Wool Capitol
San Angelo, Texas
August
13, 2005
1500
meter swim-40K bike-10K run
I
wrote an article on this event that is the final story in my book,
I Hear Footsteps.
The story is called “And the Last Shall Be First.”
There
were ominous dark clouds and rumbling of thunder in the distance on race
morning. However, I really got into a
rhythm on this one that is hard to describe.
It was sort of the endgame of what is sought in all of this. Nothing exceptional about the times of the
three disciplines. The run through the
“dirt road from hell” was its usual misery; hot, sandy, without shade. The finish line crowd was essentially only
the timers and chip removers. As always, my faithful wife was at the finish;
the only one cheering me on, having patiently waited out the entire race in the heat and always being my number one fan. God bless her and
thank God for her.
And the Last
Shall Be First
The Perfect
Race
I started doing triathlons in
the year 2001. No, I have never really
been any good at it, but I have experienced myself being extended by it, both
in my training and through the events themselves.
August 14th, 2005, found me in San
Angelo, Texas, about
to attempt my thirteenth triathlon, an Olympic distance triathlon (1-mile
swim/25-mile bike ride/6.2-mile run, approximately). Waiting in the dark for the swim to start,
lightning flickered on the horizon.
However, the storm was to abate until the event was completed.
As we lined up on the boat
ramp to go into the water for the swim, I bowed my head in prayer. Later, I was to find out that I wasn’t the
only one praying at the start. One man was
actually down on one knee on the boat ramp, praying.
Ah, what a wonderful
swim! All rhythm and peace. A sort of prayer in motion to the tune of the
water sloshing and gurgling gently about my body. Surrounded by this much peace, I could not help but pray, not for anything in particular, but about everything. In the murky waters of the Concho River,
I had found a heaven of sorts, within and without. It seemed almost a shame when the swim ended, and I pulled myself up the boat ramp to the transition area.
The bike ride was almost as
transcendental as the swim had been. The
headwind hummed hard against my face, yet it seemed my legs pedaled almost
effortlessly. My mind drifted up into a
higher plane, seemingly serenaded and caressed by the sounds of my tires on the
pavement and the feel of the wind on my face.
A steep hill loomed ahead and my labored breathing soon accompanied the
many other soothing sounds of that moment in time. I was so blessed! I could feel it! Downhill – a crosswind now. Yes, let the bike have its head to soar. Faster, faster, faster still! Now around forty miles per hour. Suddenly, a fierce gust of crosswind gathered
up the front wheel of the bike, skittering it sideways, causing me almost to
lose control. My spell broken, my
caution renewed, I settled into a safer and more peaceful rhythm.
No real fatigue was felt when
I reached the transition area and began the run. Rhythm again, peace again, in the moment
again, striding off the distance over the red, sandy roads. No participants were near me now. I had been either very slow or very
fast. Most likely I had been very
slow. Rhythmic strides brought completed
miles and I heard my feet on pavement. I
saw the sign that said I had completed 6 miles of the 6.2-mile run course. I was almost finished. The lonely finish line was just ahead. No participant was near. No real crowd at all, and not many
cheers. The finish line clock said three
hours and eighteen minutes, a full six minutes slower than when I had done this
event before. No matter. I was not spent. There was only a joy I could not describe, a
peace, which truly passed all understanding.
I was dead last in my age group.
But I was first in an indescribable way.
God favored me that day, made me feel special in His sight; which was a
greater joy than if I had finished first in the race. Ah, yes indeed, “The last shall be
first.” –Amen.
