The Knowledge-Anxiety Paradox

A few years ago, I was happily unaware of all of the bad things that could happen to me. I was indestructible, even if other people were not. My favorite daily activity in high school was seeing how fast I could bomb down a steep, residential hill on my mountain bike where the cops had placed a solar-powered speed radar. Cars pulling out of driveways? What was that? If I didn't hit 40 mph, it was a bad day.

Now I am very aware of the damage a vehicle can do to my squishy form. And the damage giant, razor-toothed jaws can do to my sqiushy form. And the damage I seem to do to my squishy form every time I get to the run of an Xterra event. After years of beating myself up, I am massively pissed when any body part retaliates. Just ask my appendix. One uprising from him, and he was permanently exiled.

So now I am anxious thinking about riding my bike around this giant city. It's war. Everything out there is the enemy. Dogs. Squirrels (the former editor of Bicycling caught one in his front wheel and was sent flying over his handlebars). Cars. Joggers. Cops that give tickets for rolling through stop signs when nobody else is there.

I am anxious about swimming in the ocean. My "it'll never happen to me" attitude has been replaced with this logic: mosquitoes prefer me to absolutely every one else around me, so sharks will too.

Paradoxically, these are the exact activities that do away with my anxiety--and the few activities that bring on the wretched feeling in the first place.

On the bike, I am happy. Weightless in the ocean, riding a wave into shore, I am free. Running, well, thanks to Mr. Hambutt, that's not currently an option. But if it were, I'd say it makes me feel powerful and connected to my surroundings.

What is the solution, when swim, bike, run are the only things that engender anxiety in me on a daily basis--and the only things that can take the emotion away?

I could move to a non-urban setting with a lake, thereby doing away with the obstacles that cause anxiety in the first place. Or I can exercise first thing in the morning, before my brain can think of ways my squishy form might be splatted on the road like a can of Jackson Pollock's paint.

It is strange that my actions have stayed the same when the thoughts preceding those actions have changed completely.

I still bomb down hills in an attempt to see how fast I can go, fully knowing that, on a certain road, my bike might somehow vibrate at the exact frequency that will crack the carbon fiber in two and send me flying. Or that someone could whack me with their car.

I still swim in the ocean knowing I could be eaten.

So have I made any progress? Was I worse off before, blissfully ignorant of what might happen? Or am I better off now, totally cognizant of the risks I take, but taking them anyway? The thought process has been altered, but the ultimate outcome in my actions is no different.

And with that, I shall conclude my Tinley-esque rant.

XOXO,

Triathlete Diva

3 Tips for Male Triathletes Who Loose Wedding Rings

How long, on average, does a man usually keep his original wedding ring before it vanishes before his eyes, swallowed by a large body of water, or nabbed by hospital custodian?

If he's a triathlete, the probability that he will loose his wedding ring soars above that of an average dude. And considering all of the miles the triathlete covers in a single week, when he looses the ring, the probability of finding it hovers around zilch.

Coachubby made it almost to the 6-month mark before his wedding band was claimed by a murky, muddy lake. After an hour of sticking our faces into clear bowls to look at the bottom of a sandbar, the ring was pronounced dead at approximately 2pm, September 21st.

So what can you do to avoid (or lessen the impact of) such a costly mistake? Here are 3 tips:

1. Don't go for bling. Buying your wedding ring is not the time to go for gender equality. It is the time to KISS--Keep it Simple, Stupid. Besides undermining your manhood and making you look like a big baby who values gem equality over wife worship, a blingy ring will make you cry like a baby when you loose it. Save the cash and go on a nice vacation. When you loose your ring in the ocean, you'll still be able to enjoy yourself.


2. Go for the tattoo. More tasteful than a naked bust of your wife snaked around your bicep, a small tattoo of her signature wrapped around your finger will solve all of your problems. You won't loose it, it won't cost much, and your wife won't ever yell at you again for forgetting to wear your ring.(Tony Parker tattooed the date of his wedding to Eva Longoria onto his finger.)


3. Have a backup. If you're doing a race or long ride, kicking it back at a lake, or otherwise doing some activity that may allow your ring to slip off undetected, wear a backup, and leave the original in a safe place at home. Buy a box of Cracker Jax, or fork out fifty bucks for a metal band. If that ring goes, you won't be going with it.

Should you loose your ring, your local tri club probably has an undiscovered support group just waiting to meet. Send out an email professing your foolishness, and watch the letters of commiseration from your fellow men roll in.

Happy Training!

A Tandem Phenomonon and the Price of Internal Insurgence

After trying to catch up to a co-ed tandem bike team this morning, to no avail, I realized something: I have never ever seen a co-ed tandem bike with the woman riding in front.

Is this due to weight ratios, or to the male ego?

And, four months after the murder of personal internal opposition (aka my appendix), I finally received the hospital bill. Guess how much it was? I'll give you a hint: I could've had a BMW 1-series instead.

That's right, it apparently costs $30,000 to destroy internal insurgents. I'll bet it costs the American government the same amount to destroy a single internal insurgent. At least Blue Cross helped me out, so I am not currently indebted to China.

Even though the blood-circulating moon boots in my hospital room were cool, I'd rather have a hot tub and a Vegas skyline view for the same price.

And that's today's Word.

(Yes, I've been watching too much Colbert Report lately.)

The Nautica Malibu Triathlon Circus

Where can you watch giggling girls gush over Chris McCormack when he joins their heat to race, then see the Ironman world champ cross the finish line the next day to a crowd of puzzled faces asking, “Chris Macca Who?”

Or where does a race participant have a bodyguard for the swim, and all of her family members allowed in transition?

Where can you get mowed over by paparazzi taking pictures of one shirtless man, singled out in a crowd of many equally handsome, if not more chiseled dudes?

And where can you jump into an ocean-side changing room with nobody around one day, then go to the same room to be surrounded by women doing their make-up and adjusting their push-up bras the next?

Only in Malibu at the Nautica Malibu Triathlons!

This year was the first to have an Olympic distance tri on Saturday, in addition to the star-studded sweatfest that is Sunday’s weird-sprint-distance tri phenomenon.

It seemed to break down like this: athletes looking to actually race a real triathlon signed up for Saturday’s event, while athletes looking to get a glimpse of their favorite stars stuffed into Xterra wetsuits raced on Sunday.

And athletes like me found a way to be involved in both days, equally intrigued by the prospect of brushing arms with Macca and Hunter Kemper as by blowing past J. Lo on the swim, or giving Matthew McConaughey a run for his money.

Saturday’s race started with a long walk down the beach to the race start, where co-ed relays and girls 29-and-under lined up, and were soon joined by none other than Chris McCormack. He was quickly recognized, then fawned over. The photo ops never seemed to end, as girls threw their arms over his shoulders, and dudes shook his hand. Then the cannon went off, and we all got down to business.

I should've counted the buoys before starting the swim, because every time I got to one, I convinced myself the next one was the end, only to be sorely mistaken. As much as I love swimming, my right hambutt had enough after the third buoy, and told me I'd better hurry up and start biking because the evil muscle would only give me a 2.5 hour time limit before it would secede from my body.

On the bike, hambutt and I felt much better. We beat other girls on our rack out of transition, giving us a feeling of untouchable glory. We had ridden the out-and-back stretch of PCH that is the Malibu Tri bike course numerous times, and were ready to have it to ourselves without traffic for the first time.

We flew out to the turn-around, then noticed a line of people and parked bikes by Encinal Canyon, one of our favorite climbs. A closer look revealed a triathlete lying on the road with what looked like a blood-soaked towel under his head, and another athlete a few feet away being sat upright by people holding her neck. Not good.

We continued on, watching ambulances and firetrucks drive the other way. We had passed other girls who had kicked hambutt in the swim and we were feeling fierce. We beat a Michellie Jones look-alike (she was wearing the full pink-and-blue Michellie kit) out of transition. We ran for our lives.

Michellie joined us for the first two miles, after another young girl leapt ahead of us like a gazelle. Hambutt would not think of catching her. Then, Michellie made her move. Hambutt warned me that if I tried to stay with her, he would take me down. At least, that's what he implied when he started to hurt. He still wasn't keeping me from running as fast as I could. Michellie, unfortunately, was faster.

Hambutt and I triumphantly crossed the finish line in a new Olympic-distance PR. He was promptly treated to a free post-race massage and promised he'd end his tyranny of my right side if I promised not to make him run another 10K for a very long time. We had a deal. We couldn't compromise on the swimming, however. He wanted none of it, and I was set to return the next day as a part of a Paramount tri team relay.

The Nautica Malibu Triathlon, Part Two: "Classic" Distance and Mind over Hambutt

Where pros are usually racked, pro actors and actresses were instead, along with a throng of camera-toting foreigners clamoring for the shots I'm using for free here.

J. Lo's paparazzi mowed down anyone who stepped in their way as they walked backwards toward J. Lo's swim wave start, following her and hubby Marc Antony. On another section of beach, Matthew McConaughey stood in his traditional pose: no top on. He was half-dressed in a wetsuit, and coachubby remarked that he has quite a toosh on him. A man-J. Lo, if you will.

The celebrities went off in their own wave, with the blow of an ear-drum popping cannon. My wave was 10 minutes back. I wanted to accidentally swim over Matthew McConaughey. It didn't happen. As a consolation, I swam right by Jennifer Lopez, who is the only triathlete I've ever seen to bring a bodyguard / trainer (was it Gunnar Peterson who was in the water with her?) along on the swim...probably to guard her from men who had the same idea about swimming on top of her as I did about Matthew McConaughey. (Smart move, J. Lo.) She was easy to spot, with giant aqua-sphere-like goggles on.

I ran into transition, slapped the timing chip on my teammate, and watched him run out with his bike to compete in his first triathlon. I was like a proud mom.

In the meantime, coachubby and I made our way to the finish line to watch stars like Matthew McConaughey, Jennifer Lopez, Eliza Dushku, Anna Kournikova, Zach Morris and Kelly Kapowski from "Saved by the Bell", Felicity Huffman, Jon Cryer, and Scott Foley come through. In three years of living in LA, I hadn't seen a celebrity yet, but this race made up for it. It was like a dream--besides all the "celebrity" celebrities, tri celebrities Hunter Kemper, Chris McCormack, Katya Meyers, and a ridiculously tall Jasmine Oeinck also participated in one way or another.

Coachubby then frantically led me to the awards stage for the celebrity ceremony--Cindy Crawford was giving out the medals.

All in all, it was the ultimate triathlon-in-LA experience. If you come for the Nautica Malibu triathlon, you might as well do them both, even in the event of a protest from a broken hambutt. Race the first day, then stay for the media frenzy of the "Classic" distance race. You'll get your shot at Olympic-distance glory and get to hobnob with tri-stars, then rub shoulders with (or swim over) your favorite TV stars without ever having to leave gorgeous Zuma beach!

Gotta love America, where Jennifer Lopez can get more media coverage for triathlon by participating in her first than Hunter Kemper ever did for being an Olympian in the sport!

Greg Bennett and Andy Potts Pose

with coachubby and me! Maybe the endorphins, or the thrill of winning mucho moolah at the Los Angeles Triathlon last Sunday had something to do with it, but these two seem to be genuinely big sweethearts who aren't afraid to pose with the little people.

Greg Bennett, the winner of the 2008 Los Angeles Triathlon. He did the 40K bike in 53:54! And it wasn't flat!

Andy Potts. He finished just 43 seconds behind Greg Bennett, and had the fastest run split of the day at 31:18. Geeeez.