It’s the day after Christmas and I’m surfing the seas of social media. I see my triathlete friends sharing the cool new gadgets or clothing they received from Santa. They are discussing pool workouts and posting pictures from their bike trainers. Me? I got the Ove Glove from Santa. I haven’t swam since September. My bike still isn’t on the trainer. My Garmin hasn’t been charged in over a month. And I just got an email that my subscription to something called Paincave lapsed. Paincave. That sounds sort of familiar, and sort of painful.
It’s all coming back to me. It’s hard. I don’t miss it.
I used to be a triathlete who trained, raced, and then wrote about all of it here. I currently exist as a triathlete interrupted. In mid-October, I became an assistant coach for a Division III women’s basketball team. As a lifelong basketball player and a youth coach of 20 years, it was the coolest thing that had ever happened to me since that time at a Big East tournament game in Madison Square Garden when I got my picture taken court-side with Leslie Visser, and then I told her that I loved her and then she sort of ran away in fear. It was awesome.
The lovely and talented Leslie Visser, who stands court-side with a microphone and does 30-second interviews. Greatest job ever.
Since mid-October, I’ve coached 13 amazing young women, playing the greatest sport ever. I am immersed in the man-to-man versus zone defense debate. The power meter versus perceived exertion debate has fallen off my radar. I watch game film on my couch instead of Jason Bourne movies on the trainer (miss you, J.) What I really need to do is watch game film on the trainer because the couch is making my butt bigger. It’s a stupid couch. I think I’ll get rid of it.
No fair. Your bike has a motor.
I haven’t been in such poor physical shape in over 10 years, but I’m okay with it. I should be able to climb out of this pit of physical disrepair in time to jump off the Cape May ferry in June. If not, no worries. Gravity should get me off the back of the boat just fine. Besides, I don’t have to feed my family with my race winnings. They would definitely starve. Finishers medals taste bad.
How lucky am I? I get to go from this incredible team
to this incredible team.
I just hope I don’t sink to the bottom of the pool next month.