Lake-Tri

I won the Lake Thunderbird Triathlon. I swam six laps in the lake, ran 2.5 miles and kayaked 1.75 miles with a time of 1 hour and 32 minutes.

I won the lake-tri because I was the only one who did it. It was a race completely of my own fabrication, even down to the medal. This is a bit silly– I know. But the motivation it inspired, the hours I spent training, and my smile at the end were real.

Growing up I played sports and the love of movement has followed me into adulthood making working out a favored and important hobby for me both physically and mentally. I am a runner –certainly not a gifted one– but I enjoy how the rhythmic pounding of feet on concrete creates a space where my brain can turn at the speed of my body. I work out my thoughts and feelings physically– rigorous exercise allows for a clarity and calm that I find otherwise difficult to achieve.

I’ve been running consistently-ish for the past 15 months because of the aforementioned benefits and my friend groups’ interest in the aerobic activity. In 2024, due to light peer pressure, I ran four 5ks. That is the minimum mileage we as a society have deemed worthy to reward an adult with a medal for running. Spoiler alert– it still feels good to get a medal after age 12– maybe even better.

Running does suck though. It is hard on my poor knees. And, like any other type of workout, it can become repetitive and banal. In the spring, an unfortunate heartbreak led to a fortunate move to a lake estate which seriously upped my water workout potential. I spent most of May fighting with my feelings on the lake; my paddle striking the water with splashes of fury.

Then, unexpectedly, another heartache in the loss of a friendship tilted me once more off my axis. In June I was at a loss. But the lake was warm which meant I could swim. So I focused all of my energy on not drowning while making zig-zag laps from our dock. Thank god for the sunshine and summertime– my world turning 180 degrees was made bearable in no small part to my ability to set my feelings free in nature.

On one of those impossibly long June days I ran in the morning and was still thrumming with emotions by late afternoon so I packed up my kayak and hit the water. Unintentionally I had become a bi-athlete. “Why not add swimming?” I mused. Plus I didn’t have a bike. Thus the lake-triathlon was born.

That idea sustained me through July and created purpose when everything else felt uncertain. It’s a wonder what having a goal can do to inspire action. As the summer waned, I knew I had to get the race in or else suffer through an icy swim come fall. In August I started putting together the disciplines in earnest in order to simulate the race. I had been dreading doing a swim and then transitioning into a run and for good reason. During that training session, hair still wet from the lake, approximately 30 seconds into my run, addressing the first of several unavoidable hills on my route, I was struck so clearly by the fact that what I was doing was absolutely unnecessary. Nobody was making me do this. But I struggled on, huffing and puffing, sometimes snarling at the empty country lanes as I completed the task I so masochistically set out for myself.

On my runs I laughed, patted myself on the back at every half mile, cursed, and cried. I felt alone and lost and heartbroken. I waved at every fat and happy caterpillar I spotted and yelled more than once “I am alive.” Because in pain, as in joy, life lives and breathes.

On the second Monday in September my team, small but mighty, gathered as I jumped into the chilly lake. My mom left work because her daughter “had a thing,” my dad held a ‘you go girl’ sign, my sister waved a flag to signal the start, and my new wonderful boyfriend kept the official time whilst diligently providing hydration and snacks. It only occurred to me hours before the start that if I finished the lake-tri I would win it. I suppose I have been the winner all along.

It was about an hour and five minutes into the endeavor, near the designated turnaround spot at the farthest end of the cove, that my eyes swelled with tears. I stopped paddling long enough to double over in a sun-soaked sorrow. I miss what once was. I am beyond grateful for what is. In pain, as in joy, life lives and breathes.

At the finish line, once my kayak was pulled from the water, my sister placed the medal I made out of cardboard and string around my neck. I ran a triathlon of my own invention. I did it because I can.

xoxo,

Cooper

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