The countdown booms through loudspeakers, and is chanted by the crowd, "three, two, one, go!" And the blast of an air horn. Without hesitation I plunge into the cool, murky water. I am not afraid. I get kicked, bumped, and one guy actually swam over top of me. Still, I am not afraid. A few strokes out though, and I can sense something is not right. Brain is calm, but Body is not. Body is tired, winded, weak. I think I just need fifty yards or so to start warming up. Instead, every stroke seems to take too much from me. The water is my Kryptonite. I cannot catch my stride, I cannot find my stroke, this is not my game, not my race. My goggles fog, making it near to impossible to see the distant buoys, and I can barely differentiate between my orange buoys, or the red ones for the Olympic distance.
I keep thinking I will settle down. But I could not. Brain seemed to be functioning fine. I was not stressed, not having what I could identify as an anxiety attack, but g'damn I was so tired. Soon I was the last swimmer in the pack. Others were finishing before I had even reached the halfway point. My arms and legs felt like lead. I was exhausted before I had even begun. It was the longest half mile of my life, and undoubtedly the worst swim of my life.
But, I did not give up. I did not capitulate to the treachery of Body. I kept stroking forward at a snail's pace, seeming to be motionless, the finish never seeming closer. But, I did not give up. I knew I could not give in to this weird, inexplicable lethargy. I could not let a momentary weakness decide the outcome of my day.
Finally, my feet found solid footing. I stood, and my rubbery legs dropped me to my knees. I took a moment, on my knees, to remove my cap and goggles, stare at the water, and gather my wits. On wobbly legs I floundered to shore. I heard Coach, "you know how to keep your head in the game, now get to your bike." I knew it too. I knew that getting to Joshua, and getting on the road would erase my weakness in the water from my mind. The closer I got to Joshua, the stronger I felt, as though I neared my restorative power source. Joshua stood alone on the rack, the debris of frantic racers scattered about like fallen leaves. Proud and ready, my steed awaited. I toweled off quickly, opted out of the struggle of worming into the compression shirt, slipped on shoes, buckled helmet and I was off.
The quarter mile trot to the bike mount felt good with Joshua at my side. Have I mentioned where the name came from? Major General Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain, Union hero at Gettysburg, teacher of languages and philosophy, eloquent writer, and he of the glorious mustaches. As I hit the asphalt with my trusted Joshua beneath me I had several fragments of Chamberlain's quotes ringing in my head, "Stand firm ye boys from Maine, for not once in a century are men permitted to bear such responsibilities..." and of his men when charging up Little Roundtop under withering enemy fire, " They were as cool and calculated as if forming lines on the parade ground." These thoughts went through my head, to be cool under fire, to be eloquent, to not let past defeats or current hardship effect my actions in the Now. Brain, Body and Spirit came together and worked as the smooth triad I know they can be, no admonishments for the recent faltering, just being in The Now with the wind in my face and the asphalt beneath us.
To Be Continued
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