Second bicycle outing with the TNT Tri Team. This week we added a one-mile run. (Two or three rounds: bike-run-bike-run, etc.) I walked much of the running part. BUT I may have biked a longer distance than planned since I got mixed up a couple of times on the American River bike trail. Trees, bushes, joggers, picnickers ... everything looked the same to me.
There was no confusing those hills, though. I recognized and dreaded them. There was a certain point up each where I would begin to stall out. Immediate choice to be made: hop off or fall off. Having bike coach Jon teach me more about gears increased my chances of successfully attacking hills. I came up with my own mnemonic approach: Ask self, "See that hill there?" Point left finger in direction of hill. Push left pointer finger to put bike in gear to climb hill. Try to get at least 3/4 up the hill. Try to not topple over. Try to not look stupid.
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All I can be sure of is that no matter what anyone did, I was last. Always.
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Thank you, team-mates and strangers, for calling out encouraging remarks as I made my way on foot or wheel down the trails. You helped me retire awful memories of childhood P.E. when team captains chose sides. I was always the smallest of the kids. Always among the last to be picked. On Saturday, I started to get the hang of a new "me" — one that may still be last, but by no means least.
When I came across the "turn around here" plastic cone marking halfway of our run, I could have simply spotted it and reversed course. But the grade schooler in me made me dash up and tap it on its pert little orange tip-top. "So there!" I said, "Nyah, nyah, nyah."
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