Mother nature, you whore

So we trained, we busted our butts. We even convinced our friend Gregg to whittle down his smoking habit, get in shape and sign up for his first triathlon this year.
It was not to be.
We got over here Friday night, picked up our packet info, t-shirt, etc and drove the course a bit.
Despite the nerves that inevitably accompany a race like this, I was excited. More so than in previous years because I didn't feel the pressure of beating a previous time. It was only the 2nd year of the Millenium Triathlon in Grand Rapids, and the first time Ann and I had competed. Actually I should use the past tense, 'cuz we never actually got to race.
It was stormy all Friday night, but it looked like it might stay dry long enough to get the race in Saturday morning. We headed down there in the dark, met up with Gregg and began to set up all our gear in the transition area. Even a brief heavy shower during that time didn't dampen the spirits! We did all the usual fidgeting, got "body marked" by volunteers (the process of having your race number written in big fat marker on your arms and legs so race officials can see which number you are on the course).
Eventually it was getting close to 8 am for the start. The race director had announced a bit earlier that while they were keeping a close eye on the weather, the race was still on. But around 7:45 or so, he got back on the horn. Gregg and I had finally stripped down to just our swimsuits, holding our goggles in hand and barefoot. We were ready to go.
Then they called it off.
It was like having the air sucked out of you. It started a wave of disappointment that grew stronger by the second. And the WORST part was that I felt worse for Gregg than myself. The guy gets his act together and starts a workout regimen all year, even runs a 5k as a warm up a few weeks earlier. I couldn't believe we got robbed of our chance to race.
Granted, I was not overly thrilled about the prospect of speeding down wet area roads on my road bike, but I had mentally psyched myself up for it by that morning.
I just couldn't believe it had been called off.
Ann, Gregg and I just stood there for a few minutes looking at each other in disbelief. Even our buddy Rich had showed up with coffee in hand to cheer Gregg on during his first race.
But like I said, we never even got the chance to watch him try.
700 would-be triathletes put all their crap back in their bags. It looked like a refugee camp for athletes as people slowly walked their bikes back to the remote parking lot in the rain.
Clearly, there are safety and legal concerns for cancelling the race, and all sorts of reasons why the race director and his staff HAD to call it off. And the storms that pounded the area just an hour later proved that the right choice was made for all involved. Unfortunately, understanding all of the reasons didn't make it feel one ounce better as we left without what we came for - the feeling of accomplishment. It seemed that everything else we had planned for the weekend was based on having already run the race. The party Saturday night, not working out for a few days, eating out and treating ourselves a bit. Now it seemed like we didn't deserve it.
I know that's ridiculous, but even now it seems true. We did get a good workout in later that day, but it just wasn't the same. Still isn't.
We're having a fantastic time with the Hankins/Richards clans, and have had the chance to meet Jon's new girlfriend Katie, whom we all thoroughly enjoy.
But something's missing. And the bikes in the garage, race numbers still attached, are a brutal reminder.
As they say, there's always next year.