Triathlete with Two Left Feet

Coachubby made a New Year's resolution to not cuss. Not that he cussed much before. Really, about the only thing that could coax a full-out four-letter word from his mouth pre-2009 was bike maintenance.

As with all good resolutions, this one came unhinged this past Sunday---for a completely different reason.

After driving one hour to do a recon run to connect part of the elusive (in parts) Backbone Trail that supposedly runs 70 miles from Point Mugu to Will Rogers State Park along the Santa Monica Mountains, coachubby made a terrible discovery.

He brought two left shoes.

This is what happens when you become loyal to one brand (asics) and one color (black) of running shoes. Other friends have said they know which shoes are their new shoes by dirtiness. Coachubby, however, made the discovery that black shoes are not only cheaper (who wants black shoes?) but they never look dirty.

Hence two left shoes.

To coachubby's credit (or demise) he turned the insole around, stuffed the arch with toilet paper, and continued on our recon run--at a pace far faster than I could ever match with perfectly normal shoes.

To coachubby's discredit, this is not the first time we've driven far away from home to do something involving running or biking only to find out he forgot a key element of the activity.

After driving two hours north to Santa Barbara to ride a century last year, coachubby realized he had forgotten his helmet.

D'oh!

After waiting a bit for Target to open, he was soon able to encase his noggin' in a ruby-red skater-like contraption that said "helmet" on the label. As coachubby's dad said, a $30 helmet for a $30 head. That helmet now lives in the car should another such brain fart occur.

Not that I'm without my own forgetful disaster stories. In college, after riding a bus for hours to a championship cross country race, I realized I had brought my super-cute new heels for the banquet the evening following the race, but not my running shoes.

A friend had brought two pairs of shoes and let me borrow hers. They were 3 sizes too small.

Needless to say, I sucked. A result not unlike most of my collegiate XC results, only that time I had something to blame for my slow turnover.

So what have we learned here? Coachubby's new resolution should be "to remember the essential items that will let me swim, bike, and run whenever I get in the car on the weekend."

I certainly hope athletic accessory forgetfulness (AAF) will not be passed down to little coachubby divas. I can only picture our little kids now, stealing someone's helmet out of transition before heading onto the run course with two left feet.

They'll probably still kick my butt on the run. Just like coachubby.