First race in the offing

When last we corresponded, I had helped my pool by swimming an hour in it in the middle of the night. Turns out the proceeds went toward a sauna. A sauna. Also known as something I never use, a place where more bacteria live than in the pool. Oddly, I still haven't forked over my earnings (my parents chipped in close to a dollar for every 100 meters) and no one has asked where they are. Frankly, I would turn them over in protest, with the caveat that if the Y has a similar fundraiser next year I'll do it on the condition that I know where the money's going beforehand.

In the meantime, I had a shitty state masters swim meet (one PR in six events), took a month off from the pool to be pissed off, hit the cycling and running hard, returned to the pool on a limited basis and muddled through the past 10 weeks of training. Among other discoveries:

• I still process heat about as well as a Siberian husky. Yesterday's run took me to wherever I could find trees. I intended to run about 2 hours, 20 minutes but came 25 minutes short on an 85-degree day, a run that took me to the pop fountains at two different convenience stores. Still couldn't cool off, and I struggled mightily. We won't even talk about the sweat-soaked 14-miler I did on an 85-degree morning in Atlanta (see below).

• Nutrition is still a moving target. Last week I rode to Pierce, Colorado — about 73 miles round trip. It got a little warm, round 70 degrees, and I took no fluids for the last hour of the ride — because nothing I took the first three hours absorbed. I've had this problem before and learned it's an issue with salt intake. Really? Mac and cheese twice a week and I'm not getting enough salt?

• I fucking hate that pool. They keep it at 86 degrees for physical therapy, which I understand. Expecting us to crank out laps in there is folly at best. Does the name Fran Crippen ring a bell? No? He died in 87-degree waters near Dubai in 2010.

• My training wasn't complete shit. While in Sheridan for the state soccer tournament, I ran from our hotel to Big Horn and back, 14.6 miles of smooth road on a chilly, sunny morning. The total running time was 2:05:40, though I left the watch running while taking a potty break. After jogging out to downtown Big Horn I saw a mile marker at the side of the road (which I hadn't seen on the way down). I figured out where Mile Zero was — and picked it up. The three miles after the turnaround I ran in 8:14, 7:37, 7:00, then the aforementioned break, then three more miles in 7:31, 7:46, 7:14. That's 6 miles in 45:22 in the middle of a training run.

• I skipped my first race to go to Atlanta. My mom had a small stroke in mid-April, and while I had the vacation time planned for the Razor City Splash and Dash, plans had to change. While in the ATL, I watched my niece Alex finish third in the 3200-meter run at the Georgia state track meet (one day after winning the 1600!), I watched her little sister Samantha play soccer, and I watched my other niece Lauren earn some academic awards at her high school's convocation.

As for my mom, I'll take her word that she was lightheaded and still needed her walker (she's since graduated to a cane) because in her demeanor there was absolutely no change. She's still incredibly sharp and conversational, might need one more nap than normal, but other than that she's still mom. Scary for me because my parents have both avoided some of the "old people" problems that happen to other 70-somethings. Strokes don't happen to my parents, they happen to old people!

• So my first race is the Boise half-Ironman (I refuse to call it 70.3). I hate to make my first race of the year a long one, but I don't regret my choice to skip the race in Gillette. So on Thursday I drive for 11-and-a-half hours to the Treasure Valley of Idaho, on Friday I do a quick spin and jog before getting my race packet, on Saturday I destroy myself in the name of fitness for five-and-a-half hours, and then on Sunday I drive for another 11-and-a-half hours to home sweet home.

• After that, I ramp up my training and destroy myself on a daily basis while pondering my future in sport with every stroke, every pedal turn, every footfall.