A busy race schedule in Susan Lacke’s two-triathlete household calls for divine intervention.
First, Endurance Gods: Thank you for the fine specimen I call my partner.
He is nice to look at.
And thank you for making him faster than me,
so that I may have a constant view of his firm rear end.
But you have led us to a 2013 schedule
with a combined total of six half-Ironmans, two Leadmans, and four Ironman races.
I beseech you for divine intervention.
Keep us safe when swimming, riding and running, Endurance Gods.
Guide us, protect us and let us not anger the motorists with their big SUVs,
so that we may return home in one piece every day.
Let him remember to wear his ID, for I am sure
he is sick of hearing me nag him about that.
May we remember to stay on top of the chores during peak training periods.
When we fail (and we will fail),
may the neighbors not call the city to complain about the overgrowth in our front yard.
Bless us with a bountiful harvest of gels and nutrition drinks.
And when he finishes the peanut butter,
grant him the wisdom to not put the empty jar back in the pantry for me to find after a 100-mile bike ride,
For I will not tolerate that. I will not.
Lead us away from runger, but deliver us some pizza.
Should I choose to skip a 4 a.m. workout in favor of sleeping in,
break all the light switches in the house,
so that I may continue my slumber without the interruption of
his profanity-laced search for socks and iPods.
And should he decide to sleep in, too,
let me be aware of this rare event,
for I will cuddle the stuffing out of that man.
On race day,
when things start to get tough,
let him lap me when I need it most,
for a pat on the butt and a “good job, babe” is the best thing in the world.
That, and watching the view as he runs off ahead of me.
Amen to that.