If you have been wondering where I have been for these past few months I shall tell you. Jail. Okay, not literally Jail Jail, but a place very similar where the people are also crazy, life runs on a very strict routine and if you find a cockroach in your meal you eat it for extra protein. Yes, the rumours are true, I have been training for a triathlon.
Now let me preface this story with a very important lesson I learned during this process. Whoever tells you that 3 is a lucky number is talking total bollocks. There is nothing lucky about 3. Think about it… when something bad happens, it happens in threes. The all seeing, all knowing third eye; evil. Third time round the buffet table, baaad idea. Trilogies… you get where I’m going with this.
So when you combine three sporting events into one race and call it a TRIathlon, let this be a warning that things are not going to be pretty. Add to that mixture a group of people who had their frosted flakes covered in crack for breakfast, a large bag of skittles and a protein shake for lunch and something resembling cardboard with a side of speed for dinner. I’m not kidding, these people are crazy. And if they’re not taking drugs then they definitely should be!
Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are some lovely normal people who do triathlons as well and I’m obviously grossly exaggerating the sphere of the crazies, I am however using my artistic license to make a very clear point. 3 is bad for you and triathlons are not for me. I have my very own brand of crazii which I am very comfortable with and fits perfectly into a size 6 running shoe. Period. No goggles, jellyfish, cleats, helmets, gears etc. Just me, my speed racers and the tar.
That being said, I obviously veered off my perfectly crazii path and landed in a place where actually competing in a TRIathlon didn’t seem like such a bad idea. So I did. I swam with jelly fish, biked until I couldn’t feel my butt cheeks and ran with legs as heavy as stone. If any of these things sound like fun to anyone… seek help. It was not fun.
It is however over and I am very thankful for that. It took me 1 week and all 5 phases of grief to get over it.
Denial: I feel fine, this is not really happening to me (while swimming in a swarm of jelly fish singing “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming” ala Dory style.)
Anger: WTF, this seat is so uncomfortable I’ll be lucky if I can ever walk again.
Bargaining: I promise to be a good girl if you please just make it tomorrow (while still on the bike losing all feeling from the waist down.)
Depression: I can’t believe I’m doing this instead of just running with my faithful speed racers. They’ll never speak to me again, I’m going to be all alone, why even go on…
And finally 1 whole week later …
Acceptance: It’s over and I’m still alive and my speed racers are still talking to me, life is good.
The world has since realigned and I am back to my old Crazii self pounding the tar and leaving the jellies and oily bike chains to the professionals.
