Becoming Mrs. Cheese

(Click to enlarge pictures - in fact, they are WAY better enlarged)

A morning at the salon - mom, me, and MIL. It's a pretty good bet that at any given point that monring, one, two or all of us were crying.

Dev and me, pre-makeup. Can you tell?

Ellen

My flower girl and Cheese's niece, Kennedy.

Ah, much better - makeup almost complete!

The main room - the wedding was at a resturant, so ceremony was held in the main room, and later broken down to house the tables.

Me.

Trying to squeeze in some pictures in the side garden pre-ceremony, before Cheese saw me. At this moment, he is just houses away at the corner bar, buying shots of whiskey for the groomsmen.

Me and my brother Nolan, doing what we do best - me telling him what to do, him pleading innocent.

Me and El. She look soooooo glamorous.

Me and Dev. She looked straight up sexy hot.

My final moments with my ladies of the same last name.

This was actually taken afterwards (note Cheese in the picture), but my little Nugget (ring bearer) was rockin' his green Chucks, so I had to put it in!

Me and the ladies. I selected gold-ish jewlery for my sisters (co-matrons of honor -Ellen with the flower necklace and Devin's earrings) while I selected the blue tear-drop necklaces for Adrienne and Anne-Marie. They selected their own dresses - simple black jersey knits. Ellen did all the flowers - mine, bridesmaids, and centerpieces. They were amazingly beautiful and simple.

Last moments of freedom....

I die.

My mom walked me down the aisle. You can't tell by this picture, but see those stairs right behind us? We had to walk up them, and I tripped on the second to top step, on the hem of my dress. My smile here was actually me laughing at myself and asking my mom is my boobs were still in the dress. They were.

Please note Cheese already openly crying.

Still crying.....

Reading his vows...still crying.....

Ah, sweet kisses!!

And like that, about seven minutes in total, the whole ceremony was over. As the officiant (Cheese's friend Jon) announced, "You may kiss the bride," we played Josh Turner's "Will You Go With Me?" as we recessed down the aisle.

A candid moment.

And now, for the first time, introducing.....

Mr. and Mrs. Big Cheese!

Now onto the reception, and where the REAL fun begins......

Less Than a Week

I sort of have to laugh at it all.

For the last several weeks, minus a couple of hiccups, the whole wedding this has really gone of without a hitch.

I even started to joke that I was stressed about not being stressed.

Since my last post, we have really made an effort to eliminate unnecessary details, both for the unneeded stress it all brings, and (let’s be honest), it was just too much work and I am lazy.

(See also: programs. Yeah, those died a slow death yesterday when I said, “Eh, who cares. Every one knows everyone already, right?”)

Very quickly after that post all those weeks ago, I freed myself of the “what everyone else wants” and “what will people think” thoughts, and just did things my own way.

Costco/Whole Foods flowers for centerpieces and bridal party, with my sister heading up the actual designing? Check. (And the trial runs are gor-geous)

Invites I made by hand? Check.

Favors that consist of homemade chocolate chip cookies in handmade bags? Check.

Vases that were borrowed or bought second-hand because I will likely never use them again so why pay full-price? Check.

In the end, the actual setting (dark, wooded, small, intimate) will speak for itself in terms of décor, so we tried to keep all the “extra” down to a minimum.

Oh, and I let go of the reigns for the rehearsal dinner, which is a backyard BBQ at my sister Ellen’s house, hosted by Cheese’s parents.

So nice not to have plan something else!

The only time I felt like the wheels were starting to fall off the wagon was Sunday, when Cheese got a call on Sunday from his friend who is performing the ceremony, saying that he may not be able to make, what with his kids having the SWINE FLU and all.

And then there is the rain expected on Saturday for the BBQ.

Oh, and the fact that my dress still doesn’t fit exactly right.

But in the grand scheme of wedding world, these issues are so insignificant, it’s not even hardly worth mentioning them at all.

So fingers crossed, we should be heading down that isle in just a few days. There may be a nip-slip involved, but that’s out of my hands right now.

The toughest thing I did, however, was make the decision not to invite the kidney brother.

I agonized over this – many nights I cried in frustration, but ultimately it came down to this:

He has not contacted me once in the 18 months since the surgery. He has ignored all requests made by the family to participate in events, and has never offered to meet my fiancé. My final opinion on it was this: he has made the decision to not participate in my life, whatever his reason, so I am no longer going to force myself down his throat.

It sucks, but I am surrounded by the most incredible family ever day of life – I no longer am going to worry about someone that doesn’t care about me. I am at peace that I did my part for the relationship, and I can’t force effort on his end.

That aside, things have flowed fairly well. We have stayed budgeted (trust it – no small task in the wedding world of “tradition” and “must-do’s”). We are well-organized (me and my trusty folder). And I have an army of family that jump whenever I say, “Eh, why bother with x-y-z?”

In the end, it might not be the fanciest affair (MUCH to my mother’s chagrin), but it is all Megan-and-Cheese.

It is simple and homemade, with splashes of bold.

It is small in size, but with tons of heart behind it.

It is filled with candy and sweets (would you expect anything less from ME?)

It’s extremely sentimental in a lot a ways, and we both expect there to be a lot of happy tears.

Just ask both of our mothers, who have collectively cried probably everyday in the last two weeks.

I shouldn’t poke fun, as I find myself brought to tears almost daily over some aspect of this – and not in a bad way. It’s not stressed related – rather, I find myself wonderfully overwhelmed with happiness that it feels like my chest is just going to break open.

I cry when I think about the enormity of marriage, the decision I am making, the changes in my life that are coming. And it shocks me, at times, at how happy I am about it all – the girl who loves her solitude, who never wanted to get married, who was just fine and dandy chillin’ and doin’ her own thing.

That girl is about to get married, and she's really kinda freaking excited about it.

Finally I Can Tell!!

Anyone who knows me knows these three truths:


1. I only play the lottery when it's over $100 million, because I don't want to waste my once-and-a-lifetime win on anything less.

2. I resent when my (paying) job cuts into my (voluntary) training time.

3. I can't keep a secret if my life depended on it.


I don't expect the first two truths to change all that much, but in regards to the third:

Today is a new day, my friends.

Yes sireee - I managed to keep my big fat mouth shut for TWO WHOLE DAYS with a secret that, when I first heard it, actually made me sort of cry.

Yes, it was THAT emotional.

But I promised to wait until after the doctor's appointment until I said it.

(raise your hand if you think I'm about to announce I'm preggo)

*suspensful pause*

No. I'm not.

I still got about 11 days til I get married - one thing at a time, folks.

But it IS a birth of a different kind that was bound to happen at some point-

My little sister Devin.....IS BECOMING AN IRONMAN.

A Kentucky Ironman, to be exact.

Yes, it's true - Devin registered for IMKY 2010. Like, she actually drove down on Sunday to register yesterday morning.

When I found out, I said to my mom, "I imagined this is how you felt when you found out it you would be a grandmother."

Super duper mega proud and stupid excited.

Saying it out loud, I know it sounds weird - but I still consider IM one of my finest accomplishments - full of self-discovery and mental/physical victories. It's been over a year and a half since my race, but I can still feel much of the emotion of that day, especially as I watch other people work towards this goal too.

And to know that my sister is about to put herself through the same thing is just so overwhelming to me.

I am so excited to help her train, and listen to her stories and feelings, and to watch her grow in ways she doesn't even yet know are possible.

We can exhange chaffing solutions, talk about foggy goggles, discuss the pros and cons of liquid nutrition, talk negative splits, hash out new riding routes, learn how to change flat tires - oh, the possibilities are endless!!

Does that sound crazy?

Maybe.

But then again, so is Ironman.

So here's to watching a new Iron journey with Devin!

In the Meantime...

(I am slowly loading pictures from my last race, which was like, a long time ago. Hey, Procrastination is in the title - there's truth in my advertising....)






WOW!!! What a weekend!!

I don't know about you, but my weekend was filled with babies and triathlon.

I figured it was bound to be some sort of foreshadowing into my future.

Between my besty's baby shower on Sunday (and the fact that everyone in my life is either preggo or new mommies), and the Chicago triathlon (which I was unable to attend this year due to said baby shower, but the Tri For Life guys were town gettin' their triathlon on again!), and all the Ironmans this weekend (Mark Mason and Dennis from RunBubbaRun abd Michelle's husband earning their IM medals), there has been a lot going on.

I'll tell you what - its really hard to watch these IMs and not get teary-eyed. Even now, I get so overwhelmed with the enormity of it, and I can still feel all the emotions that ran through my body that day in 2008, now as I watch these athletes make their blaze their own way. I love it, I love it.

So congrats to all the finishers from yesterdays races, and with IMWI right around the corner, there are plenty of cheering to still be had!!

And if you stay tuned in, there might just be a little IM surprise in a day or two...

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In other random news....

As if personal training didn’t destroy and humiliate me as it is, I was about halfway through my third blocks of moves and could see the finish in the near distance, and what do ya know?

My lady friend creeps out to say “Hi.”

I sensed she was acomin’, but I was hoping against hope she wouldn’t pull into town until maybe, say, once I got home and wasn’t caught…off guard.

Completely mortified (thank GAWD for my black running tights), I silently prayed that I wouldn’t have to do anything that required me to sit or lay on a bench.

Throw in some kick-in-the-gut cramps and sanity-destroying back pain, mix it all together and you get a sick-to-her-stomach 33-year-old just fighting to stand up and keep down the Kashi bar she ate about an hour previous.

But true to my form, I refuse to admit defeat or let my semi-pro basketball trainer see weakness, so I swallowed my vomit and did my plyos and lunges with a grin on my face.

It’s been an awesome morning, and it’s only 830.

Sigh.

At least I get to go to Ravina tonight.

Yes, again.

Carrie Underwood, bitches.

You heard me.

My hairbrush-turned-microphone is already packed in the picnic basket, ready to make it's big Ravinia debut.

What? You didn't think I actually used it to brush my hair, did you?

So silly.

So three cheers to getting my workout done for the day, and three more cheers for the Tylenol 3 I’m going to have to medicate with just to deal with these cramps.

And three cheers for Underwood! Ms. Carrie, if your nasty!

Big kisses and hugs, y’all.

Oooohhhh....So That's What They Mean By "Race"

Ever since I started participating in distance races that are geared more towards the endurance side, I have mostly considered myself to “do” these races, as opposed to “race” the races.

Why?

Because I am not really fast, so I don’t really feel like I am “racing” when I do the longer stuff – I do them, and get them done.

To me, “racing” means to have some speed, and it’s pretty clear speed has not been in my physical make-up.

You can’t even rearrange the letters in my name to get the word “speed.”

So yeah - that right there more or less proves it.

In fact, I feel that - with the exception of one race this season (Kenosha ½ marathon) - I have in fact become noticeably slower and more easily fatigued since the whole kidney thing – but that’s a post for another time.

I guess that’s also why I don’t usually post my race times – it’s not because I am embarrassed or anything – it’s just that the accomplishment of finishing is usually enough for me, especially this year, when nothing was really "planned" and my training has been...creative. I take pride in crossing that line, no matter what pain it brings.

That said - Today I raced my second ever (can you believe) International distance race.

Notice I said “raced?”

Raced – as in – intentionally tried to go fast.

Well, fast for me, which might be different than a regular person’s fast.

Mine’s more like Department of Motor Vehicles fast.

So I signed up last minute for the Pleasant Prairie triathlon in Wisconsin after I got the racing bug from Steelhead 70.3 two weekends ago.

And without putting you through a regular race report, I will simply say this:

It was FAR AND BEYOND the best race I have ever raced.

In every discipline, I felt strong – like I could swim/bike/run all day long.

And the best part –I never stopped – not even when I grabbed water – on the run.

Like, I kept running. And running. And running.

It never hurt, I never fatigued, I never got sore.

Having said that, though – there is one thing that I messed up and I don’t really have an explanation for which is - Despite feeling stronger than strong on the swim, I was nine minutes off my expected time.

NINE MINUTES.

The weird thing is that, even though the whole race was great, I actually felt the swim was the best (oh my gosh- did those words just get typed by my fingers? well now I've done it - Michael Phelps and his fish fins is probably going to strike me dead with his bong any second now for such blasphemy).

But seriously - I really felt powerful and smooth. No calf cramps, good rotation, strong stroke, lots of open space. I was swimming and thought to myself – “Oh, so this is what bloggers mean when they write about good, smooth, gliding swims!! I love it!!”

So imagine my surprise when I exited the water and saw 37 minutes on my watch.

Hold up.

HOLD UP.

*cue me trying to run up the sand hill while staring bug-eyed at my watch, snot smeared across my check and loudly belching a massive lake-water burp as I yank my goggles off*

I actually said out loud to no one in particular, "Bitch - WHAT?!"

37 minutes?!?

Dead people FLOAT faster than that.

I mean, I got off track a few times due to my own poor sighting, but nine minutes worth of zigzagging?

I don’t think so.

I mean, heck – that’s just about what I did the Steelhead swim in two weeks ago, and that was a half-Iron.

Hell, I was a floaty noodle and margarita away from a lazy river float.

I guess I should have known something was wrong when I was suddenly surrounded by waaaay different swim caps about halfway through – but I had somehow managed to convince myself that I was just swimming soooo fast, I was actually passing the group ahead of me.

HAHA! I mean, how narcissistic of me is that? I was literally being passed by not one, but TWO groups of people who started after me, and I was like, “Check ME out! How you like me now, Triathlon? Ain’t nothin’ gonna break-a my stride, ain’t nothin’ gonna slow me down – Oh No!”

Eh.

Oh well.

So instead of coming in at my expected 2:45, I actually finished at 2:54.

That's not so say I am disappointed - I am soooo NOT disappointed because of how good I felt all morning. In fact, I am pretty ecstatic at my little milestones today - noticable strength, no walking, good mental positive thoughts, strong finish. I mean, sure - my swim stroke my be as efficient as my diaper changing skills (read: not so much and grosssssss), but it's workable with practice.

I know that, if I keep trying, training, and practicing the right way, the speed AND the strength will start to come together better *says Captian Obvious.* I am most impressed with how strong I felt across the board that, while not Speedy McFast Pants, I can securely say I don’t really care what my watch read.

Because today, I did not measure myself by my watch.

And any day that I don't begatively judge myself is an accomplishment in itself.

(pictures to follow in next post)

Hold On To Your Panties

Otherwise the sweetness you're about to witness might just blow them away!

Meet my new nephew (and godson!) Aiden Gregory Darnieder.

I was destined to be his godmother. Why? Because he looks just like me when I wake up and haven't had my coffee, eye boggies and all.

Could you NOT die at this?

I want to eat this picture up, it is so delicious. Seriously.

When Baby Nolan (Big Brother Nolan now) woke up from his nap, my mom (who was babysitting him while his mommy was at the hospital), said, "Okay, let's get our shoes on - we have to go meet Aiden!" and Nolan (in his little two-year-old voice) asked, "He came out?"

To make the transition a little easier, my sister bought Big Brother Nolan some presents with the intention of telling Nolan they were from Aiden. So when my mom was trying to get Nolan to hurry up and get dressed (I guess he was lollygagging a bit) so they could get to the hospital, she said, "And Baby Aiden brought you a present!" To which Nolan responded, "Get my shoes!"

I guess the present idea worked. Because let's be serious - presents can only improve relationships (well, unless they are of the "please forgive me for being as ass" vareity, then maybe not so much). But this one worked - and apparently, if its an erector set, complete with a crane, that relationship is pretty much destined to last a life time.

Steelhead Didn't Kill Me

Lemme preface this all by saying – there is some doody talk. Doody consumed my day – it must be referenced.

It demands to be referenced.

Soooooo... Steelhead 70.3.

I swam, rode and ran.

And let me say this – Ironman and his little brother, 70.3, are no dummies. They will BREAK.YOU. if you didn’t take the time to train properly. These are no races to go into without an appropriate level of fitness, or they will expose every last weakness you have.

Or at least with me they did.

In fact, all of my Missed Workouts called up all those other Times which I blew off training – like the Times when I chose to extend my sunbathing instead of get my butt in the pool and swim, or the Times I knew I should have run long, but I ran 5 miles – yeah, so all those Times got together this week, printed up a bunch of tee-shirts and posterboards that read, “Gotcha Sucka!” and then stood at the curb of every aid station mocking and jeering me, forcing me to pay attention to their Truths.

I am pretty sure I even heard one of the Times ask, “Now who’s the bitch?”

(Naw, but seriously – I went into the race knowing that my weakness would be my run fitness, because my training runs were almost always shortened due to my knee injury. And it was - the run exposed me. The run was physically the most difficulty for me, as I suspected going into it. I was at peace with that.)

But regardless of the necessary pain, it was actually fun. And most of all, I am SOOOO proud of myself for all my little victories over the course of the day.

My little victories:
1. Finishing (of course)
2. Not crapping my shorts (story shortly).
3. Running when I could, and walking when I couldn’t -Even with this disgusting blister (photo below), that made its appearance around the first FEW STEPS of the run.
4. Never getting down on myself – NOT EVER.
5. Discovering that little pretzel nuggets for the run were the best last-minute-packing decision I EVER made.
6. Ignoring my watch.
7. Tried to enjoy every single second – especially right before the swim, by taking in the unbelievable beautiful day and my fortune at being able to participate in this sport.
8. Saying positive things to myself over the day about what a badass I was
9. Never once letting myself get intimidated by the fancy bikes, the ripped muscles, the fancy tri-clothes – and instead telling myself – “Just run your own race.”

Pre-RACE:
I stayed with Clyde and his friend on the camp ground in a tiny cabin – like, one bed and a bunk bed type cozy. I had the top bunk. It was AWESOME!!!

(and to my surprise, there were actually plastic mattress, per my last post….)

I didn’t see Clyde before the race because his wave (done by age groups) was much later, but we did exchange some texts beforehand.

Me: (something about not being able to make doody).
Clyde: Yeah, we checked that off our checklist already.
Me: Dang! I am squatting in the vacant bike spot next to my bike hoping for a doody miracle. I feel the Poo Baby kicking, but he’s not ready for delivery.

Phantom doody aside, I knew it was going to be a good (dare I say GREAT) day when I walked into transition at 445am (345 am for us Chicagoans), and Bruce Springsteen’s “Thunder Road” was playing. Why is this significant? Because that was the song I sang to myself on repeat to get me through the last ½ of the Ironman. Out loud. So other people could hear. And it worked. I finished that race too!

That song was then followed up with the Jack Johnson song from my one of my nephew’s favorite movies – Curious George. It made me think of him, and smile at what he would look like if he could see his aunt out here, in the midst of all these bikes – or on the course, running past him. So yeah, I considered those good omens.

I was so positive at the Start I hummed my whole walk down the shore to the start.

My positive attitude surprised even my stone cold heart.

Was that – gasp! – excitement?!?!

You betcha!

The Swim:
Two things happened:
The water – my greatest fear after last year’s Racine DNF in the swim – was remarkably warm at 68 degrees. I even walked in it in the mile to get to the Start. At the Start, I centered myself, silently appreciated the day, and then ran my ass into the water.

But here is where it got dicey – that darn wetsuit suffocated me again, and I had that brief flash of “Shit, I can’t breathe, I can’t do this” (flash to Racine image of me swimming to shore, and then stomping across the transition mat with my Kill Face).

So I breast stroke a few strokes (thanks Spie!), and then proceeded with the swim. I had a few more of these episodes until I calmed down enough to actually start to swim steadily.

And then I got punched – literally punched in the face. So I popped out of the water, looked at the girl (who was paying no attention to me whatsoever) and said, “You know how I am going to punish you? I will beat you.”

And I did – swam right by her and finished before her.

(Okay, in all fairness, she is likely the ONLY girl in my age-group I passed, as I would later discover when I was picking the rest of them off by bike)

My swim time also included the long run to transition, so it actually looks worse then it was (though it’s still pretty bad). And it was definitely slower than what I am capable, but those early moments of “I am going to die out here” and some zigzagging added some time on.

The Bike:
The bike was amazing with a good, moderate course. Although the wind tunnel that started around mile 40ish knocked my confidence down a few pegs, I was still kicking some bike-ass. The bike is also my strength, so I was tearing it up out there, trying to gain some ground. Very uncharacteristically of me, I slowly and steadily picked off almost every female I saw (about three kept getting away from me), especially those that finished before me in the swim in my age group – and got passed by very few (if I read the results correctly, I rode down around 30 girls from my AG). But I wasn’t so much concerned about my overall stats as I was about…..

My Poo Baby was crowning.

The whole ride.

And he was ready to come out like a Holy Terror the size of a grown 16-year-old.

But then he would crawl back up and hang out for a while – like a Braxton Hicks bowel movement. It went on like this for 56 miles.

I tell you – it was an exercise in sheer will just to choke down my Clif Shots with this level of bubble gut.

So you can imagine what the run was like.

The Run:
In addition to the aforementioned blister and a nagging right knee that progressively become more and more painful, I spent and INORDINATE amount of time in the port-o-potty trying to deliver. But nada – nothing, zip, zero, zilch.

And guess what happens when you have a Poo Baby, and then get a Race Food Baby?

Twins!

It got so bad that there were moments I actually forced myself to walk because I was SURE I was going to be THAT girl who craps herself. You know - like those pictures you see of the guy running to the race finish with his “down” covered in brown?

Finally, at Mile 9, I had enough and took a stand. So I said, “Hey Butt, I’m sick of you playing this cat-and-mouse game with my poopies. So I am now going to ignore you, unless you have something to bring to the table besides farts and cramps.” And I did. Or tried too.

Tried reeeeeeaal hard.

At the 8-mile port-o-potty, I looked in the mirror and noticed a massive line of snot across my right cheek that no doubt happened at some point on the ride (because my face was COVERED in my own snot over the 56 miles). So…yeah. That was great. Eight miles of aid stations witnessing my snotty face.

Faaaaaan-tastic.

But for as distressful as my belly made the run, the run was also my best part of the day. I mean, physically, it was the worst, but mentally, it was the best. I was pretty much reduced to a shuffle most of the time, but so very oddly of me, I never cared. I never cursed myself, I never got snippy – I just ran.

I had less then half a mile to go when I felt the first rain drop. As I crossed the finish line, the rain started to pound, and the winds picked up. I remember thinking, “My first tri of the season, my redemption over last year’s failure, and now it’s raining. There should be some sort of symbolism or metaphor here.”

But then I saw a man with a box of peaches.

Mmmmmm....peaches.

I got my peaches, sat my ass on the wet ground, in the rain in transition, cried some happy tears, and called my sister. I told her I was okay, and asked to tell the family I was alive.

And that I finished.

*******************************************************************************

So, I didn't have a crew out there this year - just me - so the actual race pictures will have to come from the race photgrapher and will take a few days. So here is some my awesomeness I snapped when I got home.


Me.
What I made to eat because I was really too lazy to get anything else out of the fridge- Recovery shake, cold grilled chicken and bbq sauce, and cottage cheese. Bon appitite!
The brownies Devin made me for finishing - 24 hours later, they are just about GONE.
The blister I ran with from Mile 1 though the finishers chute. Yeah, it hurt.
My Twins. The top part of the photo is my regular belly - the bottom part by my hand is my Twim bloat. Now can you see why I was struggling?

Bracing for Steelhead 70.3

(devin sent this to me yesterday - taken on the 4th of july, in case people forgot what I looked like, what with my shameful lack of posting)

So the day of reckoning has arrived.

It’s my first (and only) tri of the season.

Steelhead 70.3.

I know - crazy right? I can't even remember if I have mentioned once that I was racing this season.

Yeah, that should suffice as the foreshadowing on what is to come.

To say that I feel grossly undertrained would be way too obvious.

I mean, I guess when you are standing on front of your mirror the night before you leave, trying to find some fit-approriate race clothes because nothing you have fits after having not raced in a year, you should probably re-evaluate your (lack of) race strategy.

As in, re-evaluate and shut it down.

But no, true gluttons for punishment would NEVER be so impulsive.

No - what we do instead is make a last-minute run to the tri-store for a wet bra, say a small prayer to the Love-Handle Gods in the hopes they make nice with your (possibly too tight) tri shorts, and get to packin’.

Oh yeah, lest I forget to mention that I also received my "lady friend" last night, complete with vomit-inducing cramps, bloat, and back pain.

Seriously - EVERY.SINGLE.RACE. for the last 18 months (including last year's Ironman, and all the 1/2 marathons this year) have started with this mess.

So again, my perpetual question to the Injustices of the World: Why do you have to make being a lady SUCK ASS? And can't you just let me have a race without worrying baout my uterus dropping out in T1?

Geesh.

Oh, and have I mentioned that the water is about as cold as it was last year, when I pulled out the STELLAR performance at Racine?

Ahh, let’s re-live that awesome weekend, shall we?

*folds hands under chin and looks longingly in the distance*

Oh, wait. That’s right.

I DNF’d.

And this would be my first tri since that time.

So given my ill-preparation, my ugly outfit (‘cause it’s all about looking cute, no?), mensus (what an awesome word), and my recent history of pussing out in the cold water, I would say that I am a wee bit (read: pants-crapping) nervous.

So nervous that I started binge eating JuJu Bees and have commenced nervous-stomach diarrhea.

(Dear Clyde, who will be housing me tonight – Don’t worry. It should clear up by the time I drive up later. I think. I hope. Ah hell, just get the plastic mattress pad ready just in case.)

So in just a bit, I will be off – heading up to pick up the packet, check in the bike (which, up until my birthday, was held together with duct tape – looks like it’s not just my ass width that I've let slide a bit...) and try to hunker down with all my positive thoughts to get me through the swim.

See you all on the other side!

(p.s. – on a total random side note, did you know that July is National Ice Cream Month? I sure didn’t, and I sure as hell have some celebrating to make up - Why do I find these things out on the 31st?!?!?!?!? What are the odds that August is National Brownie Month?)

Bi-Run-Yak

Pronounced "By-Runny-Ak," this was the brainchild of my sister and her husband, born one day while walking past the kayak lauch that shared river shoreline with the dog park.

They began talking about how much fun it would be to do a kayak race.

One thing led to another, and another made-up race was born.

But instead of a single-person marathon, this one would be a bike-run-kayak RELAY race.

Oh, yeah. We gots ourselves partners!

Of course, mine was Cheese, 'cause he's my best boy.


This is the Race Director, Devin. She had a clipboard, complete with race maps and rules.

We all had to get fitted to kayaks first. I told our Kayak Guy, Scott, to jsut fit Devin's setting to the 12-year-old boy size. She didn't appreciate that.

Perfect fit!

Cheese and my brother-in-law carrying the kayaks to the docks, just before the horn goes off.

Me and my partner, showing what place we intended on getting. Cheese named our team "Ironman and Him." Does anyone else notice I was the EXACT same thing to every race?!?!

The two people I thought would be our fiercest competitors.

Patrick with his game face.

Me with a wild flower tucked behind my ear. I had the run leg, and it fell out right about five steps in.

All the couples. Yeah, it's a small race.

The start line....On your marks....get set....

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, there's a bit of a photo lapse because I was the photo taker and I eventually had to take the baton and do my run. Oh, and the bike was six miles (three loops), the run was two miles (one loop), and the kayak was about a mile. This is me and Kyle on the return, heading back to the dock....

Closer.......

Almost there...with me at the helm...steering the tandem kayak affectionately referred to as the "Relationship Wrecker." For a reason. Believe it.

One....more....stretch....

AHHHHHHH - but we didn't win. These are the two guys that won, with their trophies and finisher ribbons. Funny thing, the guy in the blue was like dragging ass on the bike and came in second, with Cheese on his ass, but when he handed it off to the guy in yellow, that little man TOOK OFF. Like, I started about 30 second after him, and I never saw him, not once. We totally got hustled too because this guy shows up in his khaki shorts and beat up shoes that he probably cleans his house in and is all like, "Oh silly me *shrug* I don't really workout *sheepishly looks at ground* golly gee this is going to be hard!"

.

Ass-hat turned around and ran 7 minute miles.
.
Stole my foam donut-shaped trophy right out of my grubby hands.

Second place goes to Mr. and Mrs. Race Director, who then later hosted a bbq.

Bringing up the third place was me and the Cheese, with our finisher medals.

All the finishers!!

And last but not least - our friendly kayak helpers, Scott and Kyle. Seriously, if you are ever in the area, check this place - and these two - out. They were FANTASTIC!!!

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Tha-tha-that's all folks!

Three for the Weekend

1. Phil Leggitt used the term “pocket rocket” to describe today’s Tour de France stage winner.

No comment *she writes with a smirk on her face*


2.Soooo…..yeaaaaahhhh.

Turns out that this week’s Life Lesson #399 was “Don’t start personal training the week before your ½ Ironman.”

Seriously, I need to start writing a book of these tips.

Because, really – am I the only idiot out there making these mistakes?

And yes, this was a big mistake.

A Big, Fat, Hurting, 2-Day Crippling, How-It-Possible-I-Am-Such-A-Jello-Puss?-type mistake.

Sort of puts a cramp in the “taper” when you can’t get out of bed.

And turns out, eating the fridge doesn’t speed up the healing process either.

Guess that would be #400.

Damn.



3. Did you know that people send you presents even if they aren’t coming to the wedding?

I mean - shoo.

No wonder every.single.sales.lady gave me the stink-eye and nasty comment about the “only ten items?” of my registry, even when I tried to explain that my shower would only be eight people.

No matter – I still can’t bring myself to ask for all sorts of shit we either already have or simply don’t need.

I mean, how many spatulas does one couple need?

Answer: Less than we now have.

Personal Training

For my birthday, my sister Devin and her husband got me 2 hours of personal training at my gym.

Similar to the personal training hours I am trying to win with the new contest.

(Update on that contest: I am almost through my second punch card in order to get my tee-shirt, so that means I only have one more punch card to go through to enter the personal training raffle. All in all, I have about 18 more visits. Now, you may think to yourself, "My goodness, M, have you even gotten off the couch AT ALL this summer, with that many visits left?!?!?" And to that I would say, "Well, with the addition of my swim workouts in a separate 50-meter pool now, and my rides done outside or on a trainer, I am getting my workouts in, just not always at the gym." Sigh. If there were only a way I can make that hour I spent on my trainer watching New Jersey Housewives Lost Footage count toward a punch on my card!)

Anyfatty, I had my first session this morning with my personal trainer.

Holy Kick-My-Ass.

Good news: My fitness enabled me to stay upright even when my mind was trying to ignore my quads screaming, "Get down! Take cover! Stop, drop and roll yourself out the door and back home!" So I wasn't totally humiliated at my strength level.

Bad news: My strength level. As in, I sense he may have taken it easy on me today, which is why I didn't, in fact, collapse in on myself.

I imagine what I went through is sort of akin to what people are doing with this whole Crossfit thing.

In fact, I read one of Andra's comments on FB about Crossfit saying she was a bit "barfy," and found myself a little barfy on the way home.

So that's good, right?

Do we have a win?

I'm gonna say yes. I am a true believer that pain (unless its of the knee/herniated disc variety) is weakness leaving the body.

And I felt that today - like I had gotten too comfortable in my own routine that my body has gotten soft and lazy. It needed a wake up call, a fire in the belly.

Even if that fire is only 30-minutes long.

Oh, and I solved the "barfy" problem by annialating everything in the fridge when I got home.

So next sessions goals?

1. Don't die.

2. Wipe the snot from your nose BEFORE it hits the ground during lunges.

Anything else is just a bonus.