On Saturday morning we went to the triathlon. I was absolutely amazed at the number of people who were there at that time of day. I got a flyer from one of the booths in the transition area, and I read that there were almost 2,000 people participating. All around us men and women were swarming, getting ready to swim. Some were in wetsuits, but most of them were in bathing suits. I had fun checking out the guys in Speedos, and I was glad I had worn sunglasses so I could do it without being too obvious.

"Let’s go down on the beach so we can see them swim," Rick said. I followed him down.

He had a pair of binoculars, and it was a good thing because they swam pretty far out into the Gulf. The swimmers were all wearing bathing caps, and they were color coded to identify the group each person belonged to. The flyer gave the code so you could follow it. The "elites" went first. Those were the professionals who, presumably, earned their livings by running in triathlons. They were followed in turn by the other groups, including the Clydesdales, guys weighing over 200 pounds and women weighing over 150. There was a group of handicapped people, too, which I thought was pretty gutsy.

Each participant had a tiny electronic device on them. Those things triggered the individual clock for each participant as he or she passed a milestone, such as the start and finish lines, and checkpoints along the way. That way, they could get a precise race time down to the second for every single participant. That seemed pretty high tech to me, but I later learned those devices are used in all major races involving large numbers of people.

It was really pretty cool to watch each group line up on the beach to wait for the starting gun. They would run out as far as they could and then just dive in. They had to pull a couple of people out of the water, and I was glad to see they watched the swimmers so closely.

"You want to use these awhile?" Rick asked, meaning the binoculars.

"No, that’s okay."

"Here," he said, handing them to me. "You can see so much better with them."

"Those are yours, man. I should have brought my own," I said. I was sorry I hadn’t.

"And if you had and I hadn’t, would you have let me use them?" he asked.

"Well, sure," I said.

He got the cutest look of impatience on his face. "Use the fucking things. Or I’ll hurt you."

I laughed, and he did too. He was right, though. The binoculars made a tremendous difference.

We watched the swimmers a while longer. It was fun when they crossed the finish line and everybody cheered. Some of them looked pretty tired, but others weren’t even breathing hard.

"I wonder why some are wearing wetsuits," I said.

"I don’t know," Rick replied.

"Because of the water temperature," a man standing next to us said. "The race director decides on the morning of the event whether wetsuits will be required or not. Evidently, this year he made them optional."

"Thanks," Rick said. "Don’t the wetsuits slow them down?"

"Yeah, they do. But some people get leg cramps real easily in cool water. Those really slow you down. In fact, they can make you have to quit the race."

"But those wetsuits only cover their upper bodies," I said.

"True," the man said, "but you’d be amazed how just that little protection keeps you warm."

The temperature had risen considerably, and Rick took his tee shirt off and hooked it to his belt. The breeze made his skin contract, and his nipples got as hard as pebbles. God, he looked sexy. His display of flesh wasn’t lost on the guy we had been talking to, either.

"Either of you boys ever think about running a tri," he asked us.

He looked Rick over in some detail. I was beginning to wonder what was going on.

"From the looks of you, I'd say you’re no stranger to sport," he said to Rick.

"I played sports in high school. I work out some, play racquetball, run," Rick replied.

"I’m Marvin Ganos. My two sons are runners, and all three of us belong to our local running club." He reached out his hand to shake.

"I’m Rick Mashburn," Rick said, shaking the man’s hand.

"And I’m Kevin Foley," I said, when it was my turn to shake.

"If you’re interested, you ought to check out our booth back in the transition area. They can give you a membership application and information about the club. It’s a great group of people. Like a community, really. We’d love to have you fellows join. You are local, aren’t you?"

"Yes, sir," Rick said. "We just moved here a few weeks ago."

"Well, if you want to make friends, have fun, stay in shape, and get a tremendous sense of accomplishment, try tri."

"Thanks. I’ll think about it," Rick said.

We walked back over to the transition area where people were leaving on the bike portion of the race. Some of the athletes just put on shoes and took off in their Speedos; others changed into biking attire. They did it right out in the open, and I saw more than one wee-wee that morning. I didn’t notice if any of the women changed, but I suspect they didn’t do it as openly as the guys.

We went over to the booths that were set up around the transition area. We found the one for the running club and talked a few minutes with the two ladies who were staffing it. Their husbands were both runners, but they said they were associate members of the club.

"That means we get to do all the fun stuff but none of the stuff that hurts," one said. We chuckled.

Rick seemed very interested in the materials they had. He took an application and a small brochure about the club.

"Can you run at all with your bum knees," he asked me.

"Yeah. I can run a little, but I could never do serious long-distance running," I said. "Are you going to join?"

"I might."

We walked over to the vendor area and looked at the stuff. One booth had shoes, and I was amazed at the prices. Paying $80 for a pair of running shoes isn’t terrible; paying $250 for a pair is, and that’s what some of them cost.

"What’s the difference in these shoes," I asked the guy working the booth.

"Well, a serious runner will go through a pair of those cheap ones in a month. Those you’re holding will last six months or longer."

That made sense.

Next we looked at the bikes. Wow! They were real beauties, but they had some really hefty price tags.

"Do you have a bike?" I asked Rick.

"I have the one I used to ride around campus. Nothing like these."

"You fellows need bikes?" the proprietor asked.

"Not really," Rick said. "Have you got a shop in town?"

"Yes, sir. Here’s my card. Let me know if you want to try one out."

The guy was friendly, and I liked the fact he didn’t give us a hard sell. Rick looked at all of them and decided to try one. He told the guy, and the man helped him get it out the tent. Rick rode off down the parking lot, but he was back in a few minutes.

"This really rides good," he said to me. "I’m going to have to save my allowance," he said. I chuckled.

We decided to get some chili dogs and soft drinks at one of the food booths, even though it was the time of day when I usually ate toast or cereal. We sat at one of the picnic tables they had set up and ate. I was getting a little hot, so I took off my shirt, too.

By the time we had finished eating, some of the bikers were back and ready to take off on the run. Again, some of the guys changed into running shorts right in the open, and everybody changed shoes.

Rick and I walked back to the beach to watch the last of the swimmers come in. We looked for Marvin again, but he wasn’t around. I figured his boys had finished the swim, and he was somewhere else.

After cheering in the last swimmers, Rick and I took a little walk on the beach.

"I think this sport is really cool," he said.

"So do I. The people seem really nice, and it’s fun to just be part of all of this. How many people do you think are here?" I asked.

"Earlier this week the paper said they were expecting between 12,000 and 15,000 spectators. It looks like that many to me."

"Yeah. I’m glad you found out about this. This is a really major event."

"Yeah. It’s being televised locally," he said.

"I figured it was. I saw the trucks from the TV stations. I wonder if they’re feeding it out nationally."

"I don’t know," he said.

We walked along for a while in silence. Then Rick spoke.

"You know what I wish I could do?"

"What?"

"Hold your hand," he said. I knew he was embarrassed to say that, but I was enormously pleased.

"So why can’t you? Nobody’s down this far," I said.

"You would let me?"

"Of course, I would. I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?"

"I hope you are. I want you to be." God, he was cute.

"I think we pretty much proved that to each other last night, don’t you?" I said.

"You mean, you weren’t just overwhelmed by lust for my magnificent body?"

He took my hand.

"Well, sure I was, but I’m overwhelmed by all of you. Not just your magnificent body."

He squeezed my hand, and, emotionally, that was the right thing to do at that moment.

"I know you were just teasing about your magnificent body, but I happen to think it is magnificent. I’ve been checking out the boys since we’ve been here, and I haven’t seen a body yet I’d swap for yours."

"Get serious, Kev. Some of these dudes are hot, man."

"Oh. So you’ve been checking them out, too, eh?"

"Of course, I have. What do you think? That I’m blind? I’m gay, Kevin. Just like you."

"Hey, I was just teasing you. Besides, it hasn’t been just us gay guys checking out the man-flesh around here. Did you see Marvin checking you out when you took off your shirt?"

"Yeah, I did. What was that all about?" he asked.

"Rick, you’re stunning to look at. Buy into it."

"I’m not as handsome as you, though. You could be a model, man," he said.

"Would it freak you out if I told you I have been a model?" I asked.

"Nope. It wouldn’t surprise me. When did you do that?"

"In college. One of my friends worked in advertising for that big department store in the mall, and he lined it up for me. I was in a few of those glossy inserts they put in the Sunday paper," I said.

"I didn’t know they did one of those for every city. I mean, that store is all over the state."

"It’s all over the Southeast, and, you’re right, they don’t put one out for every city."

"So, you’ve been in newspapers all over the place? That is so awesome, Kev. With that big uncut dick of yours and that pretty face, we’ll have to set you up for some nuuuuuuude modeling. I can see a whole career on the Internet for you."

"You asshole," I said, talking and laughing at the same time. I punched him a pretty good one on the arm.

"Oh, you’re an aggressive little bitch, aren’t you?"

With that, he stuck his foot between my two feet, and I went down on the sand. He jumped on top of me, pinning my shoulders to the beach. I felt his erection, and I’m sure he felt mine. He leaned down and kissed me chastely on the lips. "Say ‘uncle.’"

"No!"

"Say ‘uncle,’ or I’m going to make you come right now. I feel that rod you’re packing." He started moving back and forth.

"Rick, please. Not here. Please!"

He caught the desperation in my voice.

"Okay," he said. Then he kissed me lightly again. "But you wait until I get your ass home."

He let me up. I picked up a handful of sand and threw it at him, saying, "Yeah, right. Like you could." Then I took off running.

He came after me in hot pursuit, and he tackled me. He had me pinned under him in an instant. I didn’t know what was going to happen next, but then he kissed me. He really kissed me. Then he let me up.

As we were walking back to the race site, he said, "I really liked doing that. Did you?"

"No. I hated it."

"Yes, you did, you lying asshole."

"Yes, I did. And you know it."

"Yeah, I do know it. I think we just made love," he said.

"I know we did, Babe. And it was great."

We watched the first of the runners cross the finish line, and we cheered our asses off for them. Those people, mostly guys, looked so incredibly happy. We left shortly after that.

Rick was driving my car. When we got back to my apartment, he made good on his promise on the beach. Very good.

That was my introduction to tri. After that I joined the running club and started training for the next Gulf Coast Triathlon. The Ironman is the standard. The swim is 2.4 miles in the Gulf of Mexico, the bike is 112 miles, and the run is a full marathon, 26.2 miles. The Gulf Coast is a half Ironman.

I worked my ass off all fall, winter, and spring getting ready for that thing. I bought a nice bike for $2,400 (I later traded up for one that cost $4,100), a shorty wetsuit, running shoes out the bunghole, and all the other stuff I needed. Kevin and I moved in together in January before the race in May, and he supported me in everything I wanted to do. It wasn't easy for him, though. I mean, I trained a hell of a lot, and many a weekend he hung around the apartment by himself waiting for me to get home. When I came home, I was usually dead tired, too.

I ran the Gulf Coast tri that May, almost a year to the day from the one we had gone to, and I finished with a respectable time. Kevin was so proud of me, and I was pretty damn proud of myself, too. He hugged me hard right after I crossed the finish line, and when the guy put the medal around my neck, I took it off and put it around Kevin's neck.

Finishing that race made me determined to run the Ironman. We just went to it the first year they had it during the following November, but after that, finishing the Ironman, being an Ironman, became an obsession.

I did it, though. I finished the Ironman Florida. It took me thirteen hours of continuous movement, but I made it. Kevin's parents, his brother, and Cherie, who was then still just Craig's girlfriend, came for the race. They were incredibly proud of me, and I was pretty damn proud of myself for doing it.

* * *

"Are you going to the Ironman with us?" I asked Kyle.

"Of course. I haven't missed one yet," he said. "You've got to be some kind of dumb fucker to get in that thing."

He was teasing me.

"You know I was in it, don't you?" I asked.

"Yeah, of course I know. I actually got a hard-on when I saw you pass by," he said.

"Asshole. So why is it dumb?"

"Rick, look at me, okay?"

He was exaggerating his Emerald Beach accent just like I had heard his dad do so many times when he was playing.

"To swim, bike, and run that far at one time is extreme. Ironman is an extreme sport, and it's dumb, see? But I happen to admire dumb. I'm one of the few who do. That's why I like Justin so much and why he likes me. He admires dumb, too."

"You think I didn't get what you just said, don't you?" Justin said.

Those guys could turn anything into a comedy show.

"I know you didn't get it 'cause you're so damn dumb. Hell, I didn't even get it, and I said it," Kyle said.

He and Justin burst out laughing, and the rest of us joined them.

"I don't know about you, Goodson," Jus said.

"Yes, you do, Davis. You're just too dumb to realize you do. You don't even know what you know, Davis," Kyle said.

"Yeah? Well, fuck you, Goodson," he said. "By the way, what exactly does 'fuck you' mean?"

We howled, we were laughing so hard. Trixie started barking, wanting to be part of the fun.

"Why'd you give up tri, Rick?" Brian asked.

"Let me tell that story," Kevin said.

"It was a Sunday afternoon right after Christmas. Tim, it was right before you came to stay with us. He was out training on his bike up on Highway 20. It was a beautiful afternoon, not a cloud in the sky. He and one of his friends were training together, which was fine, only the friend had to quit early to go somewhere with his wife.

"Rick wanted to put in more miles, though, so he stayed with it. That highway has a bike lane on both sides, but they're just extensions of the regular road. They're not off-road like some are. He's peddling, peddling, peddling, going as fast as he could."

"I wasn't going that fast," I said.

"Shut up. I'm telling this story, not you."

"Yeah, but you weren't there. I was."

They all laughed. They loved it when Kevin and I got into little mock fights like that.

"Anyway, he's peddling as fast as he can, and here comes this big eighteen-wheeler. A semi. Loaded for bear, and just a-gunning it."

Kevin was putting it on thick, country accent and all.

"All of a sudden. Swoosh! No more Rick. Knocked clean off the highway into a ditch. A filthy maggot-invested, mosquito-breeding ditch. Week-old vomit would have been cleaner."

I laughed out loud, and the others looked at me like I was intruding. Kevin was doing theater, and they were enthralled. They weren't one bit interested in what really happened.

"Rick pulls himself out of the ditch onto dry land and collapses. Unconscious. Dead for all the world to know. Vultures and buzzards were lining up, knocking one another out of the air to get to him. It's getting late. Darkness is creeping in. Pretty soon the moccasins will start coming out of that ditch, looking for a tasty treat.

"Then he wakes up. He pulls out his cell phone and calls me. Meanwhile, I'm frantic. I've been to church twice over it, but no help there. I get in my car and haul ass to get him. I finally rescue him in the pitch black of night. Saved."

They clapped when Kevin finished his story. It was almost 100% fiction, but it was a damn good story.

"So what really happened?" Tim asked.

"This critical thinking bullshit at that school has got to end," Kevin said.

We all laughed hard.

"I got blown off the highway by a truck. I was stunned pretty bad, but I don't really think I was ever unconscious. I called Kevin, and he came and got me. He took me to my car, I put the bike on the wrack, and I drove home," I said.

"That made you quit?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah, that made me think really hard about it all, Kyle. Kevin would never admit this, I know, but it was a hardship on him because I spent so much time training. You and Tim came into our lives a couple of weeks after that, and I had better ways to spend my time. You guys like to talk about what we've done for you, but you've done a lot for us, too, you know," I said.

"It's worked out for all of us, hasn't it?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah, Kyle. It has," I said.