2007 draws to a close

A family of six falling like dominos to the stomach flu over the holidays isn't exactly what Norman Rockwell had in mind. A family of six where everyone makes it to the bathroom for the first time ever proves timing counts more in reality.

Teaching the Tribe to do laundry is an essential and a relief most of the time.
Shrinking Trimama's one and only wool/angora holiday sweater from the Gap does not count as one of those times-sigh

Glitter is not good for the washer unit. Neither is too much detergent or underloading the tub. So says Mr. Washing Machine repair man when asked what we can do to keep from destroying the new HE machine. Apparently he missed the mountains surrounding him as he went about his work which would explain how he would speculate that we under loaded the machine- ever.

A white winter is infinitely better then a frozen brown one any day, especially when the temps hover in the mid 20's.


28, 27, 29, 30, 25, 14, 12, 32, 30, 45

What's wrong with those numbers? Nothing except that they are the average day time temps for this week. The 14 and the 12 are New Years Eve and New Year's Day. Making the decision to jump in the New Year a difficult one. What's at stake is a move up the food chain from minnow to pike. With a lot of open water swimming to do this summer, I have about 48 hours to decide what type of bait fish I want to be for the season. E coli being the number 1 predator in these parts, I'm not convinced it will make a difference.

I love my Otter Box for swimming. I really need to work on where to hold it during my workouts though. Indoor training season requires a split suit, and I love my Tyr Tankini as well. O-box holds well in the top- no problem. Until handsome young swim team coach asks to see it. Awkward moment as I turned to fish it out. I really need to learn to keep some things to myself. That is one disadvantage of having 4 kids, you tend to lose your dignity with your perspective of seeing things as the world sees them. oops. I should have been clued in when Tac kept asking to see the box.

Is there a difference between sensual and sexual. In my mind yes. I parse them along the lines of romance and lust, relationship with another and relationship with self. Sensual is just so much more appealing in my mind because it is both costly and valuable. Sex is cheap. Sensual can be sexy, and generally is without even trying. And this whole divergent conversation was brought to you by what is currently on my ipod, not by cute swim team coach. I'm very close to being old enough to be his mother.

I can't imagine the world without the gift of music. I love how music gives expression to our thoughts and completes and compliments our psyche. There are those songs that make you smile every time you hear them. Or the set you play when different moods hit. I pretty much always have a song playing in my head, I'm a singer too. At work, in the shower, making dinner, always have been, most likely always will be.

So, that's my ramble before I go back to bed- being the 6th domino in the stack, it seems like a good "stay in bed and get better day"

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas

                    Peace on Earth

Good will toward man?

The presents are bought...almost

The ground is white....completely (blinding snowstorm Sunday took care of that- but we still shopped)

The Yule log is burning, or is that the turkey?  and all is well.

Merry Christmas to all!

Trimama's coming to town

Which town is it?  One of my all time favorites, I'll give you a hint

And one more

Oh, I know you know I'm going in November, but in my estimation, if you add November + Friggin Freezin need to thaw + a little recon is nice + girls weekend away!!!!! + friends running in a Rockin race and I think it all adds up nicely to a weekend getaway for Trimama.  I will have a car, I will travel, and I don't plan to sleep much.  Afterall, if you are going to leave your hibernation, you might as well take advantage of it and thaw completely.  So, if you've figured out where I am going, let me know I'd love to meet up with my 'zona friends.

Reason

"My daughter's not going to have children, the world is too terrible a place to raise them."  commented one of my clients at the Y.  Of note, this client has lived through the Great Depression, a world war, multiple "police actions", a cold war, food shortages, gas lines, communists threats and plague and pestilence.  Perhaps a more fitting statement is, "I'm not going to have children because I don't have the guts to work hard and prevail as you did mom, and I've pretty much given up on the world and insulated myself into my lonely but safe little cocoon. "  In my estimate, we have children for the very reason of the state of the world today; we fight back.  In my own little microcosm, my children bring me great joy and make each day worth living.  They make me want to be a better person.  They and their counterparts are why I steward my resources, why I recycle, why I conserve, why I vote and remain politically active, why I volunteer at school and why I notice all of the other children around me and one of the reasons I have great hope that the future is bright.  I suspect my client wants grandchildren and her daughter, having the sense to know she doesn't want to reproduce and is quite content owning her own business, has thrown her mom the only bone she might gnaw on and carry around to all of her luncheons and bridge outings.  What disappoints me is my client is content to gnaw.  And beyond gnawing, to encourage others to join her at the carcass.  I expect better from her generation.  I expect better from my generation-both those who choose to reproduce and those who choose to not.  Clearly you don't have to have children to be a good citizen, my client proves that point, you just have to be willing to look beyond today.  Is it as simple a choice as the eagle and the vulture?  

End of soap box.  

Christmas is coming, yea!  Christmas break, yea!  Too much to do, too little time, always.  But, I managed to squeak in a 5 mile run (yes run, albeit slow) and a 2500 yard swim and 400 yard aqua run.  The Otterbox is awesome, with one exception-where to put the darn thing.  Right now it goes inside the front of my suit- a little awkward, especially at the end of my swim when I have to choose between walking around the pool deck with a third bulge and fishing the thing out discreetly.  

Have a Merry week

Put some back into it men!

The Tribe's recon mission that began with a low speed tumble out the side door of the mini van and a roll down a snow covered embankment, followed by an all out sprint into the neighborhood playground, had turned into a full on search and recovery operation.  The neighborhood Christmas party was Friday night and there were tokens from a treasure hunt to find.  Unfortunately, in the days following the hiding of the tokens, 6 inches of snow had fallen.  I joined in the mission with a shovel and proceeded to move .72 acres of snow by hand.  Eureka!  we found a silver ticket!  Only three to go.  But it was cold and it was Friday and The Tribe was tired, so one by one they left for home and hot chocolate, with the promise that if we uncover more treasure all who hunted will have a stake in the claim.  A promise is a promise, no matter how dubious the merit.  I, already being declared evil for falling into a state of chocolate madness and eating candy #7 from the advent calender (on day 4 nonetheless- I thought they'd never notice before I could replace it), am held in scrutiny as the prize for each silver ticket is a cupcake from one of the greatest bakeries known to man.  But alas, no more silver tickets as the early departure of  the sun left the search for another day.  Five cupcakes remain encrusted in snow, possibly until spring, or until chocolate madness besets my brain and I rent a bulldozer.

The annual Toys For Tots Christmas party was a success on all levels.   I departed from my lite beer restrictions and indulged in a splash of Bailey's, quite possibly the greatest liquor known to Trimama. I figured I had negative calories in the bank following the treasure hunt.  We met the new neighbors, a single mom with  5 kids at home and 3 that have moved on.  New companions for The Tribe at the park.  The average age at the party was in the vicinity of 82, not including The Tribe, but including a young couple from up the block and recent Jeopardy champion.    

Best news of all, no surgery.  Turns out Trimama scars easily.  One look at my Grand Central Station stomach and anyone could have told you that.  Scarring worked to my advantage here, as any part of the ACL that  tore away was now held in place by... that's right scar tissue.  Good news/bad news.  The scar tissue is what makes the rehab so tedious and painful, have to break it down.  I've dealt with scar tissue all my life, so I see it as a challenge.  Turns out I also bruised my femur and cracked the head of my tibia, all which are healing fine, but will no doubt lead to arthritis down the road.  "And there is nothing you can do about that" assured the doc.  So, the rehab continues.  I am done with the cross trainer.  Ugh.  Back to the treadmill and the track, but I actually managed a 10 min mile on the treadmill, so improvement is on the horizon.  I am a cardiovascular mess.  But, I've been here at least four times before, following the advent of The Tribe, I know how to come back.  

Added incentive, while we were stripping at Florida, I managed to recover a pro swim cap from the sand.  I presumed that wasn't worthy of "lost and found"  and ferreted it home.  Visions of Bella or Chrissy swirled in my head, but it was not to be.  Turns out the cap belonged to a Dutch pro who turned in a personal best 11:37 at Florida.  A pro who's just like you and me.  Sort of.  Inspiring all the same, as I train to swim like a pro for Arizona.  Which explains why the swim instructor at the Y was amazed when I informed him I had only recently dropped into the pool, in spite of his insistence that I had been swimming for "someone"- as in team- for some time.  He said I had great form.  I swooned right there on the deck.  Not really, but I did take it to heart until Tac pointed out that the guy probably just thought I was cute and wanted to ask me out.  Jealousy is so ugly.

My rehab includes a lot of water jogging, so Tac and I bought each other an otter box with waterproof earphones.  Yea.  Imagine the mystery when an otterbox showed up for the iphone.  So, I got an otterbox, an otterbox and ear phones for Christmas.  Go figure.  The box fits a shuffle, which is great.  My shuffle is programmed the Trimama way and then some.  There might need to be another shuffle under the tree because as they say, "I'm a little bit country, he's a little bit really off the wall and behind the corner rock and roll".  The Bird and the Bee, who comes up with this stuff?

We've also reinstituted the advent family gift tradition.  Instead of making Christmas day a mass spectacle of presents, we extend the holiday to include the four Sundays of Advent.  Each Sunday a family present is unveiled.  So far, Dance Dance Revolution for the Wii, a must for every holiday party, well except the neighborhood one, and a state of the art ice cream maker.  Tac and the Tribe have been busy challenging Ben and Jerry for superiority rights.  I am not an ice cream eater so the diet remains intact for now.  Did I mention the machine can make margaritas?  One more item to pack for IMCdA.  

Speaking of which.  I'm in the process of securing clients and therefore vacation budgets for 2008.  I sincerely hope there are motivated weight loss folks in January as  I will be unrolling a new program the end of this month.  Who wouldn't want to be trained by a PT, Dietitian and Ironman Triathlete to get in shape and lose weight?  We'll see.  

So that's a wrap, although I by no means meant to cross the picket line.

Train safe and train smart.

Random Ramble

Wheels were down and rolling at 4:45 yesterday morning, the 4X4 engaged on the Blue Bean, heater blasting to roll back 4 degrees of deep freeze, I was off to work.  Crunching down the barely plowed road, mind adrift in a quasi caffeine haze, a sound began to ebb it's way into my conscience.  (or is it conscious- actually I believe in this case you can apply either)  Squeak, squeak squeak, squeaky, squeak.  Now, I swear I heard, scratch, scratch, scratch, let me out, let me out!  I wanted to think new Jeep commercial and even began to sing "Rock me gently,..." hoping my little friend would jump in and harmonize.  However, whatever critter has been taking up residence in my car is not so intent on friendship- he ate my stash of almonds.  All of them.  And these weren't the co-op bundle bag of almonds.  These were the can of buttery delicious goodness, perfectly salted almonds.  Not only that, he left a mess of chewed lid all over the floor boards.  Moving 45 miles per hour on icy, pre plowed roads did not exactly invite a visit from my back seat friend.  I sang louder, with the outside hope that whoever was squeaking would realize my size and considerable singing advantage and make a departure out the crack in the back door.  He was a trooper, or more precisely, a paratrooper, as the squeaker departed, albeit with no chute deployment.  

R.I.P. little buddy.

That's when it hit me.  I don't have recess duty today.  I don't have recess duty tomorrow either.  In fact, I don't have recess duty all year.  "No" is such a lovely word.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed recess duty in the early fall and late spring, but 2 frosty hours mid winter, no thanks.  Which got me thinking about the game of tag.   In a dog eat dog world, is tag really all that advantageous a game to be teaching.  Think about it, everyone yells "not it" and runs away.  Ok, maybe it is good CYA training for corporate America.  But, really, everyone wants to be the hunted?  Ok, you make a good point, in the dating world that's not a bad angle.  I always try a twist on tag.  Sidling up to an unsuspecting participant who queries, "who's it?"  I respond, "I am", and "tag you're it!".   I do this until everyone playing thinks they are "it", and in mass confusion they give up and go swing.  

I visit the ortho surg today for a consult about the leg.  I'm hoping he takes one look at my uber sexy tri legs and immediately insists on cutting edge bionics to fix my knee.  Chances are better I get a graft from a middle age couch potato besought with commonmansyndrome who takes over at every race and compels me to sit at the side of the road eating chips.  Good thing I'm a personal trainer, I'll whip em into shape.  I'm hosting a contest for The Tribe and all takers to "Name the Knee"  It's my best defense against my inner conflict of having someone else articulate my joint.  Of course, 75 percent will still be all Trimama, but if the 25 percent is at all like The Tribe, I'm doomed and will spend the rest of my life biking and running in circles.

More snow today and Saturday, is this the year to break down and finally buy skiis?  We'll see what the surgeon says.  Ride safe

A Declaration of Intent

An Ode to Bolder:

The Boldest when it comes to making a declaration of intent.



And now my declaration of intent.

This past year has been a tough one athletically and mentally speaking for Trimama. In May I put up a vacancy sign to my brain and fear came in and took up residence. Wildflower spread it's seed and it's grown like a weed in my brain and I regressed to fearing pain. While 2006 was a year of purchase and opportunity, 2007 saw squatters reclaim some un tilled land. By September, the whole homestead was up on the block. In my effort to fight back, I crashed a bike, wrecked my knee and have spent 2 months pushing the pain envelope to bring healing, with at least 2 months to go to recovery. Darker still, the searing pain that accompanies a torn ACL and uber sprain of a knee has decided to take up residence with old childhood memories and have rendered me terrified to get on a bike again. I wish I was being overly dramatic. I wish I could reroute my brain, but that is going to take some work.

There is a story in hebrew tradition of Moses bringing the Israelites to the edge of the Jordan River and dispatching 12 spys to recon the "Promise Land". Ten of the spys returned telling horror stories of giants and military machines of war. But two returned, looking beyond the giants to see a land of milk and honey. In their minds, their deliverer had not freed them from 440 years of cruel bondage to slavery, only to leave them short on the banks of the Jordan. 40 years later, one of those spys lead the Israelites across the Jordan, through the giants and the machines of war and into a new land, where they've remained, essentially to this day.

Every one of us has giants in their lives, obstacles that threaten our hopes and aspirations. I aspire to bring the hope that the past does not have to dictate the future, the giants do not have to win. Whether the giant be abuse, cancer, loss, broken dreams, whatever.

The overtly sexual nature of the song not withstanding, Bono is making a declaration of intent; Charles Manson stole a lot more then a song during his reign of terror with Helter Skelter, U2 is taking it back. Not lost on me is that this is one of the greatest hill climbing songs of all time. I despise hills. They scare me. I'm taking them back.

This message is generated as confirmation of your recent registration on Active.com. You have been successfully registered for the following:
Registration:	2008 Ford Ironman Arizona (November)
Purchase Date:	12/02/07
Category:	Entry Fee
Event Date:	11/23/08
Name:	Kari Holmes

It's going to be long road, the pain envelope is vast, but we've pushed it before, because there is milk and honey waiting on the other side.

Oh, btw, I don't want to do this alone, who's with me?

I am a friggin IT genius

Ok, don't ruin my moment- but I, yes me, the incompetent one, actually fixed my own computer program!  I don't suppose wars will end, or that world peace is imminent, but isn't it really about the little miracles.  Speaking of miracles, (or not) the wise man was grazing in Baby Jesus' manger this morning, apparently in addition to a census, there was quite a famine in the town of Bethlehem, that or Balthasar had nipped a few too many times at the camel's milk, only to fall asleep while falling prostrate.  If you grew up catholic, you've witnessed all too many accounts of uncle Balthasar during mass, so it's all the same to you.  It's not all the same to me, and I will be picking up the CSI toy crime detection lab to dust for fingerprints and determine which of the Tribe has been violating the "Don't touch my nativity scene" edict.  One of many presents Tac and I will test drive before wrapping.  Two Christmases ago, Tac had racked up 1.2 million SSX Tricky points before Christmas Eve.  I have three seasonal statue panorama things.  You have no idea how difficult it is to depict the somber joy of the holiday when you regularly find the snow man wrapped in swaddling clothes and Baby Jesus making snow angels with the reindeer.  I still have the original Nativity scene Tac and I bought for our first Christmas.  Ours was a simple household, which might explain the discount bargain bin nativity that consisted of one blonde haired/blue eyed Mary, one 80 year old Joseph and one white as the driven snow baby Jesus.  The only thing that keeps me from ditching the aryan nation nativity is that it's our first one, this just might be the year we break out the air brush set from Aunt Edna and set things right or suffer the seasonal enigma of displaying a "major award"  

One of my favorite all time iconic christmas memories, (if you don't count Blue Blocker Santa who wears  his polyester, white beard like an ascot and generally has the flask at his side as he drives the sleigh at our current Christmas tree cutting venue, and for whom I credit with the very early demise in the Tribe's santa mythology), was the year my Aunt played santa at the annual, family Christmas gathering.  Once a year we bundled our way into the KC Hall to eat jello salad and krumkake with the once-a-year aunts and uncles, awaiting anxiously the appearance of Santa Clause and his bag of gifts.  Santa reached an entirely new level of mythology with her four inch long acrylic nails and false eyeslashes, cig dangling from her robustly painted, pink lips.  The wife of my father's brother,  I lived in mortal fear of being an in law from that day forward.  In laws routinely drew the short stick in that family.  

Christmas officially begins at 12:01 am the Friday after Thanksgiving.  Prior to that time, all holiday music is forbidden, but trust me The Tribe has some very creative versions of "Deck the Turkey with lot's of stuffing" just to tweak mom a little.  We avoid the holiday displays in Target as if the plaque were stored along those aisles.  I'm adamant.  I'm a holiday separatist.  There, I said it.  But who wants to celebrate IndepentHallowGiving.  Target does I tell you.  It's not unusual for The Tribe to wake me up at 12:01 singing carols with Tac.  They love the season, and you know what, so do I.  

The tree is up, the fire is warm, the carols are playing 24/7, and the snow is in a constant state of tease.  It's the little miracles that really are important, and I have a lot of them in my life.  

Happy Holidays!

My Turkeys

I'm posting on an old post because Blogger won't let me add new posts right now- so this is a test- which didn't really work.  So, I'll have to get Tac to work on this for me.  Ug. 

On the way to the Summit of Boreas
What a view!
Playing in the creek

Cross training
King of the Mountain!

Playing at altitude-the kids don't seem effected as much as the adults

We are having a great time in Breckenridge. Spent Weds in Copper Mtn and the Kahuna estate, with Stronger and kids and the Grayhounds-swimming, tanning, snacks, cold beer, watching the lifts run up the mountain-that works. Adult night out at the local brew pub for dinner. Words aren't enough to describe the richness of fellowship with this group of fine people. I'm starting my own personal mission to get Mrs. Grayhound posting- you all or y'all would love getting to know her as much as I have.

The Dummies come in tonight, the 3X assault is Saturday so a romping good pasta feed is in the works Friday night. I have to weight Bolder down somehow so we can keep up with him during the day.

Happy trails!

Welcome to South Dakota

Where the interstate stretches out before you in undulating miles and a beacon of Americana awaits off every exit ramp. We saw our first Wall Drug sign at mile 75 and lost track at number 110. We blew by Wall Drug, but how can you pass up buying gas in Mitchell, home of the Largest Corn Palace in the world. Now, I only need to see the "Smallest Corn Palace" in the world and my life will be complete.
We hit the road at 4:10 am and about 9 hours later we pulled into Rapid City. A quick swim in the pool for the kids, a much needed nap for me and then the short drive up to Mount Rushmore.
It's hotter then an oven here, 107 yesterday- 105 today. but a cold front is coming through, so it ought to be in the miod 80's tomorrow. Perfect driving weather to make the trek to Colorado- a seven hour drive. Contrary to HG opinion, Chopper is doing just fine on the drive.
I'm off for a quick run before it gets to 95- I sympathize with you southern folk now.

I've moved!

Please change your link bars to, Trimama.com


I'm adding new links daily, please be patient if you don't see your name in lights yet. Please be even more patient if you see your name in lights with no link, or if the link is wrong...

Thank you.

Ta Da! round 2.5

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.

TTFN

Ta Da! round 2

For those of you who stopped by Sunday, this site had my big

"I'm a Dot com now!" announcement. Then Dot Mac ate my entire blog. So, I'm back under construction
Here-

patience please- go return some gifts or something. Then stop on by later this afternoon. We should be right as rain by then- oh and hopefully posted :-)

Oh, please, oh please, oh please,

Let it snow!


You can certainly have Christmas without the white stuff, but oh how awesome it is when it flies!

Brief update:

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?

Have a wonderful, safe holiday weekend!

Tri Naked Blogger

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.

Are you aware that Ford sponsors Ironman?

Really? That fact escaped my notice, hmmmmmmmm.

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.

Enjoy the week

The Great Underwear Mystery

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.

Go figure.

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.

Yes!!!!

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.

Indeed it is.

Have a good one

Question of the Week

Registration opens tomorrow Dec 1st.

Who's in?

Tattoo my butt and call me a triathlete!

My original post title was going to be "Taconite Boy wants a tattoo". But by the wonders of modern auto think, a former title popped up when I began to type. This was the title of my race report from the Liberty Half Iron. At that time I had no intention of inking my backside after Florida, I was going to do the ankle thing-damn auto think.

At any rate, Taconite Boy is enamoured with my tattoo. So much so that he showcased his tattoo video as post turkey dinner entertainment, FOR MY IN LAWS!!!!!! I love his mom and dad, and they love me, I'm just not so sure they needed to "know" me that well. For the record, I'm not so sure anyone needs to know me that well, but alas, we didn't get 'too'd in Vegas so the world gets an all access pass. Of course the video is a gift that keeps on giving, thanks to the almighty Iron Kahuna, I'm just glad we didn't video any of our kid's deliveries.

So, Taconite Boy wants a tattoo. I suggested perhaps he ought to wait until he actually had something to say. Which explains why he showed up in my dream last night, butt freshly shaved and inked with


"Minnesota Proud and I LOVE TO EAT!"

How nice.

T-boy begins his journey to Iron January 2, I'll be alongside every step of the way, and I can't wait.

For those of you interested, we are going to Wildflower in May and will follow the same training program that got us through a rockin T-Boy olympic, two halves and Florida in fine style.

We'd welcome more virtual training partners, with many of our training endevours being podcast worthy, no doubt.

Details to follow- You might even get a tattoo out of the deal

Yes, Taconite Boy got his t.v.

and it's entirely possible it's been on too much this weekend. The doctors tell me they ought to go back to normal with a few hours of sunshine and a good book. As for me, I did the ultra early morning run on stores, but was slightly less amused, I think I went to the store visited by the most hung over, onry types. How can you start the most magnificent season of all in poor spirits? I generally do all of my Tribe shopping on Friday am, but this year only walked away with a new quilt for our bedroom. We have a few ideas for the Tribe, and are still waiting to see how they pan out. We cooked for 21 people on Thanksgiving day, Soapinator, who is "Sweet as sugar, like apple pie" made her annual classic. Uh, yea, it's good. Especially with vanilla ice cream.
We never actually made it to the Turkey Day 5k. I can't explain it exactly, it just seems like the more whole I become, the less I need to have all of those diversions away from reality past, it's quite refreshing actually. And it felt really good to just sleep in after a hectic start to the week. Holidays don't hurt nearly as much any more. How could they with a crew like this? Pretty tough to express in words how thankful I am for The Tribe and Taconite Boy. We had his family over for Turkey, in addition to a few friends, and much to my amazement,

WE HAD NO LEFTOVERS!!!!!!!!!!!!

17 pounds of turkey, 10 pounds of potatos, 3 pounds of oh-my-gosh-gingerbread-is-the-new-secret-ingredient-stuffing, rolls, broccoli casserole, apple and pumpkin pie etc...

GONE!!!!!!!!!

I ended up cooking cornish game hens and a new dinner, mixing in the meager scraps from Thursday, for Saturday evening.

We did the annual run to the Christmas tree farm Friday afternoon.
You drive for an hour to the middle of mid america, and are met by a guy, heater in mouth, who shoves a map through your window, and directs you forward to his son who tosses a saw in your lap and advises you to watch the "one way" signs. Always polite and always slightly suspicious of anyone not adorned in camo or Polaris wear. We leave our spandex at home.
The fields are beautiful, and you wander along taking in the scent of fall and pine, looking for the perfect tree. Almost invariably we walk around for an hour only to return to the tree we parked the car by when we first pulled to the side of the lane. This year, however, the perfect tree was a quarter mile walk into the field, and the "old growth" forest. The Tribe always has to help cut the tree, and it's one of those annual pictures that really deserve a framed montage. Alongside the ones of dragging the tree through the door. The day we go artificial is the day Christmas ceases to exist.

This farm also has a petting zoo, and hay rides with Blu Blocker, gin soaked Santa. Fantastic. He's a riot. Of course, it was Taconite's year to bump along in the wagon with The Tribe, and imagine his dismay when there were no seats left and Hyphen Girl had to ride the round with Buck Naked. A 13 year olds dream date. :-) She weathers these things well, I think she gave in to our lunacy long ago. We capped off the night with Fuddruckers and the weekend with decorating the tree.



The latest Get Your Geek On broadcast is up, reminding me of one more thing for which I am thankful, the blog and tri family.

Have a good one!