A Wake Up Call

Everybody is a genius, in their own way. Everyone has their own talents, including me. It's true! For those of you who know me, I know this is a difficult pill to swallow and you are already starting to call BS. Now, before you go bashing me in the comments section of this post, allow me to 'splain. (Note: Feel free to bash me in the comments section, I'm only asking that you hear me out before said bashing. /Note)

I used to have this really great talent of being able to run down hills faster than the average bloke. Based on several sweat-in-my-eyes filled observations (read: probably not that accurate), I might have lost this skill. In its place, I have gained something entirely less useful. I now have the ability to put forth yet another season of disappointing showings at triathlon.

This season brought forth a smattering of unspectacular results. I had no PRs in any of my races. I have often sat back and reflected upon the reasons why, with little to no success. My swim times were about average for me, which is indicative to nothing since I don't train my swimming all that much. I set no bests in cycling, of which I was surprised since I had done an extensive training.  My run times weren't horribly bad but they didn't cast a shadow over anything remotely close to being called good.

During my mental brainstorming, I came up with these ideas, none of which actually explain my lack of results:

1. I'm less buoyant than I used to be
2. My bike has a chronic brake-rubbing problem 
3. I have an ankle issue
4. I don't do well in the heat
5. I'm a pansy

A couple of weeks after my last race, which yielded another disappointing finish that culminated a third disappointing season in a row, I received the answer I was hoping to find. It just wasn't the answer I wanted to have.

Warning: The section below contains images of a disturbing nature. Viewer discretion is highly advised. Smart readers will close their browser now. The Banter is not responsible for any blindness, vomiting, or vision-induced trauma that can, and likely will, result from continuing to gaze onward. I've hit the return button several times just to ensure that you had an adequate opportunity to bail out...

Click to enlarge, if you dare.

What you see here is The Boy getting ready for his first 70.3 distance race, which happened in a foreign country. The start of the race is roughly 10 minutes out. The Banter, unfortunately, had forgotten his heart rate monitor chest strap. The Boy's then-girlfriend (Note 2: She wouldn't be his girlfriend for very much longer. /Note 2) was most excellent and retrieved the aforementioned chest strap and had recently handed it off to the Banter, who was preparing to don this technology. That explains the reason your eyes are now stained with the vision of his semi-toplessness. They say that the camera adds 10 pounds and I shudder to think of how many cameras are on me at this time.

There are a few inexplicable, umm, okay I'm not really sure what's going on here. Honestly, no one involved in this picture remembers any other details about it. The Boy's soon to be not his girlfriend doesn't remember taking the picture. The Boy doesn't remember being asked to pose. The Banter is clueless about almost everything that happened on the day, so he's of no help. I can only imagine that the Boy's girl-thingy said, "Strike a pose!", or something on that ilk. I was attempting to do Blue Steel but accidentally achieved Ferrari with a bit of a smirk. The picture arose when the next inexplicable thing happened, someone actually went through their pictures stored on their digital technology. Then they sent it to me as a joke.

But, instead of it being a joke, it was a huge smack in the reality face. The answers to most of my questions all funneled into the very large point between my nipples and my waistband. There's the reason for my lack of success these past few seasons- the gooter (which is probably spelled 'guter'). I'm definitely more buoyant. The chronic brake rubbing is really additional downward gravitational force. The ankle issue is likely extra compaction on the landing. The extra blubber is an insulator in the heat. At least I got the pansy part right.

It turns out that my old skill of running down hills faster than the average bloke has been superseded by my ability to extra calorate beyond my means. This fact will likely dominate the next few months of my training and eating life.

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As an aside, the Boy did quite well in his first 70.3. Not only did he collect his finishers medal and hat to prove his awesomeness, he collected something else.

The Girl actually said yes. The Boy's previous girlfriend had magically transformed into the fiancée. Any woman that can look at a triathlete at the end of a near-6 hour effort, including the olfactory onslaught, and still think that marriage is a good idea is a keeper. The Boy had better do right by that amazing specimen.

In post proposal interviews, she admitted that she couldn't see anything because her eyes were still hazy from some blacked-out reason that occurred just before the start of the swim. But, deep in her heart, she knew that the blacked-out reason was disturbing enough to encourage her to lock in the Boy, lest she be stuck with something as haunting as the Banter. He still hasn't thanked me for that.