One thing is certain, triathletes aren’t born, you become one.  You slowly slowy undergo a transformation and once you become aware of it, it’s too late.

The metamorphosis is not only that which makes your shoulders fill out a little and gradually changes the appearance of your legs and abdominals, it is something much deeper.  It is the creation, little by little, of a new scale of values and priorities.  It is a new challenge to yourself and a set of new emotions with which to reward yourself.  It is a gradual change to the way in which you organise your days, set yourself objectives, see the world, and above all how you see others.

That is because triathletes observe one another, they scrutanise each other, they sniff each other out, they study each other, they analyse each other like wary animals and push themselves to read the meaning in the characteristics of all of other specimens, similar to themselves, that they meet.

The triathlete, at least the amateur, is definitely a competitive beast, but above all is a great aesthete; one of those beings that could reach climax for just the right detail in the right place.  The triathlete is a fetishist of the ceramic hub, a fanatic of the high profile rim, a zealot for the latest top of the range aero frame.

The performance then, in some way, becomes just a consequence. One of those things that could even be overlooked.  Validation by the sportswatch is only necessary, in the end, to justify the 400 pounds it cost to the people at home, a watch at risk of not being removed even during the owner’s wedding ceremony.

It is of little importance if you see triathletes slip into excess, heedless of the classic recommendations of harmony and balance.  To the triathlete the “measures” of success of mere mortals are of little importance, moderation and a sense of proportion bores them.  This is a different breed.  This is someone EXTRA-ordinary.

And it is like this at the entrance to the transition zone, before a race, if you are a triathlete you don’t even look your rival in the face; it is the bike that truly says everything about you.  From the bike you’ll be able to understand a lot of things and the condition of your own bike, well it will depend in large part upon the level of your own arrogance and cockiness.

The bike of a real triathlete on the day of the race is as shiny as a new pin.  To polish it, they will use dedicated products, distributing them over the frame with that cotton running shirt, found in the race pack of that last running race they did somewhere.

The handlebar tape, often stubbornly white and, whatever the case, in perfect chromatic harmony with the frame, must never reveal that aura of dirt deriving from long term use.  The triathlete changes his tape themself, and often.

The bad guy you can spot right away; badness that directly proportional to the badness of the bike model and its colours.  Total black should make you afraid (even shudder with fear), especially if it is one of those bikes with a very vertical seat tube and the weight heavily distributed towards the handlebars.

The beginner, however much they try, will not escape the look of sympathy and compassion from those more experienced.  That very dated model of bike, the worn out water bottle and such a clashing colour compared to rest of the kit, the torn tape and the scratches on the frame that you just can’t bear to look at, brand the mas beginners, let alone if on their unshaven calf you catch a glimpse of a smear of oil from the chain: that really is the red light of the “newby”. It’s clear, they quite simply don’t know how to ride.

The triathlete transports their bike into the transition zone pushing it by the saddle, just as the elites do.  Don’t we want to let everyone know, that even if we’re not professionals, if we run at 06:00/km, we take 20 minutes to get out of the water in a sprint and we lose the draft in the bike stage, that it’s only because we work 12 hours a day, we’ve got children and we’re not twenty years old any more.  It is just a question of availability of time if we don’t perform well in races, because triathletes are born genetically “talented”.

For triathletes the tan line at mid thigh, the eyes marked by goggles, numbers written in pen on their skin and the smell of damp in the car, are all elements of pride.  They are the elements that mark them out as proudly belonging to the category.

Beyond the irony, it is undeniable, however, that triathletes are a tribe of their own, made up of dedicated, curious, enthusiastic individuals who are also very capable of enjoying the company of the group and the pleasant things in life.  They are versatile athletes who have understood the profound difference that exists between racing in any old location compared to racing in a beautiful setting, they are that type of sportsperson who chooses a race together with a nice restaurant for the evening and perhaps an inviting B&B to stay and relax for the weekend with friends or family.

The triathlon remains, as I see it, a experience worth trying, to live, and from which you should let yourself slowly change.  Because change often means growth and the discovery of being so much more than you thought.

You have to try it to believe it!