My mom was barely 39
My father still just 41
Trace back time’s arrow on a line
That far to where the slanted sun
Of February warms the sand
At water’s edge on O’ahu
And what became the Ironman
Turned can’t be done to what we do


Tri Training

Swimming’s something fun to do
I’m happy when I’m running, too
It’s fun to do the things you like
I’m hoping soon to love the bike

And Baby Made Three

Someone born today
Back in 1936
Would be 81

All three multiples of three
Within its digits*

March is the third month
27 is three cubed
(3 x 3 x 3)

I need hardly say
3 x 3 x 3 x 3
Equals 81

Naval architects
Who had been born on that date
Would build trimarans

And, had they been drawn
To athletics, what’s the sport
They’d most likely tri?

Silly number games
Just a way to celebrate
My daddy’s birthday

*One of only twelve
Years since
Anno Domini
In which that was true

The last one, of course,
Came 3-cubed years after that:


Midnight approaching, the nearly-full moon
Lights the end of the seventeen-plus-hour days
For the staggering swim-bike-and-runners who’ll soon
Meet the haole wahine who hands out the leis.

First To Fall

We started with the bike, as I recall–
It seemed a good idea at the time–
And someone in the front row took a fall
Just as the gun went off. Who’s guilty? I’m.
I’d just reached down to tighten up the strap
On my toe-clip (who still remembers those?)
When BANG the race began. I thought, Oh, crap,
And someone bumped me sideways. I suppose
The day will come when I feel less ashamed
Of ruining the Optimists’ debut
Triathlon, but maybe being blamed
For Tri-Disaster One’s a sort of coup?
Someone has to be the first to fall
In every sport, and I answered the call!


Racing’s fun, and Kona’s great,
But I’m not sad tomorrow’s date
Is special not for crowds and cheers
But for the eight-and-twenty years
That I’ve been wearing this gold band
On finger four of my left hand.