Pro Nationals

Peter Mallett,          May 2007

You can yell and shout, c’mon, c’mon, let’s go. But he doesn’t have to respond and there’s little you can do. Try and break away from this three man pack and the twelve remaining miles of the bike leg are yours to suffer, alone, no match for the larger drafting packs of riders that lay ahead. His pulls come up, slower and shorter, so the burden falls on you and the third man to make the greatest effort or risk ever more of the race slipping away.

You could dwell on the humidity and that daunting line of palm trees that never seems to close on the finish. This is Pro Nationals and what the hell are you doing here anyway? Andy Potts had his day on the swim taking the lead a long time ago. But this is Pro Nat’s and you’re in Hawaii chasing some crazy masochistic dream of stifling heat, sweat oozing from pores, salt water coughed up from the swim, with that running shoe that never pulled quite tight enough flapping off your heal for another six miles.

This is a collective of forty or so professional male triathletes, the best of the U.S., Andy Potts, Jarrod Shoemaker , Matt Reed, and on and on. Factor in a handful of the Aussies, Kiwis, and Canadians, honed with years of experience, poised to attack the swim with the fastest of starts, a whitewater thrashing of pure speed and efficiency. Let them power along the flattest of bike courses, drafting, clipping wheels, fighting to maintain all out pressure, yet working to conserve until they hit the run.

While you’re left to deal with this nuisance, this other rider that won’t help and won’t go away, the win is far from yours. The conflict becomes how to stay alive. So you take a longer pull on the front. Up the hill your third man rotates through. Thank God he’s tough. Ok, Ok let’s do this. Go! Go! A slight acceleration, push the pedals, push the pedals. Then it’s his turn again. The nuisance slows it to a creep. Exclamation follows explicative as you surge ahead, urging the other, stronger rider to join. No response.

So this is how it’s going to be. Travel to Hawaii, to the most ambitious race you can find, only to have your high hopes humbled at the back, stuck with two riders sucked in on your wheel, raspy breaths indicating nothing more than that they have a pulse.  Could you truly be alone, thinking, ‘Am I the only one who gives a damn’? This is carnal. This is an ego trip. You came here to compete. Didn’t you?

Doubt is your weakness, in over your head, at a level you’re striving to comprehend. What’s going on? He saved his effort for the run course, cruising past, a nuisance more than ever. One more place behind, save your self now, with anything.  Focus on what’s left of your pride, not the mind numbing plod of your footfalls on this never ending course. Focus on the thought that one-day you will have the chance to win again. Only this time it will be against the very best. Trick yourself into this delusion, whether it could ever actually happen, that’s where the lactic burn is bearable, the strain manageable.

Because reality is the sunburn, the dehydration, the time on the clock, it’s not pretty. This is no vacation. He passed you on the run and you’re frustrated. Your final results were nothing to speak of. Yet you’ll be back no matter how many times you question your abilities. You came here because you had to know. There is a desire to compete beyond your control. You have more to give.