INSIDE THIS ISSUE
DECEMBER 2008
TCSD Contacts Volunteer Members Board Members Event Calendar Race Discounts
TRIATHLON CLUB OF SAN DIEGO
2 2 2 2 5
Weekly Workout Calendar 5 IM Finishers 6, 8 Ironman Conversation 9
Race Report Health & Fitness Application
16 17 21
TriNews
Racing Misha A Tale of Fiction
by Barbara Javor
On edge with fidgety nerves DECEMBER CLUB MEETING Ironman Viewing Party featuring Ricky James December 13th, 11:30 am La Paloma Theatre in Encinitas in conjunction with Competitor magazine. Admission to the viewing party will be $10. Doors will open at 10:30 and run through 1:30. Check TCSD website for updates.
on the morning of a local five-kilometer road race, I repeatedly tied and retied my shoes, stretched my calf muscles, and scanned the crowd for competitors in my age group. Why am I so uptight about this race? It’s not even one of my target races for the year. A few people from work were running this morning, but they weren’t the competitive types, so that wasn’t the source of my unease. I saw about twenty guys in my age group, all strangers, and some of them looked like they could be fast. Are they intimidating me? I tried to focus on visualizing my race, but my nervous energy shattered my concentration. The only time I could remember getting so worked up before a race was many years earlier when I ran against my boyhood pal Misha. Misha and I grew up on the same block, playing every possible sport we could. I was taller and stronger, and I excelled in every sport except running. When Misha ran, his
short, skinny legs turned over as if they were on fire. He ran like lightning, arms pumping and his face in total concentration. Until he beat me, that is. Then he’d break out in boisterous laughter at my frustration in losing, as if he owned a secret to winning that he wouldn’t share with me. Every time I got a new pair of Keds or Converse high-tops, I’d challenge him, thinking my new shoes would make the difference. Sprint races were lamppost to lamppost, and longer races went around the block, Misha running it clockwise while I went the other direction. He always won. And he always laughed. I can still hear that sound of his utter delight in beating me. When we were twelve years old, Misha moved to another neighborhood and attended a different school, so we didn’t see each other continued page 3