Committed

Commitment. Some shudder at the mere mention of the word. Guys, in particular, have gotten a bad rap in the past for their stereotypical disdain for any sort of love commitment. Then there's the commitments that you aren't so committed to, such as a play date, a dinner party, etc. where you SAY you'll be there, but at the last minute something comes up or you just don't feel like making an appearance. Whatever the reason.

So. There's this triathlon thing I've mentioned on occasion. It sounded really good...cool, in fact, when I would write about training for a triathlon. Wow, I would think to myself. I sound like all that and a bag of chips. I'm going to be a tri-athlete.

To make this commitment a ton more real, I finally (after months of procrastination) bought a bike. This was not a simple "drive to my nearest Sears and pick out the prettiest pink Huffy I could find with a matching Powder Puff helmet" excursion. This took 2 1/2 hours. With a VERY patient, knowledgeable, kind, polite young man who eats, sleeps, and breathes bikes. He measured my thigh bones, watched me pedal for what seemed like an eternity (my bladder was full so the time dragged on), and patiently taught me some basic bike lingo. He was so gung-ho I left the store believing I could actually compete and WIN the Iron Man triathlon...this guy had that much faith in me. I hope I have that much faith in myself when I attempt to complete a tri that is on a much smaller scale come this spring. He also suggested the fine reading material above...something that is sure to keep me on the edge of my seat as I read about cadence and swim strokes, how to prevent blisters and chaffing down there while riding the bike, and how exhilarating it will be when I run across the finish line. If I make it that far. Priya couldn't resist taking a few shots of her mommy zipping up and down the street.

I wasn't attempting to be a fashionista, but it just so happened that the bike (that fit me and was in my price range) and shoes were blue. Mr. Bike Expert told me they matched my eyes. What a sales man. Then, while I was trying on the padded bike shorts that resembled lycra panties with a Huggies diaper inside of them, he found me a matching white and blue helmet. What a guy. With an eye for fashion. Sold to the rookie triathlete.

And, if I don't complete the race, at least I'll be color coordinated when they haul me off in the ambulance.