Sexy in Her Sneakers

For the last two months, I have been busy dating several men – 48 to be exact.  This may seem above and beyond the call of duty for a single woman with an already hectic schedule, but I’m an overachiever and Costco was having a sale.  We go for swims at Washington & Lee’s Aquatic Center, bike in loops at Hains Point, and run around the DC monuments.  I didn’t meet them on Match, E-Harmony, or Craigslist’s Casual Encounters.  I met them in the DC Triathlon Club’s Newbie Triathlete Program. 

I bought a couple of cute one piece swimsuits to match my latex swim cap and goggles for my pool dates.  My high coverage Speedo brings all of the boys to the yard.  And the tiger print swim cap...grrrrr.  Now, if only Jimmy Choo made flippers, I would be downright bootylicious.

Though even I can have my bitchy moments, doggie-paddling is not the most efficient way to swim in open water.  In addition to my regular dates with the boys, I decided to take private swim lessons to improve my freestyle form.  A lot like my favorite running bra, my coach is very supportive.  In between smiles and claps, she threatens to throw kickboards at me when I start swimming in a vertical position again.  Back and forth is swimming; up and down is drowning.   

Of the new men in my life, Dennis may be my favorite.  He is the handsome store manager at my local bike shop.  He wooed me with a new pair of cycling shoes and pedals.  Yes, pedals with a “d” not a “t.”  (I don't want a Trinket.  Bring a girl a Diamond!)  On my first date with Dennis, I left with the equivalent of a BMW amongst bikes and a couple of thousand dollars poorer.  Now every time I see Dennis, I leave with a new saddle bag or tire repair kit, but only a hundred dollars poorer.  As our relationship grows, our love becomes more economical.  I really hope he’s not in it just for the money.

I am slowly building my cycling endurance from 16 miles to 40 miles in a training session.  My largest frustration is that cars need to learn to share the road with us cyclists.  The parked ones hurt when I’m flying down a hill out of control.  The cars in motion are much better at avoiding me.  I haven’t mastered exiting out of Dennis’ clipless pedals at sudden stops yet.  Flipping off as a human projectile is another example where vertical is bad.

Of the three sports, running is the easiest to me.  We have a history.  Yesterday, I ditched out on my scheduled cycling date with the boys at Hains Point to go back to an old love, a Half Marathon race.  It was worth it!  After six years of running, I finally placed third in an age-group category.  Unfortunately, the race officials are a surly bunch.  They would not let me take a stand on the podium with the eighty-year olds because I am only 35.  What an unfair technicality.  The rulebook didn’t say which age-group I had to belong to.

I expect it to be an 18-month courtship before I get to the man of my dreams.  But, finish an Ironman and brag for the rest of your life.