Fiction
3 min
A Pinch of Luck
Milton Gong
As I crossed the finish line, heart pounding, I allowed a smile to stretch across my face. Beads of sweat tickled down the back of my neck, but I didn't care. I just did the Super Sprint Triathlon! For those unfamiliar with this concept, a triathlon consists of three segments of sports – the swim, the bike, and the run, each presenting their own specific challenges.
The swim is long and leaves you breathless, the biking burns the legs, and by the time you reach the run, you'll have cramps and aches all over your body. In triathlons, there are usually different waves of groups categorized by age or gender. One wave, called the Super Sprint, is extremely challenging. Don't be fooled by its friendly name, as it comprises a 400 yd swim, 6 miles of biking, and 2400 meters of running, all of which was summed up into one word every triathlete has known and experienced - PAIN.
Starting the swimming section of the race, I chose the closest lane to the transition area. It was a strategic decision, knowing every second spent in the dizzying blur through the transition could mean the difference between beating my personal time and just finishing. When the announcer blared a horn, the pool was a tangle of limbs and splashes. Though the first 100 meters took virtually no effort, the rest of the event felt like a slow crawl, draining all my energy. After the final time I touched the wall, I quickly lifted myself out of the pool and began running toward the transition. I put on a shirt and shoes, took a sip of water, and began biking.
The act of pedaling was Herculean as my legs grew sorer and sorer. Suddenly, I fell off the bike in a gut-lurching motion. I looked at my bike from the ground, realizing my chain had fallen. "This was it," I thought, "It's over."
A volunteer ran over, his eyes filled with concern. He gave me some bandages while skillfully fixing my bike. I groaned in pain, but I didn't give up. Quitting was no longer an option. I hopped on my bike, finishing the rest of the laps with virtually no strength left. Going back to the transition area, I set my bike. Tired as I was, I forced myself to begin the running section.
Starting the bike portion seemed hard, but it was nothing compared to the run. I felt like I was wearing a cement suit that was weighing me down. Every time my foot stepped down, my legs were numb, yet still filled with searing pain. My lungs gasped for air, and a sharp cramp formed at my side. This was the part of the race where your mind whispers that you're too tired, it was okay to walk, and that it wasn't worth the pain. I began to slow down, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the volunteer who had fixed my bike. He gave me a thumbs up, a gesture that sparked a fire of willpower.
Looking around the track, I saw some of the other triathletes gasping, putting their hands on their head to catch precious molecules of air. Knowing I was not the only person suffering, combined with the small act of kindness fueled me with incredible strength and willpower. I picked up the pace, dividing each part of the rest of the run into small achievable goals. I would run a quarter of the track to the pine tree, then another to the water station. Before I even knew it, I could see the bright banner of the finish line. With one final burst of speed, I crossed the finish line. Whew, I had done it.
As I went home with my mom, we checked our ranking in the car. I wasn't expecting anything special. In fact, I just wanted to crawl into bed. My mom suddenly gasped, a fish out of water type of gasp, gaping at the screen.
"What?" I asked, wondering what could cause such a dramatic reaction. Had I ended up last place?
She passed me her phone.
When I saw it, I gasped too, dumbstruck. Even though I had fallen down and nearly gave up, I had made my way to second place!
I had not only beaten my own record, but also earned a place on the podium!
I stared at the phone for what felt like an eternity, trying to wrap my mind around it.
With just a pinch of luck and steely determination, even the impossible becomes possible.
The swim is long and leaves you breathless, the biking burns the legs, and by the time you reach the run, you'll have cramps and aches all over your body. In triathlons, there are usually different waves of groups categorized by age or gender. One wave, called the Super Sprint, is extremely challenging. Don't be fooled by its friendly name, as it comprises a 400 yd swim, 6 miles of biking, and 2400 meters of running, all of which was summed up into one word every triathlete has known and experienced - PAIN.
Starting the swimming section of the race, I chose the closest lane to the transition area. It was a strategic decision, knowing every second spent in the dizzying blur through the transition could mean the difference between beating my personal time and just finishing. When the announcer blared a horn, the pool was a tangle of limbs and splashes. Though the first 100 meters took virtually no effort, the rest of the event felt like a slow crawl, draining all my energy. After the final time I touched the wall, I quickly lifted myself out of the pool and began running toward the transition. I put on a shirt and shoes, took a sip of water, and began biking.
The act of pedaling was Herculean as my legs grew sorer and sorer. Suddenly, I fell off the bike in a gut-lurching motion. I looked at my bike from the ground, realizing my chain had fallen. "This was it," I thought, "It's over."
A volunteer ran over, his eyes filled with concern. He gave me some bandages while skillfully fixing my bike. I groaned in pain, but I didn't give up. Quitting was no longer an option. I hopped on my bike, finishing the rest of the laps with virtually no strength left. Going back to the transition area, I set my bike. Tired as I was, I forced myself to begin the running section.
Starting the bike portion seemed hard, but it was nothing compared to the run. I felt like I was wearing a cement suit that was weighing me down. Every time my foot stepped down, my legs were numb, yet still filled with searing pain. My lungs gasped for air, and a sharp cramp formed at my side. This was the part of the race where your mind whispers that you're too tired, it was okay to walk, and that it wasn't worth the pain. I began to slow down, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw the volunteer who had fixed my bike. He gave me a thumbs up, a gesture that sparked a fire of willpower.
Looking around the track, I saw some of the other triathletes gasping, putting their hands on their head to catch precious molecules of air. Knowing I was not the only person suffering, combined with the small act of kindness fueled me with incredible strength and willpower. I picked up the pace, dividing each part of the rest of the run into small achievable goals. I would run a quarter of the track to the pine tree, then another to the water station. Before I even knew it, I could see the bright banner of the finish line. With one final burst of speed, I crossed the finish line. Whew, I had done it.
As I went home with my mom, we checked our ranking in the car. I wasn't expecting anything special. In fact, I just wanted to crawl into bed. My mom suddenly gasped, a fish out of water type of gasp, gaping at the screen.
"What?" I asked, wondering what could cause such a dramatic reaction. Had I ended up last place?
She passed me her phone.
When I saw it, I gasped too, dumbstruck. Even though I had fallen down and nearly gave up, I had made my way to second place!
I had not only beaten my own record, but also earned a place on the podium!
I stared at the phone for what felt like an eternity, trying to wrap my mind around it.
With just a pinch of luck and steely determination, even the impossible becomes possible.
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