Queering the Triathlete (and Other Discomforts)

A Melancholy Zebra determined to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.


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8 Rookie Mistakes of A Marathon Swim

Back in Septembe of 2016, I began one morning with my feet in Lanai sand (or rather some dubious mud and staring at a stretch of weird brown water.) Several hours later, I crawled my dank and dripping weeds out onto Maui sand and then did a celebratory leap off a cliff.

I’ve done endurance events before. I’ve done Ironmans and Half-s, marathon and half-s, long bikes and even longer hikes to the tops of mountains and back down again, but nothing compared to that much time in the water. The water is unforgiving and will beat the crap out of you in ways you never expected, and somehow it will always be home.  Continue reading


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A Short Rant on Cheering Me Up

Just don’t. Is that okay with everybody?

I’ve been really sad for the past day. Rather, I’ve been apprehensive for nearly a month and extremely sad for just under 24 hours because now she’s gone. And I love her, and I miss her.

So, no I am really not okay right now. But some people have gotten it into their heads (okay, just the one) that I need cheering up most of all and ASAP.

No. 

What is so unsettling about other people being sad about normal shit? Frankly, I’d be more disturbed if I didn’t feel like this, if I didn’t go off on crying fits and sit heavily listening to some of our songs, reading our letters, remembering our conversations. This is supposed to be sad. I’m supposed to feel grief and fear and despair and other mishmops of clusterfucked feelings because she matters. We together mattered. And things that matter are worth mourning properly. 

So, no I don’t want to be dragged out to some random event to “have fun!” and “smile!” and “don’t think about!” No, I don’t want to listen to placations of: “there will be other people!” and “it’ll get better!” and “you’ll move on!” There are other people. It probably will get better. And maybe I shall move on. I know these things. And I don’t care because that’s not where I am right now, and I’m not ready to be there yet. I don’t want this grief surprising the fuck out of me weeks or months or years from now because I didn’t pay attention to it and didn’t it do its normal and painful thing.

I won’t dishonor the real heartache of this situation because it makes other people uncomfortable to see it. If you want to help, listen to me without giving advice or trying to downplay how I’m feeling and how draining it is. If that’s not in your bucket, go build sandcastles on a different beach. 

 

Okay. I’m done pissing into the digital void.


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My First DNF: I Had to Pee, Okay?

DNF. Did not finish.

Ew.

At the end of the day, the best explanation remains that I came prepared to race with my head, not my heart. So when things went to shit in a leaky bucket, my head was smart enough to call it a day, and my heart wasn’t there to override it with impassioned stubbornness.

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A Day in the Life

A satirical (or not) description of a typical day.

This isn’t a particularly good or bad day but something I’d expect on an uneventful and average day for my spoonie/zebra/triathlete/*cough* butt.

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Vertebral Subluxation Just for Fun

*adopts Henry Higgins voice* Damn damn damn damn damn damn damn.

Somehow–and lord only knows how exactly–I subluxated a couple of my cervical vertebrae and, in doing so, pinched a nerve. Or possibly two, as both of my arms over the course of an hour went from: “Huh, I think my fingers fell asleep. Lazy fingers” to: “OH MY GOD I can’t move my arms!!” For example, it quite literally took me five minutes to get my key in the door lock because I couldn’t control my arms enough to lift the key and hold it still. Terrifying.

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Race Report: According to “The Committee”

It has taken me a few days to get around to blogging a race report- I didn’t want to write the knee-jerk (and effectively jerk my knee into something’s metaphorical testicles) or write something put into an overly-positive perspective. And of course, I cannot simply write a race report! Blasphemy! What about the deeper meaning?!

Ergo, thus proceedeth a highfalutin and abridged recapitulation of Honu 70.3  Continue reading