The doors of a new world of deeper knowledge have opened before the daring explorers and adventurers.
Friedrich Nietzsche
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I have interviewed Reyes Estévez (48) a few times, almost always against the background of an athletics track.
Well, in those days, and almost fifteen years have passed since then, this tall, skinny guy with a shiny bald head had been a midfield star, one of the rivals of Hicham El Guerruj, Nurdin Morceli and Fermín Cacho.
I talk to him about those days and his eyes light up and he says:
–What times, what times.
–Once, you and I spoke in Budapest, and in Edmonton, and on Mount Valonsadero in Soria, and in Lisbon, and at the 2008 Beijing Games. And on the slopes of the INEF in Madrid we have had a few races together … –I tell him.
And come on, he nods.
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(…)
A few weeks ago, Reyes Estévez WhatsApped me. he told me
–On October 27 (that is, tomorrow) I will debut in a triathlon, I will do it in Eivissa.
“That’s good,” I replied. I’ll call you in a few weeks and we’ll talk about your story – when I write on my phone, I like to stretch out the syllables, lengthen them like chewing gum. I still don’t know why I do it.
We are on the eve of their triathlon and we have met on the Barceloneta beach, next to the W, the famous sailing hotel.
I asked Reyes Estévez to bring a hat, glasses and wetsuit to enhance the photo, and the man asked me:
–And can I bring the bike?
–Sure, man, bring everything you want. Thus, the image will have more elements.
Mané Espinosa, the photographer, thanks the proposal and here comes Reyes Estévez, he comes as a triathlete, with his Inverse jersey, his Zone 3 bag, his Hoka shoes, the CaixaBank signature on the uniform and the Canyon bicycle, the same model as Mathieu van der Poel uses (on the frame of his bicycle I see the rainbow trim that distinguishes Van der Poel as 2023 world champion).
–Come on, get the photo –Mané Espinosa tells him.
And together, portraitist and sitter descend to the sand of the beach while I stay on a bench, taking care of Estévez’s things (sorry, Barcelona, but I don’t trust carelessness), and our athlete who is now a triathlete puts his feet in the water and he carries the bicycle, which is light as a baby’s breast, and in that way he poses to The Vanguard.
–Shall we sit? –I will propose later.
We sat at a beach bar in front of the Barcelona Natació Club and ordered: a warm coffee with milk for him, a Coca-Cola zero for me.
(Reader, in the final paragraph of this Round and round I will reveal to you the price of the order; I tell you it’s a good whipping.)
“I don’t know how I’m going to put on my bike shoes, but I’ll smear Vaseline on it to take off the neoprene.”
The wind is blowing, it is blowing tormenting the terrace, and I ask Reyes Estévez:
–Almost a year ago, you tried a marathon. He clocked 2h18m in Valencia, an incredible time for a 47-year-old man. And now, what do we do here? What is this triathlon about?
–In April I competed in a half marathon in Ibiza. And when I finished it, the president of the Balearic Triathlon Federation (Ignasi Colom) approached me and asked me: ‘Would you dare to compete in a triathlon?’. And, like a spark, that thought that had been in my mind for a long time jumped out: ‘I would love to,’ I answered. And since I live the sport, fulfilling challenges that I would not have imagined at other times, here I am.
And now, this athlete who was talking to me about 1,000 m sets on an athletics track starts talking to me about swimming sets (8x100m at 1m33s) and about power meters and watts on the bicycle, and tells me that he trains on his own (“ For now I don’t have a coach, I will look for him very soon, when I start preparing for an Ironman…”), who spends the day in the DiR pool in his Sant Cugat or pedaling up and down Collserola with his Triathletes colleagues in Red, and that he is worried about transitions (“I don’t know how the hell I’m going to put on my bicycle shoes, but I’m going to smear Vaseline to take off my wetsuit”) and that he respects the sea.
–I’ve swum out there before, and when the wind blows and there are currents, you can’t control that.
(The coffee with milk and the Coca zero cost 8.40 euros; when I mention it to the waiter, he shrugs his shoulders and answers: ‘What are you waiting for? This is a beach bar.’)
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