He's In

Finally, after years of listening to the complaining, he's in. He's one of them. Every Saturday and Sunday in Encinitas (home of the tri) there are more bikers than cars. And, accordingly, they do take up a lot of the road. Each morning I would sit next to Tony in our car listening to him complain about having to share the road with the clippity-cloppers, (derived from the latin, meaning to make way too much noise as one walks in to Starbucks still in ones clip-ons.)

He does have some reason to complain. We have had bikers pound on the side of our car and scream at us even though I was aware of their presence and gave them more than adequate room. Some people think they need to educate the world.

Most however are awesome. Each morning they are a constant reminder that I need to put in a ride when I get home. I look longingly at the tight, wind-tunnel designed clothes and wish that I could again commute to work. (With 2 kids to drop off at school and a 7 o'clock leave time it just wouldn't work. At least not this year.)

Each time he complained, I would laugh and remind him that he would be eating his words when he finally got it. When he became one of them. Well, today is that day. He may not have the bike yet; he is pounding the dirt in an old mountain bike. He doesn't even have cages on his pedals.

But, last weekend he finished his first tri. With the "I just want to finish" race out of the way, his sights are fastened on getting faster. He has been heard around the pool saying he wants to chase down Potts next year at Wildflower.

With newly expanded duties at work, he is planning on which new road bike he can pick up. (Lucky for me , I have a great husband who, in his plan, also threw in a bike for me)

But today, as he donned his spandex and bike jersey, you could see it in his eyes. It was there. He had become a silent-for-now clippity-clopper. It's all down hill from here.

Socially Retarded- Who Me?

It has been so long since I have felt so socially retarded. For those of you who knew me in high school and college you know how socially inept I can be. Get me in small groups or in a card game or around any sport and I am on my game.

But when that group grows to fifteen or twenty or it becomes a party carried only by conversation and I freak out. I go someplace in my mind and can't seem to come back out. And the worst part, I think, is that I get this look on my face as if I were going to kill somebody. Don't really know why. I guess that's just the way my face kinks up when I go to that place.

So, today my social ineptitude hit again without any warning. But I think I found at least one of the many triggers. I am trying to make my way into a new group of people. Trying to befriend a couple people. I went to a party with about twenty-five to thirty people. First mistake.

And its a post-marathon party. Mistake number two. The conversation naturally went from did you race today to how did you do? So I am getting stories of P.R.'s and beating personal goals. And I start doing a little math on their numbers and am realizing just how fast they are and how slow I am.

Now running has never been my strength, I am really more of a swimmer, but in the last year I made some huge improvements in my running. I could dismiss a few people as being faster than me, (my dad told me long ago, there will always be someone smarter, someone faster, someone more talented), but every one of them was far and away way faster than I could ever dream to be.

The slowest person ran 13.1 miles at a faster pace than I can even run one. And so I am all of a sudden thoroughly intimidated and feeling like crap.

Not to mention that I am already completely intimidated by a few of the Ironman triathletes in the group. You know those insane people who swim 2.4 MILES, then get on a bike and ride 112 MILES and then, because that couldn't be enough, they run a marathon, 26.2 MILES.

Some of these guys I am so intimidated by that I can't seem to carry on a normal conversation without either stumbling over my words or resorting to my old standby, sarcasm, and not the kind-hearted type.

So after thirty-four years on this planet and finally, post-high school, learning to fake it pretty well, I am back in that 6th grade dance paralyzed with the fear of a huge group of people and no idea of how to navigate it. I guess I can get over it, just need a good-nights sleep and a fast run tomorrow. I just hope people had enough to drink to overlook that stupid girl in the corner not saying a word and looking like someone just drank her last beer.