Notes and adventures from the life of a freelance journalist.

This is the other column I wrote for yesterday’s deadline. It’s not great; it’s not awful; it’s not in the paper, either way, so I guess it’s going here.

There’s such value in reflection, which is why I try to journal consistently. I have many, many more things that have changed over the past couple of months of training. I’ll work on putting those together for later blogs. Here are a few….

The Azalea sprint triathlon came and went this weekend and I didn’t participate, though as I twice turned onto Cardinal in my car as triathletes on bikes did the same, I began wishing I had.

It’s been just over two months since I began this saga. Less than one month remains until my first triathlon, the Wilmington Athletic Club sprint. As I wished I was racing on Saturday and Sunday, I found myself also reflecting on things.

I’m sitting here drinking green tea instead of coffee during pauses in my writing, one of many things that have changed in the past two months.

I’ve acquired quite the knack for dressing in the dark, only occasionally with the help of light from my iPod or phone or a flashlight. And I almost always put everything on right side out.

Even though I get up at 5:30 a.m. (most mornings) I still can’t quite make myself go to sleep before 10 p.m. I really wish I could. That would probably keep me from hitting the snooze four times and nearly sleeping every workout.

Hard as it feels to get out of bed that early, I’ve fallen in love with mornings. As my grandfather says, mornings are beautiful, they just come too early. To that I can now add, as I’ve learned, that some of the most rewarding things in life are the things for which we must sometimes work hardest. And make no mistake: getting out of bed at 5:30 a.m. when it’s 30 degrees outside is hard work.

Amazingly, though, Katie, my wife, hasn’t sent me to sleep on the futon in the living room yet. Which is why learning to dress in the dark can be useful.

In training, I’ve gone from swimming in board shorts and biking in t-shirts to, like during this morning’s spin class, literally wearing nothing but spandex. That’s only become possible because I’ve gone from a cocksure ex-college athlete to a humble, respecting triathlete.

Speaking of respect, I’ve learned so much about not just triathlons and training and nutrition—I’ve learned about life. I’m the youngest in this group by, at my best guess, about seven years. Members I consider friends are 20 to 30 years older than I. There’s so much to be learned from those a generation older. Their generation made our generation possible.

And literally, they made my training possible. I ride a 52-year-old’s bike. I’m in this club because of him and a 41-year-old. I swim alongside an 80-year-old. That used to sound so old to me. By now you know me well enough not to take that in offense—it’s simply how I thought as a 22-year-old. Twenty-two-year-olds never turn 41 or 52 or 80, not in their minds.

In this weekend’s triathlon, that 52-year-old won his age group and that 41-year-old won hers. I don’t think I’ll win mine when I race on April 11, but they make me want to. Everything about this group makes me want to.