My favorite Google search to hit this page as of late: water proof pasties.
Either someone’s working up a real sweat on that stage pole, or they’re planning one spectacular beach debut this summer.
Good luck waterproof pasties person! Please beware of aggressive adhesive chaffing!
In other news, because I’ve think I’ve been all “active” as in swimming a lot lately, and because I just can’t leave well enough alone when it comes to physical activities when I actually chose to participate in them -- I went ahead and entered a triathlon this summer.
Oh, don’t worry. I know my limits. It’s a sprint triathlon, which means the distances are short. And I am entered as part of a relay team which means my sister and best friend, who are like, actual athletes, will do the biking (14.7 miles) and running (5k).
I have the easy part, which is to swim an approximate half-mile, and try not to drown in the process.
Yeah, I know. Who do I think I am, right? I swim on a regular basis for a few months and all of the sudden I think I am like, a triathlete. But you know, I figure I just don’t do enough of the things in life that scare the hell out of me (I mean, besides the drinking, drugs and casual sex*) so if you are going to go for like, basic instinct fears, I can think of little more basic than swim OR SINK AND DIE.
You’ve got to start somewhere.
So far my training has included vigorous hour-long swims 4-5 times a week, beer lifts, a very strict guacamole regime, and actually joining this once-a-week YMCA program geared towards this particular triathlon, in which I stand around next to actual athletes while looking like a stuffed sausage in my swimsuit.
No, I am not being paranoid. Before the first session the instructor was happily handing out swim caps to the other people in the program. Then she got to me and honest-to-god paused for what seemed like ten minutes to give me a serious look up and down and state in a very curious manner, “Umm…yeah? … You’re here?…For the triathlon swim program?… Umm, right?”
It’s encouraging, really. Nothing like the naysayers to make the fat girl in the class want to kick some ass.
Actually, what it really does is make me work hard enough not to be dead last during the drills, but yet also work hard enough not be the first one in the program to have the big coronary in the pool.
It’s a balancing act, I tell you. But as of now I am guessing the rest of the program participants’ bets are on either me or the 65-year-old retiree. And let me tell you, so far I am kicking that guy’s ass.
Don’t judge me. I’ll take my victories where I can, all right?
The funny thing is, all of that aside, the real challenge is actually trying to come up with a name for our relay team. Apparently, if you are in a relay team you have to sign up with some snazzy name. So, looking on the web site that posts the results of this particular triathlon from past years, it seems team names "Chicago Cuties", “Lady Babes,” “Tri-Blondies” and “Cute and Fast” have already been taken.
So, you know, those are out.
Me? I am totally ready to go with something tuff like, “AND YOU WILL KNOW US BY THE TRAIL OF DEAD.” But my teammates are kind of thinking that might be just a liiiitle bit unsportsman-like, so I guess we are going with something else.
Be a lamb and leave your suggestions, prayers and clinical analysis of crazy in the guestbook, won’t you?
* c’mon people, I am totally kidding about the drugs, okay?
notify list below. because I suck.