Sundays in My City: Triathlon Report

So, this morning was the long-awaited triathlon. Really, I can't think of a better way to honor Paul's diligent work as a father than to allow him to do what he (and I) do best...watch our children while I chase my various flights of fancy.

I had whipped myself into a bit of a frenzy prior to the race. At the informational meeting, there was much talk of the various egregious errors that could result in the dreaded DQ (disqualification). Triathlon, apparently, is the Soup Nazi of endurance sports. One mistake and..."No Race For You!!"

Additionally, the organizer said more than once that Triathlon is a "thinking person's sport." Shit. Nobody told me this was freakin' chess. 

I managed to arrive by 6:30 AM. It was already about eighty-eight degrees. I dutifully set up my items in the "staging area." Note the socks-in-shoes awesomeness. Thinking person's sport.

 (Never mind that I had to take the socks out of the shoes to put them on...)

It takes a village for me to run a triathlon. I borrowed my friend Darlene's tri-suit, my friend Joanne's bike, and my friend Sellina's helmet. I also had an amazing team of ladies who trained and raced together:

I'm sure they will be thrilled I put this picture on the Interwebz. I'm the one rocking the camel-toe.

Something odd about triathlon racing is that they put your age on your back leg in Sharpie. Everybody wears signs, "I'm sixty-three!" "I'm forty!" "I'm twenty-seven!"

I made me realize that when it comes to telling age, I don't know a damn thing. While I was running, I was ready to kick this girl's ass...until I read that she was twelve. I was happy to see how good forty looks on so many people. Yet, if you asked me to guess, I would have been wrong almost every time. As a narcissist, I believe everybody is my age.

Except doctors. I'm too young to be a doctor. Is it possible that doctors were born in the Ford Administration?

I could go on, but I'll cut to the chase. I tried my best. I worked hard. I was happy with the results.

I also won a door prize, for something called "Heed" electrolyte drink in "Subtle Melon flavor." This made me laugh for two reasons:

1) I kept thinking of Mike Myers in So I Married An Axe Murderer, yelling at his son in a Scottish brogue, "Heed! Move! Now!"

2) If you're gonna drink Melon, why be subtle? I prefer EXTREME HARD-CORE MELON personally.

(I guess humor is subjective, because I just cracked myself up, again.)

Just 'cause, here's a picture of Joel eating a sandwich.

Happy Father's Day!

Thanks to Unknown Mami for Hosting Sundays in My City