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At least I didn't shave my legs

Monday May 31st 2004

So triathletes are often known for having some bizarre habits. We tend to wake up earlier than most reasonable people would ever consider an appropriate time of consciousness. We inspect nutrition labels not to determine how few grams of fat are in a serving, but rather how many calories we can pack into each and every bite. And we tend to travel more miles by bike and foot than most people would consider driving for pleasure.

And some of us shave our legs.

Not me though. I've already done it before (twice: once for swimming and another time because it was college and the halloween costume just wouldn't have been complete without it--and that's all I'm saying). Instead, I'll just shave my face. . . It's equally dramatic if you know me, or at least have known me for the past 10 years of my life. With the exception of a 3-month window about 3 years ago, that's how long I've had a beard. And I love it. My dad has a beard. My step-dad too. In fact. . . I think I had a beard before my dad did. Shaving is for metrosexuals, and while they seem to have the nicest cars and the fattest paychecks, I just don't think I'll ever be let into their club, no matter how smooth and shiny my chinny-chin-chin is.

But this is for the Ironman. It's for a daily reminder that in less than 2 months I will embark on a journey that few mortals on this earth have ventured. It freaks the hell out of me, and has me jumping out of my skin in excitement, and those emotions whip me back and forth like a windshield wiper on "it's raining cats and dogs out here."

Special thanks to Amanda for taking pics, cheering me on, loosening me up with a couple of margaritas, providing the razor, and in general making every taste of life that much sweeter. . .

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