The journey of any triathlete actually begins long before the notion of doing a triathlon ever enters your mind. Let me take you back to the late 70s.
My world is my small town of Salladasburg in north central PA. Since our small TV with rabbit ear antennae only gets us 3 stations, Barb and I fill our days exploring the creek and woods around our house, daring each other to ride our skateboards down the big hill at our elementary school, or riding our bikes without helmets to Cohicks - the only general store in town that has lunch counter stools celebrating that Katharine Hepburn and James Cagney sat there. Recess is the monkey bars, the high spaceship-like contraption with a fireman’s pole, and sled rides down the steep hills behind the school. Yes, it’s amazing we survived this very unstructured and unsafe way of life.
Triathlons are just beginning in the distant land of California where my idol Marcia Brady lives. It’s still a few years before I’ll even know what a triathlon is when ABC’s Wide World of Sports will beam its broadcast of the Ironman race in Hawaii through said antennae.
For me, I’m struggling to pass my swim test at the Jersey Shore pool (as I described in this early blog post. I do like the biking event that our school puts on, and I’m excited at the prospect of earning my Presidential Physical Fitness test badge.
There are something like 6 different tests for this fitness test, with different tests and thresholds for boys and girls - unlike triathlons with the same cutoffs for everyone. I excel at the chin hanging exercise, not so much for my strength but I’m a lightweight who can just hang there all day. The boys have to do chin ups, and one cocky boy poo poos my chin hanging achievement so Mrs. Smith, our PE teacher, challenges him to meet or beat my record. He is not successful to the laughs of our classmates.
I’m almost there, and the last event is the 50 yard dash. I get up to the start line and run as fast as I can, but it is not fast enough. I get a second attempt, and sadly, I’m still not fast enough. Thinking I have failed in my attempt, I resign myself that I’m not going to get to wear that Presidential Physical Fitness badge. But Mrs. Smith gives me one more chance and smartly has me race against the fastest girl in the class. My classmates line the sides and cheer me on, and I’m elated when she declares I did it!
I’m grateful for Mrs. Smith’s encouragement and giving me the chance to succeed in PE. These early experiences, combined with my unstructured play, no doubt helped me to find joy in recreation that carried through to adulthood.
And now here I am a late blooming, accidental athlete in the best shape of my life. It look me 50 years, but every once in awhile I’m the fastest girl in my class.
