Ok, that's it for now. The new site is launched-yea. You know the brilliant thing about mac is that they make it so easy you feel stupid. Is that a good thing?
The comment bar is enabled now, so let me know what you think.
I think I need to change some of the fonts, they aren't as clear as I would like them to be-and I realize there are many links I need to add, as well as songs I like and I"m working up a race schedule.
But at some point today I need to actually do the breakfast dishes.
You can certainly have Christmas without the white stuff, but oh how awesome it is when it flies!
HG b-ball team 3-0. Yes, point guard, "you really are a good team this year" emphasis on "this" . They went 1-12 last year.
Senses of Christmas with Buck Naked this afternoon. It's a kindergarten classroom. You routinely taper all of your senses when you walk into it on the day to day, so they've thrown in the holiday challenge to defy nature and go in for the experience. I guess it could be worse, it could be the "senses of 5th grade right after recess" experience. From which there is no recovery.
Caroling at the Mall of Mass Hedonism and Greed tomorrow with HG. It's the most non school week of school second only to the last one in June.
Christmas chapel and Christmas parties on Friday. I'm one of Buck Naked's room moms, so that will be a fun afternoon. Although, I do have visions of arriving home plastered in frosting. I haven't wraped a single present, but I spent a few mindless hours winding up the last of the shopping. Yea me. I really dislike shopping. But I love giving presents, so, what are you going to do?
Iron Nick, who earned his props in Brazil this past May, could easily be named as one of the greatest tri brothers around. He's at most of the local races, taking pics and cheering when he's not competing, always a willing coach (sub 60 min IM swim time), and all around nice guy. In his spare time he has worked up two web sites. One, Trimapper.com does exactly what the name implies; it maps out the triathlons in the world, giving race info and other relevant information. Now just in time for Christmas, he's launched Trijuice.com a blog devoted to informing the tri community of all the latest in gadgets, apparel and gear- all things tri. Check these out, and add them to your link bar if you like what you see.
But Trimama, what about the naked part?
No, this isn't the naked part. Well, Robo is half naked, but that doesn't really count. (Ok, Robo looks fantastic, so the half naked part counts a little for him, because you have to give credit where credit is due-which is why I'm not half naked in this picture because I look a little like a pot bellied pig-the wonders of neoprene)
Half naked doesn't count this year. This year it's about full on, stripped down, just the essentials, naked.
I've come to the conclusion that it's a little insane to vigorously pursue something that holds no true value for me. I had this epiphany when I registered for the GYGO New Year's Day virtual triathlon. Follow the links and register. If you live in the midwest and want to join my local tri club at our freakin freezin' polar bear plunge reverse tri, we'll be meeting at the bar by the large, gaping black hole in the ice around 8:30 in the morning. The bar is open and serving, (it's also indoors and warm) if you need a little shot of confidence before you make the plunge. It's open when you exit the water if you need a little help un freezing your blood. You'll notice when you register that there is a question regarding your New Year tri resolution. Prior to Ironman Florida, my plan for this next season was to focus on speed and power and become a force to reckon with on the tri series circuit. Then I realized, with all due respect to the incredible athletes who earn the podium, I just don't care about the schwag. Go, ahead and exhale- I love the booty that comes in the race bags, and I'll always love the free stuff. I'm talking about the little beer mugs and ash trays that say you stood on the podium. Last year that seemed important to me. As I sit here today though, contemplating what it takes to make it to the ash tray, I realize that in the economy of time and energy, both physical and mental, I don't want to spend myself there. I realized what I liked about being a newbie last year was the ability to not care so much, to focus on the things that mattered to me, like friends and The Tribe, and meeting new people. I cared about training hard, and seeing how far and how fast I could push myself, and it was fun. The idea of being a player isn't fun. The idea of tweaking equipment and monitoring data, and living under a blogoscope, and being all about me and results leaves an unsavory taste in my brain. It's a strange dichotomy. I love to compete, I always will. I think I've realized that I can't justify the means or the end in setting a goal of winning races for next year.
It's my year to Tri Naked.
To train and race by means of the essence of the sport.
To this end, I'm going to drag my sorry butt over the Wildflower course, taking great delight if I pass Kahuna on the run again. I'm going to help Hyphen Girl train and run her first half marathon. My proposal to start a Y Tri, tri club at work was met with great enthusiasm, so I'm anticipating bringing 10 new athletes into the sport. I'm going to be the ass of our group rides again this year, not because I can't keep up, but because there are a lot of people who would come out and ride if they knew there was a buddy to go along with. I'm going to try a few new races, including (I hope) the 24 hour-cross over the mountain pass-Colorado relays. I'm going to enjoy more trail running. I'm going to recruit and help train a small army of kids to participate in theMiracles of Mitch triathlon. I'm going to cheer on my fellow athletes. Of course I'm going to cheer on and support Taconite Boy and his posses of IMmoo competitors.
This past year of iron I focused a lot on what was in my hand. Ironman was an oddessy that I held for 16 months, and it was very good to me. I held on to it through fire and storm and it changed me. The feeling of letting go at the finish line, and hugging The Tribe was indescribable. I almost made the mistake of confusing what was in my hand then, for what I am as a whole. The mistake of thinking it was all about grabbing something else up for me. I'd be a lousy triathlete, let alone person if all I am is a hand. This year it's about the whole body in action using all of the gifts and talents I've been given, for the benefit of others and myself.
It's all about getting Naked.
I have a feeling it's going to be a lot more fun to tri naked.
I roped myself into a Florida Ironman survey this morning (the first survey they sent out included one question, so I thought what the heck, I can answer another question- 45 questions later....)
A grouping of questions inquired about my knowledge of Ford's involvement in sponsorship of the events.
Ummmmm. You mean like the logo being plastered on the swim buoys, the misting shower, the turnaround markers, every piece of schwag. Yea, I kind of picked up on that.
Taconite Boy was ready to buy me a truck after the event though. In all fairness, he already drives an F150 and loves it, and for my part, I want a truck.
Actually I want a 40 year old beater that I can drive around when I'm working in the yard or around the house, on the days when I wear my goofy work hat and gloves and listen to old country music. I really need to move to a farm.
To give you an idea of how much work is going on in the Trimama household, when we brought home the Christmas tree and Buck Naked Boy sized up the situation and determined that there was not enough room for his train to run underneath it, he nochalantly suggested to Tac Boy that he needed to move out the front wall to make room.
Ok, I'll get out the sledge hammer and go to work on that.
In the mean time, here is a pictorial of our latest project.
Take one closet to no where. A byproduct of when our current living room was a bedroom. Which made absolutely no sense, in that the largest room in our home was the so called master bedroom. Much to Tac Boy's surprise, I registered my complaint by knocking a window size hole in the wall to demonstrate that wall could certainly be removed and most likely was not a load bearing wall. To his credit, Tac Boy saw my point of view and now we have a genuine living room. That project was completed 5 years ago, but we didn't know what to do with the closet until now.....
Plant the seed of an idea that it would be doable to open that closet from the other side so that we can access it via our current bedroom,
Then water that seed with the idea of how nice it would be to watch Sunday night football in our own bed
One barter of painting for cabinet making, one all nighter at the tv store and voila. Brings a whole different meaning to touchdowns and field goals.
When Tac Boy and I met he wasn't very handy in household projects, and we'll both admit I've kept him on his toes, so he can do just about anything now. Frame, wire, plumb, sheetrock, flooring, the works.
Except demolition. I handle that. I make the holes and he fills them.
Basketball is going well. The girls won again last night, so there team at 2-0 has surpassed their win record of last season. Hyphen Girl is a defensive terror, with a little work of her shooting confidence, teams beware.
Buck Naked Boy is the "Very Special Person" of the week which included a little presentation of himself to his class. Poor guy, trembled through the whole practice go at home, and was extremely relieved to be done with it on Monday. I'm hopeful that practice will help ease his nerves in public speaking.
My swimming has been benched until January to allow my shoulder time to heal- uggg. Not being able to swim causes me to see how much I love doing it. Who would have thought?
But, we are having a strangely warm December, so running is good and spinning on the bike is new, and of course there is always basketball.
It was a blustery day, the sort which compells every part of a man's body to yearn south, quite in contrast to the normal flow of nature under such conditions. No one knew this fact more than Taconite Boy, whose manly parts were in grave danger of permanant recess had it not been for warm thoughts of a new Kelly Clarkson Christmas album being released.
(open confessional: I'm currently diverting my blogging mental resources toward penning a Triathlon Mystery Novel. I assure you, it will be the trashy type of novel that is perfect to read on the bus to the transiton area, or perhaps the ideal antidote to sleeplessness the night prior to an "A" race- so indulge me here as I further hone my writing skills while updating you with the current happenings of the Trimama household.)
"Damn this cold! mumbled Tac Boy, adjusting the red silk, happy heart, boxers he'd been forced to wear under his painter's whites. While any gift from his lovely, gracious wife warmed his heart, these silkies just weren't up to the task of warmth or support. Not to mention what the guys at the work site would think if they found out. Of course this latest rendition of hell freezing over was certainly due in part to USC's stumble off the championship horizon, that or the mid term elections.
(That part about the mid term elections is for the benefit of my liberal friends who should enjoy the angst of their conservative counterparts, as the neo cons have been allowed for the previous decade. Enjoy the bone. I'm not particularly impressed with politics as a solution to the dire situations of mankind as a whole, but it does make for interesting holiday conversation)
Either way, the frost was here to stay and he needed to find his stash of briefs, now.
But therein lay one of the greatest vexations known to man, second only to an admonition from his mother that she didn't want him joining the likes of Brittney Spears in public humiliation.
(ok, that was a somewhat appalling visual from the mom in law on the phone this morning-but I digress)
For eight days Tac Boy had been forced into the morning ritual of scouring the house for a set of briefs, only to be frustrated in his search. Trimama assured him that she had maintained her relentless assault on the mountains of laundry, but to no avail. For a man whose underwear collection could rival Imelda's shoes, it was indeed an enigma left to be unraveled. It is one thing to lose a wayward sock, but an entire assembly of undergarmets? It would take a mastodonic like black hole to completely erase the existence of his wardrobe.
A black hole the size of a young boys room. A black hole the size of say, a BNB/Urp room.
Mystery solved. In the farthest regions of under the bed, along with several piles of, recently washed/dried/folded and stacked for being placed into drawers so that you have something to put on when mom insists that you can't wear the same pair of pants six days in a row you actually have something to put on, piles, were Tac Boy's underwear.
Now, you might be tempted to ask Tac Boy exactly what he has been wearing for the prior 8 days, as I was this morning while he ranted while turning the house over, but I don't know if we want the answer to that question. You might be temped to ask if Trimama actually allows Urp to wear the same pair of pants six days in a row before erupting in frustration and insisting that he change. In a word, No. At most he gets two days out of one pair, but Urp always manages to come down the stairs in the same pair of pants. He insists that he has two pair that are identical, but I am the goddess of the laundry, however impotent in getting them to put the clothes away correctly, I do have a pretty accurate inventory of what they have.
You might be tempted to ask how Hyphen Girls basketball team is doing and did they indeed win their game last night.
You might be tempted to ask if Trimama and Tac boy are signed up for Wildflower and whether the idea of training for all of those biking hills has Trimama in a state almost equal to the state she is in because her shoulder won't heal from the beating it took in the waves of the gulf over a month ago, and the answer would be yes. Trimama is in a state of intimidation and uncertainty that is beguiling and only remedied by the thought that Kahuna is bringing his guitar and John Denver songs for the camp fire and that Fe Lady signed up!!! Not to take anything away from any of the other great people in the blogosphere who I can't wait to see again or meet for the first time, but this is John Denver. Of course, Fe Lady (pronounced iron lady for all of you non chemistry types) is one of the people I really want to meet in person.
You might be tempted to ask if this post is ever going to end.