As mentioned here and here _ wow, perhaps it’s taken over _ we did our first triathlon. Maybe they should call us MOTS for Moms Of Triathlons or something, because we are so committed and triathlonny and stuff that we rode our bikes to it.
This one was a mini, but worthy of our presence. For sure. The triathlon was an all_women’s kind of “Try the Tri” type of a deal, and a fundraiser for the UNO Swim and Diving team. It was swim 100m, bike 6.6 miles, run 1.5 miles. This one isn’t timed, and there’s no numbers body marking or time chips on the ankle. No worries. We showed up for a practice run to see how this is all gonna go down when we take the gold in triathlon accessorizing in LeMars, Iowa in a few weeks.
When we arrived, a very helpful guy instructed us, “Just park your bikes over there, and there’s a meeting at 7:45 over there.”
JulzHOLLA! mumbles to me (not the guy) “Yes, but where’s the trophy table?” God, I love her.
Mind you, I’m from Texas, and I like hot weather. Typically all sporting events start first thing in morning, when it’s chilly out. I understand why that happens back in Texas in August. But it’s FIFTY. FIFTY DEGREES OUT. And you’re asking me to take my clothes off and get in water to swim. What? The water’s warmer than the air? Bring it on.
According to JulzHOLLA!, I practically ran on water. Really what happened was, I don’t like swimming in lakes, it turns out. I have goggles on, and can’t see past my elbow under the water. So, it took me a while to adjust to it. I didn’t want to put my head in the water. I mean, what’s the point? I can’t see. And at some point, it felt like I was doggy_paddling instead of all this stellar new found knowledge of swimming I’d just acquired. And it wasn’t over soon enough. I hadn’t even made it halfway yet. Did I mention it was a mere 100 yard swim? So, I got a little impatient and just put my head in the water and tried to get back to land as fast as I could. All of my fans (Ricardo, Lucy and Max) swear i was the fastest. I’ll go ahead and agree with them.
Here we are getting started, trying to not put our heads in the water. Eww. JulzHOLLA! is on the far right, I’m to the left of her.
And here I am trying to get out as fast as possible.
Because the bike leg of the race was a different story. And as strong as JulzHOLLA and crew say I am in the water, JulzHOLLA! is on a bike. The bike route was a 2_mile loop through the park. And it was uphill with a headwind, both ways.
Some chick on the tri_bike, and yes there is such a bike, passing us with “What I wouldn’t give for one of y’alls shirts!” Uh, how about third place lady? Now get behind us. What the hell? And then she blew on by us. Bitch. Nah, I’m just kidding. Sort of.
Oh thank you 40 yards of downhill. Thank you thank you thank you!
JulzHOLLA! is total power on the bike. I really struggled to stay with her. And then going up the hill, I took advantage of her gear shifting misfortune and would catch up to her each loop around. The kids and Ricardo and Sven were there cheering us on each time we looped around. I love that the cheering section was in the one part of the loop that was downhill. It made us look like we were going so fast!
The bike was pretty tough for me. We had the option of doing one, two, or three loops. The plan was to do the max amount. But after the first loop, I was ready to go run. But I was a good little accessorized triathlete, and the pain numbed itself in the middle of lap two. So, we stuck with it, only because JulzHOLLA! had such a lead on me, she couldn’t hear me yelling, “Seriously, we can stop now!”. Finally all that was over, and we came back into the transition area, asked around and found where to run to. And started to jog, and what….the…hell? Where are my legs? Are they off my body? Whew!
Typically when you get off a bike, you’re at your destination and sit down and crack open a cold one. So, a triathlon is not the most natural of things I’ve ever experienced. That, nor childbirth. And so, I just decided that I’d jog and not stop. Because if I stopped, I was pretty sure I’d never start back up. So, I just kept going. I think I heard a groan of disagreement from JulzHOLLA! and then something like, “I’m out. Go ahead. Save yourself!” She must not have walked too long, because she wasn’t far behind me.
I’m pretty sure that’s bad running form, but I’m still upright, so that’s good.
By the time I crossed the finish line, the kids had ditched the “Go Mommy” sign and were off playing. We were in a park, after all. That’s okay. I was greeted with a great smile of pride from Ricardo. The kids eventually made it over to me, and Max and Lucy both were wearing their triathlon t_shirts and their medals they got. Max took his off and put it on me! How sweet is that!? They were really proud. Me too, buddy. After going back and re_reading this, I don’t believe it either, but I really liked trying a tri. It’s such an immense sense of accomplishment. I am so proud of myself and of JulzHOLLA! HOLLA!!! So, we’ll spend the next few weeks working out some weaknesses we’ve acknowleged: running and final fashion accessories.
Sometimes it’s just who you take this crazy journey with that makes it all worth it.
That’s how I roll.
My kids can probably tell you which planet has the most gas.
Back in the easier days of motherdom, we had the 3_day rule. You can try any new behavior technique and stick to it for 3 days, and it works. Yes it does. Uh_huh. Yes it does. YES IT DOES! Take for instance, letting the baby(ies) cry it out to go to sleep, getting off the bottle, no more pacifiers, or potty training. Okay, kidding. Potty training here took a wee bit more than 3 days, but everything else worked. And then Max and Lucy grew up and went to school, and in just three days at the ol school, my kids were ruined. And it’s taking more than 3 days to unruin them. Mostly, the biggest problem is the potty talk.
In all my life, seriously, Poop, Pee, Fart, Butt, and any other fancy reference to said toilet talk items have never been over populated language as they are now. I suppose we’re doing alright considering those are the very words they try to work in to any conversation, “Hey Lucy, Mom just said ‘Do you want a PEE_nut butter and jelly sandwich. hahahaha. Get it PEEEEE_nut?”
“No I didn’t, Max. I said ‘Do you want a PB&J.’”
“Mom just said PEE B&J.”
Clearly it could be worse. I recognize that. At their age, I was filling out MadLibs with my pals with as many expletives as we could. And we were great at it!
School has taught Max and Lucy a few other things. This second grade stuff has upgraded, and I’m learning all kinds of stuff now!
I guess the kids are learning about the planets. Because by the time I finished dinner _ they had an entire solar system made of paper and hanging by strings all over our living room and stairs _ each strategically spaced the correct distance from the sun. I had to check their book. They were eerily correct.
They were showing me around the solar system and so excited to tell me about it. Which was comical, because I’m not much of a mom who really paid attention to silly details like the order of the planets and all. I don’t even think I could name them all. Nor all seven of the dwarfs, for that matter. Still, my kids were wowing me with articulate details as they paraded me through my very own living room solar system.
Every planet had a fantastic story, and then they started to get into story telling about the future, because planets=spaceships=The Jetsons=very cool and futuristic things. (And yes, I introduced my kids to The Jetson’s _ it was a childhood favorite of mine, and now theirs.) That’s when Lucy said to me _”Mom in the future it will be so cool _ they will have Mom On The Rocks Dot Fart. Its gonna be sooooo cool!”
I’m not so sure what’s more bothersome, the DotFart reference or that she knows this blog. And if she knows about it, I MUST be famous, right!?
That’s how I roll.
I just signed up for the triathlon and then took interest in the kids’ magazine, because they are USAT members from their triathlon, which ofcourse, gets a free subscription to the USAT magazine. I figured it was a kids magazine about triathlons, and therefore, my level and that I should read it.
Mais non. It is a full on professional’s magazine. They are serious about this stuff. I skipped all the fancy articles that totally lost my attention with crazy words like “glycogen index” or “split times” and finally found a three part article (get it? three part article, for triathletes…bahahahah!) that covers what to do when something goes wrong on each leg of the race.
Apparently, from this article, I’m going to be kicked in the face, there’s potential for being cut, and could probably come out of the water with a black eye. Also, I could choke and “remember, you can hold on to the safety boat for as long as you need, you just can’t advance forward”. Whew, that’s good to know. Well, there’s my motivation to try this tri. Nice. That’s just the first leg, let’s read on.
So, ofcourse with the Bike leg, you could get a flat or your chain could break, and they talk about how to fix it yourself. My plan is to walk the bike. That, or get the EMT people to call my husband _ because that’s who fixes my flats or chains.
All the while I’m reading this, I’m thinking, “What could go wrong on the Run leg of a tri?” And to that, I answer myself with, “NEVER ASK WHAT ELSE COULD GO WRONG!” And I read on.
The Run leg of the article is titled “When your GI goes bad”. What the hell just happened? My reading eyes have officially been violated. Like that one scene in the book WICKED when you read it and you’re like, “That was out of place and gross and unnecessary.” But then later, you realize it was necessary, but you could have done a better job of getting that message across without all the gory details. That’s how I felt when I read this article.
Does this really happen that often in a triathlon? Shouldn’t this be more of a marathon situation? I mean, I know I’m just running a sprint triathlon, but really. I consider looking away and not reading this article, and then I just read on with some sick curiosity. I read on and ask, “What the hell have I just signed up for?” Tapering fiber down and then back up after the race? WHAT? And then I read the, “You might want to take a potty kit with you.”
A potty kit is a baggie with toilet paper and a lighter. A LIGHTER? What the hell is the lighter for? Cuz, the article has gone this far, but doesn’t tell me what the lighter is for. To seal the bag? To burn off the stinch? Either way, I’m out. No can do.
JulzHOLLA! and I really want to fit in and all, but really, we’ll take our risks of being outcasts and not packing the potty kit. Hopefully our matching outfits will mask our lack of tapering fiber.
I work without a potty kit y’all. That’s how I roll.
This is NOT what we looked like in our trisuits. And who’s the chick with the flowy hair? That’s no serious triathlete! FOR SHAME!
JulzHOLLA! and I are doing a triathlon! Our thinking is it’ll get us in the gym because in a large group, we will want to look good. So, that peer pressure has us actually working out at the gym instead of coffee breaks, lunch at the cafe, or better yet, margaritas by the pool.
JulzHOLLA! even got us a few swim lessons. Now we’re crazy professional because we have our own swim coach. Our swim coach, “Cathi” has been very patient with us. She’s a serious triathlete. Currently, she’s upset because in her last triathlon she won her division, but got 4th overall _ with a borrowed bike, no less. Our goal is to finish while still upright. So, you can imagine what she’s working with. I think she thinks we’re underachievers, but she does so with a pleasant smile and informative tips on swimming better. That’s nice.
It doesn’t help that in a pool, your hearing is a bit muffled what with the water and all, and then it’s just an echoish place. So, we’re getting our first lesson, and Cathi tells us to do a drill where we just use our arms. We were instructed to grab our pool boys, and put them between our legs. The swimming portion of the triathlon just got really good! Sweet, I named my pool boy Rico and introduced myself before I put him between my legs. I can’t remember what JulzHOLLA! named hers since we were laughing so hard. This tri training with JulzHOLLA! is so much fun. But it turns out it’s called a “Pull Buoy” not a “Pool Boy”. Too bad, they probably would have had a much better marketing campaign with my name for it. Clearly, the triathlon/swimming community needs us for times like these.
So, JulzHOLLA! and I scoped out triathlons with certain criteria:
- It had to be an in_pool swim versus a lake swim. Momma’s not ready for that yet.
- It had to be far enough out calendar_wise that we would have plenty of time to train for it. OR have plenty of time to procrastinate and then cram 13 weeks of training into 3 weeks. Whatever.
- And it had to be fairly close for us to drive to.
And lo _ LOCATION, LOCATION, LOCATION sure did factor in when we found a triathlon in_pool, 13 weeks out, that was in LeMars, Iowa _ which if you didn’t know is home to Blue Bunny Headquarters. It’s as if all the stars aligned in our favor.
Once we had all that worked out, it became apparent, that JulzHOLLA! and I have uh, different needs shall we say for wardrobing this event. When you go from swim to bike to run, there’s things that should be covered and properly fitted. JulzHOLLA! is much more well_endowed than I am up top. And, well, she’s nursing. So, her ladies need lots of support. Not so much for me. Still, somewhere along the way, we decided we’d need to match. Yay!
And then we went to try on tri_suits. Yes, there is such thing as a tri_suit. It’s like a sleeveless onesie type of deal with bike shorts. So, we went to our favorite sports superstore and had a lovely 16_year_old girl with 2% body fat help us find our size (ahem, the largest ones they had). First of all, perhaps it wasn’t our size after all. Secondly, the tri_pants _ and the bottom part of a tri_suit have a 3″ band of super band elastic which I’m pretty sure is there to keep the suit in place from riding up. But when you’re 6’3″, just putting the suit on uh, the bodice was too short, and there was pulling and gaping in areas there never never should be. But the band on the shorts was the better visual issue. It pretty much kept my suit on by cutting off the circulation in my legs, I’m fairly certain. And, in doing so, made my thunderthighs look like a weird donut. Or you know when you tie up a beef tenderloin with string, and the meat kinda bulges out…you’ll never appreciate a beef tenderloin again thanks to me. It was gross. Really.
We came out of our dressing rooms laughing hysterically with and at each other. The poor 16_year_old had no idea what to say. So, we comforted her as best we could, “It’s okay hun. We know they don’t fit.” Tears of hysteria are dripping from our eyes. “Just know that having babies is what does this to your body. So, let this be your lesson in abstinence okay? Don’t worry…” more hysterical laughter “We’ll do our best to get these suits off as best we can without scissors. BAAAAAHAHAHAHHA!” That poor girl is probably still devastated at what we looked like in those tri suits.
It was kinda like Fat Guy In A Little Coat. Except it was more like my Fat Thunder Thighs In A Little Tri Suit! Oh. We weren’t giving up either. We finally found a two piece gig that will meet all of our requirements. We went back to the store but, surprisingly enough, the girl wasn’t there. There was a nice guy there who suggested with these super duper tops, there’s no need for a sports bra. JulzHOLLA! and I glanced at each other, started giggling again, but this guy was smarter and just walked away. So, now we are officially suited for our race. We’re going to look fabulous while getting lapped! And we’ll be having the most fun than any of those “winners”. That’s for sure.
That’s how I roll.
I went to turn the dishwasher on the other day, fully loaded, and nothing. Sometimes you really gotta hip check it. Just throw your hip right into it, so it shuts right and then starts running. Nothing. Hmmm, maybe if I turned the knob _ because it’s THAT old, it has a knob, no buttons or finger sensorness.
It screams at you while it’s running. And lately, Ricardo and I have been concerned that it might wake up the kids…who are heavy sleepers….upstairs…with their doors shut. It’s comparable to a tornado warning siren. So, we’ve been considering getting a dishwasher. And I guess it moved from consideration to purchasing when my hip check didn’t work.
I pulled out all the dishes, and washed them by hand. GASP!
So in an effort to help make all the talking and whining go away, Ricardo took us to The Mart. I heart The Mart, y’all! For those of y’all not from THE BIG O, The Mart is the local short for Nebraska Furniture Mart. Mr. Warren Buffet started it up, and he can just send me a check for this lovely advertisement. The Mart is a massive greatness of all things furniture, electronics, and appliances.
The Mart is kinda run like a car lot. There’s a bunch of salespeople there to get you whatever you need and are working on 100% commission. And just like the car salesmen, The Mart sales people are never around when we need them, but circling us like sharks when we window shop. When we shop for purchase, we shop like this: we walk down the aisles, see what we like, make sure it’s in stock, and it’s the right color, and pick it. So, by the time the well_trained salesperson is ready to make her serious pitch, we simply stop her in mid_pitch_sentence and say, “Yeah, we want this one…No, we don’t need delivery….Nope, no installation, my guy here can do it all…No….seriously…we want this one…Okay?No…seriously…stop, we want this one. SERIOUSLY. Okay….thank you.” And they get our little ticket all ready and we go pick it up in pick_up area B.
I used to get excited over summer camp, or a new outfit, but now, my glee, my joy, my comfort, my big ol smile on my face is over the possibilities of this new dishwasher.
Installation was easy because Ricardo did it. And within a half hour of bringing our new baby home, she was purring with great efficiency.
We even threw a couple of peanut butter crusted spoons in. Later, I went to throw something else in the dishwasher while it was running, and I snuck a peak at the spoons and they were CLEAN! ALREADY WOOHOOO! Because, old dishwasher necessitated me scrubbing all the dishes before washing them. And really, that’s bad.
I’ve got the kids in on it now. “Oh, Mommy! Look this is dried spaghetti sauce, let’s put it in the even dishwasher and see if it works now!”
Yes, because our other alternative was Dishwasher Lucy and Dishwasher Max. So, you’re welcome kids.
That’s how I roll.
You know you’re in Nebraska, when you go to pull a weed, and realize it’s corn….
That’s my garden there. Last year, I planted everything and labeled each row with popsicle sticks. But the rain washed off the labels. So, this year, I was watching a talk show and the fat guy from LOST was on, and he likes to just throw seeds into his garden and he gets a beautiful garden. Sounds good to me. Except, he knows his plants. I do not. And I might have thrown a little too many zuchinni seeds in the mix. So, I think weeds and zucchinni have overthrown my throwing seeds into the garden idea. I think there’s tomatoes and cucumbers in there somewhere. But can’t be sure yet.
That’s how I roll.