Post-PartIM Depression

As you can very well see (and as some of you have pointed out), my race report from Ironman Arizona is overdue. Unfortunately, one of my many faults is the length of time it takes me to write a race report. The longer the race, the more time it takes.

Trust me, I'm working on it. Hopefully it'll be worth the wait.

Suffice to say, I no longer have to walk with crutches and I think the antibiotics are working.

In the meantime, I'm out in Tuscaloosa, Alabama right now at the Triathlon Olympic Trials and I have to admit it's pretty darn awe-inspiring. You know that lump in the throat and the watering in the eyes that we get watching the Ironman Championships every year? Well, same thing happened to me at the Olympic Trials.

At first I was confused. I thought maybe somebody through tear gas into the crowd. But that didn't make sense so I quickly ruled out that theory and figured I must be choking on a bit of food. But I soon realized I wasn't eating anything.

Could this possibly be tears, I thought to myself in the most manly way possible.

Sure I may cry watching the finish of an Ironman race.... but watching an Olympic distance? I don't think so.

But, lo and behold, I couldn't help but wallow in heart-wrenching awe while I watched the rays of joy emanate like missiles from Julie (Swail) Ertel as she held the finishers tape high above her head reveling in her confirmed spot on the US Olympic Team while at her feet, Sarah Groff, the third place finisher, lay fallen on the ground, motionless, exhausted, defeated.

Every Greek tragedy (and quite a few Italian ones) played itself out in the Olympic Trials.


OK, I can't talk much longer. I've got a race report to write.