See Stink Tri

I can count on three fingers the number of times, in my adult life, that I have been afflicted with a stomach flu.

It just figures that last Friday night would be number four.

It is a tribute to the depth of my mental instability devotion that as I prayed hard at the porcelain bowl, I thought... 'perhaps I will be well enough by morning to make it to trainer Joe's for the team training'.

I was not. Well enough that is.

I have spent the greater part of each subsequent training session of this week alternately ruing the day I decided to Tri and cursing trainers Bob and Joe for their cheerful leadership, unflagging encouragement and quippy chatter.

I think I am getting better though; yesterday evening as I contemplated the still cool waters of Pinchot Park, I marveled at how far I have come.

It was here you see that I took my first plunge. In these very waters, in this very buoied partition that I struggled through my first 100 yards.

I slapped the chill from my arms, rinsed the baby shampoo from my goggles (it keeps them from fogging - thanks BOB) and sluiced smoothly through the water, imagining myself as a sort of aquatic nymph - a being of light and grace if you will.


Then I sucked water through my nose.