Flashes of Panic

About two hours ago, I was sitting in front of the Hampshire Bicycle Exchange, skimming a list of open water swims and meets in July.

I’m a bit late, of course; I missed the deadline for the Bay State Games and I’m honestly not sure if I’d be ready, on Saturday, to do a mile (presumably in the ocean) in Ocean City, Maryland. Leaving aside the driving I’d be doing to get there, of course.

Between that and the new bike, you’d think I’m getting a triathlon season going, but of course, I’m not running. (One of the bikers at my former workplace, and there were many, once told me, “A lot of cyclists are injured runners.”) For one thing, aside from some specialized training (for the transitions) triathlon training is largely about doing a half-assed training program for three different sports, rather than doing any one well. It’s too much like how I live my life, frankly, for me to want to do that as recreation.

That said, the thing that really spooks me about triathlons are triathletes. (I can say this because I have actually completed more than one triathlon.) Not because of the many pejorative names applied to them in the track-geek sites, but because of the level of zeal involved. It’s the same with cycling, actually, and the problems are similar. If I wanted to be taken seriously, I’d need a new bike which I have no room to store, a wetsuit, and bog knows how many accessory bits. I’d have to speak knowledgeably about my transition times, using the “T1” and “T2” shorthand. Etc. etc. until you’re sick of it. I don’t care that much.

I want to ride my bike to work and back. Maybe I’d like to claw my way around one of the local trails that allows bikes, or do some low-grade trekking, but I can barely take care of the bike that I have. I don’t want to have to make a triathlon kind of commitment. Running is easy—all you need is a good pair of shoes, really—but there are even some people who want you to make a big commitment to that (the sport, not just the shoes) before they’ll take you seriously. I think I’ve earned my bona fides in that sport even if I pull back from the commitment for a while, but the zealotry in other sports makes me cautious of even trying them.

I think sometimes people love something so much, they make it difficult for others to enjoy it because they want everyone else to love it just as much as they do.

Swimming’s pretty easy that way. I’ve liked the reception I’ve had there, though I haven’t spent a lot of time hanging out with swimmers other than my own family. The commitment in swimming is about learning the sport: getting comfortable with the strokes, building your strength and endurance, learning the techniques like flip turns and training sets. I feel like I’ve been given a chance to enter this sport with an incremental commitment, to get back according to what I put in and not be pressured for more.

Maybe I should go up to Jenny Thompson the weekend after next and do the long course meet?