wave. “I’m here because I bet my twin sister $500 I could finish faster than her. She’s running her first tri today in Michigan. We quit smoking together in January.”
“What’s your story, pipsqueak?” Gus asked, giving me a hard punch in the arm. “Sorry ‘bout that. Nerves screw with my depth perception.”
“I’m Shelby. And…” I paused, considering my options. “I was diagnosed with a weird kind of arthritis that causes me a lot of pain and might turn my upper back into a question mark. And I thought if I could finish a triathlon, I could probably handle the diagnosis.”
“Cool,” Tameka said with a grin.
“You don’t look questionable to me. Ha!” Gus said, moving to elbow me.
I took a step back to be safe.
“Are you some super-fast athlete?” Tameka wondered.
“Me?” My eyes widened. “No. I’m just hoping to finish.”
“We’re all gonna finish,” Gus insisted.
Tameka jerked a thumb at him. “What he said. Wanna stick with us? Moral support?”
I instantly felt better.
The organizers ran us through everything one more time. We’d enter the water and swim parallel to the shore, following the buoys until they brought us back on shore. There were lifeguards in the water and medical boats already on the water. Just in case.
“Please don’t let me need a boat,” I whispered as we moved closer to the starting line on the beach. Bodies pressing in, energy rising.
Event photographers snapped away.
Gus took my left hand. I took Tameka’s. And when the starting gun fired, we trotted forward as a team.
The water was cold enough to take my breath away, but once I had room, I ducked under the surface. Reinvigorated, awake, alive, I reached for the surface.
I broke into the light and air, found Gus and Tameka waiting for me. With a laugh, I kicked my legs, and we started swimming. The main crush of bodies was ahead of us, but the water was churning all around us in their wake.
Nerves shifted to excitement now that we were moving. Gus had a slower stroke, but I paced him. Conserving energy now was exactly what I should be doing. I kept my new friends in sight and focused on strong, deep breaths, certain that Jonah would be proud.
We clipped past buoy after buoy. My arms felt strong, my strokes textbook perfect. I wished Jonah could see me. See his hard work pay off.
I was so focused on form that I was startled when my fingers scraped bottom.
“Let’s go, Shelby,” Tameka called from a few feet away in knee-deep water.
The swim was over, and we weren’t even dead last. I felt elated as the three of us slogged out of the water.
“Meet up on the road, girls,” Gus called as he jogged toward the parking lot where the bikes waited.
I stripped off my goggles and swim cap like Jonah told me and trotted up the beach in the direction of the transition area. I dipped my feet in one of the kiddie pools closest to my setup and then ran for my bike. I pulled on a pair of shorts over my bathing suit bottoms, prayed my soggy ass wouldn’t chafe, and sat to pull on my cycling shoes. My adrenaline was ramping up again. I bobbled my helmet when I reached for it. My sunglasses went flying, and I had to scramble for both.
Relax. Focus. Don’t go for speed. Be consistent.
I heard Jonah’s words as clear as if he were standing behind me. They steadied my hands. Pushing myself too hard would send my body into a tailspin. I slowed my movements intentionally. I made sure my running shoes and hat were on the towel with the race number belt. I grabbed a quick swig of water, and I was on my way. I plucked my bike off the rail and pushed it toward the start.
Gus was already there. Tameka was ten seconds behind me. We mounted up together and pushed off.
“Yee haw!” Gus hollered.
49
Shelby
Gus’s event was clearly the bike. I watched his sixty-year-old butt bob in front of me as he powered up the long, rolling hill. Tameka was a bike length ahead of me on the right. My legs burned, my lungs burned. Sweat sluiced down my back, leaving me sticky and salty.
“Can you believe this is how we chose to spend a Saturday?” Tameka called over her shoulder.
I grinned. Yeah, I could believe it.
We were in the middle of the back of the pack. Surrounded by the non-elite athletes. The real people. The regular people who had