“Me too,” I replied. And I was more relieved that you said so first. I’m not sure if I would have the courage to bring it up otherwise.
The day you told me over the phone you had signed up for the 70.3mile half IronMan event, I was excited for you. It was a huge endeavour of faith. For a moment, we were giddy with joy. But I never told you about my mixed feelings. So when you said you were afraid of what it might do to you, of how the training might change you, shift your heart and pull your focus away from God and the things that mattered in life, I felt like a dam I never knew existed in me give way.
This morning, I cried a lot at church. The tears really surprised me. And I asked myself why.
I guess all this while, I never realized how our friendship had grown. When I first saw you, I thought you were another one of those quiet macho guys whom I'd have to think quite hard to start a conversation with. For one, I thought you were much older. I didn’t even know you then, but you decided to chip in with the rest to buy me my bike Faith, when you learnt that I'd given away my bike money to a deaf girl's hearing operation. It was then I found out you were funny, and you could make fun of yourself and your Mickey-mouse ears. But the thing that set you apart from the rest, was how you considered God in everything you did. I liked the fact you did everything to the best of your ability and yet had fun doing it. The other Big boys would be squeezing air out of their lungs trying to keep up, while you cruised breezily, ahead of the pack, with a funny tune in your head. You never showed off, never tried too hard. You just enjoyed what you did and were naturally good at it.
After our rides, you’d come over to swim and it became a habit for us to talk about our lives and God. Perhaps that was the most important part of the workout- reflecting, taking stock of life and putting the pieces together. And then I got injured. And I thought I would lose you all and be forgotten because I couldn’t ride for 6 months. I put on weight. It was a difficult time for me.
But you didn’t stop coming. You still came to swim after riding-that was the only exercise I could do pain-free. And we didn’t stop talking. I let you in because you were like a brother, and that made you safe for me to let in into my fortress fenced with barbed wire. Sometimes, we had lunch. That gave me a lot of encouragement when I felt isolated from the rest of our group, and I willed myself to recover. But when I did, I was afraid to ride again because of my guilt and anxiety.
“Triathlon is a tainted sport,” I said bitterly, “There’s just so much pride and competition and self-indulgence.”
“No!” You insisted. “Triathlon is beautiful!” And you said it with such exuberance I could see myself running on a mountaintop above a starry sea.
And that moment changed me because I saw that it was. It is. Triathlon is beautiful. That made me remember why I started in the first place. Triathlon is beautiful because it is difficult. It is beautiful because there is beauty in overcoming, beauty in enduring, and beauty in completion. Most importantly, it is beautiful for me because of the friends I made and the lessons I learnt along the way, about life, and about God. Triathlon helped me recover- it is what God used to save my life.
We started together. We were supposed to do the half event and full Olympic distance together. Eventually, I knew we would try for the half IronMan. But I got injured, so we attended the race we were both supposed to complete. I took your photos. You suffered a bad abrasion. But we were both happy- you, for completing the race, and I, for learning to let go.
Now you’re way ahead of me. I’m happy for you. You got a spanking new bike at a great price. It was awesome. You were still, mostly, the same. You never boasted, and you got faster.
Then you told me, after signing up for this big race, that you were afraid of losing yourself in the sport, and I became afraid too. Because I’ve seen so many people lose themselves in the sport that I’m afraid of losing you, too. Their whole lives become enamoured with the glamour of the sport, revolve around it. There is carnal sense of pride when it comes to training, and it can be so time-consuming that it takes parts of you away, slowly, insidiously, without you knowing it. I should know- I lost myself before.
I’ve seen what the sport can do to people. It starts off as a healthy endeavour, but the seemingly supportive encouragement from the crowd makes it easy for one to mistake pride for freedom, makes it easy for one to lose oneself in the fray of best timings, latest wheelsets and fanciest bike models. Granted, these are all topics for conversation in a common hobby, but when does it go overboard?
I have been guilty. I have cancelled appointments and rearranged meetings just so I could fit my training in. Training, insidiously, became of such high priority. The scariest thing was that I could still reason how I was still faithful to my ministry at church, how I was still serving God faithfully, still close to Him. It was only after I got injured, that I saw how much of life I had missed, how much training had taken away from me.
And maybe I’m feeling sad and I’m recounting all of this because I’m expecting the worst, that I might lose you. I guess I’m just afraid that I might lose you to the thing we both thought was beautiful, and then I would lose you both, forever.
I’m just afraid, of how the sport could take away you from you, and me, too.
This is selfish, but I don’t want to lose another friend.
Once, I was not afraid. I held the sport in high regard and I plunged into it, head first. Once, triathlon was only glorious and beautiful- it epitomized perseverence, discipline and sportsmanship. But I learnt painfully, that some kinds of nobility come at a price, and sometimes, not that which everyone can pay for. And perhaps, part of me is also envious, that God allowed you, but not me to go the distance. Perhaps, part of me is still grieving that you are doing all the races I had wanted to do, too. And perhaps, the greatest grief came in knowing that all my sadness was but a glimpse into God’s grief when I made that mistake of allowing my focus to shift, if only for a while, if only for a bit.
And I'm afraid it may happen to you, too. Did He feel like He was losing me, too? Did You hurt that much for me, God?
He did not let me pay that obscene price.
I know how it is. There is the gruelling training programme to follow, work at school to keep up with, there is tiredness and a conflicting sense of discipline, and then there are friendships and family ties to maintain. Not everything goes smoothly. People-ties take time. I only just learnt, that how we honour the sport is how we honour God and the people in our lives. But I have skipped dinner with my parents before just so I could clock another training session. I have postponed appointments before just so I could finish a run. They were always understanding. But that was besides the point. This morning you said you replied to me late because you had to sleep early to go for a run- was that the beginning? I don't know. I'm afraid.
We talked about the Iron Man in London before. That’s a 1.9km swim, 180km bike ride and a 42.2km run. If you do go for it, would you be too busy for lunch? Would you become like the rest?
I passed you my heart rate monitor. I hated that contraption because it sucked out all the joy of triathlon for me. It’s use is to help one ensure one exercises within a certain heart rate zone, for maximal training efficiency. I bought that when I started getting serious, when everyone kept giving me their advice, kept pushing me this way and that. Maybe the insecure part of me needed approval. I got one cheaply. You were there when I got it. Now it’s yours, but I pray it never brings you the kind of misery it brought me.
There is hope. You confessed your fear before I did. And because of that, I think we can pray, that it will not take you away, that triathlon will always remain beautiful for us. Still, I must be prepared, that this could change our friendship forever, and I could lose you.
So I pray this for you, that in all you do, may God always be first in your life. May the sport develop you into a better person, push you into seeking God more fervently and passionately. May you never forget what triathlon means to the both of us, and may you always swim, bike and run with joy and freedom.
And someday, I hope to do a race again, too.
Triathlon is beautiful.
"Whenever I am afraid,
I will trust in You.
In God (I will praise His word),
In God I have put my trust;
I will not fear.
What can flesh do to me?"
-Psalm 56:3
Mirinda Carfrae, winner of the Women's 2010 KONA IronMan running towards the finish
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