Ewte Talk

Tonight when I came home from the gym in our new twenty degree temps, freezing my sorry ass off, the same ass that I just strained a couple of days ago doing who knows what, so that now at night I have ice on my knee (old running injury flared up) and my butt (I’m telling you: don’t come into my bed–you’ll freeze your sorry ass off too–ice every which way), my husband hands me an envelope and says, “I guess you won’t be wanting this.”

And it was THIS:

Do you know that it finally hit me, after months of training, qualifying in a race in Pennsylvania, and even before that, years of attempting to qualify only to have to abort in the final few weeks before a given marathon due to my bum knee, that indeed I am going to Boston! I know that some runners have run the Boston marathon numerous times, and speak of it like any other race in their line up, and perhaps I, too, will have the good fortune to return on future occasions, but I am no fool. I know that one’s first Boston marathon is special. I also know that the first time you qualify is special as well. This is why I am living up every last moment of this. I am excited beyond belief. I never had so much fun training for a race as I did for my qualifying race this fall. I ran and ran and ran. I loved every single run. Some runs were difficult to make that one-eighty degree turn to head back towards home. For Boston, I am chomping at the bit. When can I begin my training?

I guess once I can get these ice bags off my bottom. Of course, with the temperatures dipping incredibly low tonight I could always open the window instead and moon the moon. But then, the neighbors. I can just see it. Someone looking out their window at just the wrong (or right) time. I would be saved if it was one of the several fellow runners in the neighborhood though.

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Wife: Sweetheart, come here. Take a look at this. What do you suppose that is?

Runner Husband: What? I don’t see anything.

Wife: Over there. In that window in that house behind the Kline’s.

Runner Husband: You mean that large white. . .what is that thing? It’s kind of hard to-

Wife: It just moved.

Runner Husband: Oh! [laughs hysterically]

Wife: What? What is it? Tell me!

Runner Husband: It’s a bottom.

Wife: A bottom of what?

Runner Husband: A bottom of a person.

Wife: A what?! Oh my god!

Runner Husband: It’s no big deal. I bet it’s a runner who just pulled a glute. They’re trying to freeze up the inflammation. That person is training for something, going through all that effort, training for something big. Boston I’ll bet.

Wife: Do you think we should call the police?

Runner Husband (walks out of the room, can be heard from the hallway): Where’s my camera?

Wife (follows him, voice slowly fading): Honey, you ran Boston. You never did something like that, did you? Sweetheart?

And, SO, I did it. I finished my first triathlon in nearly twenty years this past weekend in just under three hours (2:57). One mile swim, 25 mile bike, 6.2 mile run. My cheering crew unfortunately never did show because of threatening weather, but when I arrived home they presented me with a spectacular paper trophy with a swimmer, biker, and runner on top. I felt like a champion, and by the look on my boys’ faces at my surprise, I realized I was a champion, triathlon or no.

After recounting my war stories, I jumped in the shower, grabbed something from the front of the fridge, and bolted for an hour long massage, which lasted an hour and forty-five minutes. Awesome. With endorphines doing laps around my brain, my lymphatic system emptied, and feeling a lighter shade of ethereal, I floated over to Barnes and Noble, rested in their cozy chair with a couple of books until kabob time with my guys who were ensconced in front of the World Cup.

IT WAS THE MOST PERFECT DAY!! Thank you thank you God, World, Grandma, Whoever arranges these kinds of days. I love you!

By Monday morning I was a regular old mom again, but sometime this week I’m going to make it over to the grocery store to see if my face has made it onto the Wheaties box yet.