Brazil

I don't know who should get the blame here. There really are so many who are deserving: my father, my mother, my publisher. Let's start at the beginning. I have a deep love of Brazilian music, in particular samba and bossa nova. I hear it and my heart takes flight. I'm suddenly on a beach, warm, tropical air on my skin, a pink sky overhead, a slight breeze ruffling the palm trees. I don't know why this is. I've never been to Brazil, although of course I would love to go. Actually, I'd love to visit most of South America, but that is a story for another day.

For the longest time I didn't know why I was drawn to the music of João Gilberto, Antonio Carlos Jobim, Gilberto Gil and so many others. I just knew I was pulled toward it like a bee to a flower. Then one day my mother said, "You know, your father always loved that music. When I was pregnant, he listened to 'The Girl from Ipanema' and songs like that all the time." So now I have this picture of my mother and father, hipsters in 1965, playing the still-new albums of João Gilberto and, probably, Stan Getz, the American sax man who helped introduce bossa nova to the U.S. Astrud Gilberto singing "The Girl from Ipanema." So that explains a lot. I've been loving it for a long, long time. Before I was even, well, you get the picture.

Not long ago I found a new album by Bebel Gilberto, daughter of João. One swing through the CD player was all it took. I was there in Brazil. And, just as suddenly, I found myself thinking of an Ironman.

Well, now you know about my mother and my father. They started it all, obviously. Now to my publisher. That Ironman thing is all his fault.

He has started this series called Southernman, aimed at helping triathletes around the world see the beauty in some of these Southern Hemisphere Ironman races that don't fill as quickly as their northern counterparts, take place in gorgeous settings, and can be quite affordable. Ironman South Africa, the focus of the work thus far, is staged in Cape Town—another place I would love to see. In some ways, I think I was born in the wrong century. I really want to sail around both Capes before my time here is done. Just the thought of it sets my brain buzzing.

Still, South Africa seems a little far afield for my wallet at the moment. But Brazil—it's just south. A little further south—OK, and a little east—of, say, San Diego. This is how rationalization works, for those not familiar with the technique.

Suddenly, with Bebel singing these dreamy sambas in the background, I found myself in front of the computer, checking out airfares. Hmm, not so bad. Of course, I had months ago visited the the website of the new Ironman Brazil, with its new island home in Florianopolis, its new race director, its new athlete backers, Ken Glah and Fernanda Keller.

Speaking of Florianopolis, I learned whilst surfing that it is connected to the mainland by Brazil's longest suspension bridge. There's something else I learned about Florianopolis while watching tennis with my husband. Perhaps you know, too—it's the home of Gustavo Kuerten. I'd known he was Brazilian, but it wasn't until we were watching him win the Masters Cup and thus gain the No. 1 ranking for the year in men's tennis that we learned where he was from. I turned to Dave. I said, "You know, that's where the Ironman is in Brazil." "No way," he said. "Way. We could go and you could hang out with Guga. Maybe he would show you the secret of his serve." (After rationalization, you must convince your significant other. This is how you plant the seed, friends.)

If you're not a tennis fan, let me tell you a little bit about Guga, as his fans call him. He is a huge celebrity in South America, and I would say rightfully so. He's cool. He used to have this wild, long, curly hair that he kept off his face with a bandana. Now he's cut it off, and he looks even more righteous. The announcers told us that when he appeared on MTV Brasil this year, millions tuned in. When he isn't playing tennis, he surfs. Then they told us about the vast numbers of beaches in Florianopolis. Well, that was a mistake. Wish I didn't know about that.

But I digress. The website, for a while, had this cool Flash movie of the course, with a little dot moving along the swim, bike and run routes. Who can imagine what wonders you might see while riding? I watched that little dot move by all these exotic-sounding places and let my mind roam. Of course, because this is my little dream, I ignore the possibility that all I'll be seeing is the pavement ahead of me, the scent of warm PowerBars and raspberry Hammergel perfuming the air. No, I am seeing verdant hills, a bright blue ocean, and white sand beaches. Do I spy Guga in the surf? Or perhaps showing my husband his killer serve? Perhaps there will be a pre-race talk and Fernanda will tell us how she has been able to string together her remarkable record in Kona. And Ken Glah will tell us the secret to longevity in this sport.

And isn't that what the new year is about, anyway? Dreaming, and making plans, and letting your imagination take flight? That's what I'm going to do, anyway, from now until New Year's Eve. There's a lot I want to do in the next couple of years, and I figure writing it all down will help me figure out how to get there. Ironman Brazil, 2003. I can see it now. Or maybe Ironman South Africa. Or, for the Arthurian scholar who lives with me, Ironman Wales. It's all out there, after all, just like Auntie Mame said: "Life is a banquet, kid, and most poor suckers are starving to death."

Happy new year. Dream away, then find a way to make those dreams come true.

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