Chapter 1
Chapter one
Laney
Crazy or not, here I come.
"I wonder how I’ll perform next weekend without the smell of palak paneer enveloping me." I ponder out loud as I load the backpack I wear for deliveries with the container filled with non-melting Indian cheese smothered in a spinach sauce.
My best friend, Dhanya-Sri, affectionately known as Dee, just smiles as she hands over my last delivery of the night.
"You might even race faster without ten pounds of curry in styrofoam on your back!" Dee suggests.
I laugh and hoist the bag up on my shoulders. It's not aerodynamic by any means but I tell myself it serves as a weighted vest which has become all the rage in the training groups. Everything is about trying to max out and optimize your training.
Training is life.
I pull up the delivery destination on my phone. Before I place it in the holder I mounted to my handlebars, I screenshot the directions and then zoom in and out to read them around the spiderweb crack creeping from the bottom left of the screen.
“It’s only like four miles.” Dee says with a nod to my device.
“Nothing compared to one hundred and twelve straight!” I laugh.
“I still think that’s borderline insane.”
“You’re not the only one.”
“Was your dad crazy too?” Dee asks as I clip the shoulder straps together at my chest.
“He was, but I think every TitaniumPerson athlete is, on a certain level.” Insanity is a requirement if you’re going to swim 2.
4 miles, ride 112 miles on a bike, and then run a full 26.
2 mile marathon all in one day. I am insane for trying?
Two years of training behind me and I haven’t gotten past the 70. 3 half TP distance.
“Training is life.” She says like a guru, complete with touching the tip of her index finger to the tip of her thumb. Summoning patience from the gods no doubt.
“You make fun, but Dee, I need to do this.”
“I know.” She says with a sad smile. We haven’t talked about losing my dad much in the last two and half years. But, it’s the unspoken shadow over us each time I lace up.
Dee was at my side through it all.
And, she knows my deadline is approaching. This is my third year racing and if I don’t qualify for worlds, if I don’t get a sponsorship, I’ll be letting my dad down in epic fashion.
In three years you’ll be at the top of the sport winning purse money and signing sponsorships.
I couldn’t be further from this achievement.
I haven’t even finished a full TitaniumPerson race.
I sniffle to clear the emotions.
She sniffles to clear hers. “You ready for Saturday?”
“I’ll use the next few days to prepare as best I can.” I tell her with confidence I’m pulling from the depths of me.
Truth?
I’m worried I haven’t worked hard enough.
That I won’t be good enough.
Because the true definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results.
The first summer after Dad died, I ran a normal triathlon and finished in the top ten of my age group. It was the confidence boost I needed.
I came home from the race and signed up for a half TP race in October and another in May. A few clicks and debit card number key strokes later, I was registered for the Chicago TitaniumPerson race the September after.
The half distance was tough but I got through it. In the first race I finished in the middle of my age group. But in the race in May I finished thirteenth.
I worked my ass off all summer. I spent money on gear, on gym memberships, on training plans, and devoted every waking moment to training for the full race distance in September.
I didn’t finish it.
With eleven and a half miles to go in the marathon my body simply wouldn’t move forward. I collapsed on the side of the road and volunteers nursed me back to standing.
Dee rode the El home with me while I cried over my failure and the pure pain in my body. I nearly choked imagining it rivaling the pain my dad felt in his final days.
Three days later I felt well enough to walk without wincing and that night Dee told me to go for a run.
When I got back, sore and tired but feeling a few of those runner’s high endorphins, Dee pointed to her laptop and told me to register for next year.
“Go balls deep,” was her exact advice.
That’s how I ended up with three full length TPs on my calendar this summer.
She wasn’t going to let me give up.
And it’s a good thing too, because this is my last year to make good on the promise I made to my dad.
First, I have to finish a TitaniumPerson race. Then I’ll worry about winning one.
“I’ll make sure the car has a full tank of gas.” She says.
“Thanks Dee.” What she doesn’t know? I can't afford the hotel room I told her I got so I'm sleeping in the car the night before the race. I’m not exactly proud of it but I am doing everything I can to make this work.
I found a bike rack on Marketplace and haggled the seller down from $25 to $8 because that's all the cash I had on hand.
I've found people can't say no to your face so when you show up and hand over all the cash you have they'll take it.
When I decided to pursue this after Dad died, I knew the physical side of it would be tough but I wasn’t prepared for how nearly impossible the financial side would be.
Gear is one thing, but the gym memberships, the coaching programs, the race fees, the travel expenses all add up and I didn’t budget well at the start.
I invested in a fancy gym membership and trained every day.
Twice a day. And last fall I realized I couldn’t afford it and still pay rent so I left the gym and have been surviving on free guest passes at gyms across the city since.
The brutal cold of January and February made training outside impossible.
I’ve been able to manage much better now that spring has sprung.
“I’m gonna go, and then I’m going to brick on a run when I get back.
” Everything is about more. A bike ride alone isn’t enough, I need to transition to a run and push my body further.
I picked up on the language of training in different online forums. To brick is to stack one discipline on top of the other, building your endurance foundation.
“Knock on my bedroom door when you’re home for the night please.”
“I will.”
“Loves you Laney-loo.”
“Loves you too Deedle-poo.”
We share a giggle at the ridiculous nicknames we started using when we first moved in together after college. It puts a smile on both of our faces to come home and call out to the other.
Eight years later I think we qualify for a domestic partnership. I bet we could put those nicknames on the license.
And, if I don’t earn my pro card this year I might need her to marry me. I’m barely scraping by with deliveries at her family’s restaurant, Curryosity, selling anything that someone might consider valuable on FB marketplace, and dog walking gigs.
I check traffic and turn onto the road to start my trip. It is going to take less than ten minutes but it's enough time for me to mentally balance my bank account.
Again.
Dee’s family pays me at the end of each shift so I’ll be able to add the hundred bucks from tonight to my account before rent is due on Monday.
I’ve paid all the race fees for this summer already but I need to plan ahead for next year.
Will I be racing next year?
If I don’t qualify for the world championships this year will I want to continue?
Is this feeling of “I’ve got one more in me” what fueled my dad to race year after year despite the derision he earned from my mom for it?
Given her lack of support for my dad I don’t even bother updating her on my racing.
I pass the road that would take me to the farmer’s market grounds. The summer mornings she and I spent there waiting for dad to meet us after his training were bright childhood memories, until I became aware of the dynamics at play in their relationship.
Two more turns and I pull up to the building. Locking up my second-hand, frame-held-together-with-duck-tape-after-I-got-in-a-fight-with-a-pot-hole-and-lost bike to the fence, reminds me to focus on the here and now. Not the past.
My toes pinch inside my cycling shoes which are a half size too small as I walk up to the door.
I bought them at a cycle studio closing sale.
This means my feet don’t move much when I’m clipped in so there’s less chance of blisters.
But it also means there’s barely any spare room so I’m leaning towards no socks for the bike leg this weekend.
Plus, it’ll be faster to just jam my feet in and go.
Someday I'll have a sponsor who can get me outfitted with the top gear for races and training.
I just gotta earn my pro card and qualify for Worlds first.
Easy as a 2.4 mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride, followed by a quick 26.2-mile run.