Just Call Me Murphy.

Ok, this wasn't funny last night, but now it's damn hysterical. I mean, if you don't laugh at some part of this, there are no funny bones left in your body.

Last night: first big workout of the week/training season - swim and weights. I'm ready, man. This season, I'm going to get everything right, and I'm tired of doing my races half-blind because I have no contacts or RX sunglasses. So I slept in the morning to save energy and went to my eye exam at 5:20pm (I get off work at 5pm, so straight there). I'm a little low on gas, but no worries: Sherpa's meeting me at home and he's going to drop me off at the Y on his way to work so I can cycle home, thus giving me a swim, my weights AND a 5-6 mile ride. He's got damn near everything all packed for me so I can just pick up and roll.

SWEET!

My eye problems are not big - astigmatism, but no distance problems. I can almost get away with wearing 1 contact in my right eye and my glasses only while reading or driving. But it turns out my eyesight has worsened so much this year alone that it's now unsafe for me to drive without glasses and unwise for me to ever take them off. I lost my RX sunglasses about 2 months ago while trying to do an OW swim in the ocean (don't ask - I was too lazy to bring my goggles out into the water and it was really bright). So, when I'm driving in the sun, I've been using the non-RX glasses. Welp, can't do THAT any more - had to get RX sunnies ASAP. Sure didn't expect THAT expense, but I got good deals on both of my frames and lenses, and now I can keep my old glasses in the car for "oops" moments. (And I didn't splurge on the $$$$ Bulgari sunglasses like I did that last time, thinking "I'll have them forever!", only to lose them a year later. I spent less on the new RX sunnies than I spent on my Smiths.)

Anywho. Two big shocks later, I look down at the time and get another shock. It's 7:20pm!!! Sherpa's late for work and I'm late for my workout. I can't make Sherpa late! I have to hurry! I hustle to the car to drive home and meet up with Sherpa. We load up everything so he can take my car and put gas in it for me. (That's my Sherpa for you.)

And then we run out of gas 2 miles down the road.

Yeah. I know. Don't lecture me. The last time I did this I was like 16. I should know better. Bla bla bla bla. So now, after this latest shock, Sherpa, with his bad back (which hasn't been acting up) and his ulcer (which had him in the hospital on Friday night), gets out and pushes me to the side of the road - which just about tears him in half. We call everyone we know: my best friend, my brother, Sherpa's two buddies, Sherpa's BOSS, even MY EX HUSBAND. No one answers. I'm pretty much hysterical at this point, standing outside the car yelling, "It's like something is trying to KEEP me from being a TRIATHLETE!!!" That's when a little voice inside me says Listen, sister. If no one's going to be a hero for you, you have to do it for yourself. And another little voice answers: Cut the bullshit, drama queen.

Guess which voice I listen to?

I hop on my bike, put my swim bag on my back, load up my Road ID and my night beacons for when it gets dark. "I'll be back," I tell Sherpa. "I'm riding to Home Depot." Which I do, but very carefully, because I get another shock very quickly - Sherpa didn't put the tire back on with my bike parts - it's got my trainer fork. And it needs air. Okay, really - how much more of this can I take?

I get to Home Depot and walk right up in that m'f'er with my bike. Thankfully, gas cans are right near the front foor. Then I realize, shit. 5-gallon gas cans are huge. Can I even fit a 5-gallon gas can on my aerobars? But I can't risk anything less. I grab one, and a nozzle, make a beeline for the self-checkout (which keeps telling me to remove the unknown object from the bagging area because I leaned my bike against the counter), fill up with about 4 gallons - now, mind you, I am still waiting on my new bank to send me my debit card, so it's a miracle this even works - and just about fall off my bike trying to ride away. Better call Sherpa and tell him I'm on my way back.

And I get another shock. I left my phone at the car. I scrounge up 50 cents, give him the 411, walk my bike as far away from traffic as I can and finally find a way to mount with the gas can on the handlebars. (Passing two police officers who, by the way, looked right at me and didn't say boo - because I guess it's completely normal to see a tiny girl balancing a huge gas can on a weird little bike at almost 9 o'clock at night?)

Sherpa runs up to meet me . . . we get to the car . . . and we get another shock. The gas can has a child lock. A child lock. I'm 30 years old and I can't open a gas can with a child lock. We end up breaking it with a key, finally fill up and get on our way. Leftovers for dinner for me and nothing for him. Sherpa's too trashed to work (his job is basically manual labor) and it's too late for me to work out.

The moral of this story:

1. Don't ever let anyone else pack your workout stuff.
2. What can go wrong, will go wrong.
3. Fill up at a 1/4 tank. ALWAYS. (Thanks, Mom.)
4. What can go wrong, will go wrong.
5. Try as hard as you can to do your workouts in the morning, even if you have a sleep disorder.
6. What can go wrong, will go wrong.
7. And when it does . . . do what Steve Winwood said and Roll With it, Baby.

Tonight it's raining and thundering . . . 1:20 bike ride with stomp sets and a 30-minute run. Looks like at least the bike ride will be on the trainer.

Well, at least the bike is still set up for the trainer.

Roll with it, baby.