numero uno, and the ubiquitous numero dos

Well, we don't have jerseys yet, but if we did, they would say 'Team Pretty Awesome' because we are mostly awesome and had a great first race of the season, and because we are kind of pretty (me being the prettier one, especially now that I have shaved my legs and returned to high school superlative form, a shoe-in for Best Legs if Suzie Witherby wasn't such a damned dirty w@$*#) . I'm sure we won't be seeing official TA gear until Brett and I go 1-2 at Lake Dunmore, and thus come to fully deserve the title we have given ourselves. So, look for TA hats, s'mittens, corncob pipes and novelty prophylactics to hit stores this September, just in time to be that perfect Columbus Day gift you've always wanted.

That being said, down to the real explanation about why we are pretty awesome but not yet officially freakin awesome.

Personally, I can only say I am pleased to have not sucked it up so hard in the swim this time around, even though I had a minor panic attack (not picknic attack, which was what I wrote initially) in the first 100 m, kept putting my hand up some guys ass (many others returned the favor), swallowed enough air to burp my A-B-C's 10 times through, and swam at least an extra .5 km trying to figure out how to stay straight for more than 2 strokes. Coming in 7 minutes behind Brett isn't pretty awesome, but it's way more awesome than my previous 12 minute deficit. I can only say that open water swimming has it's pros and cons. Pros: you get to dress up like a super hero with a condom hat on. Cons: refer to earlier comment about ass-handing.

As for the bike course, I have only two things to say. One, 7 miles of continual climbing makes Gered a poopie poopie triathlete. Two, whatever township Keuka Lake is in needs to put some serious thought into how many millions of dollars should be allocated to the highway department in FY 2010. Don't just do it for the triathletes. do it for those silly Amish hippies and their big poop powered dune buggies. No one likes to get their skinny waggon wheel or 700 cc bike tire lodged in a concrete gap the length of the Grand Canyon. Route 54 is safe for neither man nor beast. Needless to say it was a slow course we sucked a@$ at the bike, but it wasn't our fault. Or at least entirely our fault. The ride itself was epic and beautiful, and I saw none of it. My front wheel, as I stared at it for 1 hr 5 minutes and 45 seconds was beautiful in its own way, although completely unresponsive as I prayed to St. Anthony, patron Saint of slow wheels.

Finally, a run. A nice light jog. Flatish, but full of peril. To your left, that little girl waiting with an outstretched arm and cup of water that miraculously turns to HEED as you throw it into your open, hopeful eyes. Straight ahead, a swarm of gnats that splat and stick, clinging to skin like flypaper in the lonely corner of a CNY Chinese restaurant in the dead heat of July. And, last but not least, 250 runners bearing down on you, so don't spare a moment to reflect because if you do you'll be the fly and they'll be the paper. So I run like I stole something, and beat all but 7 of them back into submission. This makes me proud, but also makes me wonder, running as fast as I can, how can 7 other people POSSIBLY be running any faster. The mysteries of this universe never cease.

So, not yet number one or number two, but we did earn ourselves a nice steak dinner and the quality dukie that can only follow 2 solid hours of gut wrenching exercise, 16 oz. of cow flesh cooked to a 'warm pink center', and a 7 hour car ride back to Beantown - yet another memorable place that I have pooped. But more on this to follow

For complete race race results go to

And congrats to Brett for his return trip to the winners podium and my own solid lucky number 13 finish (not to toot my own horn. toot toot).