We all have dreams. But in order to make dreams come into reality, it takes an awful lot of determination, dedication, self-discipline, and effort.
~Jesse Owens
I came to the sport of triathlon late in life. I spent years accompanying my super-fit husband to triathlons and waiting for him on the hot sidelines while he swam, biked, and ran for hours. Then a light bulb turned on in my brain. I could be out there physically torturing myself, too, instead of suffering intense boredom. It was twisted logic, but to be a triathlete, it’s imperative to possess some of that.
Three questions plagued me as I began training: Could I successfully transform myself into a triathlete? Was the saying, “It’s never too late, you’re never too old,” actually true? And how in the world was I ever going to squeeze this body into the skimpy triathlon outfits?
Starting with what I knew best, I began swimming. Attempting to channel my former competitive swimmer self, I swam up and down the YMCA pool, somehow convincing my slightly chubby, 54-year-old sedentary body that my inner mermaid was merely dormant, not dead. Swimming is heavily reliant on technique. Thankfully, muscle memory kicked in, leaving me feeling fairly confident that I would at least survive the first leg of the triathlon.
For the bike segment, I pulled out my trusty, old ten-speed, a clunky metal apparatus, but it fit the bill for a beginner triathlete. I should have known from watching my husband, but I guess I wasn’t paying close attention: becoming a biker involves lots of “stuff.” I needed a helmet, water bottles, a computer, clip-in shoes and, worst of all, tight, padded biking shorts that revealed every middle-aged lump and roll. Preparing for the bike leg of a triathlon wasn’t nearly as much fun as I remembered from my childhood days of cruising the neighborhood on my purple Stingray. But with coaching from my patient husband, I persevered. I was as slow as could be. Small children with streamers and baskets on their bikes often passed me on the trail, but all I cared about was finishing the ride upright.
I joined a couch-to-5K running group at my neighborhood running store to train for the run. In the beginning, I could only run 30 seconds without taking a walk break, but I kept moving forward. In a couple of months, I was ready for a 5K run. Evenings that were once filled with making dinner and helping with homework were now filled with meeting friends to go on training runs. Running was a great way to transition to the empty-nester phase of life!
Then came the true test — putting it all together for my first triathlon! To avoid any hometown embarrassment, I traveled to a neighboring state for my first attempt. Knowing I would never have to face the other racers again helped to ease my anxiety. But there was still an ugly little voice whispering in my ear: “Why do you think you can do this? You’re 54 years old, overweight and not good at any of this. Just give it up!”
Fortunately, there was an encouraging voice in my other ear saying, “You can do this. You’ve done the training. You are about to become a triathlete!” I chose to listen to that voice. I managed to finish, not first but also not last. It didn’t matter. I was a triathlete! But it wasn’t enough.
My plan for “one and done” disappeared as I felt compelled to continue and do longer distance triathlons. Eventually, the thought of completing a half Ironman distance started nagging at me. I was afraid to mention it to anyone, too scared to even write it on my bucket list. On a good day, I was a mediocre athlete, hanging mostly toward the back of the pack. How was I ever going to swim 1.2 miles, bike 56 and then run 13.1 miles — all in the same day? The lure of the 70.3-mile race haunted my thoughts. When I tentatively admitted my crazy idea to my husband, he jumped on board immediately. He said he would do it with me. The training was arduous, taxing my physical endurance to the limit. Biking miles through the heat of the summer didn’t make me love biking any better; it was still my least favorite leg of the triathlon. Swimming didn’t worry me; that was my strength. As for the run, I was sure I could manage to at least walk my way through the 13.1 miles after the bike.
After months of training, the day of the event finally arrived. The swim was a bit rough, but I came out of the water a few minutes ahead of my husband. I savored that small victory, knowing my husband was the much better athlete in the other two legs. I wish I could have held on to the feeling of mastery as I struggled through the 56-mile bike ride. At about the 22-mile mark, I stopped, got off my bike and whined to my husband, “I think I’m going to quit. This is too hard. I can’t make it.”
My husband replied calmly, “You can quit. But you know if you quit, you will want to come back and try it again next year.” He knows me too well. I got back on the bike and slowly pedaled my way to the end of the ride. The run was more like a walk; the old engine (me) didn’t have enough gas to manage a run after the grueling bike ride. My athletic husband could have run easily, but he chose to stay with me. The sun was beating down on us. We were sweltering hot in the 93-degree weather, and our feet quickly became blistered. But we knew the end was in sight. We talked, laughed, stopped at every water station, and waved to friends along the way. We were going to finish this beast of a triathlon! We crossed the finish line together, a sweet moment of relationship solidarity and a dream come true for me.
I’m now in my sixties. I’m still squeezing myself into triathlon suits and showing up at the start line. Sometimes, I’m the only one in my age group, which fits into my winning strategy. I’m not fast enough to get on the podium often, but my plan is to keep competing after everyone else quits. I’m going to outlast the competition!
Triathlons have taught me it’s never too late to pursue a dream. I’m not the fastest or the best athlete, but I can possess the best attitude of gratitude for the good health that enables me to finish a race. It may be too late, and I may be too old for a few things in life, but I plan to squeeze every drop of happiness out of life and stay active as long as I can, no matter what the pace may be.
— Diane Morrow-Kondos —