Nostalgia race...

Around 8 years have passed since we went to our first triathlon at Terramuggus in Marlborough. For those unfamiliar, we have ventured near and far to various races over the years. None though have represented the ceremonial passage of summer like this “little race that could”.  We have watched our children grow there. Every summer that we bring them to the race, their shoes are one size larger. I already realize that when old age sets in, this will be one of our fondest family memories based on the fact that the experience has covered every stage of our kid’s growing up years.   When the race first began years ago, there were less than 30 of us racing the small roads around Marlborough. Last night’s race swelled to over 250 people leaving little elbowroom on the tiny beach. For the first time last night, I perused the crowd and couldn’t locate my husband or kids in seconds.  I think I have always liked the race because it was triathlon without the ego. That’s not so easy to find.  The first three through the finish line get a token of appreciation for showing up and random others may have a t-shirt thrown out into the crowd just to entice them a bit. A beer is always pulled from the participant cooler at the end. In the same race, you’ll see Huffy’s placed on a rack next to some$12,000 racing bikes. Even with the fancy bikes, I have learned over time that it truly is the engine that creates the speed, not the machine. Marlborough has a kick-ass playground that anyone kid would envy. Kid’s play in the turrets of the massive structure and cheer on ole mom or dad, as the older counterparts huff and puff their way through the course. Our family tradition had grown to visiting “teenager” McDonalds for a burger on the journey home.  When Kate was little, she always marveled at the teenagers loitering around this Micky D’s looking for something to do. We now joke with Kate that she soon will be of age to loiter with them.  Kate has acquired various jobs like numbering athletes and watching little babies of various racers. Peter has played at this venue since he was a baby. For years he would tear around every inch of the park. So many knew him that there were always 50 sets of eyes keeping watch over his mischievous ways. Last night, Peter ran a leg of the race. It would be his first time racing there.  He begged to race the bike leg, but with 250 aggressive cyclist out there, I thought it would be best that he should grow to reach his breaks levers first. We sent him out in the middle of the pack and thankfully we never had to send out a search party for him. He ran like a jack rabbit among logo clad spandexed triatletes double his size and sculpted with six packs.  His smile lit up the finish line and he was a chatterbox on the way home, so excited about his racing future. I had to promise that I would get my sorry body back into spandex next week to do the swim and bike so that Peter could get an official split time.  He picked up his shirt and asked if his two pack had any chance of becoming a 4 pack by next summer.  I wondered the same for myself.  On the ride home, we talked of people, splits and just how good the lake felt on this summer evening. Tonight’s miracle came in the realization of how fortunate we are to have this nostalgic event continue despite the fact that we are growing up and getting older.  It’s hard to believe that my kids can cover the course now rather than just play on the beach with sand toys. Strangely enough, it feels just right.