I’m no Rocky………….

Now… I know I promised not to carry on about my triathlon training and I have to say, I’ve done pretty well to this point; but, alas – my rabid fans are begging… (ok, ok, ok… I have 1 mildly devout follower and he has not even mentioned it, I’m just trying to justify this entry).

To be completely honest, this story is such a perfect representation of the shit show I call my life, I just couldn’t let it go without sharing.  The upside is: the story involves little to no actual training…

As with all of my stories, this one requires a little bit of back story, bear with me.

About 4 weeks ago I texted my friend Gary to give him props; I was out jogging when I saw him doing the same – I was dressed for a trip up Everest and he was in a t-shirt.  After some back and forth I realized the conversation was going awry for 2 reasons: 1) while Gary was out running that day – he assured me, he had worn more than a t-shirt (I still have no idea what or who I saw…) and 2) by the end of our tête-à-tête I had agreed to enter the local triathlon.

…damn Gary.  He can sense a weakness like a hungry lion on the Serengeti.  Ya know… when you’re kinda down and suggesting bucket list items – a friend will suggest a day-long Rocky marathon or a trip overseas; not this guy – he gets me to sign up for a triathlon.

I figured it would blow over; go right on by with me (half-heartedly) lamenting, “I should’ve signed up… damn! Oh well…. it’s too late now.”  But the next day, there I was…. dropping my entry fee in the mail box, feeling like Rocky as he crested that mountain, triumphant arms in the air, shouting, “DRAAGOOOOOOOOO!”

Ironically (which, btw, should be the title of my autobiography), the days leading up to the mailing of my entry fee were uncharacteristically warm – February in Pennsylvania should not offer 62° days – since the moment my envelope hit that fucking mailbox we’ve spent every day challenging the record lows.  I am an early morning exerciser – pre-entry form saw 40° mornings, post-entry… 15°.  Did I mention the 12+ inches of snow we got last week?  Oh, and let’s not forget the time change… a lost hour of morning light has been exceptionally helpful.

I won’t even get into the personal struggles I face.  Wait! maybe I will…

I’ve spent thousands, I mean literally… thousands of dollars on support wear and I still have to layer it.  Boobs are dumb, plain and simple.  There was a time I wore 2 layers; right up until the day my (then) 66 year-old father nearly killed some dumbass for commenting on my “assets in motion”. I now wear 3 layers.

If poor Dan happens to be anywhere near me while I’m dressing for a run – he gets an earful, “…must be fucking nice to just throw on a t-shirt and shorts and hit the pavement.  I’m a sweaty fucking mess and I’m not even fully dressed yet…”

So, to say that motivation and determination have been the least of my troubles is an egregious understatement.  But, to my credit – I’ve been out there… even developed a shoveling technique to mimic a rowing motion (no swim in this tri – we kayak); I’m making the most of what I’ve been given.  I’m Rocky… in Russia… throwing boulders.

My story takes place last Tuesday morning but it really started the night before…

Monday evening here at the Iseminger home was a pretty good one on the athletics front.  Alex brought home her new VARSITY jersey.  I played softball at the college level and yet… I never wore a varsity jersey, here was my 9th grader holding up her #22; it was a big moment for me (I’m tearing up right now… God help me should that girl get a scholarship).  Cal brought home his junior high baseball hat – all signs are pointing to him getting a fair amount of playing time on 1st base and on the mound – not to mention, the cap fit his big, melon head… that is a miracle in and of itself (Dan frequently gives thanks for C-sections).  And Abby finally landed a standing back tuck – hasn’t been able to repeat it… but there was resounding cheering, jumping, clapping (and that was just me).

After an evening like that, I had no choice but to proffer my own athletic prowess… “I’m gonna hit the trail early tomorrow.  I’ll run then bike – just to get a feel for the transfer – it’s time to push this training to high gear…”

I was up at 4:45am and on the road by 6:20, my bike stowed in the back of the pharmacy car (my own car, you know… the one that can easily accommodate a bike rack… is outta commission); I had just about recovered from the sports bra(s) debacle when the bike stuffing debacle almost killed me.  The key word being almost…  Motivation/determination -one, shit show of a life – zero.

I got to the trail at 6:35, it was still dark but the sun was a mere whisper away.  I figured I had already lost 4 weeks to crap weather and late sunrises… I was hitting the trail (7 minutes) before sun up – trail rules be damned.  I took off with my headlamp blazing, my pepper spray ready and Nirvana making me feel invincible.  It was an exhilarating 45 seconds…

until….

I heard the big, mean dog and almost pissed my tights.  The I saw the big, mean dog – sans any hint of tethering whatsoever – and did what any self-respecting scaredy cat would do – screamed bloody murder.  I did have the presence of mind to stomp my foot and scream, “BACK!” which startled Cerberus just long enough for Satan to come out in her robe.

“YOU ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ON THE TRAIL BEFORE DAY LIGHT!”

She was right, of course.   However, with her wildebeest continuing to close in on me I would’ve appreciated it if she had put the scolding on the back burner and concentrated all of her efforts on getting that mammoth mother fucker under control.  She couldn’t handle that dog – please don’t own a dog you can’t handle… (that’s my PSA for the day).  Apparently her lack of control stemmed from my headlamp…

“CAN YOU PLEASE TURN OFF YOUR FLASHLIGHT SO I CAN CALM HIM DOWN!!!”

uhhhh… fuck no lady – I need to be prepared to beat feet (I did turn it to face me).

She finally got the dog to go in through the garage.  Which would’ve been really fucking fantastic had her front door not remained wide open from when she first came out to rescue scold me.

Cujo was nothing if not determined…

I sat in my car for 17 minutes (nervously giggling over the mental image of HER realizing she hadn’t shut the front door and hauling ass, in her robe, through the house).  I think I would’ve just gone home if she hadn’t scolded me – twice.  I just couldn’t let her win (even though she was right).  I had to show her I had every right to that trail (now that the sun was up).

I finally mustered all my courage and restarted my run…  damn if Zoltan, Hound of Dracula wasn’t still outside.  I’m pretty sure it was tied, but we’ll never know ’cause I turned right the hell around and jumped in my car; official loser of the trail war.

Once home I told Dan I was going for a short run through town.  Would’ve worked, too – if I hadn’t strained my calf muscle during the (almost) dog attack.  As I was hobbling home a one in a million timing situation caused me to scramble down into a ditch to avoid being hit by a tractor trailer…  I figured between the dog and tractor trailer – my heart had pumped about as much as it does during a workout.

I was hobbling, shaky from nerves and teary-eyed when the guy flipped me off because he had to take a sharper angle because I was standing on the side of the road at a turn…

full blown tears when I walked in the house.

The pity in my kids’ eyes was enough to push me over the edge…

I got a hug from each of them and headed for the shower.  I did nothing to my hair, wore no makeup and carried the weight of a thrashing on my shoulders as I walked out the door for work.  Dan rubbed my cheek and said, “awww you’re so pretty babe…” (he’s Shallow Hal for chrissakes).

I got in my car and the tears flowed –  for so many reasons: taking my life for granted, wondering if I’m up to this, because the multiple surges of adrenaline had not only drained me but had stepped aside to make room for the fear to finally hit me full force… I spent my entire drive to work crying, all 90 seconds of it – son.of.a.bitch. I can’t even wallow in self pity like a regular person………..

(PS for those questioning my driving such a short distance – there are a number of factors that play into my walk vs. drive decision every day – I felt I’d gotten enough of an ass kicking Tuesday, I’d earned the ride)

(PPS I can’t stand the thought of ending on a down note – I had a pretty good training day yesterday – I’m still questioning my capabilities but at least I didn’t have a dog dangling from my leg….)