10. I Am Not...

I Am Not……..

I am not an athlete, so I was told. By someone with WTC, the Ironman Company, so she ought to know, right? No, make that Corporation, not Company, I think of “companies” as friendlier entities than “corporations”. If you're one of the few who haven't yet been bored to tears by my telling and retelling of this tale, grab a drink of your choice (as will I) and I'll fill you in. Go ahead, I'll wait... Ready? Okay...here goes:

PART ONE

It was a sunny early Friday afternoon in Madison, WI, September, 2011. As has become a tradition for me, I was accompanying a few of my triathlete friends to the Ironman there. They were there to compete, and I was there to support, cheer, assist in any way needed, and generally have fun. We'd checked into our rooms downtown, and I joined the iron people as they headed to the convention center to check in. By the time we arrived, the line for this check in was already snaking its way from deep in the bowels of the building to past the entrance. The people in line had spent the better part of a year training for this weekend, and you could feel the nervous energy pent up, ready to compete. Imagine a registration line for an event that has 2000+ triathletes, at its peak length. It was like a line at an amusement park for some amazing ride, except this ride would last some 8-17 hours...and you had to propel yourself swimming, biking, and running on said ride. Yes, people pay a significant sum of money for the privilege of subjecting themselves to this.  First stop, a simple folding table where the entrants were checked to be sure they were, indeed, pre-registered (no registration at the event) and that they did belong in this line. Here they were given a couple of gaily colored sheets of paper confirming that they belonged here, and then we joined all the other aspiring Ironmen-to-be in line. This convention center, the Menona Terrace in Madison, is a large building, and the line snaked its way through two floors of it. There was much muffled conversation in the line, ranging from the nervous wondering of those trying for their first-time Ironman to the confident chatter of the veterans. Slowly moving a couple hundred yards in line, we wound our way down two flights of stairs, through one doorway, and approached a second door being guarded by a WTC representative. This woman was very official looking, with her Ironman vest and ID badge, and a clipboard (that served no apparent purpose). She quietly and casually glanced at each person as they proceeded through her door. This woman was apparently biding her time, waiting for some poor, unsuspecting soul to dare to try to cross her threshold without proper documentation. That unfortunate soul was me. As I and my two companions neared her portal she stepped over and blocked my way. "I'm sorry, sir, but you can't go any further." The puzzled expression on my face warranted more explanation. "You're not an athlete. Only athletes are permitted through here." My partners in line found this quite amusing (to be honest, so did I). We separated and made plans to meet up elsewhere after they finished registration. This "incident" then became a running gag throughout the weekend, and as word spread, it became the joke that wouldn't die. I was even given the coveted "non-athlete" award at the year's end banquet for the local triathlon club. If only I'd had those colored sheets of paper in my possession, then perhaps I could have passed for an athlete.

PART TWO

So, do I really think of myself as an athlete? How does one define "athlete"? According to Webster’s: “a person who is trained in or good at sports, games, or exercises that require physical skill and strength.” By this traditional definition I suppose I might qualify to go through that coveted athlete-only door. I am a fair cyclist, and can hold my own against many in the riding community. But, I often don't completely agree with traditional definitions. For me, an athlete is held to a different, loftier standard than Webster's states. A true athlete to me is not just good at sports, but additionally a total type A personality. Driven, competitive, vying to outperform his (or her) competitors, always striving to achieve, desiring just a little more than his previous performance. An athlete takes charge of his world, honing, improving, perfecting, looking for that edge. Me? Not so much. Complete type B here. I'm satisfied to sit back and let the world be, let it move me around at its will. The world cascades around me, taking me with it to destinations unknown to me, and I'm happy to just go with the flow, not unlike The Dude. Sure, I push myself sometimes, but I only measure myself against me, and not another. I do love the burning in my thighs as I force my way through the last two miles on Tuesday evenings, but I also love the relaxed, slower-paced rides with friends on weekends. So I guess according to Webster I am an athlete, but by my higher standard I am not. Sure, I can ride a bike with some measure of speed, but I do it strictly for pleasure, whether I'm at TNTT, on a relay at a triathlon, or just out with the Spokeswomen. I do it because it makes me smile.

…..The Mick abides