Phobia

You probably cant tell.
In this picture I am terrified.
 That kind of fear that makes you want to hide under the warm covers and wait until your pounding heart slows. The fear that cripples your limbs and gives you tunnel vision.
For real.
I always knew that were things that I am afraid of.
Alligators especially. Did you know that they eat people?
I am often mistaken for a people, so yes, alligators frighten me.
Its water.
I am astonishingly Aquaphobic. 
Not to be confused with Hydrophobia, which is also the fear of Rabies. 
I have plenty of reasons for this. 
All of them and none of them really explain the rigid limbs and the hyperventilation when I even smell a swimming pool.
Its quite ridiculous.
I remember my first open water triathlon. I was giving myself the "talk" all the way up to the edge of the lake. All sorts of positive and uplifting things. 
I could only see a tiny hole directly in front of me, I felt like I was breathing through a coffee stir stick, my arms and chest were cramping and my ears were ringing so loud that I thought (hoped) I was being abducted by aliens.
That was before I even got my toes wet.
The start of the swim in any race is madness. Chaos and frantic activity. Bobbing brightly colored noggins and the slick seal skinned wet-suits brushing past your grasping hands and flailing feet. 
Its shallow at first.
I could see the bottom 5-7 feet below me. 
Stroke-stroke-stroke-breathe. Panicked gasping breath.
I was controlling it. Then I swam over the ledge. 5 feet to 30 feet in a split second.
I felt my heart shudder. Frail organ.
I felt my mind grind to a halt, breath stopped in my lungs. I forgot how to swim. Instantly I forgot.
I sank. 
Like a rock.
Then I was on the surface, on my back. Breathing.
That swim took forever. Cost me hours of my life.
I was in the water a really asinine amount of time.
Hyperventilating will slow you down on the swim.
Ah the lessons we learn.
But do we?
Learn?
I don't.
I went spearfishing this year.
Its just like hunting. 
With a spear.
Except to get to the fishies you have to hold your breath and dive down under the freaking water. 
As deep as you can go.
As always for me. That first dive.
My heart seizes up, an engine without oil.
The biggest part of my brain fights me constantly in the water. Most of the rest of my mind is busy imagining drowning. Monsters of the deep. 
Leviathans.
I do it anyway.
The part of me that's me.
Does it anyway.
Don't be afraid.

MATH it does a body good

The very first word of anything is always the hardest for me. It will either catch an audience or turn them away. Whether it is writing, speaking or singing it’s all the same. It’s that very first word that matters.

That’s why I grunt so much.

I finish triathlons, I would love to say that I “Race” or that I “Compete” but compared to the wee little elves that actually do these things, I am a scary oversized puffing and slobbering Troll.

They actually have a special class for guys like me.

Just like in school.

They call it Clydesdale.

For Hell's sake!

I would prefer Hercules or Goliath or even Ogre.

Nope, Clydesdale.

It used to be anything over 200 lbs., so I dieted until I thought I was going to blow away in the wind and the powers that be changed it to 195 lbs.

And

They had a weigh in.

198 pounds.

Then they write it on your leg.

So all the little gazelles that pass me know, Fat Ass.

I can hear them smirking at me as they bounce by with their effortless strides, gravity hardly pulling at them at all. I used to throw rocks at them. But I had a really difficult time hiding the body of the last one.

So now I just yell “OH YEAH!!!!!!” in a really mean voice.

It’s all I got.

My nephew (a gazelle) started finishing them with me. I could beat him by a few minutes but only because he couldn’t swim.

Bobbing along in the current dog-paddling does not make for an excellent swim time.

But man, the kid can run. Averaging a 5 ½ minute mile. That’s after the swim and the bike.

Then he beat me. By 8 minutes.

Desperate times etc etc.

I read an article that ascertained that for every pound you dropped you could shave one minute off your finishing times. He had beaten me by 8 minutes, so I did the math and discovered that I needed to lose 12 pounds. (Really bad at math)

Then I read another article, in another  magazine. It’s far too disgusting to ever repeat in any sort of English speaking company.

If you have a weak stomach stop HERE.

Colon Cleansing.

Apparently all of us carry all sorts of vile and unspeakable things about in our colons. Old food, Plaque, Bugs and yucky stuff of all description.

Then I got really excited because it says that the “average person” has about ten pounds of vile in their colon at any given time.

SHAZAM!

Problem solved. I am not average. So I figured 12 pounds was as good as gone.

 The Cleanse

It sounds really ominous. Say it out loud in a raspy breathy Darth Vader voice and it sounds exactly like I felt going into it.

THE CLEEAANNSSSE

It wasn’t that bad.

It was just a seven day deal. I didn’t eat anything at all for seven days. I had to drink this magic potion to help speed things along, but it really was not that bad.

Juice of two lemons

One tbsp. of grade B maple syrup

Cheyenne pepper to taste.

In a Nalgene bottle of Distilled water.

For seven days.

Day 8 was the Kicker. And day nine was the race.

God made the world in 6 days, I made a lot of ahem poo.

It’s amazing actually. I wasn’t eating anything and I was still producing poundage.

It’s the magic poo potion that does it.

Day Seven.

The cleanse instructions said to mix 2.5 TSPs of non-iodized salt with one gallon of warm water and drink the whole thing.

No problem.

Wait!

I failed Home Economics. Stitched my finger to my sachet and caught the oven thingy on fire somehow, Failed with an F. And Math? Who needs Math? That’s why God invented calculators. (Really, I am horrible at Math)

FYI: 1 tablespoon (tbsp) equals 3 teaspoons (tsp)

A TSP is apparently 

different from a TBSP!

Who knew?

So, two giant heaping TBSPs of salt, then a level One cause I couldn’t just fill it half way. Mixed in a gallon of warm water and guzzled. Gagging, coughing, groaning and retching. But I swallered it all. And I kept it down.

God created the world in 6 days then took a day off to sleep.

I created poo for seven days. Then I exploded.

The instructions read something like “After completing the seven day pre-cleanse you will be ready for a gentle salt laxative. This will clean the walls of your colon and finish your cleanse”

Slap me with a giant roasted buffalo.

Gentle?

I thought I was pretty much empty by this point. I had lost ten pounds of vile and was sitting at 196, fighting weight. I figured with the “gentle cleanse” I would expel those last two pounds and slaughter the nephew come day nine.

Shit. And more shit.

Then things that I don’t even like to think about. Then my appendix and I am pretty sure my other tonsil. Bugs critters and stuff that was supposed to stay in came out.

For 14 very long hours.

I lost the weight.

183 lbs. morning of race.

I finished the triathlon. Not dead last. Just dead.

The nephew dog paddled and sprinted his way to beating me by 16 minutes.

Boy,  was I clean.