I hate running outside in the -30 degree weather, so I got a membership at the community league in our neighborhood and started swimming in the evenings.  It was a great workout and didn’t require me to wear all of the cold weather gear that I owned.

Then people started asking questions.  “What are you training for?”

My mouth opened and what came out shocked even me.  “Umm…a triathlon.”

Apparently I was ashamed about my desire to wear size 8 pants and completing a triathlon sounded so much better.  Before I knew what was happening, most of my friends and family heard that I was going to compete in a triathlon

I found myself cross training, weight lifting, and completing workouts that involved swimming, biking, AND running.  That’s the thing with words…once they are out there, you can’t get them back.  So I decided to go for it.  After all, how hard could it actually be?  Right?

The big day came in the middle of summer and was sunny and full of promise.  I was grouchy and full of fear.  I braided my hair, donned my Speedo swimsuit and biking/running outfit, and begrudgingly got in the car.

Upon arrival, I encountered hundreds of spandex clad people excitedly jumping around and stretching.  I went directly to the tent to pick up my race package and have a strange man use the biggest sharpie I have ever seen in my life to write my race number, 803, on my calves and arms.

What the heck have I gotten myself into?!

After being branded, we were herded like cattle down to the waterfront where I got news that there were leeches in the lake.  My stomach was already queasy and the toast that I had for breakfast threatened to come up as an unexplainable fear gripped my heart.  I started to look for an escape route, but ducking under the pylons and running at top speed past my husband and best friend would probably be noticed, so I tried to breathe while I waited for the race to start.

Before the swim....oh so nervous!

When the starting gun finally went off, all of the women aged 24 – 29 ran towards the leech infested water like their lives depended on it.  After avoiding being trampled, I jogged cautiously towards the waterfront and dove into the very shallow lake.  The water broiled with body parts and after a near kick to the head and getting a bird’s eye view of a very large armpit, I decided to hold back.  I waited in the ankle deep, leech infested silt for the crazed athletic women to swim by before I started up again.

To my immediate dismay, I couldn’t see a darn thing in the water!  It was like sticking your head into a bowl of chocolate pudding.  Panic set in and I employed the doggie paddle while my mind feverishly worked out a solution.  I started to hear a high-pitched whine and then realized I was the one making the noise.  I was officially hyperventilating and even the doggie paddle was too much.  I didn’t want to be disqualified, so I employed a panic inspired back float.  While looking up into the sky, wondering what the world I was going to do, the heads of two men in a canoe came into my view.

Two Men in a Canoe:  “Miss, are you ok?  Would you like us to help you?”
DL: (awkwardly treading the waist deep water) YES!  But wait!  Does that mean I am disqualified?
Two Men in a Canoe:  Well, yes…but if you’re struggling, perhaps we should take you out.
DL: (tears starting to fill up the goggles) I have worked so hard to get here!!  I have to finish.  I have to keep going.  Can you just row next to me, just to make sure I don’t die?
Two Men in a Canoe: Well…umm, there are a lot more people in the race and we have to watch all of them.  Uhh…we can check on you later though…
DL:  (in a very wobbly voice) Ok….thank you?
Two Men in a Canoe: And by the way, you’re floating off course.  You’re going to want to go that way….

The longest swim of my life ensued.  Battling panic, hyperventilation, and being lapped by a group of men swimmers took every single ounce of energy that I had.  Jon and Nancy were forced to watch a floundering woman use a doggie paddle and back float method to complete a swim that took 6 times longer than it should have.

When I finally emerged victorious from the leech infested, waist deep lake I could barely walk.  There were three canoes with men paddling alongside of me, cheering me on.  It was the most cheerleaders I have ever had for one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

I hobbled over to the transition area to get ready for the bike.  Most people pull on shorts and get biking.  I plopped to the ground, ate a granola bar, and drank a ton of water.  There was no active recovery happening at this point, just relief that I was still alive.

The very hilly bike ride was surprisingly uneventful.  I made good time and even passed some people.  It felt good to not need any supervision to complete this leg of the race.

I entered the run tired, but the finish line was visible.  I was actually going to live through this adventure!  Much to the surprise of my athletic husband, I took off with a fresh burst of energy.  He was so impressed by my sudden energy that he decided to run alongside of me and interview me on video.  His focus was on me and not the street signs that were on the road.  Suddenly he ran head first into one and went down.  Blood was coming from his temple and the medical team was called.

I just kept running.  I mean, what was I supposed to do?  I had already lost 40 minutes in the swim, I didn’t want to lose more time in the run.  I decided that Jon would understand.

Sore, tired, and somewhat demoralized, but almost done!

He was fine and before I knew it, he was running alongside of me again.

Crossing the finish line was one of the most glorious feelings in the world.  I completed a huge feat and lived.  Sure, there was no one else crossing the finish line with me, but who cares?  I finished.

We enjoyed the rest of the hot summer day and watched the professional tri-athletes complete the course.  None of them used the doggie paddle / back float method to complete the swim.

That evening I used a strong soap to wash the ‘803’ off of my arms and calves.  Within about 30 seconds it became very obvious that I should have applied waterproof sunscreen that morning.  I was VERY burnt.  Did you know that sharpies are a great sunscreen? ‘803” was branded into both of my upper arms and calves.  Due to the way they wrote the numbers it actually looked more like ‘BOB’ than ‘803’.

Sunscreen really is a great invention....

The stiffness in my legs, especially my left leg was intense after the race.  The next morning I could barely walk without screaming in pain.  That wouldn’t have been enough to keep me from work, but I couldn’t even put my left heel on the ground and my calf was the size of a small basketball.

This didn’t seem like normal triathlon wear and tear, so off to the hospital I went.

I hobbled into the ER and waited.  Then I continued to wait 6 hours while random people with very random illnesses came in.  Some even came in with buckets of specimens to show the admitting clerk in an effort to gain quicker access to a doctor.  I just looked away and hoped they would go away.

There was concern that I had a blood clot, so I was sent for an ultrasound.  Have I mentioned that I am ticklish?  Screaming out in painful laughter while an ultrasound tech is shoving an ultrasound wand in your leg joint is apparently frowned upon.  I just couldn’t help it.  It was either laugh or cry, so I opted to laugh and laugh quite loudly.

Due to my big mouth I got crutches and a cast, a torn calf muscle, and a summer of strangers asking me, “Who’s Bob?”.

THIS is not size 8 pants!

Honesty really is the best policy.  Next time someone asks me something, I am going to just tell the truth even if it’s as ridiculous as ‘Size 8 pants”.

He claimed it is ‘fun’.

Most women already know this, but I am going to restate it for those that don’t.

Men are liars.  They lie to get women to do things they want.  In this case, it was yoga.

Upon entering the ‘fun’ yoga studio, I was greeted by bendy people wearing very tight clothing.  I felt like the chubby girl that tries out for cheerleading; awkward, out of place, and not sure what to do next.

While clutching my Pilates mat to my chest, I noticed the lithe yoga people were gathering yoga supplies of blocks, mats, blankets, pillows, cords, and bolsters from a cart on the wall. This was my first real yoga class – no one told me I needed to bring along a yoga checklist!

Luckily the instructor noticed my blank stare and got me all the necessary supplies.

Then the torture began.

While she had us bent up like some sort of contortionist and seated on the floor, she told us to rest our head lightly on the floor in front of us.  I was bending as far as womanly possible and my head was a good two feet from even coming close to the floor.  It was so absurd that I started to giggle.  I had a sense that laughing in the calm, unhurried space of yoga class would be unacceptable so I desperately tried to hold it in.  Unfortunately, the laughter came out in pressured bursts with large amounts of spit.

My uncontrollable giggling was not appreciated.  I quickly sobered up by thinking about sad things like never being able to have chocolate ever again.

She had us try to do things that are completely impossible while saying all manner of words that had more vowels than consonants and at least 12 syllables.  Due to my lack of fluency in the yoga language, I just watched to see what the rest of the class did and desperately tried to mimick their movements.

At the end of class we did some final stretches to ‘completely loosen up’ all our tight muscles.  She led us through a stretch that involved putting your left foot on your right knee, bending into a squat, leaning forward, and then merely doing a handstand to deepen the stretch.  Simple.  Right?

I couldn’t get past step two in the task.  There was no way a pretzel handstand was up next.  There are only so many times a woman should risk her life doing stupid things and this was not one of those times for me!

Yoga is for masochists. It’s an hour and a half of doing torturous things that are impossible for the average woman.

Apparently I fall into this group because I am toying with the idea of going back.

Perhaps it was the sense of satisfaction of not being dead at the end that hooked me.  Who knows?  All I know is that I better keep the giggles under control if I go back!

I did not leap out of bed at 5 am to go work out.

I slept in and was late.  No Green Monster smoothie for me.

The grouchiness settled in and nothing good could come out of today.

After all it’s Monday.

All of my Mondays tend to be horrible, no good, very bad days for no reason in particular.  I am apparently hardcoded to have a bad day on the first day of the week.

Until today.

Today is possibly the best Monday I’ve ever had.

I came in to work to see this at my desk.

A very large box of mystery...

Upon opening it, a very exciting box winked up at me.

Oh my gracious! A Tsubo boot box...can it be?!

My FREE boots from Sally McGraw’s contest had arrived!

Aren’t they gorgeous?!

Fabulous, fabulous boots! I can't believe that they are mine!I think my desk should look like this every day.

Thank you Tsubo and Sally McGraw, you have changed the landscape of my Mondays forever.

I guess all a woman needs is a free pair of boots to make Mondays fabulous.

Such a happy Monday....so happy I can't covertly take a good picture of myself while holding the boots at my desk. I didn't want the men to catch me taking photos of my shoes. They already think I am kinda out of my mind...this would just confirm their suspicions.

What would make your Monday fabulous ?

There are things I do which I find quirky, but may be more normal than I think.

• I put important things that I don’t want stolen in my underwear drawer.  For instance, I just tucked my passport away next to my bras because somehow this makes perfect sense to me. Perhaps I am giving thieves more credit than they deserve.  In my heart I think they will be respectful enough to not rummage through my unmentionables while robbing me blind; thus protecting the most important things in my house.Maybe I should just get a safety deposit box…
• I think the organization of a woman’s spice cupboard and how clean behind her fridge is tells you exactly what kind of woman she is. My spice cupboard is jammed full of things that aren’t even spices.  Heck, I have a smoke detector in there!

How can you find anything in there?

But I have this spice rack…so does it mean I can pull it together when absolutely necessary?

Perhaps my spice redemption?!

My fridge appears to be just fine from a quick glance.

What a happy little fridge; complete with pictures from the nieces on it.

But upon closer inspection, I’ve really let myself go!

Oh. My. Gosh. I can't believe no one told me how far gone I was!

This is why I will pull the fridge and stove to clean behind before people come over instead of dusting.  Then when they use this litmus test to see if I am a good woman I will pass with flying colors and the dusty pictures and lamps will go without notice.  Right?

• I put peanut butter on almost anything.  Bananas, any sort of bread product, apples, ice cream, Nutella, a spoon, a hunk of chocolate, vegetables, you name it! Some days I find myself standing in front of the open refrigerator with a jar of peanut butter in one hand searching for something worthy to pair it with. If nothing can be found I resort to eating it off a spoon.

• One of my life goals is to be able to masterfully bake a soufflé.  I don’t know why but it seems to be one of those things that separates the girls from the women.  And you never know when a soufflé emergency should arise…if called upon in such an emergency, I would want to be able to save the day.

Am I the only one?  Please tell me it isn’t so!

These people clog up the YMCA for the first few weeks of January and can be spotted without much work.

They are the people that:

• are wearing brand new, high end workout outfits that strain to contain the muffin tops;
• lug around a water bottle that matches their outfit;
• wander aimlessly and look VERY confused in the weight room while sipping water from their matchy-matchy water bottle; and
• insist on eating a power bar in the stretching area after meandering around the workout area for 45 minutes.

I think getting healthy and in shape is a very noble New Year’s resolution.

This year my resolution is to get rid of my Happy Arms.  What are ‘Happy Arms’ you ask?

Happy Arms – noun.  A jovial arm that cannot help but wave along with a person when they wave.  They always give a second, third, or fourth wave to people and are most happy when a woman wears a tank top.

I think just having a happy face is perfect.  My arms need to learn how to be happy and content on the inside.

In order to do this, I will face the horde of confused New Year’s resolutions at the YMCA and continue to discipline my ‘Happy Arms’ to keep their joy to themselves.

What are your New Year’s resolutions this year?

I like to think Christmas is a time of connecting with family, remembering why the holiday exists in the first place, purchasing and wrapping gifts, and some quiet moments of rest…but let’s have a moment of honesty.  It’s a good excuse to eat everything you know you shouldn’t.

Cookies, candies, chocolate covered anything and everything, cakes, nuts, caramel corn, and pies are lurking all over the place.

A woman who is trying to eat ‘Primally‘ has no hope of success over Christmas unless she has a will of iron.  I forgot to ask Santa for that this Christmas.

Every Christmas my family vows to eat healthy and go for a run together every morning.

I last for one to two days at the most.

Then the sleeping in and sloth-like habits take over from sugar-induced comas.

At this point, we all WANT to be good, but can’t…

DL – Hey guys.  Ummm….are we going for a run today?
Thinner Family Member – Well, we are supposed to…perhaps later?
DL – Yeah.  Sure.  LATER it is.

Then when later comes, I am conveniently busy with a piece of cheesecake and just can’t go for a run.  Shoot!

Every year I get the SAME THING for Christmas – tight pants.

My question is – who ISN’T vowing to go on a diet tomorrow?

PS – I just ate my last *wink* peanut butter and chocolate cookie…

They are horrible.

1. Skiing. Strapping boards to your feet, climbing thousands of feet up a steep part of a mountain, and then sliding down while trying not to die is a bad idea. Perhaps it’s because I am not sports inclined, but getting frostbite while contemplating your life with only two small poles to keep you from death is not my idea of fun.
2. White water kayaking. When you find yourself hanging upside down in the water while strapped into a small plastic boat heading straight into the rapids, you will understand. Can anyone say ‘air’?
3. Tole Painting. People look so serene and happy painting flowers, birds, and other kitschy things on wooden objects. In reality it’s a practice in learning how not to swear while doing a genteel lady’s craft. The art isn’t about painting at all, it’s actually appearing to be kind and gentle all while fighting the intense desire to harm someone.
4. Running marathons. The prestige associated with marathon runners is huge; everyone seems to revere a person that can run 26 miles straight. Don’t get me wrong, it’s completely impressive but who wants to spend 3 hours a day running around instead of drinking lattes and catching up with friends? All so that you can pay money to run in a race and get a t-shirt. Something isn’t adding up for me.
5. Martha Stewart recipes. Martha is a horrible, vindictive woman that is not on the everyday woman’s team. She creates fabulous magazines with beautiful pictures of food that seem attainable. What she fails to tell you is each recipe requires at least one ingredient that can’t be sourced unless you have black market connections and at the end of your 3 hour meticulous baking extravaganza you will only have 24 odd looking cookies to show for all your hard work.
6. Canning. Take at least one whole day of your life, cut vegetables or fruit for 6 hours, shove them into jars, and then cook them in a huge vat on your stove for hours on end. After 12 hours, your house is hotter than a sauna and you’ve used up all your energy for the week. The only reason to can anything is if you don’t have a grocery store within 200 kms of your house.
7. Pedicures. I love shoes and am a known shoe-aholic. I need those calluses to be able to wear all my shoes and don’t want to pay someone money to touch my feet for an hour and make all my shoes painful to wear. It’s just a bad idea.
8. Swimsuit shopping. Whenever a girl plans a trip to a tropical place, a new swimsuit is required. It seems like fun to go get a cute new suit for your trip until you are standing underneath florescent lights with all your cottage cheese, droopiness, and muffin top hanging out for the world to see. All of the sudden it is clear why some women opt for muumuus instead of bikinis.
9. Riding the teacups. Going to the fair is always fun and nostalgic, and at times the nostalgia can get you into trouble. You find yourself thinking that riding the childhood rides is a good idea. Halfway into the teacup ride while trying to hold down your chili dog and caramel apple you remember why the dizzying ride is only good for people under the age of 12.
10. Gardening. It seems romantic to till the earth, plant seeds, and watch the fruits of your labor grow. After fighting weeds, rocks, drought, and bugs for 8 weeks all you have to show for your labor of love are 8 tomatoes, 4 zucchinis, and 7 ears of sad looking corn. The lettuce comes in right away, but is out of season by the time your meager amount of tomatoes and zucchini are ready to be eaten. Since you have to go to the grocery store anyways for veggies for the lettuce, why not skip the stress of the garden and leave the veggie growing to the professionals?

If you are thinking about attempting any of these things, I suggest you don’t.

What is on your list of things that look fun but aren’t?

I disagree.

We are the most gullible people in the world.

Today the high temperature is -30 Celsius. Since when is a high a negative number? This would be similar to a high jumper bragging about his new record breaking jump, only to hear this explanation: “Well, I ran up to the pole and just fell over. It was awesome.”

Somehow when it came time to split up the continent, the Canadians decided the pretty fluffy white stuff up North was better than the beaches, palm trees, ocean, and temperate weather or were severely drugged. I hope beyond all hope they were severely drugged.

Maybe we are nice because we are just happy not to be dead after braving the elements to go to work or get food from the grocery store.

It tends to make me grumpy though.

Where's the beach? I'm COLD.

In -30 Celsius weather, the following things happen:

• Nose hairs freeze within 1 second of being outside. Make sure not to have flared nostrils when braving the elements, otherwise your nose is frozen into place.
• If you decide to not wear mittens, within two minutes you have to look to see if you still have a hand. It quickly becomes a frozen, lifeless lump of flesh that clangs together without any feeling. This is a bad thing.
• Air gets trapped in your lungs and you can barely breathe. In order to breathe, a scarf must be wrapped around your mouth and nose.
• Vehicles must be plugged in so they start. Then the environment is severely harmed by letting the car idle for about 20 minutes before driving anywhere.
• A massive brain freeze occurs from the cold air hitting your forehead. It’s the same exact feeling you get from eating ice cream too fast, but there is no rocky road in your tummy.
• 14 layers of clothing are required to leave the house and you to tell yourself that Oompa Loompa really is the fashion statement this winter.
• Glass wearers suffer more than non-glasses wearers. When a glasses wearer comes inside to escape the frigid temperatures, nothing can been seen for quite some time due to extreme fogging.

All fogged up. Can't see a darn thing!

Where else is being outside a matter of life and death? In hot countries you may become dehydrated, but you aren’t going to die within 20 minutes of being left out in the elements. During a Canadian cold snap this is a reality.

In this weather it is safe to assume the man on the side of the road with a broken car does in fact need help and is not pulling a Ted Bundy scam.

Perhaps that is why we are so nice, if we didn’t help each other out more of us would die.

At least I get to wear fun boots in the snow. This is the only positive of the whole weather fiasco in Canada; fun boots and accessories!

Cute pink boots help make the cold a teeny bit better...and I can still feel my toes!

How are you keeping warm today? If you’re cold and the temperature is above 0 Celsius, please consider yourself to be in paradise!

Brrr!!

This weekend I traveled up north to Athabasca in the -27 degree Celsius weather to visit a fabulous friend from the coast that was visiting another fabulous friend who happens to live in Athabasca.

While traveling on the one lane highway covered in snow and ice, I saw a rather odd sign after passing a VERY small town that consisted of a gas station, 5 trees, and a fork in the road.  It read:

CAUTION.  Wild Animal Crossing Next 40 KMS.

My question is how do you know when the wild animals are going to cross?  In the city, we have amber lights that flash when pedestrians want to cross the road.  It is very organized.  The drivers slow down and the people cross without mishap.

So you don't harm the people on foot while driving.

When a herd of wild horses burst out of the trees and run next to your car and onto the road, there are no amber lights flashing.  You have to deftly maneuver the car to a quick halt without sliding all over the road or maiming a horse that has decided to cross NOW and bring all his friends along to circle your car for awhile.  It takes all your womanly mental strength to not scream while slowing down as fast as the ice will allow and avoid the monstrous four legged creatures.

Amber lights anyone?

Once I realized I had stayed on the road and didn’t need to drag the carcass of a dead horse off the road, all I could think was: “Who’s horses are these and why are they outside in the cold weather without even mittens on their hooves?! ”

Don’t horses get cold?  Shouldn’t they be wearing more than their God-given coats when it’s -27 degrees Celsius outside?

Is this something that all non-city people know the answer to?  Someone, help me!

Dear young, skinny chick at the YMCA,

Please don’t flaunt your skinny body in your tight yoga pants while eating deep fried white carbs in the YMCA women’s locker room.  There are those of us that don’t have the metabolism of a cheetah and can’t lounge around and eat bad foods and stay skinny by merely making an appearance at the gym.

I just finished running several miles at an incline and only ate fruits, vegetables, and tuna fish yesterday.

Severely Annoyed,

Donloree

Who eats McDonalds at the gym anyways?  Anyone else see something wrong with this picture?