Coach Mom

My mom is perhaps the most pragmatic person I've ever known. Her advise and opinions (mostly unsolicited) are devoid of any sentiment or regard for potential hurt feelings. The few times she has expressed sympathy have surprised me and the rest of the my family. It's usually while watching an Animal Planet program about the plight of sharks having their fins cut off and left to drown for shark fin soup or geese being beaten for their underfeathers to stuff into parkas and blankets. We find Mom tranfixed in front of the TV, in tears, vowing to NEVER make shark fin soup or buy down comforters again. Other than those few rare moments, she's all business.
Mom is like a rhinoceros beetle: black-horned and prickly on the outside with a soft, squishy underbelly.
She's only recently taken any interest in my triathlon endeavors probably because her hope that I would give up this un-doctorlike and expensive hobby had faded. She asked if Kevin and I train together (adding,"If you played golf, you could play together!"). I told her no--that he rides much faster than I do.
"So he doesn't ride with you, then wait for you to catch up?"
"No, mom, he doesn't." I'm anticipating some sympathetic comment about how he should be nicer to me.
She thinks about this and concludes: "This is good for him. If I were him, I wouldn't ride with you either. It would be complete waste of time." She goes on to tell me that we should train within our own abilities and that I should work harder so I can rider faster and keep up with him. Gee thanks, Coach Mom.
I tell her (big mistake) that when we met 2 years ago I could keep up with him in the pool and even dropped him once on a bike ride.
"Oh, REALLY?" Now she's going in for the kill.
"So why is he so faster than you NOW?"
Here comes the litany of unanswerable questions: Why don't you train as hard as Kevin? Why don't you try harder to swim, bike, run faster? He did it--what's wrong that you cannot?
I feebly explain that perhaps he's on the steep part of his athletic progression and that perhaps I have plateaued. She'll have none of it.
"That's all you have? Pfffft!"
I am 10 years old again, standing in front of her with my math test. I've scored 98%. She tells me, "That's good, but you should score 100% next time."
"So did you and Kevin sign up for IMLP?"
Actually, she doesn't call it IMLP or Ironman--it's simply referred to as "that race that you finish in the dark."
I tell her no, that we did not. She looks at me for a few moments.
"I understand. If your hobby causes you too much stress, then it just becomes work."
Ahhh...an enlightened triathlon insight. Thanks, Coach Mom.