Winner of May's book give-away: Anthy.
Congratulations, Anthy! You now own Rick Riordan's The Red Pyramid. Send your address to me at ejjube at gmail dot com and I'll get your book in the mail right away.
A bit of trivia: as of last Saturday, May 22, I am a Woman of Steel.
I have a gray rubber wrist band to prove it.
This was my second triathlon. It was an all-women race this time. 800 of us. I don't win, but I finish, and that's pretty good for someone like me. Let's just forget about all the women older than me who still beat me.
The stinky parts:
*It poured rain all during pre-race set-up and was so cold they canceled the swim and turned the tri into a bi (run-bike-run). I was mad about that. The swim was going to be my best leg and give me a head start. I am not a great runner.
*I had killer cramps during that first mile run--probably because of all the meat and fat from the Poly Plate I ate the day before. Lau Lau and triathon don't mix well. Just a bit of advice.
*The shirts they gave us were teeny. I had to give mine to my daughter.
*They wrote my age on my calf in some kind of super-indelible-never-come-off-until-you're-dead-and-maybe-even-later marker (I think they ordered it from Robert Munsch) and I can't scrub it away. 42! my leg screams. This woman of steel is forty-fetching-two years old!
The good parts:
*It didn't snow: the weather kindly waited until Monday for that.
*I finished and didn't die.
*My cramps went away on the bike.
*So did the rain.
*It was fun! I got to do it with my sister, who got second place in her age-group (yay, B!).
*I got a cool triathlon necklace out of it. And a gray rubber wristband that says I am a Woman of Steel.
*I don't feel guilty about all the chocolate chip cookies I've been eating. I think I deserve cookies.
*I can be lazy for awhile and blame it on post-race fatigue.
I think I'm going to take another nap. Even though the race was last week. I'm milking it, ok?
Imagination doesn't just mean making things up. It means thinking things through, solving [problems] or hoping to do so, and being just distant enough to be able to laugh at things that are normally painful. [Some people] would call this escapism, but they would be be entirely wrong. I would call fantasy the most serious, and the most useful branch of writing there is.
--Diana Wynne Jones
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