I was ready for my first triathlon and ready to beat mum. She was 35 and I was 12. Mum was in fine form having won her last two races, and I felt only one thing—ready. Not intimidated by her or anyone else in fact. The ultimate goal was to beat her. We drove across the border for about an hour and I dreamed about beating Dave Scott in Kona in the lava fields one day while looking at his picture in my French triathlon magazine. I could not wait to get to the race and jumped out of the car in excitement. Dad showed me how to set up a transition in details patiently.
‘Winning is all about the tiny detail,’ he said, while looking at me with love.
He did not want to race today so that he could witness this exciting family feud firsthand. He was on photo and cheering duties. Not sure who he had his money on that day; I never asked him.
I stood on the start line, trembling, anxious and filled with the poisonous nervous energy that I later worked out could empty you of all of your strength and energy. Breathe and relax I kept telling myself, just breathe. I was excited for the triathlon world to see this new rising star, I thought in full confidence.
I glanced at Mum Rocky Balboa style, with the eyes of the tiger, but I never saw fear in her eyes, only love, respect and joy. She was enjoying this as much as I was.
We kissed and hugged as a family, but as soon as the gun went off, we raced as foreigners and enemies. Dad always told me that there was no friendship during a race. Friends are friends only before and after, but never during the race. There was no friendship or family once I jumped in the murky canal waters. No wetsuit needed; the water was warm enough.
She swam better than me; I did not sight enough and swam extra distance because of this. I was devo but I wasn’t quitting yet. I jumped on my aluminium steed superman style and pedalled hard like there was no tomorrow. I caught her at the 5 kilometres-to-go mark with my oversized triathlon singlet flapping in the air, arrived in T2, transition number 2, and jumped off my bike clumsily. I felt like a cat jumping off on thorns then and I hissed in panic in the heavy landing, which luckily was on grass. I got changed quickly, sprinted out of transition and ran for my life. Catch me if you can, I thought in full cockiness. Sweat was pouring down my face, blinding my eyes. My head was cursing with pain and my heart felt like it was about to implode.
Don’t stop. Keep running. You can nearly see the finish line, no time to drop on your knees to beg mum for mercy. Don’t be a fucking softy, keep pushing, I swore at myself.
But with one kilometre to go on the run she caught me.
‘Whose ass is being dropped now,’ she said as she sprinted past and slapped me on the ass. I could not say anything back, and the only thing I let rip out of my chest was the panting that sounded like it was coming from a dying wild beast. I tried to keep up and jump in her steps, but a meter quickly turned into two, five, ten. I had no reply, no more goes in me. She passed me like I was standing still. I was done, cooked. I had lost fair and square and my ego was bruised. My world collapsed; no excuses, Mum was simply better today. I closed my eyes for a moment in defeat while running onto the grass finishing chute. The pain I felt when they called out her name at the finish line before me resonated in my head like a bad tune stuck in there on repeat. She crossed the line as the winner for the day, broke the tape and raised her hands to the sky, not sure if she had won overall or not, but she had.
I wanted to be the king that day, but the queen took over in winning fashion and she looked radiant as she stood on her throne disguised as a podium for the day. I applauded her in pain and jealousy, but in love and admiration as well. She lay there in the grass, trophy in hand, momentarily tanning like a Hollywood star and looked the part in a sport where looks are everything. She looked up at me and smiled.
‘How did you go, Fanou? Did you enjoy it?’
‘I did, Mum. And you?’
I felt pretty upset with myself for letting her beat me, so I cut it pretty short. As we walked away back to the car, she gently put her hand on my shoulder and I told her that this would never happen again. She had so much life and joy in her eyes and so many praises for me on the tip of her tongue.