A triathlete's rite of passage

Meet the culprit. She's the one in the group who's a head taller. Just like me. I always wanted a horse named Taco. So, given my odds of owning a horse in the near future, I named my bike Taco. Sometimes we call her the Blue Taco for genius effect like that.

We have another triathlon coming up. If y'all are in Boone, Iowa next weekend, swing by and give us a shout out. You know it's ridiculous weather when the local hard-core triathletes cancel the group swims because it's too cold. I wanted to go and try out my wetsuit. I mean, really, that's not something you want to figure out in the middle of transition one. It'd be my luck to finally get the thing off and then realize I'm commando underneath. Then I'd get disqualified, and probably arrested. So, JulzHOLLA! and I are eager to try out our wetsuits. We're also nervous about swimming 500 yards in a lake.

Up to this point, all of our swims have been in pools where you can see the ick at the bottom, like bandaids. In a lake, you don't have the luxury of seeing anything. We need to get in open water and practice our panic before the triathlon. But the weather is having nothing of it. So,I 've been trying to work on my weakest leg of the triathlon: the tortuous bike.

I even treated myself to a new bike seat with a hole in it. It's a seat for a hybrid, but I don't care about adding weight to my road race bike. I'm pretty sure it's not going to add time to my race. And if it does, it'll be the most comfortable time, and totally worth it. So, after a lenghthy discussion with a chick at the bike store, who by the way, FINALLY a cyclist with a personality - she even laughed at all my lady bit bike seat jokes, she assured me that no one would point and laugh at me. Atleast not because of the bike seat. The seat is more cushion, adding more height, inevitably allowing full extension of my pedal stroke. Whatever that means. I'll skip the details, but the seat with the hole in it has accomplished it's purpose.

JulzHOLLA! and I went for a quick ride yesterday. Mostly because I need to and I have this weird feeling that I shouldn't bike alone. I now know why.

On my way to get JulzHOLLA! I was going down hill and approaching an intersection that - well, I'm just guessing - I should stop at. To stop you have to clip your shoes out. Because you're attached to your bike. It's not a practice I'm good with, nor find necessary, but you have to do it. It's called clipping out. Or if you're getting your shoes clipped in to the pedals, that's called clipping in. Stay with me, these terms will come in handy in just a second.

I went to clip out, and nothing happened. And I thought, "Hmm, I should probably practice clipping out before I'm going down hill about to barrell through an intersection." And then I clipped out and all was fine. I picked up JulzHOLLA! And as soon as we got to the bike path it started spitting rain at us. But we're so tough we thought we'd go just one lap and then come back. We do, and it was a good ride. Good hills. We go to exit the park, and it's a fairly busy street to cross. We have to stop and wait for the coast to be clear.

I clip the right foot out thinking I just need one foot to put down to stop. And you do. However, I leaned to the left instead of the right. And TIMBERRRRRR! Kerplop. If y'all thought there was an earthquake in the Midwest region of the United States, nope, that was just my ass hitting the pavement. In front of all traffic in West Omaha to see. If you saw it, that was me. I'm fine.

JulzHOLLA! is so sweet, she made sure I was okay and didn't even laugh. Something similar happened to her, and I'm pretty sure I laughed. But she's too nice and ridiculously mature. That, and she knows that this falling while clipped in business is some rite of passage in the Tri world. So, she knew Karma would come nip me in my butt....the left side. And it did.

We made it home, and I told the kids and Ricardo about my little spill and how I got back up, but I'd probably have a pretty cool bruise.

So, that night, I was reading in my office - the bathtub, when Lucy came in. Lucy likes to talk to me while I'm in the bathtub. Perhaps it's because I'm her captive listener there. I don't know. But I remember doing the same thing with my sister. We always had our best childhood chats while one of us was taking a bath. Is that weird? I dunno. Still, Lucy came in to chat. I was almost done, and stood up to get out of the bathtub and saw my bruise.

"Hey! Check out my bruise!" I say. She checks it out but isn't impressed. It's not a giant blob bruise. It's this weird line. Kind of like a fault line on Google Earth. Still, she's not impressed. Maybe she's a little shocked at the location. So I lighten up the shock and eye blinding with, "It's on my BUTTCHEEK!" Because they love the word buttcheek right now.

Then I panic and remind her, "But at school you don't say buttcheek, right? You could say lower hip, or rump, or tush. Right?"

And Lucy says, "I'd call it the hill on the mountain."

Nice. I don't know if she meant that to be cruel, interpretive of my already lumpy butt, or a simply reality. Either way, we both laughed hysterically.

My hill on the mountain is healing just fine now. I'm pretty proud of it now.
That's how I roll.
Song of the day: Moneymaker - Ludacris