It drew tears, but no blood. We were both in bed on Saturday, she got up, grabbed a shirt from where I had left it on the bed, and handed it to me without looking just as I was sitting up. I immediately fell back to the bed. If life was going to give me such a strong signal, I wasn’t going to ignore it. Nor could I ignore the sharp pain as I checked my nose for breakage. My glasses were flattened, but I bent them back into shape.
Although the bed and life wanted me to keep sleeping, we had to get ready to go to the cities once again. This time, it was for an eco-triathalon. Her brother was competing.
An eco-triathalon consists of 4.5 miles of kayaking, 7 miles of mountain biking, and 3 miles of trail running. It doesn’t sound like a lot, but the hills near Rochester are brutally unforgiving. We stayed in the cities with friends overnight, and woke at 4:30 a.m. Sunday to make the drive. We were volunteering. Well, Fiance was volunteering, and I was voluntold. I’m used to that.
We drove through about 90 minutes of thick fog, wondering if Vikings were lurking in the mist and ready to attack. I stretched Scooby Doo jokes and impressions to the breaking point and beyond.
We got to the camp where the race was held and pulled in at the first tent we saw, not knowing what we were supposed to do. We got out and walked over to the tent. The person there took one look at us, half a look, and said, “Volunteers, go see Stacy at the other tent, down the road and to the right.”
On the way back to the car, Fiance looked at me. “How did she know we were volunteers?”
Me, grabbing my man boobs: “I have no idea.”
We drove over to the other tent, where Stacy called out our names before we could even say anything. Fiance had joked by email when she volunteered that xl shirts would do, “as long as they fit over my boobs.” I guess that was a giveaway. Being the most out of shape people at an event for athletes makes one stand out.
Also not being able to talk about some obstacle course marathon that several people took part in this summer.
But we were there to support Fiance’s brother. We were set at a watering station for the bikers to help direct them down one path or another depending on what lap they were on. We saw people carrying their bikes, one guy’s pedal fell off early in the second lap and he used his bike as a scooter to keep going. A woman’s blood-crusted hand grabbed a cup of water as she pedaled by, looking as if to say “Why the hell am I doing this to myself.” The racers were a good mix of all sorts of people, evident in the 90 minute difference between first and last place. But everyone finished, including Fiance’s brother, and I’m proud of him for that.
The only other noteworthy piece of this day was the one port-a-potty they had for the event, which smelled worse than any I’ve been in, ever. Apparently, Fiance noted, there is no corn left in southeastern Minnesota, because it all ended up in that thing.
All in all, it was an enjoyable time, minus the fact we stood out like kids at a NAMBLA convention. I’ve never been terribly athletic. I used to run 5 miles during the summers of undergraduate school, more for lack of anything else to do in my small hometown than anything. As the years progressed, I have put on weight, exercising from time to time for a few months, but always losing interest/time/money. We’ve decided instead to focus on eating lots of vegetables, fruits and home-cooked meals. It’s been working so far for mild weight loss/stabilization, which is fine with me. With a wedding, moving, job changes, unemployment, and selling a house all going on at the same time, I’d rather not add another obligation to the mix of insanity. I’d have to punch myself in the face.
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