So there I was in Louisville, Kentucky surrounded by half naked tri-athletes (of all places-because nothing screams fit, physical prowess like Kentucky?). Not just any triathletes...the hard bodied, etched and beautiful types about to do the mother of all Triathalons- Ironman 140 + miles of complete ridiculousness (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike ride, 26.2 mile run). Now I fully understand that this might be the time where some one with my Pillsbury dough boy Buddha belly might feel a bit-lacking in the physique category but no, I did not feel lacking at all. I know full well I don't have the guts to do even a third of that race. Yes, I did a marathon once, but that was apparently some fluke of nature, and very unlikely to be a repeat event. Knowing I don't have the mental or physical fortitude to ever even DESIRE to do something so atrocious, I don't hold myself to the physical standards that these obviously amazing athletes, albeit slightly crazy, hold themselves to in order to actually live through such hell, I mean event. The gear alone costs more than my college tuition (which isn't really saying much since I went to a state school in Indiana..but still!) It was an impressive sight no matter how you look at it, or drool as I might have been doing once or twenty-nine times.
Tara, my good good friend who used to get plastered on Long Island Iced Teas with me in Boston, over a decade ago, who used to enjoy the simple life of sleeping in and being hung over while watching Sex in the City on VHS...who has spent most of the last 10 years bettering herself so that at 40 years old she could actually compete and finish her Ironman event in under 14 hours, had every ounce of my support. I am so proud of her. And I wasn't even a teeny bit jealous that she has a metabolic age of a 17 year old and I have a metabolic age of a 50 year old. Or that at 40 she has more energy after 140 miles of hell than I do after a long, deep 12 hour sleep. I didn't silently die inside a little bit when I got back home and tried to "jog" only to find out my metabolism isn't the only thing that's 50 years old..so are my knees, my lungs and apparently the arch of my feet..maybe not 50..more like 62.5 (you know..excited to be able to retire early). She is truly an inspiration and if it weren't for the fact that she totally rocks, I would totally hate her.
So what I learned the most during that time in Louisville is that I am not healthy. (Mind you I was there with a lumbar sprain after some crazy old coot in the hospital tried to do a swan dive out of bed and my attempt to help another nurse "assist" her to the top of the bed where normal, non-crazy patients lay was an exercise in how to have one's ass broken. Yes..not just my lumbar got sprained..there was gluteus involved..she literally made me pull my ass out). So I was already three limps towards getting a handicap sticker and feeling oh so poised, graceful and elegant to begin with and the very fact that I did not feel like an inferior troll next to all these admirable athletic types is completely miraculous. I like to think it was my own mental Ironman and I succeeded beautifully.
Needless to say I have been home and vowed on my unborn children that I am going to get healthy. (I know..I've said this 99.8 million times. BUT THIS TIME I'M SERIOUS!)
I've decided carbs are the enemy and right after I finish this Dr. Pepper I'm never having another soda again. EVER. (unless of course someone happens to buy me a Captain and Coke not realizing I'm no longer drinking my signature drink because I've given up soda.. I will have to drink it because I wouldn't want to make them feel bad.) (But that will be it.) (Seriously). Stop smirking.
To prove my dedication to my health I have chosen to volunteer at the Ironman World Championships here in Las Vegas next weekend. In the medical tent. To help injured athletes and not at all to convince myself that all that activity is dangerous and harmful to the body.
Dear 50 Year Old Metabolism,
I know we've had some good times, mostly involving late nights, adult beverages, and something akin to dancing and carrying on. I truly cherish those memories (see Facebook Album "days gone by"). I want you to know that my attempt to destroy you and eliminate you from my body is not to be taken personally. It's not you, it's me. I feel it's time I go in a different direction. I hope you can understand that I just need time to myself. I really wish the best for you.
Your beloved host,
Lard Ass Albertson
