82 Days - MAKE WAY FOR THE KING

By Kevin Childre
T.o.P. Field Reporter

San Diego, CA.
A dozen donuts, a six-pack of King Cobra malt liquor, and Axe, pushing the crowd aside, “MAKE WAY FOR THE KING”, he proclaimed. The crowds parted, the looks the whispers; “who is he?”, “don’t you recognize him?”, and finally, “oh, I know him!”, “he once talked to me!”

This was the scene, the 1988 Phoenix USTS Triathlon, for a once fit – and considerably thinner athlete, and the raison d'être for our little sashay down the southern California coast.










It was a Sunday race, part of the premiere series in the country; our boy-wonder and his merry band had ridden their bikes from San Diego to do the race. Although it was only 7:00 am, they were already well on their way to the post race beer garden.

Most of us have heard the story before – MANY, MANY, MANY times before. We smile, laugh at the appropriate times, and pretend that it is our first foray down this particular lane. This is what friends do. This is also what happens to old men, the need to reach back to our youth – the first onset of senility. Carter has been enjoying this phenomenon since his late twenties.

In the years since his capitulation, his decline in fitness and training and the near dependence on fish and chips and dark Irish beers, he has grown into a large presence – yes, that seems like a more thoughtful definition to the site of what his old friend Mickey Morera colorfully describes his Lycra clad backside as “two Pekinese fighting in a plastic bag”.

As Hippocrates commanded in his famous injunction, “let food by thy medicine”, Carter has created a virtual doctorial study in the practice.









As he approaches his latest milestone, the arrival of his 45th birthday, he has decided that a grand jester is in order. Gone are the days of 10-hour workouts and all night parties; transformed to dog parks, and play sessions with the Boy-King, the namesake to the Goodnough clan. Now days, early morning drinking sessions come in white cups with mermaid logos on the side. Hence the call of the road, and the need to recapture those days gone by.










So it seems all is not lost, with a new found fire in his eyes; he is sculpting the “white Goodnough wetsuit”, as we have named the insulation that covers his 6’3” frame. So far, as he trains for the pain, the Pekinese are starting to settle – hopes are high that they will soon find another place to play.