My mom doesn’t always give herself enough credit.
She works hard.
She mothers hard.
And sometimes she trains hard.
She thinks she doesn’t quite train hard enough, because her work encroaches on her ability to train. I may have in the past fueled this feeling by saying irresponsible things like:
“Mom, you can do anything. I know you have a five year old and you take your work home because you’re intense, but that doesn’t mean you can’t still be fit like you used to be. Come running with meeee.”
I can see how those kinds of things could wear down someone’s composure. Oops. I just wanted a running buddy .
Given her routinely packed schedule, she seemed concerned about being underprepared for her first training triathlon of the year.
Way to pull the wool over my eyes mom.
You looked smokin.
And you got second.
You are kind of a big liar face.
You said it was really hard.
You made it look like cake.
Look at you swimming.
You passed that older gentleman that I thought looked suspiciously fast.
You even past the girl with the toned arms.. who stopped to take a breather after each length (of twenty lengths). In her defence, she had learned to swim just one month previous. Don’t let that detract from your victory mom.
Notice how attentive I was? How I cheered you on at every transition? How I documented all of these amazing moments?
What did M do?
He watched people fish on the TV in the mezzanine. And ate carrots with Ranch.
I won’t start a “who is the better child” discussion right now. This post is about you.
And look at you getting out of the pool triumphantly. Such modesty in that fist pump.
Look at you getting on your bike like a real triathlete or something.
While I waited for you to tear up the roads I cheered on my good friend Emily who was slotted to start in the next heat.
Emily was bursting with enthuasiasm and anticipation. Read: shaking in her lycra.
Girl had nerves. Unnecessary nerves. Her lack of swim preparation was dwarfed by her awesome dryland skills.
Sorry Emily, Mom was coming. Must sprint away. Don’t feel neglected please.
MOM! You didn’t die see?! I knew you wouldn’t.
Yes your feet are numb.
Yes you’re a little sweaty.
Yes you are talking to me about your numb feet when you should be being intense and focusing on being more efficient at putting on your shoes.
But you aren’t dead.
You say your legs felt like lead, but they didn’t look like lead. They looked like steel.
Fast… light… flesh-coloured steel.
Blue steel, because of that prime finish line face. We can tell you don’t take finish lines lightly.
However, you did not collapse onto your knees upon crossing. I was disappointed. It’s what I would have done.
Scratch that. Knees + pavement = No.
M was really happy for mom.
He wasn’t allowed to take a power bar from the feed station until she crossed the finish line.
Mom said it was hard.
So did my future neighbour Mr. Deuling. His lovely wife Amanda was, in fact, disgusted by how hard it was.
While mom recited her race recap to her caring family members, M pursued other interests.
Her name is S. M attacked S with kisses.
Subtle M, subtle. S will come along.
But for real: Mom you are super. You did so awesomely. I am proud of you.