confessions of a triathlete
by mama d @ catching the paper boy
On the way to a swim yesterday morning, a warning light went on in my new car. Upon inspection, I learned that there was something seriously, as in "contact your Toyota dealer immediately" seriously, wrong with my tire pressure. Dang! Looks like I'll have to cut my swim short.
After the swim (:30, 1500y), I put the only clothes I had on over my sopping wet swimsuit: My IronTeam parka, retro 2002. That's it: Me, my wet suit, a skanky pair of shower flip flops, and that blessed parka. I looked like a flasher.
Off I went to the Toyota dealership where I proceeded to beg someone, anyone, to help me. There were looks, there were stares, there were outright gawks. What? Never seen a lady in a fuzzy, black trenchcoat before?
Ultimately, the problem was solved by adding 2# of air to one tire. And for that I cut my swim short.
After the swim (:30, 1500y), I put the only clothes I had on over my sopping wet swimsuit: My IronTeam parka, retro 2002. That's it: Me, my wet suit, a skanky pair of shower flip flops, and that blessed parka. I looked like a flasher.
Off I went to the Toyota dealership where I proceeded to beg someone, anyone, to help me. There were looks, there were stares, there were outright gawks. What? Never seen a lady in a fuzzy, black trenchcoat before?
Ultimately, the problem was solved by adding 2# of air to one tire. And for that I cut my swim short.