Random

Post-race. Red-faced, but in good spirits.

The Triathlon – or, why you don’t say things you don’t mean. They get you into trouble. Or triathlons.

At the beginning of August, I made an off-the-cuff remark to a co-worker after seeing a flyer for an ‘All Girls Triathlon’.

“We should enter!” I quipped.

“Totally,” she replied, “Do you want to train together?”

Later that day my co-worker returned from a meeting, informing me that she’d conferred with our fellow worker, and we really were going to sign up for the Triathlon. I wanted to be sick. Instead I giggled nervously.

And so the training began for the Tri, three weeks out. I did an RPM class. We swam a few laps at the local pool in our lunchbreaks. I ran less than when I hadn’t been training for a Triathlon.

I bought a bicycle.

We did a practice swim in The Lake the day before the event. That is, we dipped our toes in the murky water, squealed when fish appeared, and doggy-paddled out about 200m and back before calling it a day and gossiping on the shore.

Tri-Day arrived. At 5.00 am on the Sunday, I ignored my alarm and went back to sleep. Nick promptly kicked me out of bed.

We arrived at The Lake, which was buzzing with energy. A man wrote my race number on the outside of my biceps arms. I felt like an athlete! We “racked” our bikes, and laid out our gear. A man gave us a bit of a “pep talk” and blathered on about “keeping left” and not “drafting” and “overtaking to your right”. By this time we had stripped down to our togs, and I was feeling too self-conscious to pay much attention.

“To the starting line!” he called.

I wanted to throw up.

We were split into three groups (by surname) for a staggered start, and thankfully I was in the last group. We were instructed to swim out along the start line – I swam as far away from everybody as I could, in the hope I would avoid being kicked in the head. “Phew,” I reflected, “I’m exhausted now.”

A man counted down, and yelled at us to go. “Oh right,” I thought, “Go, go, go!”

I smashed out the swim leg, before realising I was only half-way there. Put my head down and continued swimming. Got kicked in the side by an over-enthusiastic (and off-course) swimmer. Swallowed salt water. Felt ill swimming through bizarre “hot pockets” in the water (ew). Felt relieved when I hit a “cool spot”. Realised I could now stand up. Stumbled out of the water. Was breathing more heavily than I’d anticipated. Ran to the ‘Transition Zone’ to put on runners and grab my bike.

The humidity was awful and I felt like I was breathing in water (admittedly, a few minutes prior I probably had been). Inhaled Ventolin. Tripped into shoes. Grabbed my shiny new bike (that I’m in love with) and took off.

For most of the ride I cursed that I hadn’t put the water bottle holder on my bike – I was so incredibly thirsty from all the salt water that I’d swallowed during the swim, and I was having trouble breathing because of my asthma (and aforementioned humidity). Vaguely remember thinking towards the end of the ride that I was spent and that I couldn’t go on. By the end of the ride the burning in my legs completely outweighed the burning in my lungs and all was okay.

Leapt off my bike in the ‘Transition Zone’ without falling off or falling over. Legs felt like jelly. Got through this transition quite quickly (after a few more gulps of Ventolin), despite not being able to feel my legs.

The run was hard. I couldn’t feel my legs, and I felt like I was going to vomit my lungs. There was a very minor incline that one could barely see, but really feel. I was still thirsty from the salt water swim, and couldn’t wait to make it to the drink station. At the half-way mark of the run, you overlooked a cliff. By this stage, I wanted to throw myself over said cliff and put an end to the pain.

The run back was “downhill”. Slightly. It made such a difference. Suddenly I felt faster. I was able to talk “over” the negative thoughts that were going through my head. I was on the Home Straight.

I cannot really explain the feeling of seeing the Finish, and then crossing The Line. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to vomit. I wanted to lie down. I wanted to go out dancing. I wanted to shout from the cliff-tops that I HAD FINISHED A TRIATHLON. Even if it was only a Beginners Tri. But most of all, I just wanted my ”Finishing Medal”. And a shower.

Recently, I moved house. By “recently”, I mean “four months ago”, and by “moved house”, I mean “I moved out of the granny-flat/bedroom-bathroom arrangement built for me under my mother’s house, and into the 3-bedroom double-brick house that I bought with my other half”. But I digress.

While I’d banked on a new found freedom that one only really has when they can walk around in their undies in their own pad, I didn’t realise I’d discover a whole new wardrobe.

My previous lack of storage space paired with my penchant for online shopping saw packages swiftly relegated to bottom drawers or shoved on to my portable clothing rack, buckling at the weight of pretty frocks. They would escape the wrath of my six-monthly-Salvo-donations with promise to wear them before the next clean out, after which I’d thrust them back in to the depths of Narnia. And so the cycle would continue.

It wasn’t until I opened the suitcases and boxes of my apparel on arrival (by “on arrival”, I mean “a day week later”) in my new home that I realised the treasures that had been buried away. There was the faint odour of mothballs, but they had escaped the Attack of the Wet Season Mould; nothing that a good dry-clean couldn’t fix.

I sauntered into work in one of my new-found frocks. “Oooh, new dress?!” Little Miss Moi questioned. “Well… You’d never believe it. In the move I found all these new outfits that I’d forgotten I had!” I exclaimed. LMM raised an eyebrow. “Really,” I continued, “This dress isn’t new. I swear. I found it in my spring-cleaning.”

A few days later I pulled out another dress that had long been forgotten. “Oh, that’s a lovely dress,” a lady at work remarked. “Yes. You know. Laundry-day,” I replied. As if that somehow explained my “new” outfit. Conversation is always a little awkward in the bathroom.

Now, pop over to Little Miss Moi’s pad for her post on cleaning.

25. Smile at 100 strangers

1. Lady with kids on escalator
2. Visiting lady at work
3. New Mail Lady
4. Man at elevator
5. Waitress at dinner
6. Lady with sweet potatoes in vegetable section
7. Sales Assistant at Dymocks
8. Lady with baby at Coffee Club
9. Lady at Check-In, Sydney to NYC
10. Concierge at Trump Towers
11. Sales Assistant at Marc Jacobs counter
12. Man “driving” horse and carriage in Central Park
13. Concierge at the NYC Palace
14. Bellboy at the Palace
15. Waiter at Gilt
16. Sales Assistant at Magnolia Bakery
17. Sales Assistant on shoe floor at Saks
18. Pole Dancer’s friend in our trapeze class
19. Trapeze Instructor
20. Lady walking her Westie in the Village
21. Man at Check-In, NYC – Sydney (who upgraded us for free!)
22. Flight Attendant who brought me tea, NYC – Sydney
23. Guy with pram
24. Elderly man with umbrella
25. Sales Assistant at QBD
26. Lady with umbrella
27. Lady in elevator with briefcase
28. Lady with coffee
29. Older man in elevator
30. Man with baby
31. Lady at Clinque Counter, DJs, Melbourne
32. Sales Assistant at Spotlight
33. Sales Assistant at Bodyshop
34. Lady with kids at Smiggle
35. Guy at Lenards
36. Man at Absolutely bookstore
37. Man with puppy at Vet
38. Lady with dog who tried to eat my dog
39. Lady with Cairn Terrier
40. Sales Assistant at Big W
41. Man at Check-In, Darwin – Sydney
42. Lady checking us in at the Westin
43. Couple with Westie on Oxford Street
44. {Couple with Westie on Oxford Street}
45. Waiter at Cafe Escobar
46. Sales Assistant at Kookai
47. Sales Assistant at Zimmerman
48. Waiter at bills, Darlinghurst
49. Japanese tourists in Martin Place who needed help reading their map
50. {Japanese tourists in Martin Place who needed help reading their map}
51. Bus Driver #326
52. Bus Driver #398
53. Waitress at the Bogey Hole, Bronte
54. “Gary” – Sydney FC Game
55. “Charlie” – Sydney FC Game
56. “Zane” – Sydney FC Game
57. Lady on #380 who offered seat {Bless}
58. Lady and daughter asking directions
59. Lady holding daughter’s hand telling husband they’d go up a shop as they didn’t want to look in EB Games {I hear you}
60. Lady at Mimco
61. Lady breastfeeding her baby
62. Lady with baby getting out of elevator
63. Man at Omelette Station at the Westin
64. Man at Juice Station at the Westin
65. Lady carrying baby in Mosaic, Westin
66. Cab driver, Sydney
67. Lady at Check-In, Sydney to Darwin
68. Guy at Toyota
69. New Security Guard
70. Older lady with puppy
71. New Vet
72. Guy who moved trolley
73. Creepy looking guy
74. Man at Parap Fine Foods
75. Sales Assistant at PFF
76. Lady at Deli
77. Lady with funky necklace in coffee shop
78. Music Therapy Man
79. Music Therapy Man with guitar
80. Music Therapy Man with ukulele
81. Old couple walking their dog
82. {Old couple walking their dog}
83. Waitress at Char
84. Security man at JB Hi-Fi
85. Pretty lady with sunglasses
86. Man who let me go first at newsagency
87. Lady at Medicare
88. Lady at Post Office
89. Man at Newsagency
90. Guy with orange pram
91. Lady entering Petbarn
92. Sales Assistant at Petbarn
93. Young family walking
94. Girl eating apple
95. Lady at vet with pretty dog
96. New lady on floor
97. Kids gushing over Molly
98. Sales Assistant at Cue
99. New Barista at coffee shop
100. Man who delivered birthday flowers and bubbly the day before my birthday

The hardest thing about this 25 by 25 item was remembering to make note of people I smiled at! I realised that I smile at strangers more than I first thought … and the more I smiled at people I didn’t know, the more comfortable I felt with it. I also noticed that some strangers gave me odd looks -  what does that say about the world we live in?

19. Have a night at the ballet

Romeo and Juliet at the Lincoln Center followed by Frrrozen Hot Chocolate and Cake at Serendipity3, in May 2009.

Looks like last year’s non-resolutions were winners – I’m sticking with them again this year.

Welcome, 2010!

21. Walk the Brooklyn Bridge

I know the post is a few months late, but just noting another 25 by 25 goal was completed. I still can’t believe we were in New York, for the second time, in May!

18. Swing through the sky on a trapeze

Just a quick photo post to validate crossing a ‘must do’ off my 25 by 25 list!

The instructors at the New York Trapeze School were incredible – Nick came along for the ride, and even he enjoyed it. The two hour lesson was an exhilarating experience – and their motto is that you don’t need to worry about fear, only about the addiction… they’re right on the money – if our trip weren’t so short, I would be booking another lesson! Thank goodness for Sydney Trapeze School!

Photo Credit: stock.xchng

Nabbed from Gwen at Trailing Spouse, Amanda at Swish & Swanky, and Telle at Fat.Mum.Slim – my 25 things that I must do, by my 25th birthday. Clearly I’ve been sitting on this little list for a while (I waited until after my birthday just gone to post it), but I wanted to give myself a whole year to accomplish everything!

1. Start & finish writing the children’s book that I’ve been talking about for years
2. Find a job I love
3. Move to Sydney
4. Buy a place of our own
5. Graduate from uni (finally)
6. Be paid to have my articles published
7. Enter a writing competition
8. Do the theme parks on the Gold Coast with Nick – we’ve done them separately, but never together
9. Finish writing my manuscript
10. Donate an entire pay cheque to charity
11. Visit my Grandparents in Bega
12. Donate blood
13. Swim with a dolphin
14. Write my will
15. Run the City to Surf
16. Turn my mobile off for a week
17. Learn to play one whole song on my new guitar
18. Swing through the sky on a trapeze
19. Have a night at the ballet
20. Fart in a crowded space
21. Walk the Brooklyn Bridge
22. Go for a horse ride – it’s been too long!
23. See Phantom of the Opera at the theatre
24. Finally do the Bondi to Bronte walk
25. Smile at 100 strangers

55th and 6th Ave

120 days!

*big grin*

Photo Courtesy of Flickr

Around this time every year, I start to examine the year that was. It’s about this time that I decide I slept and ate too much; didn’t exercise enough, work hard enough, or save enough .. basically, I berate myself for wasting 365 days of my life, and gaining a kilo – or five.

I start to formulate a “plan” for the coming year, which without fail includes my list of New Years Resolutions. A list that only sets me up for another year of failure.

My first “resolution” was made in my seventh year, after hearing my Mum vow (yet again) that she would “resolve to lose weight in 1993″. I vowed I would keep my room clean, a resolution that lasted all of about a week. I had better things to do then arrange my stuffed animals neatly on my freshly made bed. My Mum didn’t keep her resolution that year, either – the next year she signed up with Jenny Craig.

As I got older, my list of resolutions became longer, and quite frankly, increasingly ludicrous. Resolutions over the years include, but are not limited to: lose weight, get straight A’s, give up chocolate, lose weight, experience my first kiss, get a job, become a vegetarian, lose weight, save money … the list goes on. And on. Funnily enough, one year I did lose weight – a lot of weight. But I can thank a predisposition to an eating disorder that evolved into anorexia, rather than attributing any weight loss to the making of a resolution prior to the New Year for that one.

By the end of 2006 I was a pro at creating my “resolutions”, and I’d decided on a “fool-proof” plan that would see me succeed in 2007. I came up with “Project Buff” – a resolution that involved monthly goals, and was to see me on my way to a fitness mag body. Unfortunately, this plan back-fired, and the monthly goals that I thought were so perfect only resulted in my self-esteem suffering twelve times a year, instead of just the once.

Standing in Times Square, New York City, at 11:40pm on December 31st last year, I decided I was DONE with making New Years Resolutions. The ball dropped, I saw in 2008 with one million or so other sardines, and I went back upstairs to my hotel room to eat Ben & Jerry, and watch the street cleaners sweep up the few tonnes of confetti that had been dumped on us just minutes earlier.

Sans resolutions, 2008 was probably my worst year yet.

So. Here we are at the end of my twenty-third year. The not making resolutions for the year didn’t work too brilliantly for me either – I now feel like a failure for not having any resolutions to reflect back over … It seems I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t.

I do well with structure, but if you pen me into too small a space, I tend to rebel. This year, I’m making non-resolutions. Instead, I’m giving myself some general guidelines to live by: