Just returned from a mini-vacation in Scottsdale, Arizona, where I went to see my sister Kielynn and her family. Besides not touching any of the odd, prickly plants they have out there, I spent my time eating and drinking. And eating. And drinking, and eating again. Every day I Meant to go to the gym, but didn’t. Hugging and kissing my nephew Tesher monopolized my time.
So of course, on the plane ride home, I was seated next to a guy on his way home from participating in the Ironman triathlon in Tempe. The day before our flight, I had walked leisurely around the Arizona State campus (very cool, by the way), and then swam three laps in the pool at my sister’s apartment before settling into the Jacuzzi to soothe my weary muscles. This dude swam 2.4 miles, then rode his bike 112 miles, AND ran a full 26.2-mile marathon. He said he had an off day, finishing in just over 11 hours.
In the course of the conversation, he actually asked me, “Do you work out?” A vision of me on my gym’s elliptical machine, listening to my iPod and chatting with my friend Allison, flashed through my mind. “Not really,” I said.
Then I offered him my free pretzels.