Player two has entered the game

Before I move on to my actual race report, I should tell you about someone else. I wasn’t sure whether I should share this, but it significantly affected my race. I didn’t know how I should frame it, so I’m going to take my time, watch my language, reread, and mostly try to withhold judgment.

 

A person who runs a lot and was training for—and dropped out of—a half marathon last year decided on a whim to register for the sprint triathlon with me, thinking it would be a fun challenge like the 5k Color Run she’d be doing the day before the triathlon.

 

A week and a half before the race, she asked about transporting her rented bicycle, and I offered her the loan of my trunk-mount bike rack for the race since the event was close enough to my house to walk.

 

Four days before the race, she started asking me questions about how it would work and if there were changing rooms. I explained: No, there are no changing rooms; yes, you have to complete the whole event in wet clothes; many people wear triathlon suits, but they are expensive; here, for example, I’m going to swim in my sports bra and compression shorts and then put on padded bike shorts, technical fabric t-shirt, and tennis shoes for the bike and run; well, *I* need padded shorts because *I’m* new and still get bruised from riding; yes, you really should get goggles; well, since it’s an indoor pool, we’ll jump in one at a time and swim a snake route, up one lane and back, under the rope, up the next lane and back, and so on; no, this one is 300 meters, it said on the website; hey, there are a whole lot of articles online for novice triathletes that you could check out; here is a link to the swimming technique YouTube videos that have helped me; here is a link to my 30-item race-day prep list on Google Drive; well, you know how to ride a bike, right? so I’m sure you’ll do just fine; make sure you get some practice on your bicycle rental the day before the race, but don’t go very long because you don’t want to be sore for the race; no, they won’t close down streets for us, but it’s a Sunday morning so there won’t be much traffic, and there will be police officers at most major intersections; yeah, I scouted the run trail and it’s really nice with only one hill; and no, I haven’t had a chance yet to check out the bike trail, but it’s supposed to be on some nice country and farm roads with not many hills.

 

The race organizer was hosting dozens of clinics that week at several locations for new athletes to ask questions and learn more about the race. She did not attend any. I went to the one in my town on Saturday morning the day before the race and am SO glad I did.

 

There I learned how to rack and re-rack my bike and that there are time penalties for doing it wrongly, where the transition area’s ins and outs were, where the mount/dismount line was, to stay left on the road to avoid blocking, how to navigate the pool, the drafting rules (in a word: don’t), how many other participants would be there (200-300), not to wear earphones at all, and that no one would be allowed to retrieve their things from the transition area after finishing the race until the last bicycle was in, among a dozen other pieces of information. I felt a bad at having to text notes to her non-stop during the presentation because that’s rude to the speaker and I could not otherwise have remembered everything to relay to her. I even sent pictures of the example racked bike.

 

On the day of the race, she arrived at my place five minutes early and texted “I have a situation.” I was still gathering my things but walked out to see what was up. She’d forgotten her race bag at home 45 minutes away with her bib numbers, hair bands, bandanna, hat, water, sunblock, towel, and fuel. I told her to go ahead to the event to see if she could get a duplicate bib number, and I’d grab extra gear for her.

 

I rushed to gather my last few things and then fill water bottles and collect the other things for her and stuff them in my backpack and left several minutes later than I had planned for. I’d planned to walk to the event but instead had to ride in the dark for the first time and without yet having acquired appropriate bike lights (I know), but I run that short path all the time and know it well enough. I rolled up to the event and then panicked that I might get in trouble for a safety violation of riding my bike up to the transition area when I couldn’t see the dismount line, stopped quickly, caught my foot in the toe cage, and promptly fell on the ground from a complete stop. Scary.

 

A dozen or more people saw me and called out to ask if I was okay. “I’m good!” My hands stung from hitting the pavement but hadn’t been scraped. My knee was scraped but not bleeding. I knew it would stiffen up overnight, and I’d hate life tomorrow but would get through today. I was twice as stressed as I ought to have been going into my first outdoor tri, but I told myself that getting the fall out of the way early in the day could be a good thing for my psyche since I’d been scared and anxious and fretting about falling in the days before because I’m not as comfortable on the bike as I’d like to be and suffer anyway from anxiety and several people in my family have had severe road cycling injuries and my best friend was hit from behind by a car pretty badly and the driver didn’t even stop and I am SO scared of pain if nothing else in the world—

 

I picked myself up and found my rack and began unpacking my bag. I was concerned that I hadn’t yet seen the friend who drove here ahead of me, so I paused frequently to check my phone. She called a few minutes later to ask where I was since she’d just arrived at the transition area. I walked over to meet her and found that she was able to get the bib numbers taken care of but wasn’t ready and wasn’t coming in yet, was getting help from a volunteer in adjusting her bike seat to the correct height and needed to go ride around the parking lot for a few minutes to get some practice in because apparently she hadn’t done so the day before. After a few minutes, I was able to disengage and return to setting up my things. I saw her later walk over to her assigned rack and I showed her how to rack her bike and where to put her things. I gave her the extra sunblock and water bottles, learned then that she also needed a towel and fuel, of which I had fortunately thought to pack and purchase extra and offer to her. She mentioned that she’d not eaten breakfast.

I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my chest, high near my shoulder that spread through the entire muscle under my breast. I wondered if I’d slept badly and what the hell was going on with my body. I figured that if it were a heart attack, I probably wouldn’t feel up to starting the race, and that wasn’t the case. The pain restricted my stretches and hurt like a real motherfucker. I’d brought a tennis ball to work on a knot in my back and applied it to my pec, trying to loosen the weirdly painful cramped muscle. I ended up putting more bruises on the muscle but loosening it up enough to be able to swim.

 

We finished setting up and went inside the natatorium. She asked about my swim cap and whether it was required. No, I told her, it was only a matter of personal preference. No, I don’t use earplugs either, and so she decided not to try them out for the first time on this swim. I learned that she’d not done any swimming for this event. She knew how to swim, but she’d not gone anywhere to do any swim training and didn’t believe me that it couldn’t possibly/probably wouldn’t take more than 10 minutes for us really slow swimmers to swim 300 meters.

Stay tuned! The next post will be my race report about the race itself.

 

 

Missed Connections: The Evangelical Incident

To the asshole who littered my car, and only my car, with evangelical garbage while I swam laps at the senior pool this morning, here's something just for you.

I also put your garbage in the recycle bin for you.

Since no one else's car in the lot was profaned thusly, I can only assume that you took issue with my Bisexual Pride flag, "I Stand with Planned Parenthood," and "At Gods We Chuckle" bumper decals, deliberately ignoring the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society decal and EIGHT other race stickers from among the 30+ events I participated in last year alone, benefiting SCORES of local and global charities.

While you kill trees, waste natural resources, and litter, I raised over $5,000 for local, national, and global charities in 2014 and gathered over 100 pounds of food and 250 pounds of clothing donations for my local food bank and domestic violence shelter.

FUCK YOU, YOU JUDGMENTAL PIECE OF SHIT. How DARE YOU call yourself a “Christian”?

Historic McKinney Kiwanis Sprint Triathlon: Before

Historic refers to the part of McKinney near which the race was held. The Kiwanis Club is an organization that provides youth programs and community service. Sprint triathlons vary in distance but usually include a 5k run and 20k (12-mile) ride. I’ve seen these events’ swim distances vary from 275 to 500 meters, but Wikipedia lists 750 meters as standard sprint. Triathlons begin with the swim followed by bike and end with running.

My first outdoor and my first sprint triathlon was Sunday, March 29 at McKinney High School. I was really excited about this event because it was right by my house and it would be challenging but doable.

After the “evangelizing” incident, I had a bad morning at the pool with circle swimming when one of the women in my lane wouldn’t ever let me pass, so I had to stop every lap and wait for her to swim ahead, and then another woman crossed over and narrowly avoided bashing me head-on. I’m incredibly pissed off that a city as populous and rich as McKinney would have such shitty recreation facilities: 2 indoor lap lanes in the whole fucking city! The Senior Pool is also filthy and grosses me out.

So I hadn’t been swimming much this year.

We had weeks of freezing rain and ice and snow in February and twice-a-week rehearsals for The Vagina Monologues, so I hadn’t been running much either.

I’d been searching for a bicycle since last fall, but the cheapest entry-level road bike in any store was $620, the cheapest online was $500, and I couldn’t find anything secondhand in my size. Finally an acquaintance contacted me after having seen my statuses on Facebook and said he happened to have pretty much everything in his garage to build me a bike. He’s been working for a cycling shop for 15+ years and collecting parts, and he just happened to have a Moniqa-sized frame. So he offered to build me a bike from scratch.

It took some time, and I only got it a week and a half before the race. I took my first long ride around my neighborhood three days later and established a baseline of 5 miles in 30 minutes. I took my second long ride later that week and managed 9.23 miles around White Rock Lake in 50 minutes. It was just enough to get me comfortable with riding up and down small hills, changing gears, making tight turns, and navigating light traffic. And it was just enough to boost my confidence that I could, at the very least, finish the race, albeit slowly. I thought it reasonable to hope that the race day adrenaline could push me to complete the 12.5-mile bike course in an hour, based on my middling-but-comfortable cycling exertion so far.

My only brick workouts had been running the 1.75 miles out and back to and from the pool.

I was under-trained, but I could do each part.

I took advantage of the pre-race clinic offered to answer questions for first-timers. There I learned how to rack and re-rack my bike and that there are time penalties for doing it wrongly, where the transition area’s ins and outs were, where the mount/dismount line was, to stay left on the road to avoid blocking, how to navigate the pool, the drafting rules (in a word: don’t), how many other participants would be there (200-300), not to wear earphones at all, and that no one would be allowed to retrieve their things from the transition area after finishing the race until the last bicycle was in, among a dozen other pieces of necessary information.

I’ve been reading every article I can find for novice triathletes and devoured the book The Slow Fat Triathlete. But there was still so much info!

I always make a list for travel, camping, and races, and I always over-pack, preferring to have everything I could possibly want for every comfort or whim; and this event would be no exception. I put together an exhaustive list of the things I would need for race day, plus lip balm and deodorant to keep me comfortable. Seeing my pile of gear—including extra water, shoes, sunglasses, sweatband, towels, and a second shirt just in case I wanted something dry for the run—compared to the athletes near me with only a change of shoes and helmet made me smile in good-humored self-deprecation.

Second ride

TL;DR I had a great bike ride this morning and want to write ALL about it.

My second bike ride was a resounding success, though my wrists, arms, and back may vehemently disagree by tomorrow. I set my alarm to get up early but was still exhausted after yesterday's run + swim brick workout. I slept a little later and resolved to still ride and just go into work late, knowing the exercise would pay off in mood enhancement and work focus through the day.

I went out to White Rock Lake, known as one of the premier recreation areas in Dallas, and did my first loop around the lake, which is a big thing. It's 9 miles all the way around, and I never would have believed that my first full loop wouldn't be on foot, considering how long I've been running.

I struggle with getting my second foot into the toe cage when I start, but I'm getting more comfortable with the slow, rolling start I need to wriggle in there. I didn't falter on the challenging narrow switchbacks to get up a steep hill. After I stopped for a selfie, I did snag my shorts on the seat when I pedaled forward and slid my bottom back onto the seat. Good thing I wear high-waisted runderwear to show off when my outer layer slips. (Like that time my silver hot pants slipped off my bum entirely in a water tank at an obstacle race and I wasn’t all that bothered because my black boxer briefs cover more than the shorts in the first place.) It was hilariously awkward, and I'm glad no one was in sight to see it.

The weather was GORGEOUS, and I'm so glad I undertook the challenge of completing the loop and followed through. I feel great! I maintained an average 11 mph speed for 50 minutes for a total of 9.3 miles. I'd call the exertion comfortably difficult and do believe I can get through 12.6 miles after a 300-m swim within a 1-hour goal window (for the ride only) at my sprint tri this Sunday! (To clarify, there are no specific cutoffs at this event other than the whole course closing after 3.5 hours, which is more than enough for me.)
I feel a bit self-conscious and awkward about bringing my bicycle into the office since I'm not about to leave it in the parking garage, but coworkers have been very supportive and positive, asking eager questions about my training when we squeeze into the elevator together.

I was really nervous about investing so much money and effort in a bike when I still don't know whether my knees will take to this exercise for any sort of long-distance training. In my early 20s, I struggled with crooked knee caps and could hardly stand to ride with my knees click-cracking on every rotation, but they've been quiet and pain-free so far on this go-round. *knock on wood*

Still nervous but definitely beginning to enjoy this.

My first bike ride

I find it interesting that, according to all the reading I’ve done on the sport, most triathletes name the run or swim portion as their weakest link, whereas bicycling is my weakest by far. I’m not great at swimming but do it fairly regularly and survived my first open water swim, which was GRUELING, last October. I read books and watch videos and work on my form in every lap.

Of course you know I run a lot. I picked up running with the Hash House Harriers of South Korea in 2010 and have run scores of races since then, including three half marathons, a 15-mile Spartan Beast, and two 10k trail races over soul-crushing, lung-scorching hills. I have 40 medals hanging on my wall—one of which is second-place for my age group in a 5k last year—and a trophy on my office desk for placing third in a 10k last May. An entire wall in my bedroom is covered in race t-shirts and race-bib collages, and not every race I’ve run gave out swag at all.
Biking is kind of hard and scary, though.

I didn’t learn to ride without training wheels until I was 12 and wasn’t allowed to ride alone until I was 15 or 16, so I pretty much never rode. It wasn’t until my early 20s that I ever braved city streets, and I was in a bind without a working car to get to work, choosing instead to huff and puff slowly through town on a mountain bike for a few weeks, even awkwardly falling once because drivers are terrible. Luckily, I guess, it really only hurt my pride.

And then I didn’t ride for six years until I got my first road bike last week.

Sunday I managed to go out for my first extended ride on my new bicycle, having only taken it around the block once when I picked it up. I’m a complete novice to road bicycles entirely, which made me SUPER nervous, anxious, and all-around terrified of falling and injury.
I started in my neighborhood and then braved a few medium-busy roads, which were not busy on a Sunday afternoon, and I rode confidently in the center of the left lane so no one would even have the chance to try to pass by in the same lane. I flew down a gentle hill without swearing and almost enjoyed the exhilaration of it before turning up a new street and plodding steadily uphill. I took a short break at the top to catch my breath since I’d not brought water for what was intended to be a short ride.

Only one asshole driver cut me off, but I was paying close attention and being cautious enough to cuss at her loudly and continue unhurt. Seriously, she could not possibly have failed to see me riding in the center of the lane in a screaming neon green t-shirt and hot pink helmet, fucking jerk.

I rode 5 miles in 30 minutes and am hoping that adrenaline and greater confidence will push me a bit faster at next Sunday's sprint triathlon so I can complete the 12.6-mile bike portion in close to an hour. The weather was glorious, my legs felt strong, and I think I actually enjoyed myself despite the constant high-anxiety state. Also, padded bike shorts are truly divine.

I don’t see myself excelling in the sport most likely to result in death and dismemberment, but the most expensive hurdle has been cleared, and at least I believe now that I can finish a triathlon.

DFW Vagina Monologues 2015

This piece was originally written March 12 for the DFW Vagina Monologues blog.

After a whirlwind 2015 season—twice-a-week rehearsals, a bake sale, comedy show fundraiser, burlesque show, craft nights, and more—the DFW Vagina Monologues, led by director Cyran Harrington, kicked off their opening performance on the evening of March 6 at their new venue, The Kitchen Dog Theater.

They had one brief walk-through together to finalize lighting and blocking with stage manager Barbara Grimes and sound-man Johnny Ballinger just an hour before the show, but you wouldn’t know it to see their performances. Last year the cast had the aid of microphones on stage and this year learned new skills for warming up and projecting their voices in the black box theater with the aid of director AND performer Natalia Borja. (See their wacky warm-ups here on Facebook: http://tinyurl.com/n2xaepc.)

The players opened to a full house Friday night, marking amazing growth compared to last year’s show. Audiences loved every minute, laughing and crying in turn at each hilarious and heartfelt piece. They sold out the next night, too. The monologues’ topics ranged from humorous diatribes about “Hair,” tampons, and first periods to pieces covering international war crimes and closer-to-home domestic violence; they were touching, moving, triggering, heartbreaking . . . and enlightening.

The Monologues exist to raise awareness and put an end to global sex- and gender-based violence. The DFW crew raised $1705 this year for their local beneficiary, Hope’s Door of Plano, which runs a domestic violence shelter and provides intervention and education programs to the community.

But wait—there’s more! You don’t have to wait til 2016 to pitch in to help. The DFW group is now selling t-shirts, mugs, and hoodies online to raise additional money for Hope’s Door. You can check out the swag online at http://tinyurl.com/khvb3me. The gear features the DFW Vagina Monologues’ unique logo by designer Isabel Morales and will only be available for 24 days. After that, it’s gone.

We won’t stop until the violence stops.

#rise4revolution #DFWvaginamonologues

Selfies for me, for you, for everybody!

This piece was originally written for Facebook and cross-posted on the DFW Vagina Monologues Weebly website blog.

I like selfies. A lot.

My selfies are for me. I take them because I feel pretty, or I don't, or I am or am not; because it's fun, because there is no shame in taking pleasure in frivolity, and because it helps me make a memory whereas my brain otherwise typically fails at retaining such trivial things. Because I'm awesome and do incredible things, because I'm depressed and insecure in spite of this because my brain is terrible. Sometimes I retouch them to hide blemishes and sometimes I don't. #Flawless

I don't share them to solicit compliments, attraction, or validation any more than I bathe, brush my teeth, dress myself, or color my face, hair, and nails to do so.

“Assuming that a woman is fretting over a man when she gets dressed in the morning is condescending at best, dangerously sexist at worst. And it ascribes a huge part of her autonomy to the passing interest of an imaginary man that she likely doesn’t care about in the least.” (Source)

I share them because I'm happy, because I trust you, because I'm unhappy, because I'm miserable and upset, because I'm real, because I want to have nothing to hide, because I want to challenge the socially acceptable ways of using social media, because I want others to feel free to enjoy themselves and taking selfies.

Sitting here writing this, I'm delighted to see that 7 out of 9 of my friends' profile photos on the left of my Facebook home page are pretty, happy, silly, fierce, skeptical, adorable, handsome, bad-ass selfies.

Other writers have explained how selfies are radical acts of self-love in a society that condemns vanity in women and rewards such confidence in men. “We need to start teaching girls that confidence is not a sign of vanity, but rather a marker of healthy self-perception and positive thinking.”

Selfies can be a blatant middle finger to the patriarchy by wrenching control from the male gaze and focusing that gaze by our consent as we choose and on our own terms. Selfies have been around for centuries and are an ancient art form. Whinging about the so-called narcissism of our generation is unoriginal and trite, and when speaking of selfies, it’s further proof of entrenched sexism, specifically misogyny.

Women are told to hide themselves constantly, and that to actually like themselves and the way they look is somehow wrong. They’re told that they’re never good enough, that any flaw is unacceptable. Narcissism? Fuck off, these girls are showing that, somehow, through all the bullshit and the pressure to hate themselves, they’ve managed to grow their self-esteem enough to share their faces with the world. They’re taking a risk and putting themselves out there. They’re expressing themselves. Sharing themselves. They’re making a statement, which is simply “I’m good enough to be seen.” (Source)

And, frankly, we enjoy doing things to piss off stodgy jerks with an over-inflated sense of self importance nearly as much as for our own pleasure.

Some people juggle geese.

Moniqa Paullet, 2014-15 performer of “My Short Skirt” in the DFW Vagina Monologues, is an editor, triathlete, fire spinner, intersectional feminist and size acceptance activist. You can follow her #fitasfuckfeminist selfies on Instagram @FieryMon.