Tri—or die trying

I’ve signed up for another triathlon. I’m 10 years older and 15 pounds heavier since my last race, so I’m not expecting to medal (as if!). I’m sure that at some point I’ll dog paddle, walk next to my bike, and that I’ll seriously consider crawling on all fours.

But that’s OK.

Two weeks into my training, I’m surprised to discover I don’t really care about the race. What I care about is that I have a goal—and a renewed sense of purpose when I head out for a jog. What I care about is that I’m dragging my bike out of the basement and heading into the wind.

I have my first meeting with my new training partner this Thursday (a fabulously cool woman from work). And for once, I’m eager to take my first swim.

Stay tuned. This sunny optimism can’t last!

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