Last place, shmast place

I walked into the gym yesterday and the Nice Guy Who Works There said, “There she is! Our Lady Athlete of the Month!”

I have been hitting the pool and treadmill a lot the past few weeks as my first triathlon is coming up in just 48 days.  And I replied to him, “Well, I signed up for a triathlon and I don’t want to embarrass myself.”

And he said something else nice, like that I would probably not embarrass myself.

I swiped my card and kept walking into the locker room.  I started thinking about what I could possibly do to embarrass myself.

I could…come in last place? Well, sure.  But at least I’m still out there, I’m still doing it.  I still get my t-shirt.  Whether other people are faster or slower than I am doesn’t change a thing about me.  Someone has to come in last, it may as well be me, right?

I could…fall of my bike.  That would hurt.  But not be embarrassing.  I have fallen off my bike before.  Going very slowly.  In front of lots of people.  Everyone falls down at some point.

I could…have to somehow be rescued from the pool.  That would suck.  But I’ve been rescued by a lifeguard before.  (I swam out a bit far in the ocean and got stuck in a rip current.)  Now the embarrassing part there was actually that my swimsuit top went…askew.  But I lived.  And since I’ll be swimming in a sports bra, I’m probably good on the askew-ness front.

So!  I think the only thing I could really do to embarrass myself might be to talk about doing it for months and then, like, just not show up.  Stay in bed and eat pancakes instead of getting out there, and that just ain’t happening.



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