The sickness began with a big birthday that ended with a zero.
For a mid-life crisis, it seemed harmless enough.
After all, I knew he was the competitive sort when I married him.
And spending a morning along a farm lane, waiting for a few fleeting glimpses to applaud seemed the least I could do.
But rather than a passing fancy, that first race was only the beginning of my life as a triathlon wife.
That whim of a competition has turned out to be a newfound way of life.
Stopwatches and metronomes hang from the family key rack. Training charts eclipse the report cards and drawings on the refrigerator.
Vacations are planned around the tri-state summer race season.
Saturday mo
rnings start with a “brick”: back-to-back workouts of two disciplines.
But most significantly, our cupboards changed, much to the amazement of his mother.
The man who didn’t touch green vegetables was now pulverizing spinach and chard into morning shakes. Mysteriously, the berries I froze for pies and crisps disappeared from the freezer. And trips to Central Market for produce have doubled.
Rather than me clipping health articles to leave at his breakfast spot, he’s now the researcher, sending me links to specialized techniques like chi running and total immersion swimming.
I know it’s a subtle attempt at recruitment.
So far, I’m resisting.
After all, my big-zero birthday comes five years after his.
Still, I’m happy to humor his lust for solid-wheeled bikes and Rocketeer-style helmets. I don’t mind the wetsuits and unitards that hang dripping in the garage. They’re cheaper than a red convertible, and more conducive to our marital harmony.
I view the varied attempts to improve transition times with bemusement, witnessing experiments with rubber bands and bike pedals that defy the laws of physics.
In awe of his commitment, I’ve moved from the cheering section to full-on support staff.
Found an interesting race in Avalon? I’ll figure out accommodations and menus.
Need to train for the intense SavageMan? I’ll plan weekend excursions to the mountains to prepare for altitude acclimation.
At a loss for nutrition to power through? I’ll experiment with greens and berries and protein sources to find the perfect shake.
Just don’t ask me to compete, yet.