Six weeks, no mention of the sport. No talk of gear, potential sponsors, coaching, races that might be fun to try. Triathlon is the new bad word and I’m not allowed to say it for six weeks. My seven year-old is the bad-word police; “Mom, he said the __-word!” is an hourly statement. Most recently it was the m-word.. I can’t imagine what that one was, but Henry knows. And it was bad.

After a year of goals the new goal is to not have a goal.

I have been warned of the Noise. I’m not sure what the Noise is, though my teammates will tell you it’s probably coming out of my mouth. I just keep seeing Kevin Costner making it all go quiet in some baseball flick. Is the dreaded Noise the year-end wrap-up, the tri-mag’s most-accomplished list, the she-only-beat- me-because-she-drafted blog? Is it the gossip of our sport, catty as a gaggle of freshman girls at prep school? For me the Noise is inside – it’s a matter of over-thinking things. Like when you learn to play Tetrus and play all day until your fingers hurt and then you go to bed and can’t sleep because your brain is unable to stop aligning blocks as they fall from the sky.

The past two years, off season has meant running a couple of marathons for me. This year it means running, biking and swimming when I feel like it, which means my goggles are going to rot under a seat in the minivan. Not talking about it, not thinking about it — no T-word for at least six weeks. This year it’s going to be about letting go. It might suck. It might require my husband telling me to shut up, or a loud ipod – but I’m going to cut out the Noise.
(I shouldn’t be writing this. Or thinking it. And don’t tell Henry I said the T-word.)