The summer sun beat down, but the air was unexpectedly cool for early August. There was an aura about the place. It was different than a 5k. Different than a spring triathlon. Different than the Half Aquabike (1.2 mile swim/56 mile bike) that I had placed third in just three weeks earlier.
This. Was. Ironman.
Everyone bared their arms and calves. No one was bulky, but everyone was lean. And tough. Lots of tattoos were visible in the crowd of some of the world’s most elite athletes, as race numbers were picked up, and $10,000 bicycles were inspected for safety.
A year. That’s what I had paid for one day. A year of sleeping too little, riding in the rain, riding in the wind, endless laps in a pool. Skipping social events to turn a century on the bike (100 miles). Dehydration. Sunburn. Once or twice, crying after a ride because I didn’t think I’d make it.
I was walking with my head high. I had earned my place among the best of the best, the Roman Gladiators of this swim/bike/run combination.
Then I saw it. On sale for only $60!
A “Triathlon Backpack.”
My heart skipped a beat like Megan Fox had just walked into the room. I licked my lips. Began my approach.
“You’ll get all your gear in here,” said the white haired man behind the counter. What he was basing this on, I have no idea, as the rather portly gentleman had the look of someone who considers watching The Amazing Race a workout.
I played it cool. “Hmmm,” I moaned, like a college professor unpacking a new theory. “I can get my wetsuit, two pairs of shoes, and a helmet in here.”
In that moment, I morphed from an amateur triathlete into a shopping lion, and this pack was my gazelle. And lions die unless they catch the gazelle.
Pupils. Narrowing. Focus. Sweat.
The same reactions as a REAL race.
My adrenaline was pumping, and my mind was in “negotiation” mode.
“Of course you NEED this,” impulsive Seth said to reasonable Seth. “These are the seasoned athletes. You don’t want anyone to laugh at you with that old duffle bag tomorrow, do you?
“Besides, this is an INVESTMENT. Think of all the gear you have, and how much it would cost to replace. This ensures that you don’t lose anything. It protects the things you need and love.
Impulsive Seth was right. The reason I had trained, sweat, faced my fear, shaved my legs, and hopped a plane to California was for this moment. Fate alone had brought me here, and it had one message for me.
Must. Have. BACKPACK!
It was over. I pulled the wallet out the front pocket of my cutoffs, slapped down three Andrew Jacksons, and grabbed the backpack the way Mel Gibson wielded that oversized sword in Braveheart.
Two hours later, I was back at the hotel. Turns out, the backpack holds my triathlon stuff in the exact same way that my old duffle bag did.
All that excitement for nothing.
Crap.
Usually my blogs have a point. This one doesn’t.
Except, that we've all bought a triathlon backpack in one way or another.
Comments (1)
Amazing what a backpack can do! lol
That was great Seth!