Why do you do Ironmans?

My buddy and I were talking last night about why I do Ironmans and after a good amount of discussion, I think I came up with an analogy that, for me, sums it up pretty well.

Doing an Ironman in a lot of ways is like being in a bad relationship. You’re in love, but at the same time, you’re completely miserable.

During training, there are good days and bad days and most of the time, the good far outweigh the bad.

Races are a bit different though. Yeah, there are good times, but when the bad times hit, they hit hard and don’t stop until you’re done and it’s over.

For me, while doing an Ironman, all I want is to get out and have it be over and done with. I swear to myself “this is the last time.” I curse Ironman and I curse myself for ever being stupid enough to get involved with it in the first place.

After I’m done, I lick my wounds, revel in the fact that it’s over and I tell myself “Never again! This is it, I’m DONE!”

Then, after the dust settles, the wounds heal and the pain is long forgotten, I’m left remembering mostly the good things.

The bad times, while still in the corner of my mind, are tucked away in the shadows.

The highs seem so much higher and the lows, well, they don’t seem quite so low as they did at the time.

I start to think “You know, it wasn’t really that bad" and I begin to think about races I might want to do. I think about how I felt crossing the finish line and not about how I felt at mile 15 when I could barely walk. I think about that well of emotion that springs up when hearing those magical words by Mike Reilly and how there is nothing -and I mean nothing- in the world like it.

I'm not stupid. I know that sometime during my next Ironman, I'll curse and yell and spit and scream and swear I'll never do it again, all the while knowing I will.

Damn you, Ironman! I wish I could quit you.

What to Blog About

I have to admit, I’m fairly jealous of people that can blog two, three or more times a week. They always have something cool, smart or introspective to write about, yet here I sit, struggling to think of anything to write about.

It’s funny, because anyone who knows me knows that I never shut up. I often have to make a conscious effort to not talk so I don’t monopolize the conversation (although I don’t know that I do such a great job at that)

It’s hard to write about my everyday life, because really, I’m pretty boring. I can only talk about Ironman training so much “I rode, it was cool, I ran, it sucked, I swam, it was cool”

I could write about my recent trip to Cozumel, but that was such an amazing trip, it’s going to take me a while to get that together.

I could write about how much I love my Ironman Cozumel jersey and how I keep wearing it because I’m proud as a peach to have done it one more time. I could also write about how I feel like I look like a Russian Gymnastics coach when I wear it.

I could write about the delicious salad I had today, but really, how much can be said about a salad?

I could write about the mind-bending gourmet caramel apple cookies I got and wolfed down last night, but then the whole world (or at least the 17 people that may actually read this) would know how guilty I feel about it.

I could write about my dog, but that’s pretty much all I ever talk about anyway, so that’s out.

I could write about how much and how long I’ve hated running and now that my feet are marred from Cozumel and I can’t run, it’s all I want to do.

I could write about the amazing, beautiful, sexy, funny, ridiculously athletic bombshell of a woman I met in Cozumel that makes my knees go weak and my heart go pitter patter every time she emails or texts me, but there’s a chance that she might read this and that would be really embarrassing.

See how I did that?

I could write about a lot of things, but for now, I’m just going to relish the fact that I’m home, I’m back to work at a job that I love and my Mr. Poopersfaces is waiting here dropping a ball at my feet. 

One of these days I'll think of something to blog about and when I do, you'll be the first to know.

 Peace.

You Sappy Bastard!

So I’m in my car today and I hear a commercial announcing that Air Supply is playing at one of the local Indian casinos here in the Sacramento area.

After screaming like a girl and almost swerving off the road in excitement, I grabbed my phone and made a voice memo so I wouldn’t forget about it (like that’s even possible.)

When I got back to work, I found a Pandora station that plays nothing but super sappy, wonderful love songs.

As you may have concluded from my excitement about the mere thought of seeing Air Supply live, I am a huge sucker for love songs. As I sit here typing this, Endless Love by Lionel Ritchie and Diana Ross just came on and I swear, I’m almost in tears.

We all have chapters in our lives and so many of them are bookmarked with music. Whether it’s a cheesy, sappy love song, a punk tune, an Irish jig song or a symphony, certain songs have the ability to take us back to those chapters in our lives that we’ve either long forgotten or chosen not to remember.

I’m not typically one who lives in, or dwells on the past, so I guess I don’t consciously think too much about it and I think that’s why I love listening to sappy love songs so much. They force me to remember the good times as well as the bad times that I normally wouldn’t think about, and I think that sometimes that’s a good thing.

Holy Shit! “How Deep is Your Love” by the BeeGees just came on.

Giggity!

Anyway, I say go grab that old CD, album or 8 track you haven’t listened to in 20 years. Sit back, relax and think about that time in your life, that vacation, that summer, that lost love or broken heart that you thought you’d never get over. Think about them and cherish them.

Now if I could only find someone to go see Air Supply with me…

Peace.

I got your su su sudio, baby!

Sometimes I like to do things that make me uncomfortable. No, I’m not talking about things like sleeping in cowboy boots or putting a pea under my mattress.

I’m talking about things that make me feel…well, uncomfortable.

For example:

A while back I was sitting at a red light waiting to turn left and there was a “homeless” guy standing in the median with a sign asking for money or a job or something.

It’s my assumption that this guy is used to people avoiding eye contact, so when I caught his eye, I held it.

I sat staring at a homeless man and he at me for what seemed like an eternity and he eventually looked away.

Now I wasn’t staring at him with contempt or attitude. I was staring to see who could hold out the longest. I was kinda scared that he'd flip out and jump on the hood of my car, but he didn't.

Don’t know why I did it, but it was a very uncomfortable situation for a minute..

So tonight I was on my way to NatMo’s house to drop off her groceries (NatMo crashed her mountain bike and is currently unable to do anything but walk like a gimp and sound really pathetic) , While I’m sitting at this red light, I see, I see a very handsome business woman on a bicycle pull up next to me to wait for the light as well.

At that very moment I also realized that Phil Collins’s Su Su Sudio was on the radio. No, I don’t know why it was on, it just WAS!

So anyway, I though “OMG! What if my window was down? How embarrassing would that be?” So after giving myself about 5 seconds to process the situation,  I proceeded to roll down my window, crank up the radio as loud as it would go, leaned back and gave her my best super suave “hey baby” look.

Needless to say, when the light turned green, she rode off without saying anything, but I did it and honestly, it was the most uncomfortable 20 seconds I’ve had in a long time. (no sex jokes please)

 I have no effing idea why I’m even telling this story other than it made me laugh out loud.

I guess the thought of a chubby, middle aged bald guy in a beater Subaru eyeballing a hot chick while rockin’ out to Phil Collins was so ridiculous that I just had to do it.

Peace and God bless Phil Collins.

I am not a bike snob…or am I?

 Okay, maybe that’s a bit misleading. I’ll be the first person to admit I’m about as much of a bike snob as one can be.

I own a number of bikes and most of them are worth more than my car. Of course if you’ve seen my car, that’s not really saying much. I actually checked the Kelly Blue Book on my car and the rear wheel of my tri bike is worth more.

But I digress…

Don’t you have when people say that? It's like duh! Yeah, I know you’re digressing, I’m listening to you ramble on about something completely different than you started!

But I digress…

So in my never ending quest to find something to blog about (lol, that’s a stretch) I figured there is one way to find out if am truly a bike snob or not.

I’m going to buy a department store commuter bike, ride it to work and see if I’m capable of loving a bike designed for…well…I don’t know what they’re designed for, but I’m pretty sure it’s not daily riding.

No, I’m not going to ride it just once and blog about it and that’s it. I’ll ride it at least a couple times a week (sorry, but I can’t commit to an every day ride on this) and I am committed to ride this thing until it dies.

I was so giddy when I thought of this that I actually hopped in my car and drove to Target to look for a bike, since there isn’t a WalMart close to my house (which I’m thankful for) but alas, Target’s bike selection is a little too “high end” for me.

At least I was able to satisfy my craving for macaroni and cheese and hot dogs.

Anyway, there’s a WalMart by my work that I’ll be hitting Thursday or Friday and hopefully I’ll be able to score a sweet, new ride.

Unfortunately, now that I’ve posted this, I’m committed to doing it.

Stay tuned…

DVR Dilemma

So American Horror Story is on tonight. If you haven’t seen this yet, it a pretty badass new series about a family that moves into an old murder house in LA and has all kinds of crazy crap happen to them. It’s really awesome! And it also stars my man-crush Dillon McDermott, so there’s that.

I have my DVR set to record this every Wednesday, so Amy and I can watch it when we get together over the weekend.

If you don’t know Amy, she’s a total scary movie nerd and LOVES watching them (even though she covers her eyes during gross parts and won’t watch them during dinner)

Anyhoo…

I agreed that even though I won’t see her until Friday, I wouldn’t watch it and we could watch it together.

So here’s my problem. I REALLY WANT TO WATCH IT!

I figure there are a few ways this can go.

1) I can wait to watch it like I said I would and everything will be fine.

2) I can watch it without her, tell her I watched it without her and risk getting yelled at.

3) I can watch it without her, tell her I didn't watch it, act scared when we watch it together and risk getting busted and yelled at for being an asshole for watching it without her when I said I wouldn't.

4) Just for fun, I can not watch it, tell her I did watch it, let her get mad at me for watching it without her (even though I didn't) and then see what happens. Unless of course she reads this, then I guess I'll have to worry about what she would have to say about me not only thinking about watching it without her, but also thinking about watching it and not telling her or telling her I didn't when I did.

Maybe I'm over-thinking this...

I think I'll just go to bed.

What is WRONG with you people?

 So one of my triathlete friends asks “Hey, anyone want to meet Saturday morning for a swim and then out for a bike ride to Folsom/El Dorado Hills, etc??

My response “Can’t, I have a tri on Sunday and it’ll kick my butt”

Another response “Can’t I have a 17 mile run Friday, but I may be able to make the swim Saturday.”

Another response “Can’t, I’m running 17 miles Friday, but will be swimming Saturday afternoon. And I’m doing a bike/run brick Sunday.”

My response “Well I’ll be free after my race on Sunday, so I can do your bike/run brick with you.”

Yes, I’m doing an Ironman in just less than two months and yes, I’m putting in the miles, but I’ll be damned if this isn’t one of the most ridiculous conversations I’ve ever heard.

What kind of maniacs do this and call it fun? I remember when “fun” was many beers on a Friday, parties on Saturday and sleeping in between being drunk. Fun was dodge ball and swing sets. Fun was hanging out at the river and doing nothing all day

I guess in my older, wiser (yeah right) years, my definition of fun has changed.

Don’t get me wrong. I love going to bed early, waking up earlier than the guy that works at the AM/PM Mini Market and spending all weekend working out and then barely being able to walk up the stairs to the office on Mondays, but it just sounds so much more ridiculous to hear other people talk about doing the same stuff.

It seems a good lot of my friends are off their rockers and it looks like I’m one of em too, although I don’t feel like it.

Peace!