IronMatron

I think our pumpkins should be titled "The Moods of Mom". 

It was a good Halloween. It was warm, so I could sit on the steps to divvy out the candy. (I force Andy to go trick-or-treating with the kids.) My strategy was to say to each child, "You can take two!" making it appear that I was generous without having to reprimand those who decide to take a freaking handful if you say nothing.  Another benefit of the warmth was that I didn't have to battle it out with the kiddos as to whether they would wear long underwear etc under their costumes. Lara went sleeveless in her fairy outfit, and she didn't get frostbite. Very cool. Or warm. whatever.

I managed to get rid of all of the candy I intended to give out. The only remaining problem is the candy that was brought in. The kids got butt-loads of it, and it's taking a will of steel not to hoard their supply. I need that shit out of here. I can't seem to stare a fun-sized Snickers in the face and not partake in the "fun."

The holidays. Do they have to come right in a row? I just recover from Halloween and Turkey Day hits. Then it's Christmas season--which is really just one long month of indulgence. Thank God training started again this week.

Speaking of....I got into the pool yesterday, and miracle of miracles, I did not sink. I was, however, slow. Like beyond slow. Like so slow I wanted to cry slow. As it should be, I know, I know. I also went to the gym to lift and do functional stuff.  It's extremely comical trying to balance on that damn half-ball and do the exercises Jen has prescribed. I don't actually do any of them. I spend my time just trying to balance in the required position to begin the exercise. It's pathetic, really. Still, I must have done something, because I'm sore this morning. Ah, thank God for that. I'm not sure I could stand another day of sloth-dom.

Today I get on the bike for the first time in.... a long time. The last time I rode Mrs. Z was at my final tri of the season. I pumped her tires this morning and lubed her up. She looks very pretty, but I still don't want to ride her. One of these days I'm going to fall in love with riding--I just know it. It took like 8 years to learn to love running--so I figure I just have five years to go before I'm proposing to her.

Five years.
This reminds me of aging, which is the topic of the post I'm working on now. As you know, I'm haunted by the BIG 4.0. which is galloping toward me at lightning speed. I'm determined to be at peace with it by the time the birthday hits, which will be just a few days before IM Couer d'Alene.

In 1996 Linus was a puppy and I was 26 years old. When I pat his grey muzzle and smell his ancient doggy breath, I marvel at how fast time passes.