8/3/2019 Almost Fearless

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checking in

56 triathlete.com | Otob 2011

cOnfessiOns Of an age-grOuper

Ironmans later, raced in disparate cor-

ners o the globe, I should surely be more

stalwart. Yet recently, I rented an SUV

at Newark Liberty International Airport

and maneuvered the behemoth through

the streets o Manhattan. The stress

alone nearly killed me.

I elt perectly condent at theoutset, the hotel address where I

would collect a group o girlriends

securely programmed in my GPS.

Then I hit the Lincoln Tunnel

and all hell broke loose. The

GPS lost its satellite eed. The

monster truck and I were

spewed rom the tunnel

directly into Manhattan with

no idea what to do next. Pull-

ing over to ask or directions

was not an option (curbside

parking is nonexistent), nor was phon-

ing a riend (white-knuckling precluded

dialing). I dodged daredevil taxi drivers,

inspired the wrath o a hundred blaring

horns and cursed at the GPS, which now

insisted that I turn into oncoming tra-ca command I ortunately ollowed

just once. How I longed to be busted by a

beat cop, bringing an end to the mad-

ness. I was drunk on anxiety, drenched in

sweat and praying to anyone who would

listen to help me nd my way. Oh Mike

Reilly, how I needed you then!

Finally, a blue beacon o hope beck-

oned through the chaos. Hilton, it

read, accompanied by an arrow point-

ing to the parking garage. Tears o relie

a Fby holly bennett

triathletes are an uncommon bunch.

We push our bodies through extreme

pain and embrace bizarre nutritional

practices. We pee (or worse) in our shorts

and were not araid to talk about this

heinous habit with anyone who will lis-

ten. Were innately adventurouspretty

much prerequisite or jumping into aswim ull o failing arms and legs ready

to drag us under, or or riding in an ag-

gressive aero position, perched atop two

lightweight wheels and a carbon rame,

40 mph wind gusts be damned.

I share this on-course courage with

my multisport comrades. Yet outside o

the swim, bike and run routine, theres

little rhyme or reason to the things that

incite my angst.

I once traveled through Central Amer-

ica or our months, my only transporta mountain bike and my only itinerary a

plane ticket or the return journey home.

My sole companion was my then-boy-

riend, and our combined bike mechanic

skills amounted to xing a fat tire aster

than we could nish a cerveza. Our Span-

ish couldnt get us much urther than

ordering that beer.

We dealt with a cracked headset, a

snapped skewer, a stolen passport and

water bottle-chewing, thirst-starved

raccoons. More than once we fushedstowaway scorpions rom our bike shoes

or awoke in a tent covered with tarantu-

las. We weathered the rumored threat o

guerilla rebels, questioning by machine-

gun-toting policia and multiple bouts

oEl Gripe. Despite the scary bits and

blunders, we returned t, tan, dignity

intact and smiling.

That was in 1992, 13 years beore Mike

Reilly ever screamed my name beore

a momentous midnight deadline. Five

fowed reely as I tossed the keys to the

bemused valet.

I like to think o mysel as Iron-

man tough, the mantra, Youve done

140.6, you can do anything! getting

me through many o lies treacherousmoments. But at times, that tough-as-

nails ability to tackle anything ades to

total wimpiness. Im not sure why I can

eagerly traipse rom Antigua to Arenal

with only the contents o my panniers

or comort, yet I can barely switch

lanes on the Avenue o the Americas

without having a ull-blown panic at-

tack. But I do know this: The next time

I visit New York, I will without question

choose the subway.

hunterking

I like to think of myself as Ironman tough. ... But attimes, that tough-as-nails ability to tackle anythingfades to total wimpiness.