Lost in Transition. Or how to work the lock.
Triathlons are won or lost in transition.
Okay.
Maybe with me not so much. But after competing for a decade, I figured it was a lot easier to shave a minute off my race time in T1 and T2 than a minute off my run.
That’s why this made me so mad yesterday.
Credit for capturing this amazing moment in sports history goes to Kathryn Cardwell.
I couldn’t get my blasted left bike shoe off. I’m still smiling in this pic. I must have just been discovering the fact the catch was stuck or maybe I was already borderline.
The blasted thing was stuck. Bent beyond recognition. Super glued shut.
What did a seasoned triathlete like myself do?
Freaked. But then I told myself, calm down. This is happening because you are spastic at present. Breathing deeply, I transported myself to my back steps at home after a ride and slowly tried to “work the lock.”
“Work the lock.” Something my husband has always said when you need to be calm in panicked situations.
Focus on the task. Only many, many years later seeing an episode of Magnum P. I. did his inspiration for that saying make sense.
(Watch this clip if only to see the beauty that was a 30-year-old Tom Selleck.)
UGGHH.
I wasn’t looking at any dogs. I wasn’t looking at a 30-year-old Tom Selleck.
Nothing was getting that blasted shoe off.
And if I didn’t get my bike shoe off, I couldn’t put my running shoe on and start to run.
I slammed my left ankle on the cement. Nothing. Nothing was loosening that mother.
Work the lock. Work the lock.
Hands feverishly picking at the clasp, I sensed someone standing over me. I looked up.
Two young men stared down at me. Like really young compared to me young. Probably my Jake’s age. Shirtless. Both dark hair, dark eyes, dark skinned. Think One Direction with a Latino twist.
“I can’t get this G*d damn thing off.” I said to their young black eyes.
Immediately looking to my frenetic hands I said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I just can’t get this shoe off.”
THEY JUST STOOD THERE. NOT SAYING A WORD.
Maybe they thought they couldn’t interfere with a racer in transition?
Maybe I was the elderly lady in the commercial and I’d fallen and couldn’t get up?
Maybe they were angels sent to help me and I just flagrantly broke one of the Big Ten?
“I don’t care if it’s a penalty, please help me get this thing off?” I said looking into those black eyes.
With that the one closest to me, bent down and unclipped my bike shoe.
I watched as his fingers slipped around the clip, pressed down and released the catch.
“I guess it was tight,” was all he said.
Angels are known to be short on words.
I looked up and said,
“God bless you my child.”
* * *
Why do I do these races and why does it matter so to me in the heat of it? To take the Lord’s name in vain,
for pity’s sake
which I find horribly offensive, unless I’m held captive from a mediocre athletic performance by a bike shoe.
As to why I still do this stuff, I’d like to think for my age, it’s keeping me mentally, physically and emotionally sharp.
Like if my family was on a train and a terrorist stepped out of the bathroom brandishing an AK-47.
At that point in history, all my years of adjusting to spills on the bike, swimming through bass-infested waters wearing fogged-up goggles, leaving transition on the run with my bike helmet still on (did that twice), choking down a Clif bar while running without actually choking . . .
Yes, all those catlike, ingrained “work the lock” reflexes would take over and I’d kick that terrorist’s behind back to where all the bad people go to make sure they never do bad things again.
Yes. I. Would. Be. Ready. To.
GO.
And to ensure the Free World remains safe, I pledge to never again wear bike shoes on trains.
Only low heel, snug-fitting tennies.
Yes. I think that best.
Thoughts?
