Three of us competed in the Montauk, NY, Mighty Man Half-Iron relay last weekend. We finished second among men’s teams, 25 seconds in front of third place, and way behind a team that should have been called “Freaks of Nature.”

There was discussion among us about whether Joe ran down the runner to capture second, replacing the all-or-nothing talking-to-yourself that occurs after the usual single-person triathlon.

If you are competing solo, life plays out against reality, but is easily malleable in your personal sometimes-revisionist history of the event. History is not as flexible when there are three writers of it. And even more rigid when the three have notable – in certain circles – athletic resumes.

Played out against reality, an athlete finishing second in a relay half iron is like a farmer having the finest potatoes in Northern Virginia. Your friends will applaud when you get your plaque, and a few people will “Like” your pic of “Tossed Hair and Singlet,” or “Farmer in Lucky Boys Holding Prize Tuber.” Afterwards there are memories and French fries.

I think our accomplishment is at least as significant as Northern Virginia potatoes. At least we made it so last weekend, and no potato farmers argued with us.

Neither did Michael.

He was the fourth athlete with us at Montauk. Not part of the relay team. He did an Olympic distance and finished sixth in his age group. There was nobody to play off for enthusiasm, especially not the three of us who each replayed our contributed one-third and critiqued the others’ two-thirds in the gay triathlete version of “Lord Of the Flies.” Jim offered the leavening since he was partner, not competitor.

Michael didn’t get called to the podium, although his improvement versus his last triathlon was more significant than our performances. He didn’t get a free can of yet another caffeine-soaked energy drink, or somebody’s Chocolate Chip Cookies (capitalization theirs) from just down the road somewhere in cute-village-expensive-car-land. He got what all soccer moms love – the participation medal – along with free pasta, water, and a towel.

The definition of a relay is vocal and spiritual energy. Triathlons are individual pursuits more than they are a team sport. There are teams, especially at the college level, but there is no ball to share. So triathletes turn inward for strength and sometimes outward for encouragement. Relays can magnify the outward turning at the expense of inward strength.

Michael was going all out. We were calibrated. Michael was alone. We were dependent. Michael was expecting improvement. We were expecting a podium finish. We were trying to please each other, or at least trying not to disappoint. Michael wasn’t and didn’t.

The day before the race, I swam the half-iron and most of Michael’s Olympic course. I helped myself, and him, to knowledge that other competitors didn’t have – the sight lines, buoy oddities, where weeds and monsters lurked – and he turned in his best swim yet, which set him up for his best triathlon yet. None of us on the relay team achieved that.

We pretty much ignored Michael’s efforts and his accomplishment. So, at this point in the blog, I guess I’m supposed to say “please, whatever you do, remember the Michaels – as if he were some nine-year old girl who fell down a well.

I’d give him my second-place marble-based paperweight if it didn’t look like it came from an Atlantic City skeeball arcade. And I already ate the cookies.

But getting better as a triathlete is personal and being the best is only authentically measured internally. This process is magnetic North to a Michael kind of athlete. It’s why you don’t see hockey fights, or soccer slurs in triathlons. They are wasted effort when the arguments and fears are internal.

Internal measurements weren’t being recognized last weekend, so Michael applauded for us from the cheap seats while we shook hands at the awards table.

The cheap seats were the better value.

 

 

About:

Louis Tharp is a competitive age-group swimmer and a TI triathlon swim coach who is currently taking a few semesters off from West Point coaching in order to work one-on-one with Nicholas Sterghos, an ’09 West Point graduate and pro triathlete.

Louis Tharp’s book, “Overachiever’s Diary, How The Army Triathlon Team Became World Contenders” is available from Total Immersion.

Read a sample chapter and reviews from the top triathlon and swimming media at Overachiever’s Diary.

Buy Overachiever’s Diary by Louis Tharp on TI. Read a review of Overachiever’s Diary at active.com

His home pool is Club Fit, Briarcliff in Westchester County, New York.

Want to know what Louis Tharp does when he’s not coaching?