For the most part this isn’t hard, but when it comes to triathlons, well, let’s just say that I don’t think I’ll be placing in my AG anytime soon. So at the very least, I try my best to go out in a blaze of last-place glory whenever possible. However, I’m discovering that those competitive people in the Tri Club are out to thwart me at every turn, including in my quest for slowness. Really, people, as if having to contend with Kevin weren’t enough, this was my conversation with the delightful Honey last night at the Tri Club meeting:“Yeah, I’m pretty slow,” I say, modestly. “I suck at swim, bike, AND run, so that’s kind of running the gamut right there.”
(giggling) “I’m slower!” proclaims Honey, perkily. “I’m always last in every race I do!”
(ignoring her) “They’re usually breaking down the course by the time I slog on through,” I continue. “It’s too bad, but what can you do?”
(tee hee-ing) “I once had to get a ride back to the finish line, because it was getting dark by the time I was still running,” added Honey, pert as ever. “It was fun!”
At this point, I pull out my trump card: Pleasant Prairie.
“Well,” (you insolent little whippersnapper, I mentally add), “my Pleasant Prairie race last year was SO terrible, people speak of it in hushed tones, if they speak of it at all,” I spit out. “I swam so zig-zaggedly that I’m pretty sure I turned it into a 6.2 mile swim.”
Honey chimes in: “I did the backstroke the whole way! Last out of the water!”
Me, doggedly: “The bike leg was worse. I had a horrible stitch in my side, actually stopped to get off the bike to try to get rid of it, then dropped a chain, then had shifting problems. The police at intersections almost shooed me off the course, since they thought the race was over and I was just a random biker out on a joyride,” I finish triumphantly.
Honey: “I sprained my ankle somehow, and then got attacked by a rabid squirrel! I had to walk my bike most of the way!” (giggle) “It was fun!”
AARGH!
Enough is enough. I finally decide to deliver the coup d’grace: “I started hyperventilating on the run. It was horrible – I was upset that I was having such a crappy race, especially after all the training I had been doing. All of my toodling around on my bike once a week, all for nothing. Oh, the humanity!” I say, dramatically. “Next thing you know, I’m wheezing and gasping for breath, getting lightheaded from lack of oxygen.”
Honey, giggling: “I spontaneously combusted!”
Sigh. You win. Though, thinking that maybe I can salvage this by being both the worst and best at something, I change tactics.
Me: “Robbie Ventura himself said I had suuuuuch a weak core, when he did my fitness assessment at VQ. Really, he was amazed I could hold myself upright.” I continued, “but, he did note that my flexibility is off the charts, so at least I’m good at something” I finish in my usual demure and shy way.
Honey: “I was a dancer my whole life, so gosh, I can twist myself into a pretzel shape. Dancer legs – that’s why I won a Hot Legs contest!
But I prefer to keep it quiet,” she finished. “Hey, have you seen my Miss Hot Legs sash? See?” as she pulled it out of her purse. “And here’s where you can find pictures of me on the internet. Do you have pictures of yourself on the internet, Tasha?”Me, weakly: “Uhhh...I...I……hockey pictures? My team won the Denny Pratt Memorial Tournament last year. But I’m not really as bulky as I look in the picture,” I add.
Honey: (giggle) “Okay, sure. Whatever you say!”
Shoot me now someone, please??
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