The following is offered as consolation for those who think they're dumber than me.

So, Tiger Lily and I are cycling on Old Route 66 east of Albuquerque and we're headed back in, and at one point she motions to a fork in the road ahead. "See where it splits over there? We're going to the left."
Left. She said LEFT.
She said it loudly, and clearly.

"Okay," I said. Because I had heard her, loudly and clearly, say LEFT.

And here's what my brain decided, as it listened to her and looked at the split in the road, was:
We're going THIS way.because this way is left.

Yeah.

So I took off - I was in the zone......speeding along, legs pumping, and I headed right at the split, just like my brain said to do, I was thinking, "this must lead up over to Tramway Road."

Then, Holy. Cow. I was thinking, as several cars and motorcycles went by me at a high rate of speed.
There is a LOT of traffic out today, I thought, as I sped up. The road became beautiful, clean, and even.

What a great road, I thought as I sped along on the nice, clean, even shoulder surface.

A semi sped by me, leaving a gusting wake.

Goodness! why, this road is practically a FREEWAY!

Just then, my phone rang.

Annoyed, I reached for it. At first, I couldn't quite make out what she was saying, from the noise of the traffic.

Then I finally heard it, "YOUR OTHER LEFT! COME BACK!
YOU'RE ON THE FREEWAY!"

oH. $#it.

Which is what I almost did, when I realized where I was.

So, okay - if you did something really dumb today, or hell, this week, this might make you feel better.

No need to thank me. It's what I'm here for:

Miscellaneous Thursday Stuff.

I've started my off-season marathon training. I find myself in the position of having signed up for four marathons in four months. 'Cause that's the way I roll. Some say driven. Some just roll their eyes.

Tonight, I used the "workout mode" on my Garmin for the first time today. It was pretty easy to program, and I programmed in an interval workout as follows:
Five-minute warmup walk - Then this sequence repeated 3 times:

• Fast Jog 1/4 mile
• Fast Walk 1/8 mile
• Fast Jog 1/2 mile
• Fast walk 1/4 mile

"Fast jog" by the way, is what Msr. GarMEAN calls the pace I've been aspiring to.
Yep, I hauled ass, only to be nagged by Garmin, which sounds a little tinkling, trilling noise when you're going too slow, and flashes SPEED UP! briefly on the screen.

Obviously, I don't know what happens if you're going too fast (are you KIDDING?)

I liked training with GarMEAN, although it was another startling reminder that I really, really need bifocals. I just can't read anything close with my near-sighted glasses on anymore. I did manage about a 9:30 pace on a couple of those intervals, which is great, but I didn't realize it stopped recording my run immediately when the workout was over. Maybe that's a setting I can change, but I ran about a half mile before I realized it was no longer recording.

I also wore my new trail shoes today for the first time. They are what I can only describe as breathtakingly ugly.

As in, every time I look at them, they take my breath away and make me forget how tired I am, as I think, "Holy cow, those are some ugly shoes." But, they're pretty confortable.

Then it got very, very dark, and I couldn't see any more, so I kind of shuffled that last few miles back to my car. Oh, and because I had to listen for the Garmin, I ran without music.

Diet-wise, I've been a good girl this week, except for what I suspect was a moment of PMS weakness when a kid in my classroom showed up selling fundraising candy.

I just wanted to help out, you understand. So I did, a Reeses' and a Snicker's worth. Hey, the kid is trying to earn enough to go to Italy. What else could I do?

...

Stupid Triathlon Trick #14

Today's Stupid Triathlon Trick is, "Don't maintain your bike."

Remember yesterday when I talked about how hard it was to get my bike to shift properly? Yeah. Well, once stuff like that starts happening, it's usually a messge from above.

And that message is this:

"Get your bike tuned, stupid."

I ignored that message. I had a long ride today and figure I could squeeze one more bike ride out of the Rockette before taking it into the shop.

Of course, I discovered right away that this was going to be a small chain ring day. The bike simply would not switch onto the big ring, no matter how much I begged and threatened.

I can remember when that was all I needed.
Big chain ring? Pah.
That was only for going down hill.

But now, after all my practice rides I've actually made some, ya know, progress, and so today I was spinning at a really high cadence, for me, much more than I'm used to. Breathing heavy, but feeling good.
I was thinking that at least, this would be a chance to practice high cadence. For sixty miles. Oh, well. I've got my favorite bike shorts, cycling top, and hydration vest. Bring it on!

and god said, "HA!"

Suddenly, my foot was free. Frowning, I looked down at it. Had it slipped off the pedal? Unlikely. I have the tightest pedals in the world....usually takes much effort and swearing to get locked in and much effort to get unlocked as I coast to stops, just before I fall over.

I leaned over further. No, actually, the pedal was still firmly attached to my foot.

Yep, there they were, the pedal and crank arm.
Dangling from and attached to my bike shoe.
Not to the bike,

Hmmm. Pretty sure this is not one of those quick fix things, like, say, a flat.

I coasted to a stop, and Pirate took one look, and said, "Your ride is over." then she said, "I'd be pissed." I considered briefly whether no shifting and one pedal meant the ride was over, and then I had to admit that it was.

At first, I felt uber studly. I'd pedaled the crank right off my bike. BOOYAH!

But that soon gave way to regret. I'd neglected a friend. This is an example of a desperately uncared for Rockette, on whom I've put nearly 700 miles this summer with no tune up. Don't try this at home, kids.

We sent Pirate's Beloved and Sweet Baboo back for the car whilst we turned around and I pedaled one-legged for about 5 miles. Ever do ILT's? I used to grumble and grouse when the Jimmy made us do them. Today, I was thankful.

Occasionally, I had to shift my weight as ever more components began to complain about the neglect and more recent off-balanced pedaling and started acting crazy. Eventually the guys showed up with the car and we loaded the Rockette into it.

No bike shops open today. Of course, my training bike is still missing a wheel, so that's out.

No ride today.

... Boo.

Last Sprint for a While (race report)

Socorro Chili Harvest Sprint Triathlon was held today in Socorro, New Mexico. They had a change of venue for this year since the city was doing some work on the city pool, and used the pool on the campus of New Mexico Tech instead. I liked the new venue.

This is my last event before Ironman Louisville, which is two weeks from tomorrow.

I recommend this little race to anyone who wants to do a sprint. The bike course is a bit of a challenge, but not overwhelming. More importantly, the Socorro Striders and Riders, who put it on, are increadibly enthusiastic. The overall winners of this little sprint received Nambe chilis. I actually got to touch one...

This sprint starts with a seeded swim. The whole thing is timed by CCRTiming, and they've got this whole seeded swim thing down to a "T". My swim was slower than I've done it before, with an average pace of 2:37/100 meters compared to last year's pace of 2:35.

My T1 was faster than last year by over a minute. I attribute this to the fact that I no longer walk from the pool and then sit down while I dry off my feet, put on my socks, drink some juice, look around, think about life....

Instead, I now have *finally* worked my way into the ability to at least trot through transition, where I have my towel sitting with nothing on it. I stomp on it to dry my feet while I'm grabbing my helmet. Then I shove my feet into my shoes, sockless, grab my bike, and head for the exit running. Well, Okay. Trotting.

It also saves you time in T1 if you skip those little details, like grabbing your prescription sunglasses, or checking to see that your aerobottle is properly secured before you take off on the fairly bumpy bike course. Just a tip....

Well, luckily for me they had marked hazardous areas in the road. Big yellow chalk sawteeth even my nearsighted peepers can see, and how could I miss the the many enthusiastic volunteers waving and pointing with their whole bodies at the turns?

I felt like I was really pushing it, but it didn't show in the results: my average speed was a bit lower and my overall time on the 20K bike split was almost 6 minutes slower.

At T2, I dug into my transition bag and grabbed my sunglasses, put my running flats on, with no socks, and my hat, and took off running the mostly flat run. I felt pretty good, and kept a 10:50 pace, with is pretty momentous for me at the end of a triathlon. My pace was over a minute per mile faster than last year.

I was hoping to beat my nemesis, Karen, but alas, this was not to be, as she smoked me. Just. Smoked. Me.

I think she finished a full 9 minutes ahead of me. The enigmatic Lena S. showed up and beat us both, and then disappeared again, damnit, before awards. I still don't know what she looks like. Dammit, dammit, dammit!

Results:
Mini-baboo: 2nd place, 15-17 AG
Sweet Baboo: 1st place, Clydesdales. and that's with a taped calf. I'll let him tell you about that.
Me: 3rd place, Athena

I'm happy to report also that the Jimmy has changed my scheduled 110 mile bike ride tomorrow a 60 mile bike ride. Whew.

SW TriGirl was there. Dread Pirate was also there. You should go nag her until she posts a report. She'd like that.

Next event: Ironman Louisville on August 26th. The dread and nausea and worry have already begun, thanks very much.

Eep...

OH, one more thing. Like to give a shout out to Andie, who thought I was 10 years younger than I am. Ohhhhh, I feel so good...

...

A 40-mile ride, in 6 hours and 20 easy steps.

1. Starting at 10 am, prepare yourself for a 50 mile ride: get your frozen water bottles, sunscreen, and fig newtons, and put them in the car.

2. Search for your favorite Terry cycling tank for about 45 minutes: in the hamper, laundry room, where you keep your swim stuff and where you keep your running stuff, under the bed, in the closest, finally finding it exactly where it was supposed to be in the first place, with your cycling stuff. Go figure.

3. Get your training wheels so that you can use them instead of your race wheels. Except...one of your training wheels is flat.

4. Utter your favorite curse words.

5. Since you don't feel all that confident fixing a flat right before a 50 miler, take it down to the bike shop and ask them to throw a new tube on there. You might even get a couple gels while you're there. Except...you don't have the checkbook.

6. Utter your favorite curse words.

7. Drive back home to get the checkbook. Which cannot be found. On the way out, notice grab your helmet.

8. Return to the bike shop and dig through your wallet to get a couple gels and pay for a new tube.

9. Drive self, gear and bike down to the little park by the bike path.

10. Put training wheels on bike, bottles in bottle cages, and spray self with sun screen.

11. Try to ignore the van full of men in orange jumpsuits that are lunching, staring at you. Put away the thoughts that there's nobody else but you around...just you, and a panel van full of men doing community service.

12. There! You're ready to go. Except...you've left your bike shoes at home.

13. Utter your favorite curse words.

14. Take the bottles back off your flatwing, take the front wheel back off the bike, and put everything back in the car and drive back home, leaning forward so as not to get the wet sunscreen all over the car seat.

15. Get bike shoes, and decide to go back to a different parking spot. One not so full of guys in orange jumpsuits.

16. Drive down to a different park by the bike path, and begin your ride at noon.

17. Except...at mile 30, you notice ugly black clouds have now taken over the sky. Call Pirate at work and ask her what the Doppler radar looks like.

18. Based on Pirate's recommendation, turn the bike around, spending the last 10 miles of the ride heading into a stiff wind and watching the "average" speed on your Garmin drop precipitously.

19. Utter your favorite curse words.

20. Go home and take a nap.

Now, wasn't that easy?

...

Long Run Sundays

Yesterday I returned to my Sunday long runs at the church of the bosque trail. On the dockett: 16 miles. I hadn't run that far since, like, JANUARY.

I didn't think it would be easy. I didn't think it would be hard. I didn't know what to think, especially since my debacle at Show Low, where 13 miles, um, over 4 hours...and was more of a labored, painful TRUDGE than a run...

I'm still working on my nutrition, et cetera. So I loaded up my hydration pack with about 55 ounces of prepared Nuun, 45 which I consumed.

Then I got the brilliant idea of putting 8 ounces of Apple-cinnamon hammer gel, about 6 which I consumed (more on that in a moment) into a water bottle. Prior to my run, I drank half a 450-calorie bottle of HEED. About three hours before the run, I ate two servings of oatmeal and a fruit cup.

To make short work of this post, I'll fast foward to the lessons learned.

1. Ohhhhhhh, THAT'S why I never ran that particular section of trail. It's full of soft sandy spots. motherf.........

2. If you try to use a 8-ounce water bottle as a gel flask, you have to do something to the spout, because it's not meant to let something as viscous as gel go through it. After squeezing in vain, I finally unscrewed the lid and gulped it down every couple of miles.
Which brings me to number 3...

3. No matter how much you like a particular flavor of gel, if you gulp it down for three hours, you'll learn to hate it.

Hate. It.

4. There's even more large piles of horse manure on dirt trails than there is on the paved trail. How come dog owners have to scoop, but horse owners can leave large presents for the rest of us to trip over willy-nilly? It's just as gross; it's just a smelly, and it's just as unlikely to wash awake in the rain we don't often get in the desert.

Anyway, I did 15.2 miles, in about 3:22. I started out at 5:55 am, having learned a lesson from Pirate and her "running on the sun" experience recently ☀ It was gorgeous on the bosque pre-dawn. Quiet, peaceful, in the low sixties. Bunnies ran amok. It was in the upper eighties when I finished.

Today I rest from all things running and triathlon-like. My calf and a lot of my left leg is stiff from Saturday's race.

FYI: Sweet Baboo has fallen ill from some mysterious malady, and is home while I wait on him, feed him, and soothe his fevered brow. SHHHHHHHHHH. He's sleeping. He's such an angel when he sleeps...

By the way, any of you who are happy with fiddling with HTML, I found a place to get the codes to put symbols ☝ in your text. Go here: http://www.bigbaer.com/reference/character_entity_reference.htm

℘

Tires, Cycling, and the southwest.

Yesterday's flat was most likely caused by something called a "puncture vine" seed, also known as "Mexican sand bur." It's a noxious week that grows very well all over the place.

These pretty little vines put out little yellow flowers, and then they produce a small fruit. The fruit dries and produces four seeds known around here as "goatheads".

Goatheads have long, stiff thorns heading out in 2 directions, and they lay in a way so that no matter which ways it lands, there's one thorn sticking up. They're about 1/4 inch long. Seeds like this spread by getting caught in the fur of animals and being carried that way. They also blow around pretty well.

They are EVERYWHERE. I walked through the desert in a pair of lower-end sandals the other day, about 700 meters, and by the time I was done the entire bottom of each sandal was completely crusted with them. They covered the entire bottom.

Goatheads are otherwise known as "MOTHERF&$%R!" by the people dumb enough to walk around barefoot, or those who've flatted out for the second or third time when they've ignored the advice of the locals.

You see, the really great thing about living in Albuquerque is that is rarely rains here, so there's lots and lots of time to spend outdoors. We're a mile above sea level, which is good for training, and the humidity is fairly low, usually less than 20% but almost always less than 25%.

Last summer we had an unusual rainy season, and on some of the days the humidity was a whopping 50%. Boy, did we whine! We (meaning denizens of the Burque) walked around saying in our whiniest voices, "Oh, my gosh, it's just so HOT and so STICKY. Oh, my gosh, when will this end?" But anyway, I'm rambling.

Even the insane wind is not al that bad. It's good for training.

The bad thing about Albuquerque is the occasional sand storms and, of course, goatheads.

So we occasionally get people who are new to the area, people who like to run or do triathlon, and we remind them of three things:

1) Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate- this IS the desert!

2) you'll need about 500 spf sunscreen, and

3) you'll need some super thorn-resistant setup on your bike.

This usually involves a type of tire with Kevlar in it (Specialized Armadillos or Bontrager Hardcase), sometimes a thorn-proof liner, and some sort of sealant like Stans, that seals punctures and allows you to air up the tire again if it goes flat.

With this setup I've never gotten a flat.

When I bought my new bike, I was talked into getting something called Gatorskins. POP! PSSSSSSSSSSSS, a flat. As well, I didn't have any sealant in them. I did some searching, and read some cycling forums and there's a general consensus that Gatorskins may, indeed, be absolute crap.
So I will endeavor this week to replace the Gatorskins with some decent Kevlar tires.

Anyway, if you ever decide to do a race here, keep this post in mind. You may think you've got evil tire-puncturing things where you live? Well, maybe you do. They grow wild here.

You've been warned!

...

Bad Day. Pouting

Today was definitely

ONE. OF. THOSE. DAYS.

If you're reading this, you are the lucky recipient of my bitching and whining.

The goal: 70 mile training ride.

the result: 39 miles and some change, and a 2+ mile walk.

Here's why today sucked so utterly:

1. Flat wings suck. At least, mine does. My bottles bounced out about 6 or 7 times during the 31 miles I put in today. Then the yellow thingy that keeps my aerobottle from splashing HEED all over me fell out, and blew off the trail. I didn't want to put it, all dusty and stuff, back into the bottle, so I and my new bike were showered with HEED whenever I went over any little bump, which was often, until I finally just drank the whole thing down to be done with it.

2. I'm still hurting from last weekend. No, not my legs. Think higher. No, not my sit bones. Think slightly lower. This may be a new saddle issue. In any case, it remains a source of anger and frustration for me. I finally turned back at the 31 mile mark and told people to go finish with me as I was unable to maintain an aero position and couldn't see doing another 40 miles sitting bolt upright.

3. My first flat. Oh, how proud I was when I sat down to change it! 'Cause I know just how to to do that!

Except...

there's no tire iron. Okay, no tire iron - um, okay - I can use the rounded end of my key. My tubes are always filled with stans, anyway, so I'll use the cartrige to air it back up.

Except...okay, um they aren't filled with Stans today. I'll change the tube. Oh. I don't HAVE the right sized tube. Um, okay, I'll stick a 700 tube in there for a temporary fix to get me the 4-5 miles or so back to my car...

4. The jerk who made a U-turn in his SEMI, forcing me off the rode. he never saw me. I think he could have easily hit me and knocked me off the rode and never known it. A$$HO&E! He'd have been all like, "what was that bump? Ah, probably just some road debris." I've never known that kind of futile fury before...I wanted to clog down the road in my cycling shoes and throw handsful of gravel at him. Which he'd have never been aware of.


5. After I was forced off the road by the A$$HO&E, my jerry-rigged back tire immediately went flat again. >Sigh.<>

So I hoofed it. 2.7 miles. In my bike shoes.

I. Hate. Cycling.

Tomorrow I will run. On a trail. In my shoes. Which will not go flat.

Oh, and Did I mention I hate cycling?

...

Open mouth, insert foot.

Next up: Show Low, Arizona "Deuces Wild" triathlon festival, first weekend in June.
Originally, I was scheduled to do the Oly, somewhere far behind Pirate, with Sweet Baboo, newly-svelt-Helen-age-grouper and Stuey, aka "Mark Spitz" doing the 70.3 "Deuce-man."

Here's the Oly bike course:
When I first saw this, I nearly passed out. I was pissed, at Sweet Baboo, of course, what on earth was he thinking?

There's that one climb--see it? From mile 11 to 15?
It looks like I'm going to have to throw a grappling hook up before I start heading up that hill.

Does Kestrel even make an aero grappling hook to go on your bike?
Does it fit under the seat? Does it include a wench? I mean, WHAT THE HELL?

Then I stopped hyperventilating and actually looked at the numbers. I mean, it's 4 miles and 400 feet of climbing. That's 100 feet per mile. A 2% grade. Not as cool as something that's flat, but certainly nothing to get freaked about, I guess.
Stupid bike profiles. Why do they have to look so scary?

Now, here's the 10K run course:

Ulp. Now, after my initial freakout, I can see that this climbs 100 feet over 4 miles, which means it's a 0.5 grade.

So at this point I said blithely to Sweet Baboo,
"Gee, these don't look so bad now. I almost wish I'd signed up for the 70.3,"
I said that knowing that it's difficult to move UP in distances this close to a race.

And then Sweet Baboo was supposed to say, in a voice tinged with regret,
"Gosh, sweetie, it's too late now. I sure wish you'd said something sooner, then you could be going 70.3 miles instead of 33.9..."

and then I'd say something like, "Well, I'll know better next time, right?" and then mosy my way through another Oly, hanging out at the finish line waiting for the three of them to come in.
But instead, he said, cheerfully, "Well, if you really want to, I'm sure it can be switched." Then he immediately set about emailing the race director, in order to do just that.

Uh... um...

Wait.

That wasn't supposed to happen.

Shit.

...

A Race Report of Lists.

The short version: I had a good race at the Buffman and Squeaky International Distance Tri. There was gusting wind AND super steep hills (see the bike profile in my previous post, below) but I ran like a girl, and did twenty minutes better than last year, felt great, climbed EVERY hill, and wasn't last. This is a well-run race with a challenging bike course that I recommend because I love the race directors and it's just plain fun.

================================

The longer version: A list of lists.

List One: Things that were different this year:

1. I increased my calorie intake, due to comments by my dentist and coach. My dentist commented that I must must have a high metabolism because all my life, the novacane wears off unusually fast and I have to have a second shot. (My teeth are a long story. I've had 9 root canals) My coach commented that my heart rate is higher than most. Ergo, what if all this time, I've been calorie deprived and that's why I'm so tired and so slow?

2. I hired someone and enlisted peer pressure to overcome my substantial lazy streak. the Jimmy not only writes training plans but meets with all his coaching clients each week at a local track to do intervals and plyometrics. Otherwise known as The Torture, the Jimmy style. For instance, last week, he had us jump up and down bleacher steps. On one foot. And then run sprint relays. Even if I had the experience and know-how to come up with this stuff, I need the peer pressure each week from having people standing around staring at me.

3. I've stopped coughing. For as long as I've been training, whenever I slow down after exerting myself, I'd flem up and cough like crazy. People would stare, it was so bad. This past week, right after the Jimmy had us doing relays at full speed, it just stopped. It didn't peter out, or lessen, It just. stopped. I don't know why. Maybe my asthma has given up.

4. I wasn't breathless today. Oh, maybe a bit on the swim, but my max heart hate was 170, compared to last year's 183. Usually I loiter about in transition waiting for my heartrate to go down. Today, I didn't have to do that. I was, in fact, less breathless and couging and flemmy than even last week, and I don't know why.

5. I knew more people, which is fun. Like to give a shout-out to Helen, Lisa, and the rest of the peeps.

List TWO: What I ate today
1. a good breakfast. 3 hours prerace, I had oatmeal, half a sandwich with vegan cheese and vegan meat, and a double soy latte.
2. Extra GU's alone with plenty of hydration and electrolytes. On the bike, I had a bottle of heed and 1 bottle of perpetuum, 2 GU's and a bag of shot blocks. On the run, aside from 2 gulps of water at each of the 3 aid stations, I had three Gu's.
3. T1, a couple ounces of energy drink. T2, a couple more ounces of energy drink. T3, the rest of the energy grink and a medium pizza and a latte.

List THREE: STUPID TRIATHLON TRICK of the DAY
it isn't really a list; that's part of what makes it STUPID.
Okay, well, I didn't fasten my aerobike bottle on securely. So, as I was careening down the first downhill it started to shake violently. I held onto it for a while, but as I started going over some bumps at the foot of the hill I finally had to let go and grab the handlebars with both hands. At that point, the aerobottle exited my holder, hitting the pavement on the corner so that it bounced up into the air, spinning like fireworks. Except that, instead of sparks, it was spinning out 20 ounces of HEED. And, of course, it happened right in front of a race official. So, I stopped the bike, ran 10 yards or so in my cycling shoes to pick it up, and the only way to carry it was to fasten it back onto the bike. Which was a feat in inteself because it has this little strappy doodle thing that is hard to thread through...oh, forget it. Anyway, once I finally got it fastened back into the bike I realized it was on backwards.

List FOUR: The results
1500 m. Swim
Last year - 42:51
This year - 37:47
The swim felt pretty good. I didn't feel as breathless as I have in the past, and I even got to beat up Stuart. (Just kidding, Stu. JUST KIDDING!)

40K Bike
Last year - 1:53:00. Walked up 4 of 5 hills.
This year - 1:50:00. Climbed every single hill.
This doesn't seem like a huge difference. (Be sure to check out the bike profile in my previous post below) Except that: I lost my aerobottle in front of an official, so I had to get it (see below) Also, this year, there were some nasty gusting winds.

10K Run
Last year - Run pace, 14:45, Total run time - 1:31:29
This year - Run pace, 12:09, Total run time - 1:15:22
I felt awesome on this run. I started out conservatively, taking a 1 minute walk break after running 5 minutes, but after 2 miles I thought, screw it, so I stopped walking except through the aid stations. Eventually, I got bored and started singing to myself and even skipping (Yes, LIKE a GIRL.)

Total time
Last year - 4 hours, 7 minutes.
This year - 3 hours, 49 minutes.
1st place (and again, the only) Athena.

Time for a nap. And some soy ice creme.

...

Atomic Man 2007, Race Report

This morning Sweet Baboo and I got up and headed for the 3rd Annual Atomic Man Duathlon. They have two courses, the "Fat Man" and the "Little Boy". Forgetting for a moment the objectionable source of the names, I have to say that this is one of the best duathlons I've ever done. It's well organized, and they give you HEED at the aid stations instead of the evil stomach-cramping gator-juice. And, they give out some serious shwag. Last year they gave out technical T-s, long sleeve, which are one of my favorite shirts. This year they gave out LG Jackets. And, if you fill out a post race survey, you get a really nice runner's cap. The awards are usually something interesting and artsy.

We stayed in the area the night before and ate at the Peking House, I think it was called. Really decent Chinese food, including Tofu. We tried getting a bite at the Los Alamos Beverage Company, but they didn't really have anything vegan-ish. The people there looked pretty happy with their food, though, so I'm assuming it's a pretty good place. I met the owners, who did this duathlon, and they are pretty nice people. Their 8-year-old also did this race. I think he beat me.

Anyway, I'm babbling. Back to the race.

The little boy course is a 4K run, 15k bike, and 4K run. The fat man course is a 10K run, 40K bike, and 5K run. It is worth noting that the bikes on each of the courses are formidable. As in, "holy hell, this hill is steep and long, and I think I'm going to throw up." As in, the Jemez Mountains not too far from the Santa Fe ski area. They are not only very winding, but involve considerable climbing, and the whole things is at an altitude of over 6000 feet.

I did this one last year, and I was hoping to best my time. I probably would have, if I hadn't wasted time doing any of the following:

1. Standing at the bike mount line repeatedly punching my cadence meter, muttering, "reset, damn you."


2. Stopping to pick up a gel I had accidentally dropped on the course after the race director, in the prerace meeting, threatened that if we trashed any part of the course, he would find us and he would penalize us.


3. Pedaling with one leg on my bike aftering picking up said gel, while saying, repeatedly, to my left shoe/pedal, "Clip in, damn you."


4. Stopping to put the chain back on that jumped off while pedaling uphill.


5. Pedaling with one leg on my bike after putting on said chain, while muttering to my left/shoe pedal, by now shouting, "Clip in, damn you!"

It is interesting to note that it's been suggested to me repeatedly by Sweet Baboo that you're supposed to clip on the side that's most difficult first. Of course, I never remember this until I'm at the point where I'm screaming at my pedal/shoe.

Sweet Baboo would also tell me, in his kind and patient way (if he saw any of this) that swearing at my pedals, or my cadence meter, don't make it work. I, however, would insist that the end justifies the means: I feel better by swearing at my pedals and my cadence meter, and that's what's really important.

Besides, he never sees me swearing at my equipment; he's usually finished with the race, showered and relaxing with a cool beverage by the time I hit T1.

Anyway, here's a profile of the bike course. You'll have to click on it; the elevation is on the right in green; my % heart rate is on the left in brown.

Before and after the bike from hell, the two 4K runs are more or less flat, with some slight grades increasing or decreasing no more than 100 feet across the same course. The longer 40K course, by the way, including a decsent and climb into a canyon.

I missed last years' time by about 10 seconds, I think. Lessons learned: reset the cadence meter BEFORE the race; clip in left first.

Oh, I was 11th in my age group (40-44). Out of 12. I miss getting the medals. But I'm determined to get faster.

I hadn't said much about this before, but after my grand announcement of no longer being an Athena I immediately gained five pounds that have stubbornly refused to budge. I've been toying with the idea of reclaiming my status and re-entering the Athena category.

It's damned hard, at 155 pounds, (that's 11 stone for our Aussie and Canadian friends, ay?) to outrun all those skinny birdy women who dash by me. Those women who don't have to haul my fat ass up a grade 8 or 9 hill on a bike.

They are hardly much more than the weight of their skeleton, muscle, and some connective tissue, as they do their 7 or 6 minute miles and then haul their 5% bodyfat up a hill on a bike. Yeah. I'm whining. Don't remind me, or I'll sit on you. I, on the other hand, to use the vernacular, have a whole lot of cushion for the pushin'.

And I miss the gratuitious medal. I know, I know... I should be above all that. But who doesn't love a medal?

In any case I'm going to make my decision some time this week.

...

Things I just happen to know today.

1. If you take, oh, say, a MONTH off most running, it will Slow Your Ass Down. (Yeah, I know. DUH. but sometimes I just have to learn things for myself.)

2. The strawberries I bought on Thursday went and got themselves LOST. I know this because I went looking for them after doing my LSR this morning. When I asked mini-Baboo, he said he "FOUND" them. In the refrigerator. Then he asked me if he could use the Internet.

That happens a lot. Things getting lost, and then "found," by mini-Baboo, all right where I last last left them. For Pirate, it will happen twice as often. Bwahahahahah.

3. It takes me much longer to get ready for my long run when Sweet Baboo isn't here to say things like, "do you have your gels? your inhaler? your water? your watch?" etc.

4. Sweet Baboo, as I write this, is well on his way to not only be one of the Greater Sweet Baboos, but one of the Greater Sweet Iron Baboos. He finished his swim in 1:19:57. Bib#1184. Of course, he's already done an iron distance triathlon, but as several people have reminded him, he isn't a 'real' ironman because he hasn't finished a 'real' IronMan.

(WhatEVER)

5. I am now officially insanely jealous of Pirate, because she's in the midst of pimping her training bike with a pink powder finish. I will not and cannot live in such a jealous state, so I'm going to pimp my commuter. I thinking pink with black polka dots, or black with pink polkadots. And a silly plastic basket with flowers for the front. And maybe streamers. And one of those horns you squeeze.

6. The Baboo and I have decided not to move to San Antonio after all, partly because after spending two days threshing 5 acres in March temperatures, Baboo started wondering what it would be like to thresh fifteen acres. In July. When he's sixty.

Instead we're searching Albuquerque for our empty-nest nest. When Mini-baboo, the youngest of the baboos, graduates in 2009, our house will be far too large, and we're pretty desperate to get out of Rio Rancho and move into Albuquerque.

Lost item of the day: the USB network adapter I bought for Mini-baboo's computer. Some small items I should never be allowed to touch.

Or, there should be a way for me to call them, like I do my cell phone when I can't find it.

...

In which I am a nearsighted idiot.

Today I went on my first serious "long" run since the marathon two weeks ago. It felt, as I mentioned to Wiz, not like I had large bricks tired to my feet but more like someone had replaced the bricks with slightly lighter bricks. Still, I was able to keep up the run for the eight or so miles. As I mentioned before, my next goal is to run a half marathon without walk breaks.

I can't find my damned glasses.
Not my usual nerdly red framed glasses, which fog up and actually make it seem brighter out so I don't wear them outside.

I'm talking about my way cool prescription 'SportSpecs" that I need not only because I'm incredibly vain and the bright sun in New Mexico makes me squint, deepening any developing crows' feet, but also because to call me nearsighted would be an understatement. Don't get me started on contacts. I tried them once. They are way too much trouble, and I threw screaming hissy fits when they folded up under my eyelid upon insertion. I have no patience at all. My optomitrist told me that as I am getting old (he actually said that, he said old, not older) my nearsightedness would be corrected by the time I was fifty. But then I'd need reading glasses. So lasic is out.

In any case I took off for my run without any glasses at all, figuring that as long as I could see my feet (I can) and the path ten feet in front of me (I can) I'd be okay. The guys, Sweet Baboo, Wiz, and Bones, took off ahead of me. I'm alone. It's a brisk 27 degrees out and I'm managing to stay just ahead of chilled. Just me and the ipod. Almost NOBODY is on the trail this early, when it's this cold. Ahhhhhhh.

So I'm heading down the Bosque trail and its about forty minute later when I see the guys coming back. Sweet Baboo, in his white shirt, black tights, and white hat, seems to be limping. Bones, in his red jacket, is walking slowly, and Wiz is just sauntering. When I'm about 50 yards away, I holler, "what's wrong? Why are you guys walking?"

No response.

Bear in mind that I can't see faces, or even really make out distinct bodies. I can make out general human forms and the major colors they are wearing.

About 20 yards out, I yell again, "Hey, three ironman are walking down the trail. that sounds like the first line of a joke!"

No response.

I try again, "is someone hurt?"

It's when the last 't' sound of the word hurt leaves my lips that I realize that the three men approaching me are completely unknown to me. They are some old guys, much less attractive than the three men I supposed them to be. The one I supposed to be Sweet Baboo even has a big grey beard. One of them finally says something like, "I guess if we were real men we'd be running"

Well, then I'm stuck. I just said a few lame things and they went their way and I went mine, and they had a story to tell about some bitch on the trail that didn't even know them and was giving them crap about walking instead of running.

The moral of the story is that the girl at the pool who waved at you, or the cute guy across the gym floor, might not have been flirting with you at all.

Nor was that girl who seemed to be either teasing you or harassing you out on your run today.

They may just be horribly nearsighted and you happen to be wearing something that someone they knew was wearing.

Why I missed my Sunday long run: Excuse #179.

If you buy bean burritos from Taco Bell...

and then find that you've ordered more than you can comfortably consume...

do not, repeat, DO NOT eat that one that you left sitting out at room temperature six hours later.

That is all.

DOPING SCANDAL (?)

I was relating my sudafed experience today at lunch with a friend of mine who is a serious bike nerd. In addition to being a teacher, he works part time at a bike shop--just because he can--and does time trials for fun. He "loathes" running, and swimming, and says he'd do a triathlon only if it was bike-bike-bike.

Anyway, Bob started laughing and said, "Geez, you were doping! Didn't you know that's a banned substance?" He walked off, cackling, down the hall. Apparently, he thought it was a real hoot.

Nope, I didn't know. As a lifelong battler of the sprint and fall flem seasons, Sudafed is something that's always in the medicine cabinet. I'd taken to using Guifenesin lately because it works better, but yesterday I was out. But I checked, and by golly, according to the US Anti-doping agency, Sudafed is indeed a banned substance. In any case the whole experience sucked - I don't know why anyone would want their heart to race until they couldn't catch their breath, but apparently, it helps somebody unfairly, so it's banned.

Life and learn. Now in addition to the general paranoia about poisoned contrails, I can be paranoid about the USADA coming after me. Suppose I become famous, for something. Like, maybe, being the slowest triathlete on earth.
"Excuse me, but is it true that you once used a banned substances in order to enhance your performance in a sprint triathlon at Holloman Airforce Base in New Mexico? How can you explain this to the parents who entrust you with their precious teenagers, day after day?"

"Um, yes," I'd have to admit, "I was trying to enhance my performance by eliminating a substantial amount of snot--I admit it, and I promise never to do it again.
As for the teenagers, judging by their academic inclinations in the afternoons, it's probably likely that they are popping way more serious stuff than Sudafed at lunch."

Still no results posted, about the results of yesterday's sprint tri, and nobody's answering the phone over at Holloman. Grrrrrr.

Sweet Baboo has stepped up to be my training coach. I have to give him credit for taking a deep breath and doing this. He has experienced the wrath firsthand of the pissed off and tired Athena, and yet he's mustered up the courage to experience it again. When I had my Soma pity-party last week and whined, "you just don't know what it's like to always be last!" he started working on how to help me feel better and planning my training so that I would be able to finish Soma by the cutoff time. He does that a lot. It's a lot like having a nice, protective bubble around me all the time so that I don't have to experience too much stress. However, I have gone off on him in the past when my fatigue would temporarily pickle my brain and I would accuse him of trying to thwart my training, lying about how big the hills were going to be, and generally just trying to hurt me.

Now, I know he'd never do that. I just get paranoid and weird when I'm really, really tired.

Anyway, I started today with a 1500 m swim at the gym, and then 11 miles on the hill climbing program on the electronic cycle, feeling the burn, which I usually avoid doing, because I hate the burn--the burn hurts. (I prefer the electronic cycling because I don't like riding around Rio Rancho because, 1) The denizens here are insane rednecks who love to run cyclists off THEIR road, 2) there's a lot of heavy construction going on and a solid line of about a dozen large fill trucks running back and forth in the middle of my route who LOVE to come up behind me and blast their air horns at me. Bastards. As well, the bike bath on the bosque is ripe with IBP incidents--just ask Dread Pirate.)

...

Now, I am a Redman-er-person.

(Note: new pictures uploaded, below)
We were standing on the shore of Lake Heffner, and it was 7:00 am.
I was staring up at the sky, muttering to myself "get lighter. get lighter". I did NOT want to swim in the dark. Under my feet, the shore was thick, red, Oklahoma mud. I liked the way it squished between my toes. It was cold, and I was anxious for the swim to start, because I'd heard the water was 70 degrees, and the air we were standing in was in the upper 50's or lower 60's, and windy.
Sweet Baboo gave me a kiss before walking toward the front of the swim start, ready to head out on his adventure to do his first full iron distance race.

BANG! The shotgun went off, and we started walking - some running - the 100 yards to begin swimming, because the shore area was so shallow, and then it was another 100 yards swimming out to the first buoy.

The water was surprisingly choppy, and the waves were high. I had to start breathing on the left - thank Good I'm good at bilateral breathing, - because every time I turned my head to breath on the right, a wave would smack me in the face.

The current was strong, and I veered off course several times, but not too far. Every once in a while, someone would cut across-directly perpendicular, mind you-my course, backstroking or something like that. I heard later that one guy in the half was out there for three hours before they finally pulled him from the water, blue with cold and disoriented, and took him to the medical tent.

As I swam toward the shore, others in the full were already headed out on their second loop, and I knew Sweet Baboo was one of them.

Deducting the time I spent walking to and from the first buoy, my swim time was around an hour or so, pretty much on target. I swam and swam until I noticed people walking next to me, and then stood up in waist-deep water, walked through the thick, red mud and started pulling down my wetsuit. Karen or Rich, with whom we were staying, took these pictures of us. They were awesome.

I pulled my wetsuit down to my hips, and then plopped down on my butt for the wet-suit strippers to finish the job.

On the swim, my S stood for Slapped in the face by waves.

I trotted over to my bike, feeling good. I had a sweet, sweet transition spot. I was in the first rack right in front of the bike entrence and exit. I hung my wetsuit over the rack, and then pulled on my bike shorts. The other two Athenas were there, geering up and headed out. I would never see them again, not till the next day at the ceremony. One of them, along with her husband, was doing her first ever triathlon. She did awesome.

I headed out directly in the wind. It was about 3 miles around the dam and then out onto the boulevard, half of which had been blocked off for us. After that, I never knew again how fast I was going, because my speedometer stopped immediately after leaving the dam around mile 3.2

The roads weren't as bad as I'd anticipated. Somehow, the constant rolling and small potholes at 45 miles per hour in a Honda weren't as bad on a slow bike. The wind, however, was now up to 25 miles per hour with 40 miles per hour gusts. I tried reframing it - first it was refreshing, then challenging.

At the first aid station, around 3.2 miles out (I had just passed a sign that said 10 miles) a volunteer guided me to a bathroom and held my bike for me. I fiddled with the speedometer cable and magnet, but it was not to be. I was in the porta potty for a long time. This is part of the puzzle I'm still trying to put together, because upon reflection, it appears that every bit of hydration I put in my system all day Friday and Saturday passed right on through. I just didn't realize at the time.

Around mile 3.2 (the sign said 20 miles) I stopped at another aid station to get some water for my bike. I tipped the bottle a bit to get some room for the Nuun tablet that would be dissolving in there, and then watched in horror as some of the water went into my little container of electrolyte tablets. Fizzzzzzzzz.
I worked hard to get the water out of there, but after that, they were pretty much glued together.

The countryside was great - green, green trees; red, red, mud, sunflowers, black birds. Very autumnal, peaceful, and of course, the ever present WHOOSH in my ears from the wind, that was gusting from the northwest.

In all, I drank about 6 bottles of water on the trip. I thought that would be enough.
I was wrong.

At mile 3.2 (40 miles, according to the sign) the wind had become disouraging. still, I was only 18 miles away and feeling pretty good - my legs weren't tired, I wasn't particularly tired, just pissed at the wind. Sweet Baboo says it's pointless to get angry at the wind, because it's nothing personal.
How wrong he is!
It's in MY face.
It's wasting MY energy.
It's holding ME back.
It's very damned personal.
Race officials and directors did a bang up job of controlling the cars bent on heading for a Saturday at the mall so that we could have a closed lane to ourselves. The ride back to the dam was largely uneventful save for the couple of cars that ignored traffic directions and then stopped, bewildered.
in my lane.
as I was coming.
A policeman ran up and banged on the guy's back trunk lid, screaming at him to move, and he finally did.

On the bike, my S stood for Sunburned, because my nasty sunburn stopped at the top of my bike shorts, not my running shorts (see below)

In T2, I changed shorts and hit the loo, grabbed my race belt and trotted out onto the course. I was feeling pretty good but noticed that I was going much slower than my anticipated 12-minute pace. I couldn't seem to speed up, and I didn't understand it; my legs weren't tired, and nothing hurt,
but
I felt tired.
Weary.
I muttered and sang to myself, and took a few walk breaks, but I wasn't drinking much because the wind was so strong that I didn't feel hot.
I did a great job of loading up my bra top with ice chips. I was afraid that if I gulped any water, I'd get a side stitch, so I just focused on cooling myself down.
That was my mistake.
Turns out that getting hot is your body's way of saying, "we're thirsty; drink NOW."
I also poured water over the top of my head, further confounding my body's temperature sensors - and further convincing myself that I was not thirsty.
Slower, slower, and still slower. By the turn around on the half marathon I sat down, sipped a cup of ice water with an electrolyte tablet, sucked down a good, stretched, and felt better. Duh. That should have been a clue.

By the time I reached mile 9, I knew that I wasn't going to do any better than 3rd place (there were only 3 Athenas) and wasn't going to make my 8-hour cutoff

Let it go, man, I said to myself. Just finish.

But I was just. so. tired.
I didn't get it.
What as going on?
I tried walk breaks', nothing was working.
I felt cool and comfortable. Chilly, even.
Around mile 10, some medic volunteers passed me in a golf cart, looked back, and then turned around to look at me.
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes!" Geeze, did I look that bad?
Frowning, they drove off.

No cramps.
No muscle soreness.
No blisters.
So, why am I so slow?
Why can't I go faster?
Shit. This is taking forever.
I'm so tired. Why am I so tired?
Maybe I need another goo.

I pulled into the next stop and one of the women there frowned at me. "You have cold bumps," she said.
"I know, I 've been stuffing my bra top with ice chips."
She frowned again. "Do you feel okay?"
What was wrong with these people?
"Yes, I'm just tired."

More trudging. Slower, and slower, and slower.
this is crazy. If I can't do this, how am I ever going to do a full ironman?

Maybe I'm not cut out to do this. Maybe I'm a sprint kind of gal.

I wonder how Sweet Baboo is doing.
I wonder if I'll finish.

By mile 10, I was starting to imagine rest stops where there weren't any. I wouldn't call these full blown illusions. I was a little disoriented.
Also, I didn't realize it, but somewhere probably before the halfway point, I'd stopped sweating. completely.
It wasn't just that the high winds were cooling me off, I was running, albeit slowly, and the usual places weren't getting sweaty the wasteband of my pants, the band on my bra top, etc.
I noticed that I was kind of wondering on the path.

I passed Sweet Baboo at mile 12.5 - he was on his way out on the first half of his marathon for the full. Big kiss. Then he was off on the first of his 26.2 miles.

When I finally shuffled into the finish area, there was a long gate and people yelling. Yes! I was finally done! I was a - what was I? Half an ironman?
Red carpet.

When I came across the finish line, I cried, sobbing into Karen's shoulder as she - someone - put a finisher's medal on my neck. then walked me over to a table, where I was handed a finisher's T-shirt. 8:59. Fully an hour past my goal time. Yikes.

My S stood for Stubborn now.

The a lady at the T-shirt table said, 'Are you cold?'
Again with the frown.
"Yes, it's cold out here, isn't it?" After all, she was wearing a jacket.

"Yes, but I didn't just do a half iron triathlon."

I thought about it some more, and Karent said I was "white, really, really white"
and wondered over to the medical tent.
they took my temperature: 95.6 degrees. I got my very own foil blanket. Turns out I was pretty dehydrated. They put an IV in me, and about a liter of fluid.

"When was the last time you went to the bathroom?"
"um... um... about 4 hours ago.
"do you need to go now?"
"No."

Again with the frowns.
"Do you feel dizzy?"
"I feel kinda drunk."
"Well, let's see if we can sober you up," said the nice medic guy.
I spent 45 minutes in the tent, until my temp came back to normal, and my O2 sat improved, and even then they made me walk around until I could prove that I was able to do it on my own.

Then I got a nice message at the message tent. That's when I realized how sunburned I was. Ouch.

Lessons Learned:
1. I had a nice, meshy top I could have worn over my sky crop, if I wasn't so in love with the wind on my skin and all that crap. Wind on your skin means sun on your skin. Sunburn. I also had sunscreen. Why didn't I wear it? I don't know. But it's another reason I'm now a "redman."

2. When I went up to collect my 3rd place award (Athena) we were invited to select something from the prize table as well. I selected a nice, wide fuel belt.
Next time, I will hydrate, even if it means spending more time in transition and/or drinking on the bike until my stomach is ready to burst. I really believe that, had I been fully hydrated, I could have pulled this off my goal time of 8 hours.

3. The training really paid off. All the rollers I was worried about when we drove the course were no big deal. Today, two hours later, I have a bit of muscle stiffness - mainly in my quads - but nothing near the soreness I've had in the past. I feel great.

4. Whatever problems I had with my hydration, I got the electrolytes right. Not one single cramp, not even a tiny one.

5. The sexy black toe socks were awesome. Not even the hint of a blister. Of course, I was dehydrated, and not sweating, but I'd also done a 6-mile or so run the week before in them. They are great. so were the Highly Technical Underpants. Get them, and make sure you have a nice big toe box in your running shoes, too.

6. Bilateral breathing is really handy to be able to do when you can't breath out one side, either because you have a very spashy person swimming next to you or waves slapping you in the face.

7. Now that I've realized my mistakes, I'm ready to try a couple of full marathons, a century or two, and maybe my first full ironman in late 2007. I think I could do it. I may even come back to the Redman, since they don't pull you off their course. one guy finished after midnight; they closed down all the aid stations and followed him in a golf cart/portable aid station so that he could finish. Awesome. OKC rocks.

8. OKC Redman: Highly recommended! They cater to you. They fuss over you. They are the best stocked aid stations I've ever seen: veritable buffets with goo, enduralytes, gatorade, water, boiled potatoes, ice, etc., and the most enthusiastic volunteers. They block traffic. Safety is their utmost goal. when you finish, you get a finisher's medal and finisher's T-shirt, which is bright red and says, "finisher" on the front and "TRIATHLETE 70.3" on the back. At the awards ceremony, you get a full breakfast and beverages.

Today, my S stands for Stupendous.

This week's Stupid Triathlete tip.

Today's Tip for Triathletes is, "Don't wear your hearing aid in the pool."

I haven't been able to hear out of my left ear most of my life. This would gone undiscovered if it weren't for my unfortunate tendency to forget to eat the first half of my life, which resulted in me passing out at school when I was fifteen.

A checkup at the doctor later, and he asked casually about my hearing as he peaked in each ear. Then he spun me around and frowned at me. "What do you mean, 'right-eared'?"

"I'm right eared," I answered. "Always have been." I thought it was normal.

Several visits later, and I was scheduled for surgery, when the swimmer's ear cleared up, they found a hole in my ear drum; when they investigated that, they found a tumor. They removed it, but not before it had munched up the little bones in the middle ear that get sound from the ear drum inside to the part that sends the vibrations to the auditory nerve. An unsuccessul attempt at making "new parts" out of teflon, and I was tumor free, but still couldn't hear.

They offered to try one more time, but by then I'd had two surgeries; twice I'd woken up in recovery with half my head shaved and a row of stitches going across my skull. Lovely. No, thank you.

The truth is, I was good at figuring stuff out. Your brain is wired to interpret input as you grow up, and I'd been this way since I was a baby. I could hear; I just couldn't always interpret what I was hearing most of the time. So, I paid attention to faces, surroundings, and context. "Guess what? bought a moo tar!" makes a lot more sense when the person saying it happens to be jerking their thump toward an automobile that they weren't driving yesterday.

Likewise, "thouser asses this ear?" is something that can be understood within the context of two teachers talking during the second week of school. "Oh, my classes are fine this year, thanks!"

Then there's always the fallback:
Nod, look attentive, smile when you think/hope that it's appropriate to do so.
Laugh when other people laugh.
Look concerned when others look concerned.
You can always find out what happened later.

It gets old, though. It takes a lot of energy for the brain to spend that much time interpreting, especially in crowds. At the end of the day I'd be exhausted and cranky, and want to be alone.

It also got pretty taxing, and context became more difficult, particularly with ever perplexing slang terminology coming out of the mouths of 14- and 15-yer-olds.

"Bling? Are you saying, 'Bling'?" that's not even a word.

Finally, at the age of 39, I broke down and started the process of getting a hearing instrument. I was informed that "Hearing impaired" is considered non-PC, but I prefer it over "Hard of Hearing," which to me, sounds old. The guy that tested my hearing couldn't believe I was just now getting around to doing this. Practicality won out over vanity, I suppose.

I was fitted for it right around my 40th birthday. It sits behind my ear, and most people don't see it because my hair covers it.

It is a blessing and a curse. It's digital, and the audiologist plugs it into a computer and programs it so that only the right frequencies are amplified.

But, I have to say, this is a very, very noisy world. I can hear now, but sometimes I don't like what I'm hearing. There's all that clicking, and tappping, and stomachs making weird noises, farts, burps, teeth grinding, sniffing, nose blowing, etc. When I ride my bike, all I hear is "WHOOOOOOOSH!" really loud.

Well, at least I can turn it off.

Anyway, of course I lost that damned thing two months after we got it. Of COURSE I did. I slipped it into the pockt of my bike shorts, then, part of the way home, it occured to me that I'd reached into that pocket a couple of times to get some gum, and boy, it would suck if I accidentally pulled that out and dropped it and didn't realize it.

Yeah, it sucked all right. I spent two hours walking up a down that bike path in 90 degree heat in July, and all around down town Albuquerque, trying to find it.

Vanished.

Luckily, I had some sort of insurance policy on it that covered stupidity, and after paying the deductable, got another one. Meanwhile, I had to use a "loaner" which wasn't digital and wasn't nearly as cool and would some times just start shrieking and whistling on its own usually while I was sitting in a meeting. People would look all around and finally lean into me and say, "is that noise coming from YOU?"

Which brings me to this weeks stupid act.

I renewed my membership at a local gym so that I could fit some swim practice in. I sat on the edge of the pool for a moment, fitting on my oh, so wonderful new gogges, and then jumped in, squatting down so that the water went up over my head.

Oops.

Even before the shrill shrieking in my left ear began, I realized I'd screwed up. I jumped up out of the water, and immediately grabbed it out of my ear, dumping the battery onto the side of the pool. I'd read somewhere that if you get an electronic wet, the thing to do is to immediately disconnect all power and allow it to dry out before hooking it back up again. How water ruins electronics is by creating a short circuit, which is interrupted if you cut the power.

I let it dry out for most of the rest of the day, and I MUST be the luckiest person on earth, because I don't have the stupidity coverage any more, but it seems to be working fine. Just don't tell my audiologist. I even debated whether to tell Sweet Baboo, because these things, brand new, are a minimum of $1200, and I figured he'd be really nervous from now on, but he'd have read it here anyway.

But, it won't happen again, because I stuck a big note in my swim goggles case that says, "TAKE OUT YOUR HEARING AID!!!" so that I won't forget again.

...