Saturday, June 16, 2012

90 Minutes of Hell

Am I crazy? Well that depends on who you ask.

Do I sometimes attempt screwball adventures just for the sake of living out my own childhood fantasies? Only on Thursdays.

Have I recently checked another item off of my “Things I need to do before I’m 30” bucket list? You bet your left ovary I have.

This morning at the blasphemous hour of 4:40 am, some possessed demon rolled out of my Queen-sized bed, got in my car, drove all the way out to Snow Canyon High School and decided that today, he was going to complete a triathlon.

Wait, let me back up. Two months ago, the Rhinestone Cowboy came to work and challenged the masculinity of the guys in my office by daring us all to sign up for the Utah Summer Games sprint triathlon. Luring us in by flaunting all of the potential perks that we would be entitled to. Perks like a disciplined attitude for consistent workouts, and a well-conditioned physique that would make Usher jealous. Nowhere in the contract did it say anything about members of the opposite sex being enticed by our greatness.

Still waiting on that.

For full effect, download “Crazy Train” by Ozzy Osbourne, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Fast forward back to early this morning just as the sun was making its way over the butt crack of the mountains surrounding Gunlock reservoir, and myself, the Rhinestone Cowboy, and the Glee President were treading water waiting for the horn to sound, dispatching us to the 750-meter swim in choppy water right around the high-50’s.

Again, I do realize that I am crazy.

See, in a triathlon, the benchmark reassurance that makes things a bit easier is recognizing that everyone else out there in the water with you is just as crazy as you are. They too, woke up when the rooster was still hitting the snooze button so that they could do a few warm-up stretches. They in turn, are hoping for that physical and emotional gratification that will overwhelm them when their last step is taken over the finish line.

Once the horn sounds, it’s every man for himself. And that’s exactly the way it was. There were elbows flying, people kicking each other, open-handed slaps to the back of people’s heads on the down stroke. It’s complete pandemonium for the first 100 meters. An aquatic brouhaha. A Rage Against the Machine concert under water. And so we swam. For 750 meters. Just under half a mile. With canoes and kayaks making sure that no one was too far off path, we kept going. But that’s just the first stage.

I know. I’m crazy.

The second part was the 15-mile bike ride from Gunlock reservoir to Snow Canyon High School. Not bad considering a great bulk of it was downhill. I was feeling pretty confident in myself until a 14-year old passed me by about halfway.

Megatron Adolescent: “Don’t get discouraged sir, it’s my 10th triathlon.”

Oh, it’s not a big deal. I actually was expecting to be morally embarrassed by someone who legitimately has a Justin Bieber playlist on his iPod. But then again, come to think about it, I think the guys in my office have one of those too. The Biebster does motivate the Rhinestone Cowboy to push himself a little bit harder.

Sadly, my deranged brain did just refer to him as the Biebster.

One would think after an effort like that we could all kick back in a hot tub and have a Kneaders French Toast buffet personally delivered to us. One would think. Instead, we all decided to strap a pair of shoes onto our ever-cramping legs made of Raspberry Jell-O and run a 5K. Please, hold back your derogatory text messages about the fruitcake dome sitting on the top of my neck that thinks choices like this are for the better.

They’re not.

3.2 miles later, everyone stumbled in at their own pace. Some at ridiculously fast Olympic speeds, others at a brisk walk from start to finish. No matter how fast you went, you were cheered on by everyone in the stadium, including the finished participants, and were overloaded with medals, Gatorade showers, and Bomb Pops, meanwhile certain teams got together at midfield, held hands and sang Kum-Ba-Yah. Again, going back to what I mentioned earlier, and what I will add to the rules of Brocktrine, everyone is crazy who does a triathlon.

I will admit it was personally gratifying. It’s not something that I’m going to brag about to the rest of the conceited Facebook world by posting in a status or tweet though. Come on you know me, I use blogposts for that kind of gratification. Honestly though, I did feel like we accomplished something great. And as the Mrs. Glee President focused her camera on the three of us, I will say that this has been some of the best male bonding I’ve had in a long time. And something I’m sure all of us will cherish, and continue to build upon in years to come.

Whether or not my legs will feel the same way tomorrow about all of this? Now that’s a whole different story.

What do you think?


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