There is no "I" in Team (but there is an "M" and an "E")

In the spirit of the Olympics being held at this very moment, I thought I'd share a sporting memory of my own. I'm not proud to own this story....

A friend, the wife and I decided to enter a team triathlon. Why, I don't know, as none of us had been training and the wife didn't even own a bike. In a moment of stupidity or delerium, we entered the event--which, by the way, was being held in the middle of July. So, the wife borrows a ten speed--a TEN speed!--for the event and I dusted off my jogging shoes and our friend dug out one of her swimsuits from high school or something (she was in her late thirties, so imagine that puppy). We drove to the trialthon, being held about 25 miles from home. Friend was going to swim, the wife was going to bike 15 miles and I was to run the 10K. When we arrived, the parking lot was already full. Zillions of buff-bodied athletes surrounded us.

I wanted to pee right there and then. What the hell were we thinking? We hadn't trained. Wife is using a TEN speed. I'm not in shape to run six miles. Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke becomes my mantra.

We register, get our team number plastered all over our body with permanent magic marker, put the ten speed in our little team spot and watch our friend go off to the pool. They were swimming in heats and she was assigned to the last heat. That was only the beginning of our problems. We stood around waiting for her turn, watching the swimmers run out from the pool to the bike area...then, bikers would hop on their thousand-gear bikes and zoom off into the hills of the country side. It took an eternity for Friend to swim her laps--she was one of the last out of the pool. It was getting really, really hot out and the sun was beating down. I think I saw my team number melting on my skin. Finally, the wife was able to hop on her bike and off she went. Friend decides she has had enough of the fun and leaves. Drives off. Adios. Caio. She leaves me standing there all alone to contemplate the run before me. It's just me and my jogging shoes and my melting tea numbers.

What seems like hours later, I'm still standing there, waiting for the wife to return. Problem is, almost all the bikers have returned and most of the runners are even back from their run. I'm waiting, waiting, waiting. I hear the event staff talking on their walkie talkies about a biker who has just thrown up and is the last one on the course. I look around. No one else is waiting that I can see. It must be the wife puking. Dear god, this is NOT good. I listen more. They continue to talk about how bad this person looks. I do not want to be part of this disaster.

So, what better thing to do than to abandon my teammate? I make an executive decision. I'm watching the event staff put away some of the equipment. I see them stare at me and look at their watches. I go to the start line and hand my watch to the timer. I say, "Please give this to the biker when she comes in. She'll know it's mine. Tell her I started running without her." He looks at me quizzically and says, "But you'll be disqualified." Like I care. It's ten million degrees out now, there is only one runner out on the course and I'm going to hold up the staff for days. I smile and start the run.

It's embarrassing enough to be the last person on the course. It's another thing when they follow you in a car and pick up the cones as you run. I felt like I was getting a little push from the sag wagon. I sweat, I sweat, I get dizzy, I run, I sweat. There is NO WATER on the course, as they've already picked that up. Great. So, I'm parched and sweating. I pray for death.

After a week and a half, I get to the finish line. Standing there next to the line is the wife and her ten speed. She is NOT amused. The staff event has cleaned up the area and all that's left is the timer. No after race drinks or fruit, no enteretainment, no prizes, no participants. She stares, glaring at me. How am I ever going to explain this to her? She is a competitor. She doesn't quit. She is not the type to give in. I begin to think she is going to shove my watch up my ass.

It's a long, silent, painful ride home (and thirst-filled--I still had nothing to drink). Through cotton-mouthed lips, I try to explain that they had been talking about her puking on the course, looking awful, being only half way done. She glares at me, barks out that she had not thrown up and was second to last in crossing the line. They had been talking about the person behind her. Oh dear.

I get the "THERE IS NO "I" IN TEAM" lecture and that's all I get. My explanations do nothing for my lack of sportsmanship. I didn't want to make the event staff wait longer. I was embarrassed to have to be the last runner, especially when everyone had finished before I had started. I....I.....I.....

....it's ten years later and I'm still not sure she's totally forgiven me. Every once in a while, she'll say, "there is no "I" in team...., and then she adds, "but there is an "M" and an "E."

I'm all for me.

I promise that the next time anyone asks me to run in a team trialthon, I'm going to throw myself in front of a bus.