Today was the final race in the North Carolina triathlon series. It took place at picturesque Pinehurst marina and on this cold, sunny Sunday morning, my daughter went to the start line of the final race of her first full season of racing.
She handled the cold really well this morning and got off to a fine start. The wind caused there to be a little current, so she swam a little off course, making her swim time a little longer than expected, but she was fine coming out of the swim.
She'd planned to don arm warmers, a bike jersey and vest, as the temperature was not expected to hit 60 during the entire bike ride. She was calm as she dried off her arms in transition and pulled on the arm warmers. Although it took a little time, it was worth the comfort. As I'm ready to move along the transition area fencing, waiting to see her emerge, I hear, 'MOM, MY HELMET IS BROKEN!!' Hmmm. At this point, I cannot go into the transition area to inspect the helmet. Instantly, I morph from calm coach into hysterical mother. I go screaming to the top of the swim finish for my friend, whom I think has ridden her bike to the race venue to spectate.
'Heather', I scream, 'Do you have your helmet? Caroline's helmet is BROKEN!' 'No', she replies. Apparently, she has jogged along as her kids rode their bikes to the race. I run back to transition, frantic. I yell to my friend Mark, who is volunteering, directing cyclists out of transition. He scrambles to find a spare helmet. Meanwhile, the resourceful Caroline, has asked for assistance from fellow participants. A member of a relay team snapped the 'broken' plastic back into place and the crisis is averted.
I feel like the previous 2 minutes have lasted half an hour. My heart rate is up like I had done an interval workout. Whew!
It's hard to be the mother of an athlete!
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