike course. This is my strength, and I feel like a 90-pound weakling, even though I weigh almost twice that much. I’ll figure out the splits I need for each leg to hit my goal to distract myself before climbing this very steep hill.
I need every second if I’m going to finish this course in 13 hours. That’s an aggressive goal, but it’s still doable if I can gather speed coming down this steep hill. Man, climbing that hill was as difficult as swimming in the ocean…
***
To my way of thinking, the only way to learn to swim in the ocean is to actually swim in it. One of my triathlons was an Olympic distance one, with the 1500-meter swim leg being held in Galveston Bay. Because of this, I decided that what I needed to do was to practice swimming in the ocean. This race had me much more concerned than the sprint that was coming up next. That swim (a short, 300-meter one) was in a pool that I swam in almost every day, and the swim and bike legs were in my old neighborhood.
***
To someone like my grandmother, growing up on the beaches of the turbulent Atlantic Ocean, swimming in the ocean was out of the question. That’s because the ocean was, really, the only logical place for her to swim during her childhood. As a result, she simply never learned how to swim, and neither did any of her three children.
My father taught himself how to swim when he reached his early 50s, with no small amount of coaching from my mother and all four of his children. My aunt and uncle never did learn to swim, although all their children can swim. In fact, both of my aunt's daughters were certified lifeguards. It’s the two of them that get the lion's share of the credit for my learning to swim.
To people like me, learning to do something so technically difficult as swimming in the ocean is part of the attraction of participating in triathlons. I’m much more of a tactician than a natural athlete. To someone like Luke, an open water swim is the only kind of competitive swimming that is worth doing. He still refuses to participate in any triathlons that have the swim leg held in a swimming pool.
Unfortunately for people like Luke and me, this aspect of our personalities often carries over into other areas of our lives, such as our relationships. This is not to say that my grandmother, who raised a family during the Great Depression, or my aunt or uncle are cowards. Quite the contrary. My uncle was a US Army captain during the Korean War, and my aunt has seen her youngest daughter through two bouts of Hodgkin's disease. (My sweet aunt, who remembered everyone in her family’s birthday with a thoughtful card, passed away at the age of 91. It was a full house at her funeral.)
This doesn’t mean that Luke and I are careless, either. Neither of us will get on a bicycle without wearing a helmet. I’m merely trying to point out that there are deep-seated differences in everyone's personalities. Those differences can sometimes be determined by observing what one's hobbies are.
As I think back on my life and romantic relationships, most of them have been as difficult as swimming in the ocean. Quite frankly, at this stage of my life, I felt as knocked around by my relationships as I did when I would get out of the ocean after a practice swim. However, hearts, like arms and legs, do recover with time and rest. There was someone who was beginning to catch my eye, and my interest seemed to be reciprocated to some degree.
There usually does appear to either be more than one possibility of romance, or none at all. This seems to be the nature of the beast. Currently, the beast was at least smiling at me, if only in anticipation of the future, judging from my past track record.
Leta had seemed to be a good choice. We hung out together, danced together, and talked on the phone often, but we had never dated. Every time it seemed likely this would happen, I would get a call from an old girlfriend, or she would get a call from a new (potential) beau, and off we would go, in opposite directions. This, however, wasn’t the time to pursue Leta. Mary had been like an older sister to her, and I didn't want to interfere with her grieving process.
Of course, there was also Adelina, who, either by careful observation, instinct, or divine intervention, (I'm not sure which), always seemed to be around when I needed a friend the most.
We trained together almost every day and served as each other's escorts when needed.
Adelina was a quality person, but her family was complete. Mine wasn't even started yet. That’s the problem with there being a 10 year age difference between two people when one desires to start a family and the other’s is complete. I wished only the best for her, and I knew that wasn't me.
Add all the above factors to the equation, along with the fact that I worked a 40-plus-hour work week and tried to train about 20 hours a week. This meant that I had, at most, two free evenings a week. The reality is that clothes must be washed and grass must be mowed. In other words, sometimes life gets in the way of having fun (as well as relationships.)
Heidi was pretty, as well as a pretty nice person. Although she had a strong personality, I felt a link between us that went beyond the pathetic co-rec softball team on which we both played. Only one complication: Heidi and I were as different as ketchup and peanut butter. Of course, to me, that was part of the attraction. I knew that she was an extrovert (and I’m an introvert), I knew she was busy, (as was I), and I knew that she was getting over a broken engagement, but it didn't matter (Heidi and I got along famously). I asked her to dinner, anyway. Figuring out where and when was the problem.
With two triathlons and the warm-up series of runs for the marathon coming up, it seemed impossible, aside from a Sunday afternoon, when I had planned to do a practice swim in Galveston Bay. Fortunately for me, Heidi either really liked seafood or was interested enough, because she took me up on my offer of a trip to the beach and seafood dinner. We both enjoyed our one and only date that afternoon, and I even forgot about the shooting pain in my foot and the fact that the waves knocked me around during my practice swim.
Heidi got back together with her ex-fiancé after that, and I was happy for both of them. They eventually married and had two children.
As for me, I did finish the two triathlons and both warm-up races, narrowly missing my goals in both triathlons and barely beating them in my two runs. This was no small feat. I learned that the shooting pain in my left foot was caused by plantar fasciitis, a result of overtraining. A “trigger point injection” in the bottom of my foot, though, allowed me to keep participating in races and (over) training. And, as for the rest of my story, please read on.
C.: I’d like to, but I’m already late for work at The Kennel. I’m filling in for Ralph while he tours with Beauty and the Glowfish. They’re performing live in the alley behind the VFW hall in Guy, Texas this weekend.
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