Monday, June 22, 2015

Can't Touch This

Been noticing in the last 10 days how my body is showing the effects of training. I'm not talking muscle definition and buttock toning, I'm talking skin abrasions, hematomas, and, well, I'll spare you the most tender details, but let's just say I'm not making any waxing appointments anytime soon.

I'm sure some of my friends are cringing to read this--those of you who think of me when you meet a single guy who seems straight, smart, sane, and solvent. This is dangerous territory for a single woman, a frank discussion of the gross imperfections of the body under stress. But I figure I've got nothing to lose, banking on the thin hope that any eligible bachelors out there find my wit and candor appealing enough to overlook the ingrown -- oh, never mind. Plus, I'm too tired to give a shit, I have to get up at 4:00 am to do hill repeats before swimming tomorrow, and anyway, when the hell would a single man ever even see my ingrown -- right, never mind.

I have a bruise the size and shape of a chain ring stain on my right calf, a cut where the big gear gouged me, where I've been tattooed permanently with bicycle grease. I swear I only shave my legs these days to get all the grease off. There are shocking moments when my slovenly athleticism is thrown into sharp focus: I had a meeting with fancy ladies yesterday, and I truly felt like the Fonz. 

A toenail is on its way out. Chafing smudges in awkward places look like the burns I got from wrestling on the mustard shag carpet in the basement rec room with my little brother. Sad little sweat pimples where that tech fabric doesn't breathe as advertised. Random bruises, cuts galore, frightening rashes. Strange aches and spasms in the most...specific places.

Oh yeah, it's sexy, this sport. Then there's the lifestyle. It's 8:10 right now and I'm worried about wrapping up this post because I'm already late for bed. And I am well aware of how boring it is, how one-dimensional. I dated a man right after the race last year, and in the initial getting-to-know-yous, he was all like, Okay, so you do triathlons, and you sell real, what else? And I was like, Um, yeah, sorry, but that's all I can offer you right now. There's actually nothing else. I know. I know. I wouldn't date me either. He's getting married in September.

But hell. I am an Ironman. My other faces will be back in August, I swear. Most of my skin should be back by then too.

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