Mud and water flew up my nose and splattered my face for 3 hours on this morning’s ride, and it  goes without saying there was flying snot and rockets of spit. And in that moment it occurred to me how unglamorous I’ve allowed myself to become since I started training. I now feel no shame in about being covered from head to toe in mud, grit and sweat, shooting snot from my nostrils, spitting all over the pavement in front of complete strangers, heaving out my guts after a hard workout, going out in public with permanently matted, frizzed hair, walking like a broken old woman, and leaving behind a trail of intoxicating chlorine scent. I sound more like a tobacco chewing, tractor driving hillbilly than an endurance athlete. My mother would be so disappointed. But what happened after the ride this morning, as I was stepping into my hot, steamy shower really took my level of unglamorous up a couple notches.
The warm water felt awesome, and it was especially satisfying watching the mud wash off my sore, tired body and circle down the drain. But as I turned around and the hot water splashed against my backside, I shrieked and nearly jumped straight through the shower curtain. I felt a harsh sting shoot through me, and while huffing and puffing through the burning pain, I twisted myself around to discover I had experienced my very first saddle sore. The soaking wet padding in my bike shorts chaffed my skin so badly that on either side of my buttocks I had two large engraved pink curved raw lines running down towards my thighs. Gross.  Along with all my rocketing and ejecting of bodily fluids, I now have what looks like diaper rash. The best part, or maybe the worst part of it all is the phone call with my mother this evening, when she offered up her motherly advice of plastering myself with diaper rash ointment and taping sanitary napkins to my butt. Seriously? “It’s worth a go,” she said. Oh man, I think I’d rather endure the suffering, even it it means that I’m not going to be able to sit straight for a week. I can just picture myself walking around the office on Monday like an old woman and then awkwardly propping myself on my hip while I sit at my desk. My co workers will wonder if I contracted something at a party over the weekend; nope just self induced pain from 10 hours of running and biking. It’s crazy what I do for fun.
Despite all the suffering and grossness though, I feel awesome, I just might not look good doing it. Doesn’t matter, I’ll take all the flaws triathlon bestows upon me and just keep going, ass sores and all. It’s just a part of the journey. And not to worry, this is one post that won’t include photos.