The Big O-N-E!

After years of celebrating monthiversaries, starting with date-a-versary months, a date-a-versary, then full-on monthiversaries, it has finally come.

Sunday will be coachubby's and my first anniversary!

My goodness, we've come so far. About 335 more days than most LA-based couples, according to our 2 biggest and most reliable news sources: PerezHilton.com, and the National Enquirer.

A mutual love of the outdoors and pain, combined with chronic verbal diahrreah (everything that's on our minds comes out sometime, and can't be held in for long), and mutual respect are to credit for this fantabulous achievement.

So is coachubby's rockin' bod, which will make its 2009 debut at Oceanside in a week. Race wear is highly classified, but I've received an anonymous tip from a highly reliable source to look for the ripped skinny dude with a mullet, speedo, and perhaps a hot orange top.

Just sayin'.

See you out there!

10 Things to Do in Fiji

Coachubby surprised me at our wedding reception by declaring that our honeymoon destination had sponsored the water being served. “We’re going to Fiji!” I screamed. “Yes, it was-” I didn’t wait for a response. I kissed him quickly then went running around to blab to everyone. Until that point, my response to the where-are-you-going-on-your-honeymoon question had been, “Somewhere where I need bikinis and suntan lotion. That’s all I know.” It was time to celebrate! Oh yes, and to celebrate having just been married.

(Coachubby on beach)

I did some quick Google reading about Fiji to catch up on what had been going on there since the beginning of time. I had 24 hours before Air Pacific would take me on an 11-hour plane ride from LAX to Suva. That was enough time to find that Fiji’s government seems to be overthrown every 6 months, that there are over 300 islands that make up Fiji, and that Fijians had once been ferocious cannibals. I also found that the average high in April is 83, and that the water temperature is just as warm as the air. Awesome. All I needed to pack was a few bikinis, and everything I received at my bachelorette party, and I would be ready to rock.

I figured our resort, on small Plantation Island, would be free of political upheaval for the week we stayed there. I also figured that that I don’t look appetizing enough to bother trying to gut me, so coachubby and I would be free to enjoy the tropical water and weather. I was right.

Here are 10 things for a couple to do in Fiji, in no particular order:

1. Each other.


2. Run around an entire island. When Plantation Island’s tide goes out, you can run around the island, no problemo. It took us about an hour, and became a daily ritual. Be careful if you’re prone to heat stroke, though, it’s hot and humid and plunging into the bath water-like ocean won’t cool you off.


3. Kayak. Hit the open seas and check out the fishies. There are a lot of reefs surrounding many of Fiji’s islands that make for shallow water and good fish viewing.


4. Snorkel, and try to find every member of the “Finding Nemo” cast. Coachubby found Nemo’s dad fiercely protecting his wife and eggs by an anemone. When we swum up close, the little clown fish jutted out at us. Courageous for a fish the size of my palm. A fellow snorkeler lamented that the only fish she didn’t see was Dory.


5. Learn Fijian. Or at least say “Bula” to every passerby, including other out-of-towners. Kind of like saying, “Hi.” And say “vinaka” (vee-knock-uh) for “thank you”. Resort workers and small Australian children will get a kick out of you. (A rainbow in Fiji)


6. Learn Australian. Hey, if you’re in Fiji and you’re an American, you’re the minority. Most of the Fijian resort-goers are from Australia and New Zealand. A firm “G'day, mate!” will suffice.


7. Watch a crab dance. If you look closely, you’ll notice a lot of “rocks” are moving. There are crabs everywhere. Remark how eerily accurate all animations in “Finding Nemo” really are. Vow to re-watch the film upon your return home.


8. Drink Fiji water, and marvel at how ironic the entire concept of Fiji water is once you read the local paper and discover that Fijians on the big island can’t get clean water themselves, and are busting open fire hydrants to bathe and drink.


9. Bathe in bug spray in the evening. After a few nights, you’ll become a bit desensitized to its smell, and begin to enjoy the otherworldly sheen your skin takes on.


10. Count your mosquito bites. Make your partner give you a Fijian dollar for each one, and you might become a very rich person. I would’ve made at least $350 Fijian dollars. No joke. (Hint: We found that the anti-itch gel Soov Bite was superior to the anti-itch cream in a blue tube. Of course, if you’re savvy, you’ll bring your own Cortisone stick from home, which is superior to anything we found in Fiji. I wanted to rip my skin off at night.)


11. Bonus: SCUBA dive—no experience necessary! Not certified? In only a 20-minute course, a Fijian dive master will deem you good enough to plunk down the cash necessary to go down deep, then take you the very next minute. If you can clear your ears on the plane ride over, you can SCUBA dive in Fiji!(Coachubby in 20-minute SCUBA lesson)

So there you have it! Book your tickets on Air Pacific now and in only 11 hours, you can be sunning yourself on a beautiful tropical island, drinking bottled water (or rum and coke in a can—they sell it! Why doesn’t America have such conveniences?), watching a ferocious tropical storm roll in then go away as quickly as it came, and SCUBA diving with Australians and New Zealanders who are just as gloriously freaked out as you.

Fiji rocks!

-TriDiva

When Two Triathletes Get Hitched

My mom had to draw the line somewhere. Everything about our wedding was already subtly (or not) triathlon themed. So when coachubby and I got excited about my dad's brilliant idea to have our guests dropped off at the bottom of the mountain on which we were getting married, then run up it in a race to their seats, mom put her foot down.

She was our volunteer wedding planner / self-made most-amazing-wedding-planner of the galaxy, and she'd already allowed us a triathlon-themed wedding cake, tables named after triathlons, and a ceremony in which coachubby promised to rub my sore IT bands for as long as we both shall live. Giving grandpa a heart-attack was not going to be a part of our magical day.

We didn't push the issue further--she even OK'd "Erin's Fuzzy Lover" as the name for the drink of the evening--and the result was the most perfect wedding. Ever. The weather was perfect, the band was amazing, the food was divine, and the cake was the most hideously perfect wedding confection ever placed in a ballroom. And our friends and family, combined with an open bar, made the most uproarious and fun wedding crowd ever assembled. And nobody had a heart attack. It was fantastic.

Below are some photo highlights:

Dad walks me down the...grass.

We cried. I'll blame my tears on the sun...

Can you find what's wrong with this picture? That's right, there's a bite out of the centerpiece. Somebody just couldn't wait for dinner, I guess...

And last, but not least...

The cake! Swimming on the bottom, biking up the middle, running on top.

Note: I am beating coachubby up the whole cake. Just sayin'...because it's the only time it will ever happen...that I beat coachubby up a cake...

And coachubby delivered on his promise to tell me where we were going on our honeymoon at the reception. Stories from FIJI coming soon!

XOXO,

TriDiva

A Triathlete Bride's Bridezilla-Busting Wedding Week Itinerary

Having binged on wedding shows like "Bridezillas" and "Whose Wedding is it Anyway" and "Say Yes to the Dress" for a month prior to my own wedding, I'm quite aware that many brides become some very twisted monster versions of themselves in the week leading up to their big day. I have a solution for this problem: Ironman training. That's right, if you train intensely for an Ironman triathlon in the week leading up to your strut down the aisle, you just might be so high on endorphins, and so spaced from lack of sleep, that you just might become your wedding planner and your bridesmaid's favorite bride ever. You might also shock the people around you with the amount of food you eat on and around your wedding day. Here's how:

Wedding date: March 29, 2008



Wedding Week:

Saturday, March 22

Ride 106 miles with at least 10,000 ft of elevation gain. Ditch husband-to-be when he gets his third flat and has exhausted all of your training group's supplies. Ride 2.5 hours home to potentially get car. Call mom worried that you've lost your future husband. Make mother wonder if wedding will be called off. Go for a 20 minute run while praying coachancé will be at home when you return. Rejoice that your husband-to-be found a friendly red Mustang owner who gave him a lift to the closest bike shop. The wedding is still on!

Sunday, March 23

Drive 7 hours with a whiny, poopy cat-dog while paying meticulous attention to the pooper's aim. NOT ON THE DRESS! Put bikes on top because dress takes up entire trunk of truck. Park truck in front of Denny's window so as to monitor 2 tri bikes, worth infinitely more than vehicle. And to make sure poopy cat-dog is not abducted. The joke, however, would be on the abductors. Say hi to parents, dump luggage all over their home, ride 1.5 hours, then go for the most painful 1 hour run you have ever been on, since it is the longest run you've done since you ran the most difficult marathon you've ever run exactly one week ago.

Monday, March 24

Swim 4000 yards in a masochistic set invented by your spouse of the immediate future. Take a dance lesson. Realize that people on "Dancing with the Stars" should never be laughed at. Take exactly 1 hour to do a box step in unison, with a dip at the end for the "WOW!" factor. Sit in Maricopa County government office for an eternity while the single person working there handles everyone and their mother's passport and marriage license applications. Get told the church seal and a letter from a Deacon is not good enough for proof that you can enter into a covenant marriage. It must be notarized. Take the standard license and realize you'll now have to drive another 14 hours round trip with poopy dog-cat to change the stupid thing. Ride bike for 1 hour and run for 20 minutes out of frustration.

Tuesday, March 25

Swim another masochistic 4000 yards. All swimming must be crammed into 2 days to avoid any reaction with your natural blonde hair that will be "enhanced" later this morning. Have stylist who will be styling you and your bridesmaids on Saturday cut your hair. Talk about triathlon the entire time because stylist is doing her first--an Olympic distance race in Baja--soon. Note to self that your mother found the coolest stylist ever. Blow off 3 hour ride scheduled for afternoon. Chill at the homestead. Go with mother for her final dress fitting after Bridal Couture in the Scottsdale Pavillions screwed up 4 previous fittings over the course of 4 months. Destiny's Bride in the Borgata fixed it in a jiffy. She looks amazing.

Wednesday, March 26

Ride 60 miles on a hilly desert road with coachancé. Last call for spending time with coachancé before he parts to pick up buddies and stay in hotel with them. Upon realizing that all the looping back coachancé did because you are too slow gained coachancé an extra 2 miles, jump back on your bike to ride the remaining 2 miles. Feed. Check out the Mini Clubman with padre who believes it is the coolest car ever. Agree that it might grow on you. Say the BMW M5 downstairs might just outdo the Clubman for coolest car in the building.

Thursday, March 27

Ride 60 miles mostly flat. Run a little bit. Get the sports massage you've desperately wanted for at least 8 months. Think what a tragedy it is that tomorrow you will destroy the blissful feeling of non-kinky muscles by running a lot. Join madre and padre to deliver welcome bags for out-of-town guests. Pick up 2 bridesmaids from the airport. Eat dinner while another bridesmaid comes over. Go on a pickup party for 4th bridesmaid. Talk a lot and revel in your supreme happiness that all of your favorite people are all with you at once. Don't sleep very much because it's a sleep over.

Friday, March 28th

Wake up at 6 after not sleeping. Quietly sneak out of house with camelbac and GUs. Run to, then up and over, Camelback Mountain. Peer down from top of mountain at wedding location. Find it funnily appropriate that you're wearing a camelbac to run over Camelback. Run home to find bridesmaids eating breakfast, awaiting your return on front porch. Wear matching flip flops to salon to have nails and toenails beautified with bridesmaids. Gossip. Eat a beautiful brunch set up by the best mother in the world, complete with pink and green cupcakes. Take bridesmaids to hotel. Get ready for rehearsal dinner at a hot pizza joint. Put on tightest, hot-pinkest dress known to mankind. Make grand entrance. Rehearse wedding. Eat lots of pizza and revel in your supreme happiness that all of your best friends and family are all together in the same place at the same time. Realize no party will ever be this cool--except for the wedding!

Saturday, March 29th

WEDDING!!!

to be continued

A Bride's Wedding Day Forecast

The wedding day weather forecast is finally here, after what seemed like an eternity. Weather.com will try to predict the weather 10 days out, so they've finally got something up for March 29th and...drum roll please...the forecast is:

Sunny with a high of 77 degrees!

Should either Phoenix or Weather.com back out on this glorious decision to have perfect weather on my wedding day, I'm going to lay the smackdown on the Sonoran Desert, and the Weather.com meteorologists. Let this be a warning, Mother Nature and predictors of Mother Nature--don't rain on my parade down the aisle!

Thank you,

XOXO

TriDiva

10 Things to Think About 2.5 Weeks from Wedding Day

There are only 18 days until the marriage of two triathletes. Here are some thoughts from the bride:

1. Coachancé is a far more fun word than hoach.


2. Wearing long sleeves for a marathon to avoid dreaded tan line issues is gonna be hot.


3. Dad has never seen the dress in person. Will he cry? At least he would if he knew how much it cost...


4. Is this the point when chocolate cake is supposed to be banned from my diet?


5. How are we going to fit two tri bikes, all the tri gear, all of my wedding week wardrobe, and my dress in the car?


6. How do I thank my mom for being the wedding planner and thus bearing most of the stress?


7. If I run the morning of the wedding, am I supposed to wash my hair, or is the sweat good for styling?


8. Will the make-up artist cover the new giant oven burn on my forearm?


9. Will I get all of my workouts in during the week of the wedding? Without getting fried by the Arizona sun?


10. What will the coachancé think of my dress? At least it's not spandex, so that should be different.

It's almost time!

Happy Tuesday!

Triathlete Bride vs. Average Bride

Being a triathlete means many things to many different people. To a soon to be bride, it means she's guaranteed, by virtue of her Ironman training, to never have to worry about how she's going to look in her wedding dress. Let us compare the average bride-to-be to the triathlete bride-to-be.

The average bride-to-be will go on a diet to look her best come wedding day.

The triathlete bride-to-be can't stuff her face with enough carbs to keep her weight from dropping.

The average bride-to-be will begin a weight-lifting regimen to get toned arms to complement her strapless gown.

The triathlete bride-to-be will reconsider upping the amount of weight she's lifting each week in order to avoid looking like a female Ahhhnold in her strapless gown.

The average bride-to-be might choose a gown that hugs her body all the way down to her knees to play up her newly toned curves.

The triathlete bride-to-be will praise her tailor for somehow inserting enough padding into her dress to make it appear like she has cleavage. She will also not wear a bun-hugging dress, as the several centuries she has ridden in the months leading up to her wedding have left her without a bum, and she would like to be able to dance without restriction.

The average bride-to-be will always wonder exactly how the food and cake tasted at her wedding.

The triathlete bride-to-be will have her new husband remind her that there are guests at her wedding who would like to eat to, so she should leave something for them.

The average bride-to-be will work hard to get a tan before her wedding, whether she lays out by the pool, jumps into a tanning bed, or enlists the help of a spray-tanner.

The triathlete bride-to-be will try her best to wear long sleeves for all of her training, even when it gets hot, to avoid strange jersey-induced farmer's tans. She will swim early in the morning before sunrise to avoid the dreaded Speedo tan. And should she end up with either of these ailments, of which she usually is quite proud, from a day-of-wedding work out, she will pray that her town's tanning guru will have a spot for her hours before the ceremony.

And both brides-to-be will probably get all giddy about the Style network's new "I Do Tuesday" evening programming. Even if the triathlete won't admit it.

Here's to triatlete brides-to-be, whose weekends of 20-mile runs followed by 100-mile bike rides leave them ready to conquer anything, including their decadent wedding cake!

XOXO

TriDiva

A Very Un-Triathlete Bachelorette Party--With Photos!

The ideal bachelorette party for most female triathletes must be something like this: A long hike with the athletic bridal party up some beautiful mountain. Gossip over a hearty and healthy lunch of turkey sandwiches, trail mix, and Gatorade. Hike back down and stay in a cabin, far from the sights and sounds of city living. Especially when you're in the beginning of Ironman training. Wouldn't want to mess with that. Can't skip a workout entirely, right?

But how about living on the edge? Changing things up a bit? Going wild like most other bachelorettes--it's the best excuse you'll ever have to break your routine and do things you'd never ever do while training otherwise. My friends and I chose to go route #2, and it was the greatest party I have ever witnessed. And not just because it was in my honor.

Tips to Avoid Training Burn-Out at Your Bachelorette Party

1. Don't train


2. Go to Vegas


3. Load up at your only meal of the day: a $30 buffet. Try every dessert.


4. Gossip. A lot. About boys. Then play "Pin the Manhood on the Man"


5. Drink 6,000 plus calories of alcohol over a 9-hour period of time


6. Get serenaded by a bunch of men as equally loopy as you are


7. Complete dirty dares written on the tags of the lingerie your friends bought you


8. Go somewhere where no photography is allowed. See dirty things


9. Go clubbing until it's definitely tomorrow


10. Follow that up with someone's left-over room service pizza, found in the hallway at 5am to ensure your body, which never ever processes alcohol, doesn't eject anything when you finally go to sleep


11. Walk around Vegas like a zombie while window shopping and watching water dance at the Bellagio


12. Return home ridiculously motivated to resume training and banish any and all Sin City-induced bloating

Me + our top gambler of the weekend

Super Hot Bridesmaids

Serenaded at a Piano Bar

More Super Hot bridesmaids and friends

Bun Pincher. A souvenir. And another Super Hot bridesmaid.

Happy partying!

To Take Your Husband's Last Name or Not

Triathletes tend to be independent, progressive thinkers of fairly high intelligence. I’m not saying every triathlete fits this description, but more of my triathlete friends do than don’t. And most of them who didn’t get married young before they were set in their triathletic, independent ways have not been too successful at holding down a long-term relationship. They have a standardized routine, their own space, and a hard time allowing anyone to mess it up.

So what does this have to do with my ambivalence about taking my coachancé’s last name? Coachancé and I have been conditioned on the “give-and-take” side of life through college living; we didn’t have much trouble continuing to live this way as graduation wasn’t that long ago. We’ve never really had our own spaces, and have been changing up our routines on a semester system for several years. I want the heater on, coachancé doesn’t want to pay for it. So the heat comes on in one room of the apartment, designated as “Celia’s Sauna”.

So with all this lovey dovey give and take stuff, it seems like the issue of the married last name shouldn’t be an issue. Traditionally, the man gives the name, the woman takes the name. Case closed. But being one of those difficult people who’s a feminist when it comes to women’s rights, but likes dudes to open doors and lift heavy things for me, I can’t just accept this societal convention.

As far as I can tell, the tradition stems from the fact that a woman was once seen as a man’s property. When she married him, she became his, and the last name change signified just that. Their children were also his and took the man’s last name.

Catholic Marriage Counseling and the Triathlete

At first thought, a getaway up in the mountains of Santa Barbara for you and your fiancé might sound romantic. Heck, that might even be your idea of a perfect honeymoon! But throw in 39 other engaged couples, a priest, a few couples older than your grandparents who will lead the weekend, separate male and female dorms, and psychological warfare, and you have what the Catholic church likes to call: Engaged Encounter.

Being a skeptic, and having watched “License to Wed” twice, I was looking out for subtle signs that the church was trying to tear me and coachancé apart. The first effort to test our relationship came on the drive up. We left LA at about 4:30pm, arrived in Santa Barbara around 7:00pm (when we were supposed to be there), then were faced with this sign on the narrow windy mountain road up to the church: ROAD CLOSED. When the little old lady called me the night before we left to ask if I had any questions, why didn’t she tell me that the only road in all of HER directions was closed? It was a test. I swear.

When we finally arrived, pooped and hungry, two pair of 80 year-old lovers signed us in, then proceeded to get crackin’ on our lessons, because we had 44 hours to pack in every major discussion we could possibly have over our lifetime, and going to bed at 9 was, apparently, a practice only held by young triathletes in their 20s and not 80 year-old marriage nazis who no longer needed beauty rest.

Journals were set on all of our seats—journals that would soon be filled with the key to a long and happy marriage, according to the octogenarians. The first page was titled: Introduction. The first question? Why did I come here this weekend? My answer? Because the Catholic Church said I had to, and I love spending time with my coachancé, and I want to see how many times I can make him cry in one weekend.

That’s right, coachancé is the perfect guy; he is incredibly romantic, and infinitely better at expressing his feelings—especially if they’re mushy—than I. So I made a “Coachancé Boo-Hoo Tally” and kept note of each time I made him cry, and what page in the journals did him in.

Catholic Marriage Counseling for Triathletes

If you or your coachance or both of you are Catholic, you shall soon discover the joys of getting married in the Catholic church (if you already haven’t). Typically included in these joys are: guilt (not the kind that looks like gold coins and is chocolate…oh sorry, that’s gelt), and an SAT-style, #2-pencil required “compatibility exam” with a special extra section for “cohabitating couples”. And a meeting afterward with a Catholic marriage counselor to go over your “problem areas”. The conversation looks something exactly like this:

Deacon: My spouse has habits/hobbies that I consider highly annoying. Agree, disagree, or undecided. TriDiva, you agreed!

Coachance: What!

TriDiva: It drives me nuts when all we can talk about is triathlon and training. I already told you that. (to Deacon) We were training for a big race. I was annoyed. It’s over now.

Deacon: Ok. Moving on. I understand that our relationship will change over time. Coachance, you were undecided.

Coachance: What does that mean?

Deacon: Well, you know, at first you’ll get married and you’ll do it all the time. I know when I got married, we did it on every piece of furniture. Whenever and wherever we could. Now, well, we’ve both developed pooches here and there. You almost have to schedule it in.

Coachance looks horrified.

Coachance can’t believe this is what happens in Catholic marriage counseling. TriDiva is highly amused (not that she knew either).

Deacon: Well, so you understand that the relationship changes over time?

Coachance: I guess….ok yes…

A few more questions, and the Deacon left us with these parting thoughts:

Shower together. You’ll save on the water bill!

Who said the Catholic church wasn’t hip?

Happy Marriage Counseling!

The Coachancé - What it Is and Why it's Beneficial to Your Training

coachancé(e) - (n.) a coach who also happens to be your fiancé(e). This person might have been your coach first, then your fiancé, or vice versa. He/She is still referred to as a coachancé as opposed to a foach if the latter situation is true.

hoach / woach - (n.) related to the coachancé(e). A husband or wife who is also your coach.

The benefits of being engaged (or married) to your coach:

1. When you say "Not tonight, honey, I'm tired," he/she knows you mean it. You did work out for 9 hours. And because he/she created that killer 9 hour workout, he/she can be partly to blame for your complete exhaustion.

2. He/She knows if you skipped a workout, are eating too much chocolate cake, or are getting too much / too little rest and can adjust accordingly and on the fly. (As opposed to an e-coach, or one of those coaches who prints out your workouts per month and doesn't know your ITs have made your bum so sore you can't sit down.)

3. He/She can train with you. So you have a perma-fantastic training partner who is always there to encourage and push you. Plus you get to spend a lot of quality time together that work (or sleep in the rest of the population's case--they're not getting up at 4:30am to go swimming with their significant other!) otherwise takes away.

Yes, the coachancé (or foach/woach) is a marvelous thing. It is a relationship that has worked for many of the world's most accomplished triathletes (Barb Lindquist + hoach Loren; Michellie Jones + hoach Pete Colson...) It may just work for you.

But before you go off proposing to your coach this afternoon, make sure to think about other things as well. The bond of triathlon is strong, but it's important you both have your own lives and different personal interests as well. For example, if you like to read mystery novels in your spare time, and he/she has something completely different they like to do--like fishing-- you're probably well on your way to the romance of your life.

Happy Coach Dating!

A Perfect Triathlete Proposal (of Marriage, that is)

Here’s how it went down. Take some mental notes, in case you're planning a triathlete-triathlete proposal as well:

I wake up at 3:15 to go to Marina del Rey and catch a 4:15am ferry to Avalon on Catalina Island to run a 10K. Naturally, I look like crap. I semi-successfully attempt to sleep for the 2 hour ride.

Upon arrival, I meet another very nice woman with an awesomely wacky wooly hat, whose brother is doing the marathon, and who is as clueless as I am about what we’re supposed to do when we get there.

We found packet pick up in the lobby of a very tiny hotel. For some reason, I pictured the “St. Catherine’s Hotel” to be a lot bigger. It is teeny tiny. Then, there is no place to put our bags. There are, however, lockers over by the boat dock. But it is freezing outside, and I am a wuss, and I’m also a quarter hoarder (gotta do laundry somehow!). So we hang out by the lockers until the last moment we can to take our stuff off and put it inside.

At about 7:40am, I run a 20 minute warm up. At 8:15 the race starts. (My 10K. The marathoners started at 7. As I said, I am a wuss.)

Amazingly, and for the first time in my life, I am semi toward the front of a running race. Pretty freaking sweet. Except the last 2 miles are downhill and they KILL my poor aching quads. I was enormously too proud of my not all that amazing 48:20something time. I still had to run for another hour, as per Ironman training, and ran back up the hill about 2.5 miles to wait and cheer for Boyfriend when he ran by.

7 people went by and then there he was! I cheered and screamed and as he ran by, he yelled “Come on!”

Yeah rignt. Haha. It’s a joke right? I ran behind him for all of maybe 15 seconds, screaming for him to beat the guy in front of him, then never saw him again. My ego which had been unduely overinflated in the hour before came back down to size; I can’t keep up with Boyfriend in the last 2 miles of the most difficult marathon there is. Sad.

I ran back down, telling everyone I passed, “No, I’m not the first female,” to which one spectator responded “Well, you’re the first good looking one” to which I didn’t know how to react, as there hadn’t been any females ahead of me anyway…

I got back and couldn’t find him at the finish line. Then he found me, and pulled me to the side of the awards platform. They were starting the 10K awards and I was sure I had won something—it was an out and back course and a lot of those women did not seem to be in my age group. He was tugging me the side and then I heard my name and jumped up there. Woo hoo! First running medal in my life!

Then he sat me down and I knew this was it. He got down on one knee, and said the sweetest rehearsed poem/expression of his love for me, then pulled a ring out of a cloth in his camelback! My brain stopped all function. I was just thinking, “Holy shit! No way!”

Then he produced the most gorgeous ring I have ever seen. Extremely sparkly, diamondy. Very vintage looking. Absolutely perfect. And now also the most expensive thing I own. I don’t think my car is even worth as much.

He went to put it on my finger after I said, “Yes” and…

It wouldn’t fit.

I had just run about 13 miles total, and my hands swell when I run. They were all fat and the only finger the ring would fit on was my right pinky. Oi!

So then, it was time for the phone calls.

First? My two best friends. Second? My little brother. Third? Mom. Then I had to call my dad, who Fiance had every intention of asking, but would not possibly see for months. And asking on the phone would have been lame.

Here’s how that went down:

Me: Hi dad! I just ran a 10K and I got 3rd in my age group and did it in 48 minutes!

Dad: How’d you get so fast?

Me: And Jimmy proposed!

Pause. Long, heart attack-inducing pause.

Dad: Proposed what?

Me: marriage…

Dad: Oh…really? He did, huh…

Me: Yeah! Anyway, what I was really proud of is that I actually placed in a running race. That’s super cool, huh? Well, I love you! Bye!

Thus concludes a perfect triathlete proposal (of marriage, that is)!

5 Tips for a Valentine's Day Your Triathlete Will Never Forget

Chocolates? Candy? Fine wine? A romantic dinner? A stroll on the beach?

All of these things are nice and dandy, but what's really going to win your TriValentine's heart over? Here are a few suggestions for a Valentine's day your favorite tritine will never forget:

1. Go on a sunrise training ride. And should your love flat, fix it for him/her. Pick a spot on the ride to race to. There's nothing like a little early morning competition to get your lover all revved up about you all day long.


2. Leave a present on your tritine's car. But not just any present. A nice card and a rose would be nice, but they must be in addition to something like a new tube, a bumper sticker professing their trilove, or a gift certificate to their favorite bike shop.


3. Go out to a meal other than dinner. Ok, so that leaves breakfast and lunch. It'll be delicious, and have your tritine thinking of you all day long. (You can even cut your tritine's stack of pancakes into hearts and drizzle them in strawberry syrup!) Plus, how often do you go out to lunch together during the week? It's like an extra special treat!(You could try cutting their sandwich into a heart...much easier if it's a pb&j.)


4. A massage. Hey, so maybe it's not so original, but your tritine wants it and needs it badly. Their entire body is sore from what they put it through to kick butt all of the time, and needs some TLC. And it's way more fun to get it from you, their Valentine, than from Olga, the massage therapist/bikini waxer down at the $49 massage shop.


5. Sing them an original tune, incorporating their awesomeness, hotness, fitness, kindness, funness, and general all around perfectness. Use a synthesizer or guitar or homemade drum system (think pot + stick) to accompany you. Even if you don't have the greatest voice, your tritine will never forget it. And then you can give him/her the lyrics written on a pretty piece of paper with a hint of your scent sprayed onto it. Classy.

So there you have it. 5 ideas to a surely successful Valentine's Day with your favorite obsessive exerciser. Skip the Hallmark Card and get down to the good stuff!

Now get crackin'! There's no time to waste! (Note: These ideas could also be incorporated into your daily life, making you appear very romantic and spontaneous, two things your tritine will also find very sexy and exciting!)

Any suggestions? Stories about what you've done with your tritine in the past to make Valentine's Day special?