Learning the art of losing
Standing in the shadow of the starting line, ankle-deep in a lake the color of iced coffee, my husband throws me a final fist-bump. It's the signal we use during our daily shift change, when one finishes a workout and the other begins, the passing of a phantom baton. The biggest race of our lives is here -- the ITU Cross Triathlon World Championships -- and we're members of Team USA.
Our race nanny brings over our 4-year-old son, who delivers a good-luck kiss. Austin thinks our red, white ...
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