Racer X: Hey Man, That's Crap!

I took Ty under my wing in the late-1990s, nurturing him into the somewhat studly triathlete he is today. At some point a few years ago, though, my world turned upside down as Ty began besting my race PRs at every distance. In our training together, I suddenly couldn't keep up with Ty in the lap lane, on the roads, or at the track. The hunter had become the hunted. And the question everyone on our tri team was asking remained unsaid but, like Kaelli's new chest, was painfully obvious: "What is wrong with you, X-Man?"

Sure Ty was training harder than me, was following serious training plans, and had completely revamped his diet. No doubt he was lean and mean. I suspect he was also on the "juice," but that's an accusation I would never throw out without being able to substantiate. The only logical explanation seemed to be that Ty was born with faster-twitch muscles than me. F-ing genetics!

This year my main target was to beat Ty in a 10K loop around the park. Everyone thought my "A" race was Ironman Amazon Rainforest, but the X-Man knew better. Instead of going long in training, I did fartleks, intervals, speed training, track work, amphetamines, auto racing video games. Anything with speed! "Speed kills" became my mantra. (That approach didn't work so well at Ironman, but there will be other days in the rainforest — unless it continues to burn at its current pace, which really is out of my control.)

At the park last Saturday, I was ready to pounce. It was time to bring down Ty in our weekly 10K training run. From the outset I surprised Ty by staying on his heels, keeping the conversation light and chatty, and distracting him by pointing out all the beautiful running bunnies through the first six miles. With .1 mile to go, I would make my move, bounce out from behind Ty, and nonchalantly lead him into our finishing line. The perfect plan.

Just as we approached my designated "launching pad" and I prepared to cruise past, Ty peeled off toward the men's room building at the side of the path. "Hey man, those burritos I ate last night are hurtin' my stomach. I'll catch you at the end, dude!" said Ty as he disappeared into the building.

What? How could this happen? Sensing his vulnerability, Ty clearly had chosen the only way possible way to save face! And I'm calling that crap, man. Literally and figuratively. Someday, in a perfect world with no stomach problems or bathrooms, we will meet again.