wish me luck……..

well… I just sent off my signed waiver and check, officially making me a triathlete-in-training.  Yeah… a triathlon, you read that right.  It’s a “sprint” version (versus Olympic distances) – which basically means not only is there a good chance I won’t die, but I might actually cross the finish line.

Why a triathlon Karen, why?

Well… since you asked…

I have a few reasons.  First: I sat and watched the DirecTV logo bounce around my tv screen for a good 10 minutes the other day because the thought of getting up for the remote was too much for me (who THE FUCK puts the remote ON the tv shelf??????  sorta defeats the purpose, dontcha think???  buncha asshats).  Eventually, I spotted another remote slightly closer – it required some stretching but I finally got 2 fingers on it enough to sorta flick it closer until I could pull it in – I sat there, more than a little winded, thinking, “I clearly need to fix my life…”.  (ironically, I continued to watch that logo for a little while longer – I don’t consider myself OCD – but the way I feel when that logo smacks exactly into a corner… cigarette anybody?)

Second, the last time my scale hit the numbers it’s hitting now – I had a free-loader hangin’ out in my uterus; the elastic panel in the front of my pants seemed somehow more acceptable then.  I’m sick of my eyes bulging and my face turning red  when I bend over to tie my shoes.  I’m tired of sweating more during the dressing phase of my run than during the run itself (when I actually run – every 3 weeks).  My life is in a downward spiral (physically) and the only way to get myself under control is to set a deadline – the best way to do that: sign up for an event.

And lastly, this gives me a chance to do something for ME.

Listen, I’m selfish.  I’m not that mother who gets up early to pack her kids a healthy lunch; hell I don’t even go to the grocery store so they can pack a healthy lunch (they’ll eventually crack and take the sardines, I’m sure of it).  And I certainly do not ever push myself to make my husband’s life better or easier.  Basically I’m an asshole who has convinced these people they are lucky to have me without ever actually doing anything for them.

But at the end of the day – even a selfish, asshole mom loses her identity, gets lost in the endless cycle of homework and games and fundraisers and dirty toilets…

Every day, for the next 11 weeks, I will be forced to carve out some time for me; Dan will make sure I get the time, too as the alternative is me blowing a heart chamber on the course… ain’t no way he takes any chances with being left alone with these 3 kids and my dad for the rest of his life.

Don’t worry – I won’t be one of those dicks who posts accomplishments every day, holy hell those people are complete assholes.  As I see it, there are 3 kinds of people in this world:

those who exercise.

those who don’t exercise, don’t care to exercise and don’t give 2 fucks how much I exercise.

and those who’d love to be doing what I’m doing but don’t have the time, health, motivation, energy, wherewithal, (fill-in-the-blank) to do it.  I’ve been there… plenty.

The last 2 groups of people hate the exercise-poster – I do not want to alienate 66% of the population.  And to all of you exercisers sitting there saying, “excuses… everybody can do it if they want to…” I say to you – shut the fuck up.  Time in a day is finite – it’s not money, you can’t just make more when you need it.  Hold on.. the Secret Service is calling….

People have lives – busy lives.  Sometimes people use up every ounce of their everything just to get through the day – telling them, “if you really wanted to exercise, you’d find a way” is not helpful – shut your dumb mouth and quit posting your “run maps” and pictures of your flat abs.  Ugh… for the love of God people – make a private group and spread your calorie-burning cheer amongst people who give a shit.

Anyway, I guess I’m kinda being one of those people by blogging about my plan… I do promise to keep it to a minimum, though and more importantly, I promise to keep my abs (or lack thereof) under wraps.

Unfortunately, Dan won’t be joining me in the fun(?) – he has a bum plantar fascia; this is the kind of thing we enjoy doing together so there will undoubtedly be something missing.  As it is the sort of thing we enjoy doing together, I asked him if he’s ok with me participating when he can’t – he gave me his blessing without so much as a pause… I bet he thinks I’m fat, too…. that sonuvabitch.