Ironman Glory

I was in Scottsdale last week for my job so I didn't get to work out as much as my calendar called for. I was there Sunday night through Friday night, enjoying the cloud free, 69 degree indoor imitation air.  When I wasn't suffering in the office, I did a swim, a set of weightlifting and a couple sets in spin class. It was OK and I guess anything is better than nothing but I have to say, I was getting grumpy by Friday. I wanted another swim and some time on the road. Nope. No time to workout. I did find time to visit five different restaurants for 2 hour, multi-course dinners but I couldn't work in another set at the gym.  There are like six kinds of cheesecake in restaurants in Scottsdale, and as surely as they sing their siren's song, I must answer.

I was in this restaurant on Monday night eating a light dinner and trying to fight off the unwelcome advances from my waitress in the tight pink t-shirt when I overheard the guy at the table next to mine tell his companion that it was almost 8pm and there were only ten minutes to get another drink under the happy-hour discount price list so I spring into action, flagging down my stalker waitress and she came running, with a big smile and a strong desire to participate in the human imperative.  With me.  I just want a couple glasses of wine and she wants to get horizontal.  I am pretty sure she was ovulating.

She was attractive I guess.  I mean, if you are into that athletic body type with the perfect smile and large, perky....personality.  And did I mention she told me, at length, and with color pictures as proof, she was a model doing swimsuit ads?  Whatever.  Not really my type.

So I am not sure if I should give in to her advances, and thereby get more wine, or forgo the wine and break her fragile spirit by explaining how I was married and I wasn't interested in her.  No way will I get another glass of wine if she runs off into the ladies room screaming my name and crying irrationally. This crap happens to me all the time.

So there I was, going back and forth, back and forth with that internal debate.  Wine?  No Wine?  Crying waitress?  Wife pissed?  I can't seem to sort it out and I start to get a headache.  Then boom, I get an idea.  Just Boom.  Well, two ideas really.  First, I could be truthful, break her heart, watch her run off screaming then flag down another waitress and order a bottle of wine under the happy-hour discount price list, or second, I could try to be less attractive.  Maybe I will be less attractive to her if I beat my head on the table and scream out something in Latin.   No, that wont work.  I don't know any Latin.

I am staring at her t-shirt, trying to think of something to say when she asks me “Are you an Ironman?” That's weird. Usually I need to hit people on the head with that like three times and tell them 'hey, did you know I am an Ironman?'  Not this gal.  How did she know?  This is just getting weirder and weirder.  I am dealing with the mind-reading, copulating t-shirt with a smile that brings me wine at discount prices and I an truly vexed.

   Finally, I answered “Ya, I am. How did you know?” I was confused.  

   “Really? How did I know?"  She thought I was kidding.  "Well, your hat says Ironman on it, your shirt says Ironman on it and you have spent the last hour drawing pictures of the Mdot on a stack of bar napkins. I took a wild guess.”

 I was thinking that she was being a little snippy and I tried to think of something rude to say when she cut me off again. “Oh, one more thing. My manager said you owe him twenty bucks for the cloth napkins you ruined.”  I am not going back to that bar.  Not for a while anyway.

I ran the lake youngs trail today.  The lake youngs trail is 9.5 miles of packed gravel trail that climbs like 32,000 feet strait up.  In the first mile.  Many attempt, few return.  I had a pretty good run, all things considered. I didn't puke, I had minimal cramps, and the cramps I did have were only in my calves (because I left my compression socks at home). Oh, I almost forgot. I only had to stop once to relieve myself in the trees on the side of the trail.  I didn't bring any Charmin so I made due with holly leaves and some blackberry bush branches.  You gotta pay the price to be an Ironman.  For me, that's as good as it gets.

So, for the past six months, I have been thinking about my personal Ironman journey and I came to this conclusion: there are two, and only two true paths to Ironman Glory.  Here, for the first time in print, are the Kung Fu certified paths to Ironman Glory.  Feel free to copy this as you see fit.  It's that good.

The first path: For you TV trivia buffs, its sort of like Kwai Chang Caine listening to Master Po. “When you can grab the pebble from my hand, it will be time for you to leave”.  To translate that into triathlon terms, you need to
  1. work out 25-30 hours a week with purpose and unfaltering enthusiasm
  2. forget you have a job
  3. forget you own a mortgage
  4. forget you have a dentist that misses you
  5. forget you have a spouse that will in turn forget you
  6. swim like Mark Spitz
  7. bike like Miguel Indurain
  8. run like Frank Shorter.

 When you have mastered that, it will be time to be an Ironman.

The second path: Visualize success.  See it in your mind.  Then
  1. sit it in a comfortable chair, close your eyes and see yourself crossing the finish line
  2. spend a thousand bucks on swim coaching
  3. buy three sets of goggles, each with reflective tinting to blind your swimming competitors
  4. spend seven thousand dollars on a bike
  5. get some zipp wheels and a speed helmet
  6. buy four pairs of 150 dollar newtons, track the miles each pair racks up in a spreadsheet
  7. start a blog
  8. watch replays on youtube of the Ironman World Championships.  Repeat weekly

Basically, spend your way to becoming an Ironman.

I am working on the second option. I already watched the youtube thing so think I can knock that out this week.