I Tri-ed

A few months ago, a friend mentioned she was training for a triathlon. Being the great friend that I am, I decided to invite myself. We trained on our own and shared a few concerns / tips / achievements when we saw each other. Then the week of the event came.

I couldn't sleep.

Every night was a dream about the event. I dreamt I forgot my socks. My shoes. My hat. One night I actually dreamt that someone stole the front tire from my bike. It was a long week.

And then Saturday came.

Four of us traveled to Hilton Head, SC the day before. We ate dinner, went for a leisurely swim at the hotel, and packed the car for the next day. 5:15 on a Saturday comes quickly!

We left the hotel and got to the beach at 6:15. This is my 'remind me why I'm here so early and why are you taking pictures of me' face. Cute. I know.

We registered. Got our race numbers. They put your registration number on your arm and your age on your leg. I'm telling you...there's nothing like nearly running out of energy during the running portion - you want to quit - and then you see some lady pass you and she has a '59' written on her calf to get you moving again!

It was my second sprint triathlon. I'm not brave enough to try longer distances yet.

And ladies, um, ladies...let me give you six reasons why you should compete in a triathlon.

Did you find all six abs? Um, hello!

Oh, hi mom. ahem.

As I was saying... what was I saying?!

Oh, right, 6 reasons why you should compete in a triathlon.

1. It's fun.

2. You get to swim in the ocean.

3. You get a tan.

4. You get a t-shirt.

5. You are done by 10 in the morning and can spend the rest of the day on the beach.

6. You can blog about it.

Try it!

Weighty Issues

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love that we set aside a day to truly reflect on our blessings...while eating a delicious meal.

Gratitude and food - can't go wrong with those two ingredients!

This year I was lucky enough to spend my holiday with a former roommate who now lives in New York. I spent my week in Manhattan visiting all the tourist spots. In addition to a fantastic Thanksgiving dinner, I tried lots of pastries from various bakeries.

Lots of pastries.

I really like New York pastries.

Perhaps a little too much.

On Friday, I visited the Museum of Natural History. One floor had scales that calibrated a person's weight as if they were on galactic stars or planets. On Halley's Comet I don't even weigh a pound.

0.193?! Bring me a black and white cookie! I need to eat, eat, eat!

0.043??? I'm losing, not gaining! MORE FOOD! Give me a Chinese cookie!

Extra chocolate in the middle!

58 pounds - okay, that's a little better. I still need sugar though.

Bring me a tri-colored bar.

3626?! GACK! Too much, too much! Suddenly I need to undo my belt.

2.13?! I'm back to wasting away...

hey, wait a second...

2.13 TRILLION POUNDS?!

*thud*

I just fainted. All 2.13 trillion pounds of me just hit the floor.

Excuse me while I go cry.

And start a diet.

Is there such a thing as a pastry diet? I really think I'd be successful at that one.

I Need the Spin Doctors

Let me start off with a few basic facts.

* I didn't have a car during college so my bicycle became my primary mode of transportation.
* While I lived in Utah, I liked to bike a mountain trail near my apartment.
* I still like to bike here in Georgia although the mountains are, ...well, hills.

Taking all that into consideration, I thought I'd try - and breeze through - a spin class at the gym. I've biked for years. How hard could a stationary bike set to music really be?

The first indication I was in for a ride (get it? a ride) was when the instructor asked who had never been to a spin class before. I was the only one who raised my hand. He smiled and said, "You're screwed."

Oh. Thanks.

Then the room transformed from an area full of stationary bikes into some disco dance club. The instructor, who was wearing spandex shorts, a psychedelic shirt, and a torturing device otherwise known as a watch, clipped his shoes onto the pedal, turned the lights low and the music up. If I were the type to go clubbing, I suspect it wouldn't be much different. Legs and arms started moving to the beat, lights flashed, the room heated up, and everyone was either sweating or breathing heavy.

Psycho Biker, the name I affectionately gave the instructor, told us to start on an easy gear comparable to level ground. Throughout each song, he would look at his torture device and every 20 seconds or so we would go up one or two gears. The different verses were upward slopes and the chorus was downhill. I'm not sure what imaginary hill we biked but it sure was steep. My grandpa used to tell me he walked uphill both ways to get to school. Well Gramps, I'm positive I just biked uphill both ways. ...except I wasn't barefoot and it certainly wasn't snowing.

We finally were allowed to coast for a minute. Psycho Biker told us that the next song, although the last, was going to be our hardest. We would climb one hill, plateau, then continue on a second incline until the end of the song. The beat started and suddenly the monotone voice of Britney Spears filled the room. For once I was glad to hear her new song. I realize that's strange, but biking uphill in gear #21 is no time to "Oops, and do it again!"

Thinking back, I should have realized what I was getting into. The names of some sports really are what the name suggests: Basketball - Ball and Basket; Football European style - Ball, Foot, and Europeans; Racketball - Ball and, ...you guessed it, Racket. This class was no different and the name fit perfectly. Spinning, my friends, is exactly what your head will do after class is over!