Wives Don't Flash During Triathlon

Quick Takes 1-B -- Triathlon

Author Note: this is a dark, painful, and nearly accurate presentation of mostly real-life events, instead of the fantasized version titled, "Wives Flash During Triathlon." There's no happy resolution in this version of the story. But it is reality, the reality that taints a huge individual accomplishment. There's no sex here. Just a dark, painful story.

Years and years ago, before life and work and such wore me down, a buddy and I decided we would do an iron distance triathlon at a destination location. This requires months and months of training. While we both had racing experience, including winning age group hardware at a few sprint races, doing the full iron distance is a very different beast.

About five years before the race, my wife and I had moved to another part of the country for our jobs. We hung out with my buddy for about seven years prior, doing many sporting events and other socializing together.

It was only after we moved that he met his wife.

The four of us rented a beach house for the race and a long weekend. We had only seen my buddy a half dozen times over the years, and his wife maybe twice.

I was so focused on having things all ready for the race that it is only in retrospect that there was some type of tension before we left for the race. If I noticed it at all at the time, I would have thought it was merely my wife's annoyance at having to share a rental house and go to yet another boring triathlon. In this one, she would see me get on a bus for the swim start, see me more than an hour later after the swim. Then wait another six hours when I got back from the bike ride. Then another four or five hours to complete the run and finish the race.

That's a lot of time just standing around waiting.

I was one of the first ones in my age group out of the cold water. My feet were numb running from the water to the transition area to change into cycling gear. In a sprint, the swim-bike transition is mostly just throwing down your goggles and swim cap, putting on bike shoes and helmet, running to the mount line, and taking off. Less than a minute if you're good.

For this distance and for amateurs, you strip down completely in the tent and change from wetsuit to cycling gear, taking much longer.

I found my wife just before the bike mount line and gave her a quick kiss. It would be hours before I saw her again. Since the women had gotten up with us around 4:30, I had earlier told them they should go pack to the place and try to sleep some more.

The 112 mile bike ride went mostly well. I stayed with my hydration and food plan, but should have cut back on fluids a little. I had trained in the heat of the summer while race day was cooler. I ended up having to pee a lot more than in a typical long ride. I'll spare you what it is like trying to pee while on a bike.

I kept tucked in my aero position and the miles ticked by. It was cool sometimes, as there would be groups of spectators cheering people on. Nobody cheers you when you're training. Drivers might yell obscenities as they pass.

The transition from bike to run in a sprint is again very different than for iron distance, unless you're a pro. In sprints, you hop off the bike at the dismount line, run to your bike rack spot, drop your helmet, put on running shoes and boom, you're off again. In iron distance, you gently climb off the bike and hand it to a volunteer. You walk/jog to get your transition bag, and then entirely change clothes in the tent before hobbling back onto the course wondering what the fuck you were thinking when you signed up.

I have to admit, I struggled some during the marathon. In the first ten miles, I was feeling good and passed a lot of people. It got harder physically and psychologically after that and I switched to a run-walk-run pattern just to keep me moving.

Only in the last mile, when I knew I was going to finish, did I start feeling strong again. The spattering of spectators became more excited, spurring me on to pick up speed. Turning onto the entrance to the park and seeing the lights of the finish line ahead was like. Well, even 25 years later I don't have anything to compare it to. Crowds of people yelling encouragement.

This last 100 yards was the culmination of more than six months of nine workouts a week, including very early mornings and long rides and runs on weekends. A huge weight lifted off my chest as I crossed the finish line.

One of the biggest accomplishments of my young life. Even now, 25 years later, still in the top 3.

I got my medal and a shiny wrap to keep me warm. The ladies found me and soon we were headed back to the beach house as my buddy and I tried to rehydrate. I only lasted about an hour after we got back, the exhaustion of nearly 12 hours of triathlon taking its toll.

The next morning, my buddy and I woke up early (you can't just stop waking up early after 6 months of early morning workouts) and were making a huge breakfast for everyone. Huge. You burn a lot of calories.

We talked about the race from the day before, the freezing cold run from the water to the changing tent, the number of dead raccoons seen on the bike, the terrible hill at mile five of the run. That sort of stuff.

Something seemed off, though. Maybe it was me. Maybe it was him. We had both trained for months and now we were done. What were we going to do now?

We'd finished first breakfast and were considering starting second breakfast while sitting on the deck watching the waves, drinking water and coffee.

I heard the slider open and turned to see our wives step out on the deck, each with coffee in hand. We all chatted about the morning and the view and how dumb we were for still getting up so early.

Even the joking, though, seemed strange. I thought it was me still being worried about what I would do next.

We made them another breakfast, far too much food for them so we volunteered to finish off the leftovers. When you burn that many calories, it can take a while to catch up.

We did the beach relaxation things, my buddy and I realizing we didn't have a planned workout on the calendar. We could just wander on the beach, look at the waves, and pick up some shells.

After our morning beach walk, my wife went to take a shower while it was time for a mid-morning snack for me.

The house we rented had two master suites, so no fighting for showers or bathrooms. My wife was done with her shower and doing makeup things at the mirror. I came in and told her I was going to soak in the tub to try to ease the aches. She just nodded and returned to the mirror.

When the tub filled I stepped out to the bedroom to take off my clothes for the soak. As I came back into the bathroom, my wife glanced at me in the mirror, grabbed her stuff, and raced out of the bathroom.

It was weird. I couldn't help but get the feeling that she raced out to avoid the risk of seeing me naked. I mean, I had a little chafing. On the other hand, I was in the best shape of my life. I looked down at my penis and asked it if it had said something wrong to her.

The rest of the day continued to be just uncomfortable, and I couldn't understand if it was me or what. There was a little conversation at our combined dinner. But it seemed like no one would make eye contact with anyone else if they didn't have to. I kept trying to start discussions. Everything just seemed flat.

Even the evening, our last before checking out in the morning, seemed anti-climactic. My wife even went to bed early, saying she was tired. There would be no celebratory sex, clearly. I went for a solo walk on the beach as the moon rose.

The morning continued what seemed like awkwardness, although, that could be due to trying to pack everything up: bikes, race gear, beach stuff.

It really drove me into my own funk. This had been a huge accomplishment for me and my buddy. It really seemed like there was something negative going on and nobody would share it with me. It made me paranoid that they were mad at me.

I packed up mostly in silence, having everything ready but an hour before we needed to go. I went out on the balcony and then to the walkway to the beach. This beach has a dune between the house and the beach, so the decks go over that and then down to the sand. I sat on the last steps, toes in the sand.

I'm not going to lie. I had bad thoughts. I watched the waves crash for I don't know how long. I remember wondering if all this was worth it. And I wondered if I could swim out into the ocean and get far enough out that I wouldn't be able to get back before hypothermia hit. I'd just done a 2.4 mile ocean swim for the race. Swimming out as long as I could wasn't a problem.

That swim, though, had been with a wetsuit. Without the wetsuit to keep body heat in, I could swim out and by the time I changed my mind, it would be far too late.

I didn't do that. That's the closest I've ever been to self-harm.

A few years later I got an anonymous letter in the mail. It told me about how my wife and my buddy had been fucking back before we moved away. And those times when he had a conference in town and came to visit, they fucked then too.

I think I would be hesitant to believe an anonymous letter. This one came with pictures, though. Nothing explicit. There were several of them where she sat on his lap in a hot tub. It looked like she was topless or possibly naked. Others with them cuddling on a couch. And others where she and he were out at a bar or an event or something, holding hands and she wore a tiny, sexy outfit I'd never seen.

It only hit me a few days after getting the pictures and letter. The setting was the hotel ballroom downtown I'd been in many times for events. The pictures of them at a ballroom event could only be one of the times he came to visit for a conference and then to stay with us for a few days. I recalled that during the conference, my wife had supposedly been on her own business trip. Instead, there she was at his conference reception, holding his hand, dressed sexy, and smiling up at him.

Yeah. That was enough evidence for me. Glad I didn't drown myself.

I only have theories about what happened at the beach house. None of the three of them had been giving each other furtive looks or smiles. I wonder if my wife wanted to fuck him again, but he declined, making things awkward. I wondered if my wife shared with his wife about hooking up with him before the two of them met.

I wondered if someone suggested a threesome that didn't go over well. I wondered if they tried a threesome and it didn't go well.

Or maybe they were getting it on like rabbits and just acting strange in front of me. I'll never know for sure.