If you only stop by to hear me get weepy about my kids, skip ahead. But if you enjoy my triathlon related rambling with a dash of bodily fluids – this one’s for you!
Observations Pre Race:
The day before my first Olympic length triathlon I had a couple of goals – get on and off my bike a bazillion times and try not to panic about riding clipped in and get back in the water in my wetsuit and see if I hyperventilate. Note the trend – don’t freak out. I was dreaming big, guys.
I took Lucy into the kid room and managed to push my bike, hold her hand and hold my helmet and my shoes. I even successfully pushed my bike from the seat for a bit, which if you don’t know, totally makes you look like a Cyclist. It is the Grown Up equivalent of riding downhill with no hands. Not NO HANDS when you have your hands up over your head, but just the casual Big Kid in the Neighborhood hands hanging straight down and zipping down the hill with a slightly bored expression on your face kind of Cyclist.
Shoes on. Helmet on. Onto my bike. Rode around about ten miles, switched gears, went up and down some hills. Came to a dead stop in an empty parking lot and decided it was do or die time. Picked a line in the parking lot and pretended that was the Mount/Dismount line. (In a triathlon there is a Transition Area where you switch from one activity to the next, you can’t ride your bike in there. Just outside of there is a line where you mount your bike on the way out and dismount on the way in. Side note: If you have the pleasure of knowing the delightful Laura M from high school then you know that I love this line on my way out. She is a bad mofo that supports my triathlon endeavors and I love seeing her name as I start out on the bike leg of a race!)
I told myself that I would ride to the line and dismount 25 times. That seemed like a reasonable number. I did it 21 times and thought “oh hell, I got this.” And then I decided that was lame to cut it short and did it 4 more times. And then I felt so damn good about riding clipped in that I stopped and took a picture of myself to send to my mom with the caption “Look, I might not die in my race this weekend!” And then I prepared to ride back to my car and rack my bike.
And I fell down. Of course I did. I should know better than to get cocky. Falling actually thrilled me, I no longer had to fear tipping over! Bloody knee? Check!
I hobbled into the pool.
Wetsuits are tricky. Getting in a wetsuit on a cool, crisp morning in the out of doors looks pretty silly but you’re doing it because you’d freeze if you just hopped in the water. Wriggling into a wetsuit poolside at an indoor community pool warrants weird looks from the pool joggers and the AquaBikers. And when you can get pool joggers to look at YOU funny… well, that’s a win. Swam 1000 yards before I was so warm I had to get out. Wetsuit Success.
Into the showers at the gym. Rumor has it chlorine is dreadful on a wetsuit so I just hopped in with it on to rinse off. As I pulled my neckline out from my throat to let the lukewarm water run down the length of my body I immediately set a new goal. I wanted to pee in my wetsuit. Not now in the shower, I save that for the summertime. But I wanted to pee in my wetsuit during the swim portion of the race. If lukewarm water from the gym shower felt this good some 98.6 degree pee would be glorious! (As I said above, I dream big.)
That just left packing up my tri bag and getting a good night’s sleep. Heh. Sleep eludes me on a good night.
But I did get packed. And I did get out the door at 0’dark thirty. Did I Swim 1500 meters, bike 27 Miles and run a 10K? Well, you will just have to stay tuned! I have to get to the gym because… well, because I am obsessed. Determined. Obstermined? Detessed? Your call.
It’s not that I haven’t had anything on my mind. I have tons and tons of things to say. Most of it is not private or scandalous or even very interesting. I look at the images in my phone and I think “what is THAT a picture of?” and I am reminded that I took it because I didn’t want to forget to tell you something.
I wanted to explain that we have finally started renovating our kitchen and that my life is upside down and I can’t find anything and that it is so incredibly hard to keep vacuuming the carpet that we are tearing out in a matter of weeks. Ripping out this shelf paper from my kitchen cabinets is like removing a little tiny piece of 1987 and the sweet old people who used to live here. It makes me happy that this room that I inhabit a bazillion hours a day will finally feel like mine but all in the same breath I am reminded of this little old couple that owned our house. There is a ramp to my kitchen door for a wheelchair and I wonder if the older fellow that went up and down that ramp is even still around to enjoy this warm weather and here I am just gleefully ripping out their shelf paper.
I stole this hat from my brother in 1993. My dad won it in a golf tournament and gave it to my brother. I stole it from him because I love him and that is how you show the feelings to the sibling. You steal their shit and wear it, right? I wore this hat all the time in the years that I drove a convertible and the inside is so disgustingly sweat-stained but I can’t seem to let it go.
Excitement on the side 