excuses, excuses

I'll tell you a secret: Ironman is an excellent excuse for behaving like a horrible, socially inept human being who smells funny and dresses a lot like a sorority girl doing the walk of shame.

This giant pile of dirty dishes on my desk? I'm not a slob; I'm doing an Ironman! All those calls I let go to voicemail? I'm not really ignoring you; I'm just doing an Ironman! This mountain of dirty laundry and the mold growing on the toilet and the cat puke stains on the living room floor? Can't keep up with the housework, too much Ironman! This ratty college sweatshirt and pajama bottoms in public? All Ironman!

Man, I should've signed up for this shit ages ago. This is a way better excuse than the microchip in Amanda Bynes' brain.

All joking aside, Ironman is also the best way to hide from the world when you've got a lot on your mind and need solo time to sort through it all. It's a lot easier to say, "I'm in the final weeks of Ironman training and there is massive volume" (seriously, never pass up the chance to use the phrase "massive volume") than it is to say, "I'm really, really sad, and I can't even look at you right now without crying, so please leave me alone." 

This grief thing. The therapists aren't lying when they tell you it comes back like a tidal wave about 6-8 months later.

So I am thankful for the massive volume. (See how I did that? Never pass it up, I tell you!) I am thankful for Training Peaks and how my day's tasks are outlined in simple language and I can just do them. I'm thankful Ironman is a thing I can understand, a thing with a finish line, which is so much less daunting than this terrible grief tunnel that seems to stretch on endlessly with no indication of what's on the other side.

And so I went to the pool this morning for the fourth time this week. 

I guess Halloween is a thing here.

And then I drank green smoothies with the kitten.

Trying to find some way to blame that on Ironman, but really, I'm just a cat lady.