I am just 4 days from Ironman and it is crunch time. I can't concentrate, my stomach is squeezing into a big ball. I am off my game and not in a good place. My hands shake, but not all the time, just when I need to pick something up. The guys I train with are all relaxed, happy, feeling good. Assholes. I am ready to strangle cats.
Yesterday we drove from Seattle to Hayden Lake. I started the day with a stress level of 65 on a scale from 1-100. That is pretty normal when I am cranked up about something. My stress level usually idles at about 45 but since we are close to ironman, the stress monster has an iron grip on my frank and beans. I woke up with a 65.
Yesterday morning, my wayward band of brothers experienced an 'opportunity for improvement' in the interpersonal relationship department. Everybody was having stress issues. I pick up on that like a bloodhound tracking down an escaped convict. Stress level 74.
We are renting a lake house with five of us splitting the bill. Since we are on the lake, I towed the boat behind my truck, which is fine, because I have driven trucks with trailers since I was fourteen. No big deal. I drove 18 wheel trucks as a summer job while I was in college. No bid deal. I once got a ticket pulling a belly-dump wheat truck, the state patrol guy just kept shaking his head and writing more stuff on the ticket. That ticket was 2 pages long, seriously. I can deal with stress driving a truck. The problem is, Patty likes this boat and if I wreck it, she will ruin me. I think she and my Dad got together once and decided to scare me because they both told me that if I ever did that again they would 'end me'. What does that mean? "...and if you ever do that again, I will END you". I don't know what that means, but I am thinking about it more and more as I screw up stuff at home. I have slept with one eye open for the last fifteen years. Stress level 81.
So Jim and I are caravaning along, I am driving my truck, he has his ford explorer right behind me, I look in the mirror, he is there one second, the next second he hits the brakes and swings hard to the right. That's weird. I keep going. I am towing the boat trailer, I am not going to stop. He has my cell phone number, he can call if he has a problem. Ten minutes go by, he still isn't back on the road. If he crashed or hit something, I might have to turn my truck and trailer around and go back and get him. The thought of it cranks my stress up to 83. I call his cell, he doesn't answer. I call again, no answer. 85. Finally, he calls. The news is bad. Jim has my bike on top of his car in a bike rack, the front wheel fell off the rack, bounced down the road and rolled down I-90 at 70mph. That is flying. Apparently, it rolled down the highway, passed a couple cars in the slow lane, veered onto the meridian, down one side and back up the other and started to roll into oncoming traffic. Stress 94. So now, I don't know what happens when I hit 100. I think it's bad. I might stroke out like my uncle Ed. He was in a wheel chair for the last six years of his life, drooling. Everybody says I look just like him, which is nice. I started looking for a drive through liquor store on I-90.
I went to athlete check in today, I am surrounded by a bunch of lean guys and gals that are packing 5-8% body fat. I am pushing something just shy of 20%. It doesn't look fair. Most of these guys are in their mid 30's to mid 40's. Somebody tie an anchor on those guys. Out of 3000 athletes, there was one fat guy, he had to be 300 pounds. I think I might try to keep up with that dude. I am going to stalk him like Ted Bundy looking for a date. (if you don't know who Ted is, he is a famous UW grad. A real leader in his field.) I had to sign away any rights to bring suit if I have a heart attack or stroke. I signed anyway. At the pace I am going, I don't know I will get to the starting line anyway. The stress monster might just decide to kick me to the curb.
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