Condofire

Tessa: When I decided to do the Divas Only sprint distance triathlon I thought I would invite my legions of friends and family to join me in the hopes that it would bring about some sense of community. I’m joking mostly but I thought it would be a fun thing to do. Get a bunch of crazy women together and build a bond through adversity sort of like going to war or living through a hen party when the police are called in to settle down the drunk but avid knitters.

Anyways, my one friend who agreed is hanging on by a thread and she has an excellent excuse. She’s learning to swim. I’m not sure when Dave started worrying about who was going to train with me; who was going to be my drunken hen. But I’m sure he knew early on that my steely grey-eyed gaze would land squarely on him.

So as I drafted my war plan, he lay silently in bed beside me with the pillow on his head. We’ll get up early, ride the demonstration forest and begin linking directly afterwards…we’ll run back up the trail for 5 kilometres. Wait, maybe we’ll walk run. For extra strength training we should throw in some low walks. Or we could just drive to the Baden Powell trail and run up that. Maybe throw in a swim with Reuben later. Real linking will begin later. Maybe I’ll give up wine and start carbo loading right away.

My war plan, admittedly, keeps me frighteningly pre-occupied. He thinks I’m depressed but really I’m just busy planning.

So for a general in waiting it wasn’t easy for me to have my ass whooped on the riding trail. Because Dave is the person he is, he knows better than to look back to see where I am on the ride. I just buckle down and do my best to catch him.

Last week I thought my training had finally made the difference I was looking for. From the start I was ahead, I felt strong, unbeatable, invincible. Every moment counted as I rode my way to glory from the end of the Demonstration forest and back. I was secretly gleeful that Dave was far behind. I peddled harder and harder, faster and faster. From time to time I could hear Dave labouring behind me. When we finally made it to the end he looked red, and exhausted.

I tried to coddle him with triumphant sympathy. Are you okay? Want some water? Want to do the Baden Powell later? How about the Grouse Grind?

He said nothing on the way home. Silent. Defeat hurts. I should know. Twenty minutes later he said, I feel a bit better now. Oh what’s wrong. Fuck, he said. I had massive heat stroke. I wanted to stab you. The one day you decide to go on the victory march I’m dying of heat exhaustion. I threw up.
You threw up? Yeah. That’s right. When? On the bike ride. Are you serious? Why didn’t you say anything? You were looking so triumphant. Didn’t want to stop you.

Suddenly it’s all clear. He didn’t want to wreck my moment. There he was being the diva he is, ralphing in the woods while I was riding to glory. Yes, he wanted to stab me in the eyes. Who wouldn’t? But really, what a guy. I get it now. Dave is my number one Diva. My all inspiring hen. He was right here all along, training right beside me.