Iron Widow

I sometimes find myself missing my indolent, pack-a-day, two fast food stops on the way home husband, but only briefly and mainly because then I was the fit one.  I applauded when he quit smoking, hit the gym and picked up a salad fork. I trailed after him when he gravitated toward endurance running, and did my best not to sneer when he came home with a road bike and “Share the Road” license plates. I even found the benefit of cross training with a bike during marathon training, and traded my fitness bike in for a road version so I could keep up with him, which I’m still trying.

But an ominous cloud began to hover, and the talk about swim lessons began.  I was hesitant about spending my precious Saturday afternoons traveling an hour away for a 90-minute swim clinic, but he was determined, so I agreed, figuring I could finally check traversing the English Channel off my bucket list.  The next 12-weekends were spent at a YMCA, and as I began more comfortable in the water (and the locker room shower) I also found myself yearning for a triathlon. As many things, my husband was much more dedicated than me, actually going to the pool between lessons, so he was ready for his first sprint triathlon by May, then an Olympic distance in June. Then came the registration for Beach to Battleship… This Half Ironman distance race consits of a 1.2 mile swim, 56-mile bike ride, 13.1-mile run, so things really started to get real.

 As an Iron Wife, your first apprehension will be to the steady stream of cash that is quickly exiting the account-race fees, training plans, wet suits, really tight clothing that dries quickly, swim paddles, pull buoys, underwater watches, wheel upgrades, high priced corn starch, etc. Then comes the uneasiness of sending off one of the few people in the world that understands you, and still loves you, to “share the road” with a bunch of lunatic drivers for four hours, while you nervously watch the clock. Finally, there’ll be a bit of dejection as his life becomes centered on training. There’ll be plenty of time to watch ‘Downton Abbey’ or a ‘House Hunters’ marathon as he heads to bed at 8:30 on a Friday night, and no worries about a 2-hour long run because he’ll still be out training for another two. All is not lost, because before your eyes, you’re seeing him become the man that he wants to be, and that is priceless. An Iron Wife is more than a title, it’s a duty and one not to be taken lightly. Besides, my first sprint triathlon is on Sunday, so I’ll be expecting the same from him when I’m training for Kona…