greenbelt triathlon
J: On Saturday Gina and I joined
other contestants in the
First Annual International Greenbelt
Triathlon. The events and competitors of the race were as follows:
- Run twice around Greenbelt Lake (about 2.5 miles, total).
Participants: Dorian, Nancy, Jun, Alfredo, Roland, Rich, Gina, and John.
- Bicycle to Franklin's Brew Pub (about 8 miles). Participants:
Dorian, Luisa, Jun (sans bicycle), Alfredo, Roland, Rich, Joey, Renata,
Paul, Gina, and John.
- Swim in beer (drink at least one pint, also called by some people
"the lifting" event). I misheard the parameters of this event and
thought it was two pints. Participants: everybody who showed up
for the party, pretty much.
Luisa was race organizer, and Lori handled water and moral support.
Kendra acted as official photographer.
Countries represented were USA, Germany, and Mexico (and possibly
Korea?).
It was a beautiful day for a triathlon, despite the weather forecasts.
The morning rain cleared up as contestants trickled in to the town
square. Lori made a really nice, big banner, and everyone was impressed
with it. I think it really bolstered our morale. Nobody expected that
the first triathlon would have such pomp. Rich wore a pink leopard
one-piece skintight suit, which made him look like a hoopy super-hero
and gave him mascot status for the entire race. Everyone was in good
spirits; after lots of snapshots of the group, we meandered down to the
lake's peninsula, designated as the official race start.
After a few more photos, not enough stretching, and questions and
answers about the details of the route (clockwise twice around the lake
and then to Franklin's via the industrial park road and bike trails
beside Lake Artemesia, the airport, and beyond) we all lined up on an
imaginary line. Jun gave us the word, and we all took off running.
Rich grabbed an early lead, of course. His pink speedsuit worked a
treat. I trailed behind him, with a group of runners close behind me.
Roland could have easily kept up with Rich, but he chose to take some
site-seeing trails into the woods beside the lake, then passed me
later. Showoff. :)
Luisa guarded our bicycles and cheered us on whenever she caught a
glimpse of us running along the perimeter trail.
I finished the run; I have no idea what my time was but I think I
finished third. I think the first finishers were in this order: Roland,
Rich, me, Alfredo, Gina, etc. Lori handed soda water to whomever wanted
it.
While I debated whether or not to pee (I didn't), Rich bounded onto his
bike and zoomed away, a pink blur followed by Roland. Then while I
fiddled around with my backpack and bike gear, Alfredo launched his
bike, too. I was a little late off the mark, and followed Dorian out to
Crescent Road where I passed him and found a lucky break in traffic at
the first main crossing (Kenilworth Road). It turned out I got lucky at
all the crossings, so that gave me a slight edge. But I was not able to
catch up to the three athletes ahead of me.
The last part of the bike race was the most grueling for me. It
consists of a long bike path straightaway that I refer to as "The
Steppes of Russia"
because of the strong, constant headwind (ugh), followed by a horrible
Bridge of Glass that goes uphill over a bridge, in dicey traffic. I
call it the "Bridge of Glass" because it doesn't matter whether you
take the road or sidewalk— you'll still have to navigate through broken
glass and other sharp objects.
Toward the end of riding though the Steppes of Russia, I decided to
look back to see if anyone was in view, to sort of give myself extra
steam. I actually lost steam though, because there was a little kid on
his little bicycle, easily keeping up with me. He wasn't even a
contestant, but there he was, the little imp, following along in my
draft like it was no trouble at all. I chuckled at how debilitating my
glance back had become, like
Orpheus and
Eurydice in
Hades,
except I'm no Orpheus and Eurydice wasn't back there, just a little
devil pumping away at his little pedals.
The kid finally turned off. I crossed the railroad tracks and the
Bridge of Glass (another break in traffic, woo hoo!) and parked my
bike. I walked quickly on wobbly legs into Franklin's and up the stairs
to the bar. Rich, Roland, and Alfredo (listed in order of finish)
happily waved from their table, where they seemed to be slowly sipping
their beers. Lori was also there; she had re-posted the banner.
Realizing I had a chance for a sprint to the finish, I waved back and
bellied up to the bar. For a minute and a half (which felt like ten) I
panicked because
there wasn't a bartender behind the bar! This
had never happened to me at Franklin's, and time was wasting. I watched
in horror as Rich continued to sip his first pint.
Finally the bartender arrived. I quickly ordered two pints of
IPA - and had a
brief moment of panic again, as I wondered if IPA was too rich a drink
for my next stunt. I grabbed both pints, one in each hand, and downed
the first. It was pretty rich all right, but good—like beer syrup—after
pushing myself so hard. I drank about a quarter of the second pint and
walked over to the triathlon finishers' table. I showed the empty glass
to Rich and said, "Hey Rich, this is my first lap."
As I put the empty glass down on the table and started sipping the
second, Rich's eyes widened. He looked at the level of his first pint,
said, "You bastard," made a feint toward the bar to order his second
pint, then turned back in defeat, and said, "I won't catch up, you got
me." We all had a good laugh.
As it turned out, I didn't have to drink the second pint, or the third.
The rules only called for a pint. So Rich won the actual athletic
events, running
and biking, and I won the overall race through
good old-fashioned sneakiness.
I give a big shout out to Jun, who, after having already run 14 miles
that morning, attempted to run the entire race (about 10.5 miles) sans
bicycle. He didn't make it, but he should be recognized for his efforts.
The Greenbelt Geezers toasted Pete Hardy, one of the original Geezers
who moved back to Australia years ago but was with us in spirit. We
also toasted Luisa, who made the race happen.
I asked Rich what kind of looks he got from pedestrians whom he passed
in his pink leopard skintight suit. He said that he noticed a cultural
difference: most of the white people looked down as he passed,
purposely ignoring him till he was gone, while most of the Hispanic
people, after the classic initial double-take, cheered him on with big
smiles and accolades.
Next year, we're thinking of making this a benefit race, with small
entry fees going to some charity. I would also like to post or paint
arrows to direct the racers, and maybe put up a little web presence to
attract extra contestants.
All in all we had a great time, and I hope next year's Triathlon is as
fun and safe as the first. Thanks again Luisa, and everybody who
participated!
On Sunday Gina and I met Bruce, Rick, and Rick's son Nik at
Carderock
cliffs to climb, climb climb! (I love climbing.)
The menu of top-roped climbs for this trip included
- Trudie's Terror— rated 5.6, an inside crack climb with some nasty
jams. We all climbed Trudie.
- Triple A— 5.8, a nasty climb in the Fingernails area that Bruce
and Rick managed to pull off, but I failed.
- Norris's Nipple— 5.6, A challenging but exhilarating climb with
excellent exposure (puts you way out above the river). Everybody
climbed the Nipple, except Nik, who was taking a break after exhausting
himself on The Rack and Triple A.
- Sterling's Crack— 5.7, our last climb of the day; I think I was
the only one who finished it off, just barely.
We were all worn out but happy with our climbs. I can feel myself
getting better, and I can see that Gina is improving quickly. She
mentioned that she doesn't worry (much) about falling anymore, and that
allows her to relax and concentrate while climbing.
a koan of dishes
J:
"Master," I said to the dishwasher, "how is it that you can wash so
many dishes and never complain?"
"Because," the dishwasher seemed to say, "I have let go of conscious
existence. I have become enlightened. Dishes mean nothing when Self
means nothing."
"But master, that is a fool's answer. You never
had a
consciousness," I said, a bit irked. I loaded more dishes.
"I wouldn't know," the dishwasher intoned. "With enlightenment comes
ignorance. I may have cheated my way to The Way, but look at you - you
are pretending to have a conversation with a machine. Who is the fool?"
***
I hated the dishwasher. I hated the dirty, smelly dishes. I washed
some. I made the dishwasher wash the rest. I hated the clean dishes
too, because I had to put them away. I hated the dishwasher again,
because it wouldn't put the dishes away for me.
Hours later, I approached the sink with trepidation, knowing what I
would find. There they were, more food-encrusted dishes.
It has
been
this way for years, I thought.
Wait, I thought again,
it
has been this
way my whole life. It's not going to go away. I washed the dishes,
and
put them in a rack to dry.
Later, there were more dishes to do. And I had to eat, which would make
more dirty dishes. And before I washed the dishes I had to put away the
clean ones from the rack. I did all this, and prepared my meal, and
ate it, and washed my dishes. I felt better.
The next morning, there were more dishes waiting in the sink. I quietly
seethed, and muttered while looking at them. These were definitely not
my dishes. Someone
else left these here, like many of the
others I
had done. I turned on the faucet. My mind wandered. I looked at the
sink, and it was empty. Clean dishes sat drying in the rack. I loved
those dishes. Later I put them carefully away and wiped down the
kitchen counter.
Every day now, I wash dishes. They challenge me. Some require more
scrubbing or soaking. Some hide from me, camouflaged amongst the
kitchen clutter. I track them down and wash them. The dishwasher has
not seen a load for many days. It quietly waits there to back me up, in
case a large pile accumulates after a feast. But I do a better job. My
dishes are cleaner than the dishwasher's.
***
I have become the dishwasher. I have become one with the sink. The
dishes wash themselves.
Once, while meditating, I dipped down into the mundane world of
consciousness. I saw myself there, suffering. I watched my wrinkled,
waterlogged hands as they picked up yet one more awful fork and
attacked it with a smelly sponge.
I smiled, allowing myself a moment of smugness.
This is the way
most
people wash dishes, I thought.
Dish washing is their Stone of Sisyphus.
Then I retreated back to my meditations.
Master was right. With enlightenment comes ignorance.
:-j
