Triathlete Love: Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word

A little remorse goes a long way, writes Susan Lacke.

“I’m sorry.”

Two words that are so simple to utter, yet so hard to say.

Triathletes tend to be stubborn. That works in our favor during our sport, especially if we call this trait something else – like tenacity, resolve, or drive. But at the end of the day, we’re just a bunch of obstinate bullheads who are always (always!) right.

But relationships are not triathlons. As I’ve learned, being stubborn only works against me in my relationship with my partner, Neil. As much as I’d love to insist that I am a perfect specimen, the truth is that I screw up a lot. My blunder count seems to be highest around this time of the season, when the majority of my brain cells have been chlorinated and wind-whipped into submission.

But lately, I seem to be on an especially idiotic streak. Neil has to put up with enough of my crap as it is (and for this, he should be sainted) so when I cause a bad situation with my own training-induced stupidity, I put my pride aside and try to rectify the problem immediately.

So, honey, if you’re reading this:

I’m sorry for what I said when I was hungry. Besides, I don’t think it’s anatomically possible for anyone to even do that with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I apologize for the unsolicited feedback on your swim stroke at the pool. In hindsight, “drunken labrador retriever” was probably a poor choice of words.

I did not realize you bought those cookies for the kid’s birthday party. I truly thought you were celebrating my taper in a very festive way! Really, that I ate a dozen of them in one sitting is a compliment to your cookie-selection prowess.

In the future, I will inquire about you and your limbs before I ask how your bike fared in a crash. Though a knee-jerk reaction, it was the wrong thing to say.

You shouldn’t have had to smell that. Who knew those nutrition bar samples would give me such bad gas?

I now understand that mirrored sunglasses do not hide my eyes completely, and I apologize for ogling the pro triathletes while we were watching the race. Your butt is much nicer-looking. I swear.

I’m sorry I ruined our towels while washing my bike.

I’m sorry I ruined our replacement towels at the open water swim.

I’m sorry I ruined our replacements for the replacement towels by…you know what, I’m just going to go open a credit account with the department store now.

Though you’ve long talked about getting a new scale with all the body-fat and water content bells and whistles, perhaps giving you one for our anniversary was bad timing on my part. I promise you, there was no hidden message there.

I’m sorry for asking you to look at my saddle sore. Next time, I’ll wait at least an hour before trying to initiate sexy time. Lesson learned.

I’m sorry for all the stupid things I did this season.

While I’m at it, honey:

I apologize in advance for all the stupid things I will do next season, too.

More Triathlete Love columns from Susan Lacke.