I finished IM Lake Placid in July eking out a 3rd place amateur finish and decided I had enough gusto and motivation for one final Ironman this season. Though, of note for this story’s sake, just before the race in Lake Placid, in the middle of the dreaded, panic-inducing Ironman taper, I signed up for a dating app. Over the past year while training and racing, I pretty much swore dating off. Men seemed far more daunting to me than 140.6 miles. But why not trade one anxiety for another? It’s a classic, ill-advised taper move. Nonetheless, it’s often revealing to see what happens when you suddenly take away training and are forced to reckon with what you’ve been avoiding.
Just picture this scintillating bio,
“Divorced mom of a young child: Wakes up at 4 am to run or ride for hours in her basement. Smells like chlorine. Collapses in bed at 8 pm. Works two jobs. Loves her kiddo more than anything, notably you. Owns a tiny fixer-upper with a jungle of a yard. Lives far away on a sandy peninsula. Yearns for adventure. Will run for the hills if spooked!”
With Lake Placid in the rear view and my body recovered, I began to build back training volume, and I swiped left. He did, too. His texts were endearing and kind—full of warmth, curiosity, and a life of adventures I longed for. He said he was moving back to Cape Cod after a heartbreak prompted a year of saying “yes”: quitting his engineering job in Vermont, rafting the Grand Canyon, becoming an impromptu fisherman on an Alaskan salmon boat, starting his own business, practicing his remarkable talent for drawing portraits. Intrigued, I gave him my phone number and said a “yes” of my own to our first date.
We shared coffee & avocado toast, delightful conversation, and a delicious first kiss. He was gorgeous with a handsome beard and these Tevas I found to be very sexy. I was forthcoming about being a mom and also a triathlete (though I imagine he had no idea what that entailed). He was transparent about being in a transitional chapter of his life. Our second date was even better than the first. The laughter came easily; the kisses were playful and tempting. And, so, I began to believe that I could have my cake and eat it too (or maybe have my miles and a romance, too).
While I urged my coach to give me more training intensity, I also embraced dating this man. We ate pizza; went for walks; watched sunsets; made burnt tacos; paddle boarded on my favorite pond; and I blissfully remembered what it was like to be tangled up in bed with a man that I didn’t quite know yet and that didn’t fully know me. He even passed a crucial, Saturday morning test: not being bothered when I crawled out of bed for a quick 11 miler before the sun came up. Soon after this relationship-proving milestone, this man I was considering letting my guard down for, let me know that he wasn’t planning to stay after all. He had decided to move—his mountain biking, farm stand loving, live music seeking, Timber-framing dreams were not meant for this beachy place nor for me.
I was much sadder than I thought I should be. I did not want to know the ending to this story already.
As a triathlete, I am no stranger to pursuing long-term ambitions or managing physical distress. Delayed gratification is my super-power. Train hard now; race strong later. This short-term dating scenario seemed to be something completely different. Could I be with this man even though he was going to leave soon enough? Could I be content in the here and now? Heck, I can’t even look down at the black line in the pool. My head is always lifted too high on my cap-line. I swim as if I am afraid there is something to be wary of, even in a Jaws-less, chlorinated pool. I struggled mightily to not be afraid of the lurking goodbye.
I was getting fitter by the week in my Ironman build. My run cadence was high and consistent; my bike legs were managing to hold onto more power for longer periods of time. My heart was growing stronger, more open. I could also feel those tell-tale signs of heartbreak ahead, and I didn’t know how to stop it.
On two different occasions, I told this wonderful man I couldn’t keep seeing him. One time, I quickly took it back. And, then a few weeks later, at 4:30 am, I told him I couldn’t see him anymore, again. He was gracious, affectionate, perhaps a bit confused by my pre-dawn dumping. It was clear to us both it was a leave-him-before-he-leaves-me scenario. In the days that followed, I leaned on my friends and my trusty training, though I still held onto a fantasy that maybe he would realize that I was worth staying around for. He did not come knock on my door (though I might have for a brief second believed he was the delivery guy). He was set on pursuing his next adventurous chapter just as I was set on continuing to create roots for my son and for me, too.
What did I learn from dipping my toe back into the dating pool during an Ironman build? It’s possible (maybe that is the most important takeaway, too). My life is often driven by responsibilities. This fling was not practical—it did not fit neatly, nor did it make a lot of sense. It felt indulgent, and I felt a sense of freedom in it. And it reminded me why I love this sport so much. It’s not exactly rational for me to do Ironman triathlons. I was not a stand-out athlete growing up. I don’t really have the time or discretionary resources for it. But I’ve carefully squirreled away workouts around complicated work and parenting schedules and saved meticulously for coaching and race fees. I wake up every day eager to train with appreciation and excitement. This sport encourages me to be bold with my ambitions and take care of my own needs, something I am looking for in a future partner and, ultimately, want to give to myself outside of this sport, too. It hurt to lose this man, but, as loss usually does, it illuminated what matters most: love in all its forms. See you at the starting line of Ironman Florida for our own adventure!