Logan Triathlon – 2026: The Currents I Move Through

The Weather Before the Weather - The Charge in the Air

Race mornings carry their own weather — a static, a hum. I feel it before I see it: shoulders tightening, breath shortening, the field vibrating with the need to prove something. My nervous system doesn’t join that current; it steps back — not avoidance, clarity. I create a perimeter, stay observant without absorbing — the only way to move cleanly through days like this. The Logan Triathlon unfolded through warm serpentine water, quiet strength on the bike, a recalibrated run shaped by stubborn cramps, and post‑race grace on the asphalt. This event/race reflection moves through terrain, physiology, and community with mountain‑quiet clarity and the body’s remembered patterns.

Before The Churn

Even with distance, connection finds me. A younger athlete with a Chattanooga Ironman bag caught my eye. I mentioned it, and the spark landed — recognition between people who know the long arc behind a simple piece of gear. Later he noticed my Ironman hat and we exchanged a few words. Nothing performative. Just signal meeting signal.

Another athlete asked if we were crazy. I told him yes — but the kind of crazy that pulls us away from the world’s noise. Nathan Pollard showed up too — steady kindness since 2015 or 2016. He said it had been a minute; I told him I’d been hurt; he nodded. Recognition without explanation — endurance camaraderie.

The Water’s Narrow Truth

The swim was warm and serpentine — bodies everywhere, lines collapsing, people drifting. I staged myself in the 12–12:30 group even though I can swim a nine‑minute 500 — not modesty, discipline.

Crowded water pressed in; I stayed long, stayed patient, let the noise settle. I surged at the end, passed fifteen or twenty people, but didn’t sprint out — breath steady, clarity over adrenaline.

The final fifty meters rose from muscle memory — the familiar 1:40 pace returning from deeper ground.

The body reminded me: I still know this line.

The Crossing

I walked to transition — deliberate, quiet — years of refinement shaping each motion: minimal, efficient, clean. I moved without urgency, choosing clarity over speed. A shift between domains, steady and unhurried. No chaos, no rush — just breath, then movement. The day aligned itself around that choice.

The Quiet Strength - The Road We All Share

The bike showed its teeth. South Mendon Rd — 600 South — trucks pressing, riders scattered, locals venting against sun and Gran Fondo traffic. Asphalt forgetting it belongs to all of us.

I’ve been a Share the Road advocate since 2012. Back then I didn’t understand the three‑foot rule; now I give a full bike length — the real physics of safety.

Gravel taught me that — the technical sections, the rock hops, the places where terrain demands humility.

Switching between gravel and a time‑trial bike used to feel jarring; now it feels like fluency.

One kid stood up on the pedals and his bike went erratic. I backed off, called out gently, checked in. He said he was tired. I told him that was great — meaning: he was learning, trying, present. Bike handling isn’t absorbed through osmosis; someone has to model it.

The Guarding - When the Body Speaks

Halfway through the ride, both calves cramped — hard. No warning. No negotiation. I’d hydrated. I’d taken electrolytes. But GLP‑1 physiology shifts appetite, fueling, the quiet math of effort. My wife is on it too; we both struggle to eat enough. Even after the race, all I’d had was water and a meal‑replacement bar. The body remembers effort — but it also remembers absence.

Still, I rode through it — not fast, but steady. Only four minutes off the fastest split in my age group.

Just before Bug Alley, the left leg seized. Both locked during dismount — a hard drop in the terrain. This wasn’t collapse; it was the body guarding itself. Electrolytes shifting, cadence mismatched, fueling light, hydration thin, Tirzepatide shaping the edges.

The body said: I need a different pattern.

The Spectrum and the Current - The Recalibration

The run was the part I knew would break me. I walked most of it — steady, adaptive, unhidden. My goal was simple: keep the 5K under forty‑five minutes. I did. And somehow, finished fourth in my age group.

That’s the spectrum of triathlon: seasoned athletes, newcomers, teenagers, gravel riders, time‑trial purists, people who are fast, people who are learning, people who are just trying to finish. And me — somewhere in the middle — moving through it all with an anticipatory current shaped by neurodiversity, gravel miles, injury recovery, and a quiet commitment to making the road safer for everyone.

The Mirror - Grace on the Asphalt

After the race, one more interaction — small, human, telling.

An unnamed guy bristled with that familiar 21‑to‑23‑year‑old peak‑mentality energy (I revisited this era myself hard in my awakening of 2013-2016) . I recognized it; I used to be that age — too sure of everything.

But Austin leaned in (The Chatanooga backpack guy). He asked whether the laces stay where you set them. I told him they do — that they take getting used to, and that I’d installed mine the day before because I’m coming back from a major injury. He paused, recalibrated, asked another simple honest authentic question. I explained the versions, the reliability, the transition‑time savings.

By the end, Austin mentioned he may give them a look — he was trying to shave time during his events. The unnamed fellow still seemed shocked and unready for the process of WEAD, maybe some day but not this day.

At least with Austin, the interaction ended with curiosity instead of ego. A maturity I find hard to land with – I hope he continues forward and does well!

Grace on the Asphalt

Today wasn’t about speed. It wasn’t about proving anything. It wasn’t even about fitness.

It was about showing up in the current I move through — tuned‑in, disciplined, patient, aware. It was about remembering that I can still do this. It was about grace — for myself, for others, for the road we all share.

The body remembers the line; the path remains open.

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