Just a few short days until NaNo... I'm getting excited to start writing, I've been churning over and planning this years novel for weeks now and all I want to do is get started and dive in. Fortunately, these word prompts have been a great distraction as well as a way to limber up the right side of my brain.
On that note... I've got my second word prompt on the word robbed. This time I went autobiographical and wrote about the last triathlon I was in this season which had a disastrous ending.
Word Prompt #2 - Robbed
The cold water was shocking against my skin as I waded into the reservoir. Adjusting my swim cap and googles, I looked around at the other people waiting anxiously for the wave to start. I could hear the race announcer’s voice in the distance, giving us swimmers our two minute warning. The tension and anxiety in the air is palpable as I look out across the water, the bright orange buoys bobbing in the distance. They look so small and far away, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, I can do this… I’m ready.
Cautiously, I move through the crowd as I try to find a good place. The announcer gives us the one minute warning, and around me everyone is gearing up for the start. Five. Four. Three. Two… The blast of an air horn pierces the morning and the water churns around me as the wave starts. I dive forward, my arms automatically falling into my free style rhythm; stroke, stroke, breathe, stroke, stroke… Soon the anxiety and tension melts away as my entire focus is centered on my stroke and breathing as I head out towards the heart of the reservoir.
Thirty minutes and 1500 meters later, I emerge from the water. Tired and slightly disoriented, I carefully make my way up the beach towards transition stripping off my wet suit as move. Around me, other racers also exit the water and race past me. I don’t care that they’re faster, I’d rather take my time going through the thick, slippery mud of the beach than rush and end up twisting an ankle.
I make it into transition and hurry to my station which I had painstakingly prepped before the race. I step out of my wetsuit and grab my shoes, slipping my still wet feet inside. Putting on my helmet, I grab my bike and start pushing it towards the starting line. It’s an off road course, so instead of my sleek and fast road bike, I have a mountain bike which is bigger, heavier… a whole different type of bicycle.
Reaching the start like for the bike course, I throw my leg over the seat and push off. My head is still feeling a little disoriented from the swim so my start is slow, but soon I am making my way down the trail. It’s a different course from what I’m used to, most of my other races are on roads instead of trails but I solder on… I know I can do this.
In contrast to the start of the swim heat, which had everyone starting at the same time, the bike course is staggered and for portions of the tail I am alone. I’m cautious, the trail is a lot bumpier narrower than I expected, full of sharp turns and switch backs. I’m feeling out of my element and my focus isn’t on racing so much as just staying up right. Behind me, other cyclist come barreling past shouting choruses of “On the left!” as they pass.
My heart is pounding wildly in my chest, not so much from the physical exertion as fear of wiping out. The trail narrows ominously is places and every rock and branch along the way seems to be trying their best to trip up my wheels. “I can do this,” is no longer the mantra running through my head. Its no longer a matter of ‘can do’, I’m in the thick of it and I have no choice but to continue.
The twisting, winding trail suddenly straightens and my confidence bolstered, I gear up and press harder on the pedals, gaining speed. The end is near, and I start to look forward to the third and final phase of the race, the run. I’m planning my strategy when, suddenly, I hear a call…
“Passing on your left!”
I swerve to the right, narrowly avoiding the other cyclist as he passed. Reflexively, squeeze my hand brakes hard and my bike starts to wobble unsteadily beneath me, the tires slipping on the chalky path. Suddenly, my front tire strikes a rock and I’m vaulted forward. I fly over the handle bars and land, chest first, on the trail my chin scrapping the ground as I bounce. Air is knocked from my chest and I lay gasping on the trail for a few moments before frantically scrambling off to the side; other cyclists are approaching.
My stomach churns as I cough and gasp for air. I wave away the offers of help from the passing cyclists as I try to pull my bike out of a thick patch of vegetation. After one last strong tug, my bike is freed but I can see that its damaged. Bending over to see the extent of the damage, the ribs on my left twinge and I’m left once again gasping for air. There is no way I am finishing this race.
Biting back the tears that well up from more than just the pain in my chest, I try not to think about all the time and effort I spent leading up to the race getting ready.
“Do you need help?” a cyclist asks, stopping on the side of the trail.
I almost wave him on, but change my mind. “Yes,” I replied forlornly. “I wiped out back there and my gears are messed up and my chest…”
“I’ll inform a ranger,” the cyclist replies, his shoes clipping into the pedals. “Whats your bib number?”
“646.”
“I’ll let the rangers know when I see one,” the cyclist promised as he pushes off.
I sit on the side of the trail and watch him pedal away, all hopes of completing the race dashed for good. Bravely, I fight back more tears as wave after wave of racers pass, each one taking my bib number and promising to send a ranger when/if they see one. Soon, I am alone… waiting with nothing else to do but to sit and chastise myself for being so stupid. It was naive of me to think that I could mountain bike as well as I bike on the road. I had no business being on the trail today and as a result, I robbed myself out of the race.
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