So I looked up my bib number today.
I'm in denial that this race is less than five weeks away. I'm also in denial that I have a 70.3 this weekend. (Have you noticed that I have completely and totally failed to mention that until just now? I'm telling you: Denial.)
And while we're at it: I'm not really in the 35-39 age group. That must be a typo. I also didn't wake up this morning with a sore throat. And the Loch Ness monster is real.
On another note, I went to the chiropractor today. (I usually go once a month, but as Ironman gets closer -- which of course, is not really happening because it's all just pretend -- I start going every other week.) Our conversation went like this:
Chiropractor: How's your body feeling?
Me: I crashed my bike Sunday.
Chiropractor: Didn't you crash last time you were here?
Me: Did I? Oh wait. Wait. Yes, I did!
Chiropractor: Stop crashing.
I am healing, though. And the road rash is really not that bad -- amazing what a little Neosporin and arnica can do. Although I will admit that it is totally gross when you pull cat hair out of your wounds.
Also, I may or may not have been sitting on the toilet when I took the above photo.
Recently, I was on the bus behind this:
Actually, at first, it was next to me and it didn't smell great so I didn't look at it because I've learned the hard way that sometimes it's really best not to engage, so I scrunched closer to the window, but then the seat in front of us opened up, and so it moved since apparently it didn't want to sit next to me either, and that's when I saw the incredible hair.
I was sort of hoping a litter of kittens would pop out and fall into my lap and it would be like this story about the two guys in Alabama who were fishing and randomly had two kittens swim up to their boat.