The Starting Gun

This blog was Joseph’s idea but I will write the first entry. The opening lines of a blog, or of almost any piece of writing, have a special quality to them. As with the opening lengths of a swim or the first pedal strokes of a 100-miler, you take them in and process them as a guide to what may lie ahead. The words entice, or lull, or excite, or bore, and by the time you are three or four sentences deep, you have either settled back to enjoy what is to come or you find yourself peering to the end of the article to assess whether the effort is likely to be worth the gain.

Writing and training have gone together for me all my life; so much so that I am never sure which is a product of the other. I often compose while I am riding, and equally often find that writing helps paint the backdrop on which early swims or evening runs become something more than physical exertion, something closer to art.

My task in writing this, though, is simple. Joseph suggested the blog as a place where those who race could post their thoughts, about training, life, races – anything, I would suggest, except Washington politics and anything to do with “celebrities”; not because either of these subjects will cause affront (though that can’t be ruled out) but because they are pointless and unchanging, and they occupy a lower rung on the ladder of human achievement than is commonly found at the starting line of a race.

So with that uncharacteristically brief and humble bit of throat clearing, consider the white space all yours. Do not be shy. You are in good company. Those who have ever stood at the water’s edge, dressed in black neoprene and lycra, waiting for the sun to come up and the 140.6 mile journey to begin, have a unique bond. They are Ironmen, and always will be. Unless of course they decide to be rookies for a day.