this is the second post of a small series. Please click here for the first.
I left the quiet and stillness of my house, knowing upon my return that it would all be over. I would be done. I pulled into the parking lot of the gym to meet up with my training buddies. I saw once again the value of doing something like this with others. Triathlons can be a very personal and solo sport, but it is a heck of a lot more fun to go through this with others. Music was blaring from someone’s car; the mood was light and festive. People were taking pictures, thumping each other on the back. This was it. It was really happening.
We arrived at Raccoon River Park and the mood shifted. It was quiet. Even as hundreds of people were parking and filing in, I couldn’t get over the stillness. It was dark, but huge football lights had been brought in to light the way. I stood in line to check in and get my body marked with age and race number. I stood in another line to get my timing chip securely fastened around my ankle.
I had the oddest sensation that this is what a concentration camp might have felt like. Glaring lights blaring down on half dressed people. Numbers written all over our arms and legs with security ankle bracelets in place. It was so quiet.
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