A Visit From the Triathlon Fairy

Once upon a time, in a land known as the armpit of America not so far from here, there lived a an idiot triathlete named the Banter. The Banter was a mediocre athlete with virtually no talent and a penchant to continue to toe the line year after year with no real results to speak of. But you could always count on him to be middle of the pack to front of the middle of the pack or back of the front of the pack. But never packing.  Every so often, if the right people signed up for a different race than the one that featured the Banter, he would have a sparkle of success, which kept him motivated to continue to train and race for years to come.

That was before the dark times. See, the Banter started to get old. And with great age comes great vulnerability, only the Banter wasn't smart enough to recognize it. He got injured. A lot. More so in the past 5 years than the rest of his athletic life combined. He trained on like he was young and virile. He was neither.  He assumed that each and every injuric episode was an isolated, freak incident with no rhyme or reasoning attached. He didn't realize that once you start to have multiple freak episodes, they are immune to the term 'freak' and are replaced with the word 'normal'.

One day, after his most recent 'freak' episode, the Banter was getting desperate for some good news on his prognosis. He did what most idiots people do,  he fired up the googler. Upon typing in a few key phrases, it turns out that the Banter, apparently, had less than two weeks left to live. "That's odd," thought the Banter, "This is just lower leg pain. I had no idea it could be so life threatening." The googler was clear, death was imminent.  "Oh boy, what ever shall I do?" thought the Banter.

Upon that query, out popped a beautiful lady with tiny running shoes and lycra cycling shorts. "I am the Triathlon Fairy tasked with overseeing the wellness of the athletes, lest our sport continue its fall from grace. What ails you, my child?"

The Banter was speechless. For one, he's not used to hot chicks talking to him on purpose. Most of the time, it's borne out of obligation and, even then, accomplished with the utmost hesitancy. For two, why would fairies even participate in swimming, biking, and/ or running when they can fly, or blink, or whatever they do for travel? For three, there's someone outside of sport that cares about the maintenance of the field? For four, there was a triathlon grace with which to fall? This was a perplexing situation.

"Hello," said the Triathlon Fairy, "Are you there?"

The Banter blinked himself back into reality. "Well, TF, I do have some problems. How long do you have?"

The fairy sensed a trap, as she was significantly smarter than the Banter (which isn't difficult to accomplish). "Please limit your concerns to physical, sport related concerns. I'm due in upstate Pennsylvania tomorrow evening. And don't call me TF. It's insulting."

Sigh, thought the Banter. Another hot chick that's clearly in a hurry to get away to find another dude (he assumed that her next client was a male, since boys dominate the sport by about 3 to 1). And all of this after 60 seconds of interaction. That's a new record for holding their attention. Score a point for the Banter!

"Well, I have this rotator cuff problem in my left shoulder," said the Banter. Dammit, he thought, because where else would you have a rotator cuff problem? The shoulder is the only option. Surely someone of infinite beauty and intelligence would have known that. This is the reason the womens flock in the opposite direction.

"When does this 'problem' occur?" asked the Triathlon Fairy.

"Pretty much only when I'm swimming," replied the Banter.

"That does pose a problem. Swimming is one of the vital components of triathlon. It's a shame that most triathletes don't fully get that. They prefer to think that, just because it's less that 10% of the overall race, that it only affects 10% of the outcome. Triathletes never were an intelligent breed."

The Triathlon Fairy produced a stick and majestically raised it up. The Banter thought that she was going to bash it into his head and be done with him. He ducked and exclaimed, "Wait, I have more problems."

The look of frustration on the Triathlon Fairy was palpable. She paused, "What else do you have?"

"Well, I have this forearm tendonitis in my right arm, just below my elbow. It mostly pains me when I'm gripping the handlebars of my bike."

Again, the Triathlon Fairy raised her stick, this time with much verve. The Banter winced, awaiting the blow. The croaked, "And..."

She lowered he stick. "There's more?"

"Yes," answered the Banter. "I have this ankle pain. It feels like pins and needles when I try to run."

The Triathlon Fairy looked at him with a gleam of curiosity. "Let me get this straight, you have an injury that's holding you back in swimming. A different one that kicks in when you're biking. AND another that limits your running? Have you tried to strengthen your muscles, bones, and tendons by lifting some weights or something?"

"Yes, triathlon fairy!" said the Banter, who was clearly getting excited that he was able to keep the hottie in his vicinity for a few more minutes.

"And, did that work?" asked the Triathlon Fairy.

"I don't know," said the Banter. "I do know that, as a result of lifting, I now have an achilles tendon strain that hurts when I walk. Lifting hurt me in a different spot but it might have helped on the others. I'm not really sure."

"So, to recap, you can't reach your potential in the swim due to a shoulder problem. You are suffering on the bike due to a forearm problem. You can't really run much due to a chronic ankle problem and an acute achilles problem? It hurts even to walk?"

The Banter smiled, mostly because he thought the Triathlon Fairy just called him a cute. "Yes Triathlon Fairy. I think that covers it. I also have some mental/ emotional concerns I'd like to share with you..."

There was an immediate flash of dread in her eyes that cut him off. It was followed by a look of resolve, "I've got just the thing to solve all of your problems. When I'm done, you'll be an improved triathlete forever." With that, the Triathlon Fairy raised her stick one last time. With a tiny flourish, she swished her swoosher and disappeared, lest the Banter continue to dive into his head problems, which would ensure that she'd be late for her next appointment, possible her next several appointments. He's a mess.

The Banter felt something change inside of him, but he was hunting to figure out what it was. Was his shoulder feeling better? He mimicked a few freestyle strokes. Sure enough, on the pull phase he felt a sting of unhappiness, a sure indication that there was no change there. He massaged his right forearm, just below his elbow. Yup, still highly tender. He got off his recliner and took a few steps towards the kitchen, where the wine is stored. His ankles gave out three times in twelve steps, which is par for the course. During the other nine steps, his left achilles was screaming at him with every push off. Did she change his threshold for pain? Nope. Did she reduce his healing time? Unlikely. Did she make him any faster? Doubtful. Did she make him slower? Impossible.

He returned to his recliner, donning a fresh glass of red. With that elixir in hand, he figured it out. It's clear that she used her magic to remind the Banter's of his expectations for what makes a successful season. He decided to open up his goals sheet for the 2020 season and he gazed upon the big ones. The Banter's major goals for himself and everyone he advises, for every season, are as follows:

-Don't die
-Have fun on the journey
-Enjoy sport so that you want to do it again next year

All other details in sport pale in comparison. The Triathlon Fairy helped the Banter remember what was important in life.

Then he went back to the googler to figure out how to live past Thanksgiving. The news wasn't as good as his goals. Having forgotten the entire Triathlon Fairy encounter, he started to daydream. He still hoped to set a PR or two in the up-and-coming year and pondered how to accomplish this on injury topped upon injury. Remember... I told you he wasn't that smart.